‘If I should speak to him as you do, he would probably break me, turn me before the mast and perhaps flog me,’86 continues Christian. Yes, Purcell is well aware of this, and couldn’t agree more with the upset young man’s assessment, for he has no doubt that Bligh would do exactly that. But still he is profoundly shocked by Fletcher’s next words.
‘And if he did,’ continues the now suddenly angry Christian, ‘it would be the death of us both, for I am sure I should take him in my arms and jump overboard with him.’87
What?
Look, it is one thing for Bligh to be a madman when it comes to rage. Purcell knows that. But, Fletcher Christian to match him? To talk openly of killing a Captain?
‘Never mind, it is but for a short time longer,’88 says Purcell, as lightly as he can muster.
Fletcher Christian’s murmured reply stuns the Carpenter.
Mr Purcell, I need wood, lots of wood, with which I intend to build a raft. I am going to desert the Bounty this very night.
You’re what, Mr Christian? You’re what?
I am going to build a raft, and cast off in the middle of the ocean.
Why, sir, this is madness, and suicidal madness at that!
No, he does not think he can get all the way back to Tahiti, or even close. As a matter of fact …
‘He did not expect to reach the shore upon the raft,’ one of Christian’s men would later explain, ‘but was in hopes of being seen and taken up by some of the natives in their canoes.’89
Or, maybe, he will be lucky, and the tides will drift him towards Tofoa.
For Christian, what happens afterwards is just a bonus. The first part of the plan, to be separated from Bligh, at any price, will be accomplished the moment he casts off!
This is not the plan of a man thinking right.
In desperation, Purcell goes in search of two men Christian might listen to – two who can be trusted to be silent about this mad plan – Cole, the Bosun, and Stewart, the young Midshipman. They must make Christian see reason!
Both men try, having hurried, hushed conversations with him. But Christian will not see sweet reason.
‘I would rather die ten thousand deaths, than bear this treatment,’90 Christian growls, like a wounded lion. ‘I always do my duty as an officer and a man ought to, yet I receive this scandalous usage.’91
‘Keep your heart up!’ encourages Cole. ‘Do not mind what has passed.’92
‘To be counted a thief is more than I can bear,’93 replies Christian.
But Fletcher …
‘Flesh and blood,’ Christian bursts forth, ‘cannot bear this treatment.’94
Yes, he insists, he would sooner death before dishonour.
Very well, Purcell and Cole agree to do their bit to help him assemble what he needs.
•
Below, in his small, dark cabin, Bligh is quite calm – as all that unpleasantness is quickly forgotten, as it nearly always is – and has checked his calculations, marked his charts, and now records in the ship’s Log the major event of the day.
Served fresh pork and yams as yesterday.95
Still, when he thinks about it, perhaps he had been a bit strong on the issue of the coconuts? Should he perhaps do something about it?
Yes, why not …?
•
On deck, the officers, with Christian at their centre, continue to murmur in the wan moonlight breaking through the light rain clouds that hover in the sky as the Bounty sails slowly through the gentle swell on a subtle breeze. She leaves a sparkling phosphorescence in her wake, an unlikely trail of elegance for what is now afoot on deck. There is a wonderful purity to sailing like this, the ship gently rocking to a mesmerising natural rhythm, as the three masts slice slow, graceful arcs through the night sky. But are they murmuring too loudly?
Someone is coming!
It proves to be the Bosun’s Mate, Morrison. And Morrison, a curious man by nature, has indeed noticed something, and even heard a snatch of strange conversation between Purcell and Cole.
‘It won’t do tonight,’96 Purcell says.
What won’t do? Morrison is not sure.
Whatever they are doing, it can’t be too bad when Fletcher Christian, the ship’s nominal second officer, is right there among them.
In the meantime, one more member of the ship’s crew is brought to Christian’s side, a young fellow who he trusts implicitly – fellow Manxman, young Peter Heywood.
On receipt of the extraordinary news, and witnessing with his own eyes that Christian is quite serious – as he takes a plank stolen from supplies, and lashes it to the two masts of the Launch – young Peter does his best to persuade his friend, his mentor, against pursuing his plan.
Fletcher, please!
You must know that:
Captain Bligh will stop at nothing, just as he stopped at nothing to bring back Churchill and the other deserters. And even if he doesn’t turn the ship around to scour the oceans, how will you get back to Tahiti and Isabella? How will you survive, Fletcher?
To these questions, Christian has no answers, only his continued commitment. So what can Peter, as a good friend, do?
He helps. In fact, all of them – Christian, Heywood, Stewart, Cole and Purcell – continue to work quietly, lashing the craft together and hastily assembling some provisions for whatever lies ahead.
Now, what else might he need?
Ah, yes.
Of course, on the very off-chance that Christian survives long enough to drift or paddle on to a populated island, he will need something to trade, so Fletcher decides the best thing will be to take the most valuable item: iron nails.
‘Take as many as you please out of the locker,’ says Purcell.
A shadow falls over them. Christian looks up to see Bligh’s cowering clerk, Samuel, gazing upon him.
‘Mr Christian, you are asked to dine with Captain Bligh,’97 says Samuel blithely.
Christian’s jaw falls open, stupefied.
‘I am unwell,’98 he offers.
Very well then, Samuel bears the news to Bligh, only to return a short time later.
The Captain wonders whether any officers care to ‘join him for dinner?’99
There is an uncomfortable pause.
For the truth is, the officers here would sooner put a red-hot nail in their ears than join Bligh for dinner and so they have come to an agreement on this point, privately, as their own gentlemanly form of protest. None shall share the Captain’s table, none of the officers so recently insulted would … but wait!
One of the officers breaks ranks.
Midshipman Thomas Hayward decides he would like to dine with the Captain and quickly departs, ‘hissed by all the rest’.100 The pathetic Hayward. Such a treacherous toady!
Christian focuses now on the only thing that counts: preparing to depart. While he continues building the raft, one of his friends heads below to his cabin, and returns with his letters and papers, which Christian starts to tear up and throw overboard.
To the few men on deck, who look at him quizzically, the Acting Lieutenant is quick to explain.
‘I would not wish everybody to see my letters,’101 says he, speaking already as a man who knows he will be dead on the morrow, or soon thereafter. In that same spirit Christian gives away ‘all his Tahitian curiosities’,102 with his nearest and dearest, Heywood and Stewart, taking their share – though both continue to hope that Christian will soon come to his senses.
Now, while most of the ship’s crew are below, eating their supper, Christian and his friends hide the small raft in the Bounty’s Launch – sssshhhh, easy now – so it can be easily retrieved in the night, once it is Christian’s watch.
As it happens, after supper it is Mr Fryer who must take command of the first watch of the night, and the Master is just gazing out to the stern, noting the previously hazy cloud cover giving way to a clear night, when Bligh happens by, and the two actually engage in a brief, civil conversation. Perhaps Bligh has realised he has go
ne too far on this day – Christian has never before refused an invitation to his table – and feels he must do something to dissipate the ill-will. Whatever it is, Fryer indulges his Captain.
‘Sir, there is a breeze springing up fare and a young moon, which will be lucky for us to come on the coast of New Holland,’103 he says.
‘Yes, Mr Fryer,’ Captain Bligh replies, ‘it will be very lucky for us to get on the coast with a good moon.’104
For, of course, the new moon frequently brings with it a change to fair weather and Bligh knows that Captain Cook had noted the presence off the coast of New Holland of some rather long and tricky reefs. They will have to navigate their way through them very carefully, before finding their way to Endeavour Strait, off the northern tip of New Holland, and continuing west from there.
The two chat a little more before Bligh gives the night’s orders and retires to his cabin.
And now, it seems, even the Gods themselves have concluded it is madness for such a good man as Fletcher Christian to so foolishly throw his life away, and so they intervene. That slight breeze that Fryer had noted? It vanishes with Captain Bligh. Our lady in the riding habit eases and slows from a lazy trot to an ambling walk.
Even Alec Smith, the rough tough from Hackney, East London, who is little given to poetic reflection or the soft contemplation of anything, will be moved to note …
‘It was one of those beautiful nights which characterize the tropical regions, when the mildness of the air and the stillness of nature dispose the mind to reflection.’105
All of which means that while it is wonderful weather for reverie, it is horrifyingly hopeless for desertion.
For his part, Christian’s mind is as far from quietly reflective as it gets, racing over the insults of the day, the decision he has taken, the risk he will be running … and the fact that the fading cloud cover and wind are now conspiring to keep him on the ship!
Could anything more possibly go wrong?
A flare in the distance.
A rumbling across the waters.
Of course. At this very moment, the volcano on the island of Tofoa erupts, casting an unearthly glow on the deck of the Bounty and inevitably bringing more crew up from below to gaze upon it. Christian’s faint hopes for an unseen departure from an all but deserted deck disappear.
Of all the times!
Of all the nights! So Christian must wait quietly on the after-deck, as the Bounty bobs along on the moonlit swell, the old barque creaks, and the glow from the volcano helps to dimly illuminate the sails now starting to give small flaps of interest at the rising breeze, even as Mr Fryer hands over command of the watch to the Gunner, William Peckover, at midnight.
With that light breeze comes a smell like burnt gunpowder – the sulphurous wafts from the still erupting volcano. But the breeze soon dies away once more, leaving a silent calm – deadly calm, infernal calm – and Christian is left alone to stew once more on the outrages of the previous morning.
‘You damned hound … You must have stolen half … God damn you … You scoundrels, you are all thieves … I’ll make half of you jump overboard before you get through the Endeavour Strait!’
The hide of the man! The damn impertinence!
Over and over, extreme emotions tumble through his tortured soul. The volcano glows in the distance, its once acute and acrid smell now just the odd passing sulphuric whiff. The ocean laps gently at the hull, the canvas sails flap uselessly, the dripstones …
Drip, drip, drip … drop.
A mess of jangled nerves, Christian remains intent on launching his raft and making good his escape, but the deck remains too crowded, and at half past three in the morning, just half an hour before he is due to take command of his watch, Fletcher Christian decides to snatch some rest below, so he can indeed be found in his cabin when it is his turn to take watch.
Four bells, and all is not well.
Stewart, who is on the next watch, has something he must say to Christian, just six words that he hastens to get out, for if Fletcher embraces them, the course of history, not to mention the course of the Bounty, will change. You see, whispers on the waves in the dead of night, mutinous murmurings, George has been very quietly talking to many of the men.
‘The people,’ he breathes conspiratorially to Fletcher, leaning in close, ‘are ripe for anything …’106
It is time for the Knights of Tahiti to rise! Let us reveal ourselves, and rule!
Mutiny. The men are ripe for mutiny, Fletcher, for seizing the ship, and being done with that bastard Bligh for good.
Stewart makes his case quickly and convincingly.
‘Rather than risk your life on so hazardous an expedition, endeavour to take possession of the ship!’107
A sparkle flickers in Fletcher’s eyes.
‘It will not be very difficult,’ Stewart continues, ‘as many of the ship’s company are not well disposed towards the Commander. All will be very glad to return to Tahiti, and reside among our friends in that island!’108
Fletcher looks down at the sorry pile of wood and ropes he had been about to trust his chances on, turning himself into a piece of human jetsam, then looks to the mighty masts of the Bounty and the sails high above. In an instant, the whole conversation has turned from desertion to mutiny, and their whispers become ever more urgent accordingly.
Yes …
Yes …
Christian notes that there are only two possibilities: the rising sun will find him commander of the Bounty or it will find him dead.
‘If I fail,’ Fletcher says firmly, ‘I will throw myself into the sea.’109
To that effect, Stewart watches, dismayed, as Christian takes a deep sea lead attached to a length of rope, and ties it around his own neck, before concealing it all beneath his clothes. His intent is clear. Any mishap on this mutiny, any chance he will be captured, then he will jump to his death first.
Better that than humiliation at the hands of Bligh, a likely shipboard trial, and either being lashed to death, or a hanging.
The pair share an intense glance. Young George Stewart realises how quickly this is all moving. Fletcher Christian thinks of Isabella.
Alea iacta est, the die is cast …
CHAPTER SEVEN
MUTINY ON THE BOUNTY
Awake, bold Bligh! the foe is at the gate!
Awake! awake!——Alas! it is too late!
Fiercely beside thy cot the mutineer
Stands, and proclaims the reign of rage and fear.
Thy limbs are bound, the bayonet at thy breast;
The hands, which trembled at thy voice, arrest;
Dragged o’er the deck, no more at thy command
The obedient helm shall veer, the sail expand;1
Lord Byron, ‘The Island’
Men did not desert because they hated their commanders, or salt pork, or weevily biscuits; they deserted for love.2
John Beaglehole, the historian who was the first
to comprehensively compile and edit Cook’s journals
4 am, 28 April 1789, off the Friendly Islands, cometh the hour, cometh the men
Drip, drip, drip … drop.
More whispers on the waves in the wee, wee hours …
Knowing that everything is moving into place, Stewart returns to his berth as normal. No indication can be given that anything is amiss.
When Fletcher Christian comes back on deck to start his watch, his lead weight secreted under his worn shirt, he looks around at the sailors, the men he must delicately, oh so delicately, test out. Every word he utters, he is keenly aware, puts his life in danger. For merely to suggest a mutiny is to offer a fellow sailor a noose, and invite him to put it over his own neck, or Christian’s. If the sailor joins the mutiny the sailor’s own life is in peril. If the sailor alerts Bligh, Christian himself will surely swing.
Christian looks around the deck and for once – twice if you count the flagging wind preventing his slow suicide by raft – the Gods are smiling on him
. Every man-jack on watch with him this evening has been flogged on Bligh’s orders. True, on the Bounty the list of those who have been beaten is long, but it really is remarkable to have such a rogues’ gallery with Christian at this time, led by the always glowering, resentful Matt Quintal who, just like Christian, has a beautiful young woman he longs to return to.
Surely, he is the most likely to turn? Once the men from the last watch are safely below, Christian slyly approaches the likely lad, and leans in.
He starts by talking in hushed tones of old times on Tahiti, the women they’ve left behind, the difficulties the ship has known under Bligh since they left, and … gaining confidence from Quintal’s impassioned and angry responses, finally ‘discloses his intentions’.3
Quintal’s angry eyes flash in the gloom as he silently considers the proposal, and the chance of revenge on that bastard, Bligh. Fletcher Christian is more confident than ever of the response.
‘I think,’ Quintal finally says, slowly, ‘it a dangerous attempt and decline taking a part.’4
Christian’s heart pounds, and he near gasps. Not even the rough and subversive Quintal will join him? Desperate to show this thug just what level his own commitment is, Christian rips open his shirt to reveal the heavy lead weight.
You see there, Quintal?
The angry eyes open wider just to see it, and Christian seizes the moment.
‘Coward!’ he accuses Quintal. ‘It is fear alone that restrains you.’5
‘No!’ protests Quintal, which is all the opening Christian needs to resume his persuasion.
‘Success will restore us all to the happy island [of Tahiti], and the connections we have left behind,’6 Christian insists.
Quintal, as Machiavellian as he is malevolent, offers a way forward.
‘Someone else should be tried,’ he says, indicating others on the watch, just yonder.
Christian leans forward. And who would that be …?
‘Isaac Martin.’7
Quintal avers that if Martin joins, well, then, he might very well follow.
Mutiny on the Bounty Page 22
