by Graeme Lay
‘In view of the natives’ likely restlessness, you are to take muskets and ammunition,’ Bligh ordered Fletcher. ‘But you are forbidden to fire them.’
‘Will the fact that we are carrying firearms not be provocative?’
‘You will not carry the muskets. You will leave them in the launch.’
‘Then why bother to take them?’
‘As a deterrent.’
Fletcher walked away. Ridiculous.
While Elphinstone went off with four men armed with axes for the wood cutting, Fletcher and eleven others walked to the lake. Some of his men carried the muskets, as he had considered it too great a risk to leave the weapons in the launch. Others rolled the water casks. The sky was graphite-grey, the humidity high.
As the party followed the track, several local men slipped in alongside them, carrying spears and clubs. They were different from the mostly slim Tahitians, Fletcher realised. They were bigger-boned, heavier, stronger. And threatening. Soon they began making darting attacks, jostling the sailors, snatching at their muskets and kicking the water casks. A tall youth leapt at Fletcher, trying to grab his tricorn, and he knocked him aside angrily. Minutes later there was a scuffle at the rear of the party and McCoy cried out, ‘He’s grabbed my axe!’ A man ran towards the bush, wielding it. Fletcher brought his musket up to his shoulder and aimed it at him. The others did the same. But as they had been expressly forbidden to fire, aiming it was all he could do.
When the natives realised the muskets would not be fired they began to jeer. They taunted the sailors with their spears and clubs, waving them in their faces. Some began to throw stones.
Confused, the men looked at Fletcher. ‘What do we do, sir?’ McCoy asked.
‘First, get the casks filled. Under guard.’
While three men stood guard at the lake’s edge, the others filled the barrels and hammered in the bungs. Then, with the natives still hurling what were obviously insults or looking on menacingly, the barrels were rolled back to the shore and loaded into the launch.
Bligh was amidships, entertaining Tapa and three other chiefs, seated and wrapped in the mats the natives called ta’ovala. Fletcher and McCoy climbed up onto the deck.
‘Are the casks filled?’ Bligh demanded of Fletcher.
‘They are. But we had great difficulty carrying out the duties.’
‘How so?’
‘The islanders threatened us.’
‘Did you not have the muskets?’
‘We did, but the natives were unafraid of them.’
‘Why?’
Fletcher spoke through gritted teeth. ‘Because your order prohibited us from using them.’ He turned to McCoy. ‘Was that not the order?’
McCoy nodded. Several of the others did too. They had all heard Bligh say it. Tapa and the other chiefs looked on, frowning, unable to comprehend this exchange.
Bligh took a step forward. His next words struck Fletcher like hurled gravel.
‘You, Christian, are a coward. You are afraid of a few naked savages, even when you are bearing arms.’
Fletcher braced himself. Staring down at his commander, he asked, ‘What use are arms, when your orders were expressly for us not to use them?’
Bligh’s eyes narrowed. ‘You are a disgrace to His Majesty’s Navy. Of all my officers, you are the worst. You are a cowardly scoundrel.’
In the background, the men looked at one another, aghast. This was a very public shaming of a respected officer, and the very worst kind of insult for a commander to hurl at a lieutenant in front of his men. The Nomukan chiefs looked at one another, perplexed. What were these Papalagi doing to one another?
Fletcher could endure no more. Sweating profusely, he glared at Bligh but said nothing. His hands began to shake. Turning on his heels, he went down the aft stairway to his cabin. There he threw himself down on his bunk. What to do? What to do?
Next morning Fryer went ashore with several of the men to repair some barrels. While they were resting a man darted from the bush, snatched up the cooper’s adze and ran off with it. It could not be recovered. Then at the beach, while Fryer’s party was getting into the cutter, a crowd gathered around the boat, threatening to upset it. After Martin threw out a grapnel to stabilise the cutter, a boy dived down, cut the rope, grabbed the grapnel and ran inland with it. Fryer, close to panicking, ordered the men to row back to the ship.
‘You lost an adze and a grapnel?’ Bligh was apoplectic.
Fryer nodded. ‘Yes. Both were stolen.’
Sensing another confrontation, Fletcher came down from the quarterdeck and joined them.
Bligh stamped his foot, Rumpelstiltskin-like. ‘God damn your eyes, man, that brings our equipment losses to three.’ He pointed at Fletcher. ‘First, this one loses an axe, then you, Fryer, lose two more tools. Holy fucking shit, this is insupportable. It’s negligence of the worst kind. You should both be court-martialled!’
Staring straight ahead, Fryer replied, ‘I do not consider the losses very great, sir. We have more axes, and more grapnels, in the hold.’
‘Get to hell and stay there, Fryer! The loss may not be very great to you, but it is to me!’ Bligh bunched his right hand into a fist and shook it at the sky. ‘Was ever a commander cursed with such a useless bunch of officers as I am? That grapnel is precious and I intend to get it back!’
Fletcher and Fryer exchanged glances but said nothing. Both walked away. The commander was out of control.
On Tahiti, Peckover had been in sole charge of trading. This system worked well, preventing the men from accumulating and hoarding native artefacts, which they knew could be sold for profit back in England. But since accumulating heaps of mementos would put pressure on the ship’s stowage space, Bligh had forbidden the practice.
But on their fourth day at anchor off Nomuka, Bligh announced unexpectedly, ‘The men may trade with the natives for what they wish.’
The word spread rapidly. Soon the ship was surrounded by canoes whose occupants brought out clubs, spears, carvings and tapa cloth. Food, too. There was an outbreak of trading, the crew offering their personal trinkets in exchange for what the natives offered them. The four Nomuka chiefs remained on board, mingling with the traders of both parties, offering comments and suggesting terms. There had been nothing like it during the voyage.
The decks became cluttered with artefacts. The carvings included turtles, whales, flying fish and kava bowls. The lengths of tapa, unlike the Tahitian cloth, were decorated with attractive brown patterns.
Fletcher and Peckover looked at the scene in bewilderment. Why had a sensible policy been abandoned in favour of this disorder?
In the midst of the bartering, Bligh climbed onto the quarterdeck and shouted down to Fryer, ‘Order the anchors raised! We’re leaving!’ He waved at the natives. ‘You lot, off! Off!’ Clutching their trinkets, they returned to their canoes. But when the chiefs made to do so, Bligh raised his hand. ‘No! No! You are to stay aboard! Cole and Morrison, stand by the gate and ensure those ones don’t leave!’
Tapa and the other three chiefs were halted at the mid-deck gate. They looked up at Bligh furiously. Tapa shook his fist. Why were they not allowed to leave with the others?
Men raced to the capstan and the yards. The anchors were raised and catted, some sail made, and Bounty moved off to the west, propelled by a sou’easterly breeze.
Fletcher stood on the masthead platform, observing the confusion below. The small canoes had been paddled off, but one double-hulled canoe trailed in Bounty’s wake. It was clear to him why this was so: the men in the big canoe would not abandon their chiefs.
Bligh was shouting now, calling for the officers and crew to assemble on the mid-deck. The four chiefs sat by the rail, frowning, muttering among themselves, irate at being detained.
Fletcher joined the men on the mid-deck, not wanting to go near Bligh. Now he stood alone on the quarterdeck, his pistol tucked into his belt. He began to rant again.
‘The slackness amon
g this ship’s company is deplorable! You are all, officers and crew, a disgrace to the King’s navy! Yesterday a valuable grapnel was stolen by a native, under the very eyes of the officers and crew of this ship. But I intend to get the grapnel back! And I will get it back!’
He drew the pistol from his belt and began waving it about. ‘Peckover, tell that lot in the big canoe the grapnel must be returned. Cole and Morrison, take the natives below. They are to be kept there until the grapnel is returned. And give the buggers some coconuts to husk.’ He leaned over the rail. ‘Do it now!’
The boatswain and his mate obeyed, although they looked far from happy at this order. The chiefs were outraged. This was the very worst kind of insult. Only kakai — commoners — husked coconuts. By being forced to do this work, the chiefs’ mana was being publicly stripped away.
As the men were taken below, Fletcher realised what Bligh’s tactic was. It had been Cook’s strategy, if items of equipment were stolen, to take chiefs hostage and hold them until the objects were returned. Now Bligh was attempting to do the same as Cook had done, notably on the island of Raiatea, when he sought to force the return of some deserters by holding a chief and his family hostage. Yet this furore was over such a minor item. And it was obvious that the chiefs themselves were in no position to force the grapnel to be retrieved. Neither were those in the big canoe.
Fletcher shook his head in frustration. All this strife for one frigging grapnel?
Hours passed. Bligh had gone below. Norton and Linkletter were at the helm, Fryer beside them. Fletcher climbed up to the mainmast platform. The big canoe was still following them. Nomuka was now just a low line away to the south-east.
Without warning Bligh came back up the stairs to the deck. He yelled up at Fryer, ‘Put her about!’
The sheets were loosed, Bounty went about, the sheets were pulled in and made fast. She began to sail on her reversed course. The canoe switched its lateen sail so that its course too was altered. Bligh yelled again, ‘Cole, Morrison! Bring the buggers up from below!’
On the mid-deck, Bligh shook Tapa and the other three by the hand and presented each of them with an axe and a chisel. Although they accepted the tools, they continued to glower at Bligh.
The canoe drew up alongside and the chiefs got down into it. It was filled with furious-looking men.
The canoe’s line was cast off and it quickly slipped away, a tall man controlling its steering paddle. Fletcher and Bounty’s crew watched its departure in silence. This visit had been a disaster. The Friendly Isles? More like the fiendly ones. And their commander was the fiendliest of all.
Bligh returned to the quarterdeck. He declared, ‘You see how I treated those chiefs? That’s the way to do it, show them who’s in charge. The natives always respect a strong attitude.’
Fletcher thought, nothing could be further from the truth. The chiefs had realised they could not for the moment avenge the insult to their mana, so had made a pretence of acquiescing. But they were undoubtedly smouldering inside, like Kao, the nearby volcanic island. He would not like to be aboard the next British ship that called at Nomuka. Retribution would surely erupt towards the ship’s company. And the grapnel has not been returned.
Fletcher kept staring southward towards the declining profile of Nomuka. But his mind lay far beyond it, in Tahiti. The island he had lost. He had many more months to endure on this floating prison, with its malicious gaoler. Bounty had become as much a penal vessel as those Thames prison hulks.
He looked north. Off the starboard bow he could see two spectral shapes, appearing to overlap, one conical and smoking, the other forested with a blunted summit. Kao and Tofua. Above them were dark clouds, bunched and crowded, like a herd of charging elephants. Storm clouds.
‘Mr Christian, have you overseen the cleaning of the crew’s quarters?’
‘I have, sir.’
‘And were they cleaned to your satisfaction?’
‘They were.’
‘Not to mine. I have just inspected them myself. I found filth in the crew’s mess. Unwashed benches and cockroaches. It is not good enough.’
‘I saw no evidence of filth when I left the mess an hour ago.’
‘God damn you, man! I saw it with my own eyes. Filth! I won’t stand for it on this ship!’
‘As I said, the cleaning and washing was done to my satisfaction.’
‘Oh, it was, was it? Well, it was not done to mine. We obviously have different standards, Christian. You may be from a superior class to mine, but always remember, on this ship that counts for nothing. Your Cumbrian pedigree is meaningless now.’
‘I have never claimed otherwise.’
‘But you think it, don’t you? Yes, I know, you think you and your class are superior. But I am in charge here, I control this ship. Never forget that fact. Here your background counts for nothing. Furthermore, you owe me money. Never forget that.’
Fletcher walked away, sickened. To think he once respected the man.
Bligh next appeared on deck at noon the following day. Fletcher was on the quarterdeck with Peter Heywood and Ned Young; Norton and Simpson were on the wheel, Fryer beside them. The captain stalked along the larboard side of the ship. When he reached a pile of coconuts, he stopped. This was his personal supply, supplied by chief Tapa. Bligh turned and called up to Bounty’s master, ‘Mr Fryer, this pile of coconuts appears somewhat reduced. Get down here.’
Fryer studied the pile. ‘It does seem smaller. Perhaps the men walking over it has reduced its size. The deck is so crowded, what with all the livestock and the produce. It obliges the men to walk over the coconuts.’
Bligh shook his head. ‘No, Fryer. I believe a theft has been committed.’ His voice rose as he directed it at Cole. ‘Call the ship’s company together! And tell them to bring up every coconut stowed below!’
The crew stood beside their personal piles of nuts. Some grinned, conscious of the farcical nature of this exercise. The nuts had been traded on Nomuka at the rate of one nail for twenty nuts. Standing beside Fryer, Fletcher shook his head in exasperation.
Noticing the gesture, Bligh swung about. ‘Was it you who stole my coconuts, Christian?’
‘I took one, yes. It was hot last night, I was thirsty, and I thought the loss of one nut of no consequence.’
‘One? One? You lying hound. I believe you have stolen half the pile.’
‘I have not, sir. I took only one.’
Bligh strode over and thrust his face up at Fletcher’s. ‘You lie. You have stolen half of them!’
‘That is not so, sir. Why do think I would be so mean as to steal half your nuts?’
‘Because you are a thief. A thief and a liar.’ He spun about. ‘I’ll get to the bottom of this!’
Later those who were present reported that this seemed like the first act in a charade which was to reach its climax a day later. Bligh interrogated each crew member in turn as he stood beside his personal pile of coconuts. Surrounded by the pig and goat pens, chicken coops and piles of fruit and vegetables, the scene resembled a disorderly country market overseen by an escaped lunatic. And as before, it was his officers at whom Bligh directed most of his vitriol.
‘Young! How many nuts did you buy?’
‘Twenty.’
‘And how many have you eaten?’
Young shrugged. ‘Dunno. I wasn’t counting.’
‘God damn you, man! You’re a rogue as well! Like all my officers! All thieves and scoundrels. Next you’ll be stealing my yams!’ He turned to Samuel, his clerk. ‘The men may take their nuts back below. The officers’ nuts are to be stowed aft and they are not to have the use of them.’ He faced the crew again. ‘You lot, your grog is stopped, and your yam ration halved.’ His voice rose further. ‘I’ll make half of you jump overboard before you get through the Endeavour Straits!’
Fletcher and the other officers stood in silence, astounded at this raving. In one fell swoop their commander had attacked their integrity, curtailed their private an
d public food supply, and stopped their liquor entitlements. Morrison muttered to Fletcher, ‘He’s not touching my nuts. I’ll hide them under my cot.’
Bligh’s eyes swept the assembly again. ‘Attend to your duties!’ He went below.
That afternoon, as Fletcher sat brooding on the after deck, Bligh appeared at the top of the stairway. ‘Mr Christian!’
Fletcher looked up. ‘What is it?’
‘Have your nuts been taken below and stowed?’
‘I did not trade for any nuts on Nomuka, so I have none to stow.’
‘Ha! And I know why. Because you steal them from the others. The way you stole mine. You are a thieving swine, Christian. You are unfit to be an officer!’
Fletcher got up and walked away, his cheeks burning. Tears streamed from his eyes. He went along to the larboard side to the foredeck, trying to put as much distance between himself and the captain as was possible. He felt drained, emptied of hope. Beneath him, Bounty rose and fell with the swells. Now there was only one thing he could do.
Purcell was on the foredeck, working on a repair to the cutter’s keel. The carpenter looked up, and frowned. ‘What is it, Christian?’
‘I can’t take any more.’
‘Of his rages?’ Purcell snorted. ‘You think you’re alone in that?’ He brought his hammer down on a spike nail. ‘You’ve seen the way he treats me.’ He attempted a smile. ‘But bear an even strain, Christian. We have a following wind, and we’re on our way home.’
‘But think what we must endure before then.’ Ashamed of his unmanly tears, Fletcher blinked them away. ‘The Barrier Reef, the Endeavour Straits. He threatens us all with what he will do to us in those waters.’ He shook his head. ‘I tell you, Will, I can take no more of it. I’m leaving.’
‘What do you mean, leaving? The ship?’ Purcell looked around, to determine if anyone else could hear.
‘Yes. I’ll make a raft, and take it to that island.’ He pointed towards distant Tofua. ‘With your help.’
‘That’s a crazy notion.’
