by Graeme Lay
‘Quite so, my lord,’ said William. ‘And I was delighted to learn that botanist David Nelson is to be part of my company. He sailed with Cook and myself on our voyage in search of the Northwest Passage.’
Banks nodded. ‘And collected many new botanical specimens from the North Pacific. Nelson is an admirable fellow. As his assistant I’ve appointed one William Brown, another experienced gardener.’
William turned to Lord Sydney. ‘May I ask you, my lord, what number of marines will accompany the expedition?’
Sydney gave him an austere look. ‘There will be no marines, Bligh. There will not be room.’ He tugged at a flap of loose flesh at his throat. ‘The ship will carry four short-carriage four-pound guns and ten half-pounder swivel guns. There will be muskets and other firearms, properly stowed, but no marine contingent.’
There was a stiff silence. William swallowed, then said, ‘But should there be difficulties with the natives, my lord—’
Banks laughed knowingly. ‘You are going to Tahiti, Bligh, not the murderous Sandwich Islands. Tahiti is Aphrodite’s Island, the island of love. As I well remember from ’69.’ He smirked. ‘The year of soixanteneuf, so to speak. The Tahitian men will welcome you with open arms; their women will welcome you with open legs.’ He smiled. ‘So marines will be unnecessary.’
William’s cheeks turned pink; Fletcher grinned. Banks looked again at the ship. ‘Well, let’s go below and inspect the modifications. By the way, Lord Sydney and I have renamed her. She’s to be called the Bounty. His Majesty’s Armed Vessel Bounty.’ He chuckled. ‘Bounty being shorthand for bountiful, naturally.’
Below decks in the stern, Fletcher stared in amazement at what the carpenters had done. Where there would normally have been a great cabin, extending the width of the ship, there was now a fully fitted-out conservatory.
Banks explained, ‘Originally this cabin extended eleven feet from the stern; it now reaches thirty feet for’ard, nearly as far as the aft hatchway. Nearly a trebling in size.’ He nodded with satisfaction at this statistic.
Fletcher looked around, intrigued by the adaptation. Shelves lined the walls of the cabin, filled with empty earthenware pots. Several platforms in the centre of the space, separated by aisles, held planks to contain more pots. There were gratings in the ceiling and scuttles on the starboard and larboard sides to admit fresh air. On the inner wall a stove had been installed and the floor was lined with a sheet of lead.
Lord Sydney reached out and tested the firmness of one of the pot racks. He grunted with satisfaction. ‘The first plan allowed for five hundred pots, but Banks and I decided she should carry more. One hundred and twenty-nine more, to be precise.’ From his tone it was easy to tell what value the secretary placed on precision.
The conservatory was undeniably impressive, Fletcher thought. Inspired, even. But how, he wondered, would the captain and crew — forty-five men in all — be accommodated in the remainder of the ship?
Banks and Sydney, having seen and approved of the greenhouse, wished to see nothing more of the ship. William went topside to see the dignitaries off, while Fletcher carried on with his inspection forward of the conservatory. He crept through the ship, head bent, encountering the familiar lower-deck odours of stale food and lantern smoke, overlaid with the less unwholesome smell of freshly applied spar varnish.
It was obvious that the accommodation would be cramped in the extreme. William’s cabin — already nameplated — was amidships on the lower deck, starboard side. It was, to be charitable, compact. Fletcher peered inside it, thinking, just as well he’s a small man.
The master’s cabin was opposite the captain’s, at the foot of the rear stairway. The captain’s dining room and pantry — also small — were between the stairway and the forecastle. The space for the master’s mates and the midshipmen was aft of the forward stairway. Fletcher paid close attention to this area, aware that this was where he was to be accommodated.
The rest of the crew, thirty-three men, and the galley, were to be crammed into the forecastle, in a space near the bow which Fletcher estimated to be only about twenty feet wide and forty feet long. It was dark, without scuttles, and Fletcher’s head cleared the ceiling by just a couple of inches. There were half-finished pens which would hold livestock — sheep, pigs and goats — alongside the crew’s quarters.
He went down into the hold. William had pointed out that the quarters of the specialist crew — the boatswain, carpenter, steward, surgeon, Bligh’s clerk, the gunner and the botanists — would be quartered here, on mezzanine decks added to either end of the hold. Fletcher noted that the headroom of this accommodation was higher, about seven feet.
Following the inspection, Fletcher and William took a ferry upriver to the City, and took refreshments in Garraway’s coffee house. There Fletcher listened to William’s litany of grumbles.
‘As you pointed out, the vessel is too small. Far too small for a two-year voyage. And the company is insufficient. Forty-five men. And of that number, only twenty-two able seamen. To maintain the watches, handle the sails, do any running repairs — let alone look after the breadfruit plants.’ He sipped his coffee. ‘No marines to enforce my authority or guard against theft by the natives.’ His blue eyes flashed. ‘And I am not to be promoted to captain’s rank, merely a lieutenant. As such, I am granted no officers, only three midshipmen. Were I to be a post captain, which I deserve to be, I would be entitled to one or two lieutenants to help me enforce discipline.’ His lip curled. ‘And not only will I command the ship, I am to be the purser as well, responsible for the issuing of rations, the welfare of the crew and their disciplining. Oh, and the purchase of the breadfruit plants.’ He sniffed. ‘And for all these responsibilities, I am to be paid the princely sum of four shillings a day. Seventy pounds a year.’
Fletcher started. ‘Seventy pounds only?’
‘You heard me. Quite a reduction, from the five hundred pounds Campbell paid me to command Britannia.’
Fletcher was shocked. He immediately thought of Betsy and her woes. This would only add to them. At least her husband’s absences in the West Indies had been offset by his generous salary, and voyages of about a four-month duration. This expedition would be for at least two years, and on a salary decline of . . . He did a quick calculation: eighty-six per cent!
Attempting to offer some consolation, he said, ‘I’m sure that when the breadfruit scheme is brought to fruition, other rewards will flow to you.’
William raised his eyebrows sceptically. ‘Perhaps. They will need to, given the Navy Board’s niggardliness and the Admiralty’s failure to promote me.’ Fletcher was about to comment again but William held up his hand. ‘Oh yes, I know in peacetime promotions are seldom made, except at sea. But with my record on Resolution, my surveying, my navigating . . .’ Again his eyes flashed. ‘What more must I do, to receive a captain’s rank? Furthermore, as you well know, for these past four years I’ve become used to working with merchants, men who believe in rewarding those who serve them well. And do so handsomely. But now I am given massive responsibilities by the navy for miserly recompense and no promotion.’
Fletcher listened to this tirade sympathetically. He well understood William’s frustrations and wounded pride. Yet overriding these sympathies for his friend was his own anticipation of the forthcoming voyage and the excitements it promised. Sailing in the wake of Cook into the South Atlantic, doubling Cape Horn and into the South Sea. The delights of Bougainville’s New Cythera and all that Tahitian cunny. He didn’t care about the overcrowding on board: he would sleep in the maintop so long as he got to Tahiti.
This reverie was broken by William producing a sheaf of papers from his briefcase and saying, ‘At least I was permitted to appoint the company myself, without interference from the petty officials in Whitehall.’ He handed the sheet to Fletcher. ‘All are volunteers. There will be no pressed men on board.’
Headed with the crest of the Admiralty, it was the ship’s muster roll, listing
names and designations. Fletcher scanned it. Apart from the gardeners Nelson and Brown, at first glance the other names meant nothing to him. Curious about the man designated Master, whose role he knew would be important, he asked, ‘Who is John Fryer?’
‘He’s from Norfolk, thirty-four, newly married. Been seven years in the navy, was captured and imprisoned by the French for a year and a half. Most able, from his record.’
Paying more attention to the names, Fletcher said, ‘Lawrence Lebogue, sailmaker.’ He looked up. ‘I remember him from Britannia. But he’s old. Must be nearly forty.’
‘No matter for a sailmaker. Cook had John Ravenhill on Endeavour, and he was over seventy. Poor sod died on the way home, though.’
Another name on the roll stood out for Fletcher. ‘Peter Heywood, Acting Midshipman. I knew a Heywood family on the Isle of Man. Is he related to them?’
‘He is. I know the lad. He was nominated by Betsy’s parents. He’s the son of close friends of theirs. His father’s a deemster, like your forebears. Peter is only fifteen, but he’s a cheerful boy and keen as mustard to go to sea. He’ll stay with Betsy and me before we sail.’ He paused. ‘Another of the midshipmen, John Hallett, is also only fifteen. Betsy recommended him, he’s the brother of a London friend of hers. She also recommended Thomas Hayward, whose family she knows. The other midshipman, George Stewart, I invited to join the expedition because his parents took great care of me when Resolution was forced to take shelter from storms off Stromness, in Orkney, back in 1780.’
Fletcher thought, how important patronage is in such matters. He recalled cousin John’s words: ‘It’s not what you know, it’s who you know.’ That seemed truer than ever. The Blighs’ personal connections had been responsible for several of the crew being added to the list. Handing back the roll, he said, ‘The Isle of Man is well represented, William.’
William gave a rare smile. ‘Indeed. So perhaps Bethia, or I should say Bounty, should fly the Manx flag instead of the ensign.’
Over the next few weeks Fletcher and William met regularly, at Garraway’s and at a Shoreditch tavern, the Crab and Lobster, to discuss the expedition. Although William continued to cavil (‘The carpenters have still not finished the livestock pens’, ‘I still await my sailing orders from the Admiralty’, ‘Three men on the roll have scarpered and will need to be replaced’), his sense of expectation was obvious as the departure date neared.
By early October the trade goods had been purchased and were being stowed in Bounty’s hold. Again William shared the details with Fletcher, reading from the bill of lading: ‘Two hundred and thirty-four chisels, of various sizes. Four gross of knives, eight hundredweight of spike nails, four dozen hand saws, fourteen dozen hatchets, ten dozen gimlets, fourteen dozen looking glasses, eight pounds of glass beads — red, white and blue — and seventy-two shirts.’ He handed the list to Fletcher. ‘A considerable total. In value, over one hundred and twenty-five pounds.’ He pouted. ‘Nearly twice my meagre salary.’
Fletcher whistled softly as he looked at the list. ‘All goods, William. No money will be paid?’
‘I will be allowed one hundred ducats to cover expenses in ports beyond the South Sea. But in Tahiti real money has no use. The only currency the natives value is iron. Have you read Hawkesworth’s account of the Dolphin voyage?’
‘I have. Dolphin was nearly torn apart for its nails.’
‘Yes. And when I was there with Cook, the natives demanded more and more iron items.’ He took a spoonful of sugar and stirred it into his coffee. ‘But it’s only fair that we recompense the Tahitians for their breadfruit plants.’
Fletcher nodded. ‘And what of the provisioning?’
‘It continues, ordered by myself and overseen by the Victualling Board. We are provisioning for a year and a half. The balance will be obtained from the natives — mainly pork, poultry, fruits and vegetables. My time with Cook convinced me that diet is vital to a crew’s health. There will be no scurvy on Bounty, of that I’m determined. So there will be sauerkraut, malt, juice of wort, portable soup, wheat and barley instead of oatmeal.’ His expression became harsh. ‘And by God the men will eat it, every day. Cook made it a flogging offence not to, and I’ll do the same.’
They strolled along the path that led to the Tower of London. It was autumn now and the air was biting, the river water murky, the sky gravestone grey. A few merchantmen were working their way upriver, struggling to find favourable wind. The shouts of their crewmen carried across to the river bank.
‘I must say, Fletcher, that I’m looking forward to the blue skies of the South Sea.’
‘As I am. In fact I find myself thinking of those skies a great deal.’
William stopped, placed his hands behind his back and stared up at Fletcher. ‘Allow me to say how much I have valued your support over these last weeks.’
Fletcher shrugged. ‘It’s the least I could do. I’m repaying the help you’ve given me. Were it not for you I would still be on the Isle of Man, lamenting my lack of prospects. Now, I’m confident that when we return from Tahiti I will be qualified to be commissioned as a lieutenant.’
‘I’m sure that that will be the case.’ William flexed his shoulders awkwardly. ‘But I want you to know how much I value your friendship. I admire you a great deal, do you know that?’
Embarrassed, and avoiding William’s gaze, Fletcher said, ‘It’s been a pleasure to serve with you. And the anticipation of our voyage to Tahiti is one I cannot suppress.’
William grunted his agreement, and they resumed their walk. Hands still behind his back, he said, ‘Bounty will be ready to unmoor the week after next.’ He scowled. ‘Yet I still have not received my official sailing orders, sod the slack swine in Whitehall. So I’ve decided to wait no longer. We will set sail for Spithead on the second of November and I’ll collect my orders from there.’
On 3 September Bounty was unmoored from Deptford dock and dropped downriver. There her provisioning was carried out, under William’s strict supervision. Fletcher stayed with his brother Edward for a few days, in his rooms in Chancery Lane, then in mid-October returned briefly to Douglas to farewell his mother, cousin John and the Taubmans.
Although the aim of Bounty’s forthcoming voyage was officially a close secret, thanks to the Isle of Man’s connection with some of its crew the ship’s destination, if not its special mission, was common knowledge. The islanders expressed great pleasure that William, Fletcher and young Peter Heywood were to be a part of the expedition. The South Sea in general, and Tahiti in particular, had been popular subjects for local journal readers ever since Wallis’s discovery of the island.
Fletcher’s mother reported that his brother Charles, now medically qualified, had been on a voyage to Madras and Macao, as ship’s surgeon on the merchantman Middlesex. He would return to England shortly, she had been advised in a letter forwarded by the East India Company. Fletcher immediately regretted that this meant they would not be able to meet and discuss Charles’s voyage.
Once again Fletcher stood on the dock at Douglas harbour, waiting to board the packet to Liverpool. His mother, her face pale and drawn, bonneted and with a woollen shawl wrapped around her shoulders against the biting north wind, hugged him. ‘Goodbye darling. Safe voyage. Do take care.’
‘I shall. And the two years will go quickly. Then I shall be back here again with you. And, I hope, in the uniform of a naval lieutenant.’
‘Two years!’ Tears sprang into her eyes. ‘Charles will probably be away again, too, so all I have now is Edward.’ She heaved a sigh and closed her eyes. Tears leaked from beneath the lids.
Fletcher hugged her, then planted a kiss on her forehead. ‘Goodbye, Mother. I will write from Tenerife, since we shall be calling there. And I will be back before you know I’ve gone.’
He hugged her once more, then walked quickly up the gangplank.
On 28 October Bounty was unmoored from the dock at Long Reach on the lower Thames, where her four-pounders, swivel gun
s and arms chests, including muskets, pistols, ammunition and cutlasses, had been taken aboard and stowed. Then, with a growing sense of inquisitiveness among the crew (‘What is our exact destination?’ ‘What sort of a man is Captain Bligh?’ ‘How long will it be before we see England again?’) HMAV Bounty made for the Channel.
Although the winds there were mainly unfavourable, the little ship handled the conditions well, and on 4 November Bounty was anchored securely in the Solent. William was rowed across to Portsmouth, where he had obtained lodgings for Betsy and their daughters. There they would say their farewells. Fletcher had intended to remain on the Bounty, in order to get to know more of the crew, but next morning he saw entering the Solent from the west a three-masted merchantman, flying the flag of the East India Company. Peering through his spyglass, he saw it was the Middlesex. Brother Charles’s ship. He had not missed him after all.
‘Charles! Welcome home!’
‘Fletcher! How good it is to see you!’
After meeting on the Plymouth waterfront, the brothers quickly repaired to a nearby tavern, where over pints of ale and pork pies they caught up on all their news. Charles, at twenty-seven, was only three years senior to Fletcher but looked much older. His eyes were sunken, his cheeks gaunt and unshaven.
He explained why. ‘I picked up an illness in Madras. Found it hard to keep food down.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘A case of “physician, heal thyself”, as Saint Luke put it. Moreover, on the voyage home, there was a mutiny aboard Middlesex, and I was involved.’
‘A mutiny? For what reason?’
‘The captain, one John Rogers, proved to be a tyrant. His actions towards his crew became intolerable. One seaman, William Greace, was ordered to be flogged to death, merely for insolence. And indeed the poor sod almost bled his life away. After I treated him, he recovered, then obtained a loaded pistol and aimed it at Rogers. Our first officer, George Aitken, supported Greace, as did I. The second officer struck Rogers in anger.’
