Fletcher of the Bounty

by Graeme Lay

  Fletcher listened without comment to this familiar litany. As always, William sounded both confident and condemnatory. If there was a fault, it always lay elsewhere.

  Changing the subject, Fletcher said, ‘I’ve been told that the storm season is imminent here.’

  ‘Really?’ William sounded unconcerned.

  ‘Yes. So it occurred to me that Bounty should be moved to a more sheltered anchorage. For reasons of safety.’

  ‘Oh? You know what the weather is going to do, do you?’

  Ignoring his sarcasm, Fletcher said, ‘Evidently from December onwards, wild weather often comes from the north. In which case Bounty could be vulnerable.’

  ‘Today the sky is blue, the wind merely a zephyr. The ship is firmly anchored fore and aft. We cannot waste time moving her.’

  Fletcher shrugged. ‘The decision is yours. I merely suggested the move.’

  William met his level look. For some moments he was silent, staring intently at Fletcher to the extent that it made him feel uneasy. He looked away. Feeling his hands becoming slippery, he rubbed them on his breeches.

  Then, changing tack, William said, ‘Two days ago I was the guest at a heiva, at Aroo-aye. It was most interesting. Along with the usual singing, dancing, drumming and all the rest of it, there were some mahoo there.’ He paused. ‘Do you know what mahoo are?’

  ‘I’ve been told. Men who behave like women.’

  ‘That’s right. Big strong men, but they wear flowers and shell jewellery, and exhibit female mannerisms.’ William rubbed at his stubbly chin. ‘Curious about the mahoo’s private parts, I took the chance to closely examine one. I asked, first, naturally, if he, or she, I should say, would let me look closely between its legs. The mahoo agreed, then lay down and opened its legs. And I examined it closely.’ William gave a half-smile. ‘The penis and testicles had been pulled right back and tied, so that they were hardly visible. They had shrivelled almost entirely away. The cock and balls being hidden helps them to act like a female. Remarkable, don’t you think?’

  Fletcher made no comment. But he thought, if a short, bewigged English sea captain got down and examined my cock and balls, they would certainly shrivel.

  Still with an odd half-smile, William continued his report. ‘I asked one of the chiefs if the mahoo indulge in carnal activities. He explained to me — by mime — that they perform fellatio. No sodomy. And only on their superiors, as a sexual service. Very interesting, don’t you think?’

  Fletcher just nodded. Where is this conversation headed?

  William leaned back and put his hands behind his head. ‘I’m told you have a woman on the shore,’ he said. Fletcher gave a short nod. William tilted his head slightly. ‘Is she any good?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘In the carnal sense.’ His eyes were now tightly focused. ‘I assume you are knowing her carnally. So, as I said, is she any good?’

  Affronted, feeling himself colouring, Fletcher said, ‘I consider that an improper question. It is no business but my own. And Mauatua’s.’ He met William’s stare. ‘Would you answer such a question if I asked it of you and Betsy?’

  William made a scoffing noise. ‘No. But the situations are not comparable. Betsy is my wife. You and the native woman are not married.’ He gave a little laugh. ‘At least I assume you and she have not gone through a form of native marriage, shall we say.’

  ‘You assume correctly.’ Fletcher stood up. ‘And I have no wish to continue this conversation.’

  William also got to his feet. His expression changed. Looking up into Fletcher’s face, he put his right hand on his wrist and held it there. He said, falteringly, ‘We are friends, are we not?’

  Fletcher swallowed. ‘I believe so. I’m grateful for what you’ve done for me.’

  William nodded. ‘So I do want you to know that after we leave Tahiti, should you feel . . . in want of companionship, of comfort, you need look no further than this cabin.’ His hand was trembling, his stare intense, his pupils dilated.

  Fletcher pulled his arm away. Speechless at the implications of these words, he could only shake his head in revulsion. He turned abruptly and left the cabin. As he did so, William called, ‘Don’t forget, Fletcher, you owe me money!’

  ‘Good God. Listen to that!’

  Fletcher sat up. Naked beside him, Mauatua stirred. The noise came again, a massive thunderclap, seeming to be directly above the fare. Then another, and another boom, echoing from the mountains. Mauatua woke. There was a crack like musket fire, then a flash of lightning across the sky, momentarily turning the night into day. A second later the light was gone and darkness returned. With it came rain that fell in torrents, drenching the surrounding forest, the fare and everything else beneath it. Water poured from the little house’s eaves and formed pools that began to rise around the building. Wind began to blow from the north-west. It quickly grew stronger. In minutes it was tearing at the foliage and blowing rain and leaves into the fare. They heard branches cracking.

  Mauatua reached for her cape. ‘Te tau miti rahi,’ she said. ‘It has come.’

  Daylight came, but the rain was still so intense that visibility was limited, and the wind was gaining strength. Leaving Mauatua in the fare, Fletcher trudged barefoot through the forest to Point Venus. Once there he stopped. The Tuauru stream was in spate, gushing across the point in a brown flood, carrying palm fronds, coconuts and tree branches with it. On the other side of the stream, in front of the breadfruit nursery, Nelson and Brown were frantically digging a channel to divert the flow away from the plants. It was obvious that if a diversion was not dug, all the plants would be lost.

  Fletcher waded into the swollen stream, pushing against the trunks of the palm trees to stop himself being swept into the lagoon. Half-swimming, half-wading, dodging the debris being swept along by the water, he reached the other side of the stream.

  The two gardeners, drenched and wild-eyed, were working desperately at their channel. ‘Get another spade!’ Nelson shouted at him through the wind and rain. The wind was ripping fronds from the palms and hurling them across the point.

  The three of them kept digging into the sandy soil and chopping at palm roots, at the same time watching anxiously as the rising stream waters came closer, aware that the storm was placing the entire raison d’être for the expedition in jeopardy. The sail-cloth covering the breadfruit plants sagged under the weight of the water which cascaded from its edges, forming curtains of water all around the nursery.

  After an hour of frantic digging and mounding dirt and sand into a dyke around the nursery, a moat of sorts had begun to redirect the flood water. Now, instead of rising it was running into the ditch and gushing from the end that led down to the lagoon. The muddy water continued to stream across the point, but the water was coming no closer to the precious plants.

  Chests heaving, Fletcher and the gardeners stayed their spades. Shouting above the storm, Nelson said, ‘I think we’ve done it.’ Fletcher nodded. They rested on the spades, soaked but relieved.

  It was daylight now. Although the wind was still raging the rain had eased and they could see out into the lagoon. Staring through the palms and into the mist, Fletcher said, ‘Oh Christ, the ship.’

  Bounty, bare-poled, was pitching as wildly as a bucking mare and straining at her cables. Forward of the ship the reef was no longer visible: it was covered completely by huge waves being driven in from the open sea by the gale. It was as if the lagoon had been completely swallowed by the sea. Waves were striking Bounty’s bow and pouring over her decks. The ship was being battered like a toy ship by the elements, and it was obvious that if her cables broke she would be doomed. Fletcher could just discern through the mist a group of men on her foredeck trying to lower a second bower anchor. Others were battening down the mid-deck hatches. Not a soul was aloft.

  Shouting above the wind, Nelson said, ‘Should we go out and help?’

  Fletcher shook his head. ‘We’d never get there.’ This view
was confirmed when a great comber reared, then crashed down on the shore in front of them.

  They watched anxiously from the shore for three hours. Bounty’s anchors held, and gradually the wind began to abate. After it at last died away, Fletcher and the gardeners were taken out to the ship in one of Tu’s canoes, which had battled its way into the bay from Pare and picked them up.

  Aboard Bounty Nelson and Brown, with Fletcher standing behind them, reported to William that the plants had been saved. Clearly relieved at the news, he thanked the three of them. ‘Well done, well done,’ he concluded. He gave not the slightest indication to Fletcher that their recent altercation had taken place. It was as if it had been completely deleted from his memory. Unlike Fletcher, who could not forget it.

  Fryer joined them. ‘What are we to do with the ship?’ he asked William. Now that the storm season had struck, it was clear that their present anchorage was unsafe. Resisting the temptation to point out that his earlier warning had been correct, Fletcher suggested to the others that Bounty be moved further west, out of the path of the storm season’s prevailing winds. Mauatua had told him of a cove at a place called Toaroa. ‘Very peaceful there,’ she said. ‘No waves.’

  William considered this, then said, ‘I thought a bay on the island of Moorea would be a suitable place to ride out the storm season.’ He pointed to the north-west, the direction in which the other island lay. ‘We found a fine sheltered bay there, with Cook, on the north coast.’

  Fletcher replied, ‘That would not be advisable, in my opinion.’

  William looked at him peevishly. ‘Oh? Why not?’

  ‘The leader of the people of Moorea, Mahine, is Tu’s mortal enemy. Our chief would be mightily aggrieved if we were to seek sanctuary there. He would see it as a betrayal of our friendship. Moreover, we would have to move all the breadfruit plants across to Moorea.’

  Fryer nodded. ‘I agree. I think it best if we move the ship around to this place you suggested, Christian. To—, To—’

  ‘Toaroa. Yes, I’m told it’s sheltered, from almost every wind. And it’s near Pare, and therefore close to Tu’s bailiwick.’

  William grunted, suggesting a concession. ‘Very well, Fryer, order the men to—’

  There was a banging on the cabin door, then it was thrust open. The flushed face of assistant surgeon Ledward appeared. ‘Begging your pardon, Captain, but it’s Mr Huggan. He’s very poorly.’

  They went to his berth. The surgeon was in his cot, unconscious. His face was grey, his eyes open but unseeing. The berth stank of piss, shit and vomit. There was puke all over Huggan’s shirt front, and on the cabin floor was a port bottle, next to a slurry of vomit. William picked the bottle up. It was empty. Tossing it aside, he made a hissing sound.

  Huggan was breathing, but his breath was coming in a series of rasps and rattles. Then he made a noise like a lowing bull, and gave a groan. And was silent.

  Ledward went to him, took his left wrist and felt for a pulse. After feeling it for some time, he turned to the others and shook his head. ‘He’s finished,’ he said. ‘Choked on his own vomit.’ He looked away, closed his eyes. However unsatisfactory Huggan was, the man had been his colleague.

  William scowled. ‘The drunken, inept fool. He killed Valentine, and now he’s killed himself. Poetic justice.’ He grimaced. ‘He shamed his honourable profession.’ To Ledward he said, ‘You shall have his berth, and his position. But first, clean up this filth.’ He glared at Huggan’s corpse. ‘We’ll take the sod ashore and inter him there. Burying him at sea would pollute the ocean.’

  Huggan was interred on Point Venus the next day, his grave aligned firmly east to west, in accordance with the rising and the setting of the sun. Tu, whose permission they had gained to allow the burial, had instructed that it be done this way. Priests from ‘Rima’ — Spanish missionaries from Lima — had told Tu that Popa’a people must be buried that way.

  The day before Christmas the Point Venus encampment was struck and the breadfruit plants taken out to Bounty’s greenhouse cabin. Early on Christmas morning her anchors were weighed, the sails raised, and the ship turned several points to the west.

  It soon became obvious that the move would not be straightforward. Swells still surged within the lagoon, which was stained brown with floodwaters, and Bounty had to be hauled across the wind. The sails were furled, the boats launched and Fryer climbed to the masthead to direct the oarsmen from above.

  Getting Bounty under way early in the morning, when the sun was low, proved a mistake. Even from overhead Fryer could not see the coral heads clearly. An hour after the move began, Bounty graunched, then shuddered to a halt. She had gone aground on a shoal and the for’ard part of the ship was no longer afloat. Fryer screamed down at the men in the launch. ‘Haul her off! Haul her off!’ Lines were thrown, the oars were worked frantically. Had she been holed by the coral?

  Fletcher stood in the bow above the remaining catted anchor, helping direct the rescue. The other anchor and its cable, lowered to stabilise the ship, had also become fouled on the coral.

  It became obvious to Fletcher that a vital aspect of crewing — teamwork — was now missing. As they fought to haul the ship off and untangle the cable, the men yelled and swore at one another. Several of them tumbled into the lagoon, then surfaced, cursing even louder. Fryer, yelling in all directions, seemed unable to coordinate the haulage.

  Fletcher watched William observing all this from the quarterdeck, his expression thunderous. Why doesn’t he intervene? Why is he leaving the mess for Fryer to clean up? Aware that Tu and his people would be observing this incompetence from the shore, he could only conclude that William did not want to be associated with the disorder. By standing apart from it, he could lay the blame for the mess at the feet of Fryer.

  Slowly, laboriously, Bounty was hauled off the coral, then worked along the lagoon. Hours later she reached Toaroa and her anchors were lowered in a small bay. It was obvious that this location was indeed more advantageous than Matavai Bay. Toaroa was protected from the north-westerlies by prominent reefs, there was an adjacent promontory where a new shore encampment could be set up, and Tu and Itia’s fare nui was close by. After Isaac Martin, a competent swimmer, submerged and groped at Bounty’s keel, he was able to report that it was still intact.

  The ship was made secure in her new anchorage. Throughout the procedure Fryer remained livid, aware that he had been made to appear ineffectual before an audience. William has made yet another enemy, Fletcher concluded, one whom he could ill afford to make. He didn’t like Fryer either, but the man’s role was important to the expedition.

  Because the move had taken so long, the company celebrated Christmas late, on 28 December. William allowed a double ration of grog. He also ordered that a cannon and some muskets be fired. The detonations terrified the locals, but had the effect of reminding those on the shore of the power of the Popa’a weapons. There must be no hostility from the natives, William reminded his officers over their belated Christmas dinner.

  The New Year — 1789 — was imminent, and the season of storms well under way. Tu informed William that te tau miti rahi would last for ‘another four moons’. For all that time the winds would be unfavourable for a return voyage via the Endeavour Straits, William announced to the others. He also told them he had discounted going to the West Indies via Cape Horn, as the winds there would also be adverse during this season. Accordingly, Bounty and her cherished cargo could not possibly leave Tahiti before April, when the storm season was over and the south-easterly trades would begin to blow again.

  William had intended that they would be on Tahiti for twelve weeks; by the time they left it would be closer to five months. How would they spend this additional time?

  Once again only a few of the ship’s company had work which occupied them constructively. The crew went back to their taios, Nelson and Brown resumed their potting, and William spent most of his time hosting Tahiti’s notables aboard or being feted ashore by var
ious chiefs. When Tu, Itia and their entourage came aboard they always brought pork, fish and fruit, so William dined well. Continuing to be flattered by the attention he was accorded by the chiefs, he appeared unconcerned about the condition of the ship.

  The crew now lived for the day, and the day was pretty good. But while Bounty rode gently at anchor at Toaroa, the season’s constant dampness leached its way through her seams, below decks and into the holds. Content to ignore this, the crew carried out minimal duties then returned to their taios.

  Their lassitude was interrupted by a couple of floggings. Muspratt was lashed for neglect of duties and Lamb received a dozen strokes for allowing a meat cleaver to be stolen by a native. But these punishments were out of the ordinary: in general an atmosphere of indolence reigned.

  Fletcher, Peter and Ned now lived ashore with their lovers. Others, including Peckover, Stewart and Martin, spent most of their time on land. All spoke Tahitian well now.

  Fletcher and Peter lay with their backs against palm trunks, drinking nuts beside them. Both wore breeches and the pandanus hats which Mauatua and Maire had woven for them. Fletcher’s skin was like mahogany (‘Brown as me, and I’m half-native,’ as Ned put it), but Peter’s skin was pink. Unlike Fletcher, he had stopped shaving, and his face was covered with auburn whiskers.

  Peter picked up his coconut and swigged from it. Putting it down, wiping the juice from his mouth, he said, ‘I’ve been writing about the arioi people. In my journal. Maire has been telling me about them.’

  Eyes half-closed, Fletcher said, ‘They’re a class of priests, is that right?’