Mutiny on the Bounty

by Peter Fitzsimons

  As Cook watches Bligh head off towards the harbour in the ship’s Jolly Boat – the smallest boat attending the ship, used as a tender – he notices a canoe making its way towards the ship from shore, followed, yes, by others. Many others. Soon there are 50 canoes, all of different length, some being rowed by powerful-looking men, some with a sail, but all full to the gunnels with fierce Natives …

  These are serious canoes, made by a sophisticated people, their craft carved from single trees, with elaborate carvings on the bow, and the biggest of them holding as many as 50 men, moving at a speed of at least ten knots!

  ‘Before ten o’clock there were not fewer than a thousand about the two ships, most of them crowded with people, and well laden with hogs and other productions of the island. We had the most satisfying proof of their friendly intentions; for we did not see a single person who had with them a weapon of any sort. Trade and curiosity alone had brought them off.’21

  In the following hours, crowded, loud and joyous – ‘the natives singing and shouting, and exhibiting a variety of wild and extravagant gestures’ – some of their visitors eventually ‘betray a thievish disposition’22, making off in a canoe with a boat rudder. Cook takes the opportunity to show them, for the first time, the spectacle of firearms. Three muskets and three six-pounders fire over the heads of the men rowing away with the rudder; but it evokes more surprise than fright, and the thieves make no move to turn around.

  That evening, of 16 January 1779, Cook notes with satisfaction in his journal:

  In the evening, Mr Bligh returned and reported that he had found a bay in which good anchorage and fresh water tolerable easy to be come at.23

  He is not surprised that Bligh has done the job quickly and well, nor that he reported back with almost ceremonial pride, his big green eyes sparkling, the corners of his small mouth turned up in self-congratulation. It is Bligh all over. Responsible yet cocksure.

  The following morning, early, Cook gives the orders and the Resolution nudges into Karakakooa Bay, just 13 fathoms to the sandy bottom. The busy crew shorten sails so the ship merely bobs forward at one knot, just a mile per hour, before the Master, Bligh, orders the Resolution turned into the wind, and gives the order, ‘Let go the anchor …’

  Just 400 yards away, across the bay, the Discovery performs the same manoeuvre.

  Still the Natives crowd the decks, hang off the sides and the riggings. The clear water around the ships is filled with women and children, ‘swimming round the ships like shoals of fish’,24 all day long, never appearing to tire. Many hundreds of Natives also watch from the shoreline.

  As the crew get to work, some heading to shore in the ships’ Cutters – larger than the Jolly Boat but smaller than the Launch, and used to ferry supplies from shore to ship – to scout for fresh water, others getting to work on fixing the ships, Cook becomes acquainted with the various local Chiefs who are coming on board, even as his concern grows over the sheer numbers and trustworthiness of these new acquaintances.

  He is visibly angered when he is gravely informed that the Hawaiians have been swimming under the boats and pulling out nails, something that actually risks sinking them. One of the thieves is caught and flogged on board the Discovery. For their part, the Natives are growing curious about when the Europeans plan to leave. They are no doubt wary of the extraordinary amount of supplies Cook and his men are accepting and trading. It has been one thing for them to come and fill their shrunken bellies for a while, but their stay at this bay is now 16 days old, and the sheer quantity of produce they are taking is a worry. If it continues, the Hawaiians will not have enough for themselves, and they will go hungry.

  Finally, the day of departure arrives – 4 February 1779. Unfortunately, their absence is short-lived, for a few days later a crucial foremast is wrenched from its cradle, which means they must return to damn Hawaii, for repairs.

  As they sail into the bay, they find their reception ‘very different from what it had been on our first arrival’.25

  For this time, as they enter the bay, there aren’t hundreds of canoes being paddled towards them nor the shouts of thousands of natives welcoming them.

  Instead, there are … none. No-one there at all, ‘only here and there a canoe stealing close to the shore’.26

  The Hawaiians, it seems, are not pleased about something.

  ‘Our return to this bay,’ one of the crew-members, John Ledyard, would chronicle, ‘was as disagreeable to us as it was to the inhabitants, for we were reciprocally tired of each other …’27

  When King Terreeoboo arrives the following morning and greets Captain Cook, friendly intercourse resumes once more.

  Still, sceptical officers like Master William Bligh, and he is not alone, harbour doubts about the depths of this friendship. While Bligh neither knows nor cares what English swabs feel about anything, he has a different approach to Natives, reckoning it is important to both know and care, and he prides himself on having nearly a sixth sense as to their collective mood. And today, something is up. He is not sure what it is yet. But it is very likely bad, and he can feel it in his bones.

  The common sailor Ledyard feels the same.

  ‘The provisions, both in quantity and quality, plainly informed us that times were altered,’ Ledyard records. ‘It was also equally evident from the looks of the natives, as well as every other appearance, that our former friendship was at an end, and that we had nothing to do but to hasten our departure to some different island, where our vices were not known, and where our extrinsic virtues might gain us another short space of being wondered at, and doing as we pleased.’28

  It is the once peaceful Captain Cook who grows unfriendly first and fastest, for on the Discovery on this day, tongs and tools are stolen, and on land, some of the Natives throw stones at the men in the watering party.

  Captain Cook orders his 2nd Lieutenant, James King, ‘in case of their beginning to throw stones or behave insolently, immediately to fire a ball at the offenders’. It is not long before they hear a ‘continued fire of muskets from the Discovery’. The shots appear to be directed at a canoe, which is escaping towards the shore. Cook, King and some Marines give chase, following the culprits, who are making their escape.

  Meanwhile, back on the beach, Thomas Edgar, Master for the Discovery, is involved in an unarmed tussle with a young chief, Pareera. Blows are exchanged, an oar is snapped, over a knee or head no-one is sure, but things have now degenerated into danger.

  When Captain Cook returns from his fruitless pursuit of the thieves, he is informed of the altercation.

  ‘I am afraid,’ he says to 2nd Lieutenant King with anger in his voice, ‘that these people will oblige me to use some violent measures; for they must not be left to imagine that they have gained some sort of advantage over us.’29

  Reluctantly, for violence does not come easily to him, his Master, William Bligh, agrees. Force is the only thing these Natives will respect, the only thing that will bring them to heel. And yet, at least for the moment, other officers intervene, to pacify Cook and delay reckless retribution.

  At dawn on 14 February 1779, Cook is woken by a message of troubling news from the Discovery: the ship’s large Cutter, ‘which had been moored to a buoy’, ‘was missing, and on examining, the Rope which fastened her was found to have been cut …’30 It has been stolen during the night. A whole boat gone!

  This is the last straw. Cook moves quickly.

  He orders the Marines to arm, immediately, and station themselves across the bay – both on water and land – to ‘prevent any of the sailing canoes going out’.31

  The Discovery’s Launch heads to the south point, under the command of 2nd Lieutenant John Rickman, while the large Cutter of the Resolution, commanded by Master William Bligh, is sent in chase of a sailing canoe heading out of the bay.

  As is Cook’s usual practice when things go missing, he intends on pleasantly, politely, bringing the King and his two sons on board the Resolution, only to then hold t
hem hostage until such time as the Discovery’s Cutter is found and returned. A mean trick? Kidnapping? Yes, but effective.

  It is a beautiful, sunny morning, precisely as Hawaii specialises in, when, just after 7.30 am, Cook loads his double-barrelled gun, climbs down into his ship’s Jolly Boat, where his 2nd Lieutenant, Molesworth Phillips, the commander of the Marines on the Resolution, awaits with nine well-armed Marines, all sitting by their oars, ready to pull their commander to shore, and protect him thereafter. A Launch accompanies the Captain.

  Captain Cook heads towards the town of Kavarooa, where King Terreeoboo lives.

  •

  There they are!

  In his large Cutter, perhaps half a mile away, Master William Bligh is catching up to the fleeing canoe in the south end of the bay. At the same time, Lieutenant John Rickman, in the same part of the bay, spots another canoe. Both English officers, and their crews, close fast. But, the thieving ‘Indians’ are getting away. Desperate to stop them, Bligh orders his men to fire, and with the volley of shots in the far distance, Cook turns.32

  Unwise?

  Perhaps. The boldness of Bligh prompts Rickman to follow suit, he orders his men to fire too, and in short order Nooenemar, a Chief ‘of the first rank’,33 – not a thief – is killed. Things are spinning out of control. Before Cook has even made land, a Chief is dead. How will the Natives on the beach react when they hear the news?

  •

  Yes, Cook sees the distant hubbub out on the water, close by the rocks, but he and his men must stay focused.

  ‘The Indians will not stand the fire of a single musket,’34 he reassures his men, and with that turns his gaze resolutely to the shoreline and beyond, to the cluster of huts where the King is to be found.

  Just before 8 am, Captain Cook lands.

  He orders the Marines in the Launch to stay put with the Jolly Boat, and marches up the beach with his ten-strong guard, and into the village. The Natives are none the wiser about his intentions as they show him their ‘usual marks of respect’35 as he passes.

  Captain Cook waits for the King to emerge, as a matter of courtesy. Out he finally comes, only ‘just awoke from a sleep’36 and greets Cook, who gets straight to explaining the situation with the stolen Cutter.

  The King ‘squatted down upon his hams as a mark of humiliation’.37

  The old man tells Cook that he is ‘innocent of the Cutter’s being stolen’.38

  Of course. With practised, easy deception, Cook takes Terreeoboo by the hand and asks if he will accompany him to the Resolution, to discuss this further?

  He will.

  Nearby, standing on the beach, Able Seaman William Peckover watches the extraordinary scene closely, as the British Captain and Hawaiian Chief clasp each other’s hands tightly, as they purposefully make their way to the shore, even as wild tension flares all around. No, there are no shouts, no stones being hurled. It is much more terrifying than that. Instead, there is a rumble, a murderous murmuring, a strange and sinister noise – not quite of this world – that slowly gets louder as the news spreads among the Natives. News of death. A Chief killed, by the Britishers. Shot.

  Resolute, Cook continues walking towards the boats waiting by the shore. The youngest of Terreeoboo’s sons, Kaoowa, is already waiting in the Jolly Boat. The green pathway under the Captain’s and King’s feet gives way to the hot black rocks of the beach when, suddenly, the boy’s mother – one of the King’s favourite wives – comes from the village, and upon reaching Terreeoboo, grabs him by the neck and implores him to stay on land, her tears flowing, her voice strained. Behind her come two Chiefs, who insist the same and eventually force their King to sit down on the ground. They tell him ‘he would be put to death if he went on board the ship’.39 For death has already come today, from one of the British boats!

  Bligh. It was that shot that started the volley, the volley that killed a Chief and now Cook can feel the powerful Royal hand in his tighten with rage, the knuckles white.

  The King’s countenance changes, the Hawaiians seem alarmed, and converse in a manner far too fast for Cook or any of the Marines to follow. People are gathering. Some in the village are seen putting on their war-mats – a native armour made of woven plants then soaked in water – and are ‘arming themselves with long spears, clubs, and daggers’.40

  Captain Cook talks as best he can, trying to persuade the King that no harm is intended, but after no more than ‘ten minutes with Terreeoboo he is surrounded by three or four hundred people’.41

  The situation is not easy. Bligh watches, bobbing in his boat, his glass to his eye, how will the Captain deal with this mob?

  Cook can see no way forward. He quickly decides to let the whole ruse go.

  ‘[The King] cannot be forced on board without killing a number of people,’42 he tells the Marines near him, and they all understand. No-one wants that.

  ‘Lieutenant Phillips,’ Cook says quietly, but with urgency. ‘Withdraw the men, and get them into the boats.’43

  A Marine approaches Cook with the news he has been dreading. ‘The Indians,’ the Marine says, ‘will attack in a few minutes. I have just overheard the man I have just stopped say that our boats which were out in the harbour had just killed his brother and he would be revenged.’44

  The numbers of Natives continues to expand, as does their anger.

  Most worryingly, many have started to pick up stones in each hand, and are now knocking them together with an alarming rhythm, the quickening beat of an attack that is surely building.

  Clack, clack, clack-clack …

  The mob starts to close on Cook and his men, swirling around them, beating their rocks, yelling, shaking their fists and weapons. Steady now, lads, steady. For Cook knows that to make any sudden move now, show any signs of panic, is to die.

  Clack, clack, clack-clack …

  In the end, however, it is Captain Cook who must act, as he is confronted by ‘the insolence of a man armed with a thick mat and a long spike’.45

  Taking his gun, Cook aims it at the threatening Native and pulls the trigger. As the barrel is loaded only with small shot, it is not intended to kill, merely to hurt – and to warn the others off.

  The instant the shot is fired, there is a momentary pause as everyone – Cook, the Native, and the men backing each of them – look to see the result.

  He is still standing! The shot did not penetrate the Native’s water-soaked war-mat.

  Clack, clack, clack-clack …

  Captain Cook’s assailant is now convinced that Cook is not invincible, and, worse, aggrieved that Cook has fired at him … he charges!

  Alarmed, desperate, Cook fires his second barrel, this one ‘loaded with a ball’.46 He misses, but his shot finds another Native, who drops to the ground.

  From next to Cook, Lieutenant Phillips shoots at the assailant, killing him.

  In an instant, all is chaos. ‘A general attack with stones immediately follows’47 as the numerous Natives close in even more.

  Captain Cook hesitates no more.

  ‘Fire!’48 he calls to the Marines still lined up along the rocks. The muskets are discharged with a thunderous roar. But, as 2nd Lieutenant King later wrote, ‘the islanders, contrary to the expectations of every one, stood the fire with great firmness; and before the marines had time to reload, they broke in upon them with dreadful shouts and yells. What followed was a scene of the utmost horror and confusion.’49

  This haphazard firing, however, will draw fierce criticism from William Bligh, watching contemptuously out in the bay.

  ‘The marines fired & ran,’ he will recount, ‘which occasioned all that followed, for had they fixed their bayonets & not have run, so frightened as they were, they might have drove all before them.’50

  All is mayhem and murder, as the musket-balls fly, spears are thrown, and clubs swing. Before long, four of the Marines are cut off amongst the rocks in their retreat, others have taken to the water, while 2nd Lieutenant Phillips, still nearby his
Captain, is stabbed between his shoulders with a pahooa.

  Cook turns his back on the angry Natives and waves his hat to the officers in the boats just offshore.

  What does he mean by that?

  Exactly.

  Lieutenant John Williamson, in the Launch, will ever after claim that Cook was signalling for the men in the boat to retreat, to save themselves. And so Williamson orders his men to retreat, with some enthusiasm – an order that is instantly obeyed – leaving just the Jolly Boat close by.

  Lieutenant King, for his part, would insist that Cook waved with his hat for them ‘to cease firing, and to pull in’.51

  Bligh, who swears and curses at the sights in his glass, is sure that Cook is calling for their urgent assistance, for them to do the obvious: drive their boats onto the shore, land, and charge at the Indians.

  Whatever Cook’s intention, there is no doubt as to the result of his turning his back on the crowd. One of the Native Chiefs comes up behind Cook, who is now making his way towards the safety of the Jolly Boat. Wielding a club, the Native strikes Cook in the back of the head.

  Cook staggers forward, drops his musket and falls to one knee, hands in the lapping water.

  As he rises, another Native Chief brings a dagger right down into the middle of Cook’s back. The blade passes ‘quite through’52 James Cook, and his whole body seizes in shock and pain.