Mutiny on the Bounty

by Peter Fitzsimons

  (It is not as if the Mutineers need reminding, but there it is. As voluptuous and available as the Tahitian maidens are, they can be very dangerous indeed.)

  June 1789, Tahiti, let no man be put asunder

  Dearly beloved, we are gathered here in the sight of God … to witness the union, of this man, Fletcher Christian, and this woman, Isabella – known to her parents as ‘Mauatua’, and to the men of the Bounty as ‘Mainmast’.

  Actually, with no Christian priest to preside, most of the ceremony on this splendid day is conducted by a Tahitian priest, though of ceremony itself, there is precious little. That is not the way in Tahiti.

  As James Morrison – a man of deep faith, if not always faithful to it – notes, in Tahiti the couple ‘join, and are called man and wife without ceremony except the greeting of their friends, who present them with hogs, cloths and sundry necessary articles’.16

  Nevertheless, it is a grand occasion for both the Mutineers and the Tahitians, a union between their best and most beautiful.

  Even surly Mr Coleman,17 one of the four Loyalists on the island, will note his broad approval, starting with the form of Isabella.

  ‘She was young, affectionate, genteel, and … she might well be accounted handsome. Their mutual affection was remarkable, and the sincerity of their loves indisputable. In short, they were married according to their fashion … exchanging mutual promises before all their friends who are on this occasion invited.’18

  For Christian, his dearest wish has been accomplished. This glorious woman has transformed his life and shown him the extraordinary possibilities of existence. Clearly, Isabella feels the same about him.

  Tane, the God of Gods, beams upon their binding, it shall be good, it shall be great, and it will be a love filled with the warmth of the sun above, the lustre of the moon, a love for all time.

  Christian’s happiness is complete, and he is not the only one. For, shortly thereafter, George Stewart also marries a beautiful maiden, as does Thomas McIntosh marry his beautiful ‘Mary’, who he can barely bear to be without for even a few minutes. Still, come nightfall, when away from the others, Mary becomes aware of a secret sadness – her husband weeping for William Bligh and the Loyalists they have cast away in the middle of the ocean. Talking to other brides, Mary realises Thomas is not alone, as boys like Monkey Ellison – less able to contain his emotions – even weep at the mention of Bligh’s name. As far as they know, Bligh is dead, as are all their crewmates on that Launch. The unknown fate of their former comrades stalks their current happiness, lurking behind each peaceful moment and glorious day.

  There is also growing dissension, and even anger, among the Mutineers, on Christian’s insistence that they are only to stay in Tahiti for a short time, to re-victual, gather the Tahitians who want to come with them, and then be on their way.

  Must they really leave here?

  Could they ever have it better?

  And while, on the one hand, many of the Mutineers hope the Loyalists are still alive – for then their act would be only mutiny not murder – they must face the truth. There is only an infinitesimal chance that, in that tiny boat, any of them would ever survive long enough to inform the Admiralty of what has happened.

  9 June 1789, on the Launch, a dolphin does little to dispel the gloom

  In the course of their journey so far, they have caught the odd fish, as well as the odd bird – all to be divided, gizzards and all, with ruthless economy, and eaten raw. For in this realm, beggars are not choosers, they are devourers.

  On this sunny afternoon, the sails are full, they have rounded the top of New Holland and they are pushing to the west at a rate of four knots, with a moderate easterly breeze, when suddenly there is a hard jerk on the fishing line they have had trailing behind the boat for most of the journey – without success to this point – and all hell breaks loose with wild thrashing in the waters behind them. They have caught something! Yes, look there, leaping out of the water! A DOLPHIN has swallowed whole the hook.

  Haul, me hearties, haul, and get it on the boat!

  It takes some doing for the much weakened crew to get such a powerful creature on to the Launch – and all the while they are terrified the dolphin will shake loose and free itself – but finally, amid much shouting, it is on board and stabbed until it lies still, with only its gimlet eye staring at them to tell of the brutality of what has just occurred.

  No matter. Bligh orders each man to be served with two ounces of dolphin, the awful offal included, and has the rest cut into slices to be dried in the sun. The men gulp down the first serving, unthinking and ravenous.

  At daylight, 10 June, of course they beg for more, to stave off the starvation that is once more getting a grip on their very souls, but Bligh insists they must wait till evening.

  ‘A few days and we will be in Timor,’ he assures them, masking his own abiding doubt. Looking around he can ‘see an alteration for the worse with more than half my people whose looks rather indicated an approaching end to their distresses.’19

  That end is death, not land, unless he can make such food as they do have, last, just on the top side of starvation rations.

  Served the usual allowance of bread and water and at noon we dined on the remainder of the dolphin … 1 oz, per man.20

  By the next morning again, 11 June, things are even worse as more and more men appear to succumb to the terrible toll of their trials: ashen faces, swollen limbs, an inability to concentrate and comprehend, a propensity to lie practically comatose at all times.

  Noting that Ledward and Lebogue seem the worst, Bligh gives both men a few precious teaspoons of wine, ‘out of the little I have preserved for this dreadful Stage’,21 before turning his attention to Cole, who, if he is not quite at death’s door, is at least well up the path leading to it, and readying to knock.

  And yet, still Cole is not so far gone that he can’t summon some compassion of his own.

  ‘Captain, I really think you look worse than anyone in the boat,’22 Cole says.

  In response, Bligh cannot help himself, and laughs loudly. Here he is trying to restore life to a man on the edge of death, and that man only has to take one look at Bligh and reckons his Captain will be dead before him!

  ‘I had,’ Bligh will record, ‘good humour enough to return him a better compliment.’23

  Thank you, Mr Cole, but, I assure you, I am in better shape than you are!

  Death may indeed be their portion, but, in the meantime, the rations will remain as constant as Bligh has deemed.

  •

  Still, when the sun is at its zenith at midday on this 11th day of June, Bligh, as ever, takes his sextant, and Fryer his old quadrant – and they both take sightings of the sun’s altitude, before consulting the nautical tables and doing their calculations. As ever, they both check their calculations twice, before comparing, a practice that, in the past, has sometimes enabled Bligh to determine just how wrong Fryer has got it this time.

  Today, however, they are in full agreement and Bligh is happy to share their conclusion: ‘allowing the East End of Timor to be 128°00’ East [our] distance from it is only 33 leagues’.24

  A flicker of joy registers on those Loyalists who still have the energy to register anything at all. Just a little over a hundred miles to go …

  Still, Bligh being Bligh and Fryer being Fryer, their satisfaction is not long in turning into spiteful bickering, as that very evening they catch a booby bird, which, as Bligh recounts, ‘I reserved for our Dinner, but I had some difficulty to stop the Master’s muttering because I would not serve it for Breakfast, for this ignorant Man conceived he was instantly to be in the midst of plenty’.25

  We are not at Timor yet, Mr Fryer.

  Tension between Mr Fryer and Captain Bligh soon rises further still as a haze descends, and the Master becomes convinced that Captain Bligh is steering them wrong, convinced as Bligh is that the land he can see in the distance is Timor, while Mr Fryer is equally certain – and
he says so loudly and with conviction – they are just islands. But Captain Bligh apparently cares so little for what Mr Fryer thinks, that he maintains his course, leaving the Master no choice but to wait to see how long it takes this master of mapping, this bastard Bligh, to realise his mistake.

  Still, as the Launch ploughs on, others in the boat begin to feel ‘rather uneasy’26 with their course and with Bligh’s decision, for if Bligh is wrong a single day of delay might see more than a couple of men dead. As the hours pass, a muted muttering begins, growing ever louder: Mr Fryer, speak with the Captain.

  But Fryer will have none of it.

  ‘Captain Bligh,’ he tells the mutterers, ‘never asked my opinion.’27

  But, equally, let there be no mistake, as he is happy to share that opinion with them. ‘They are islands some distance from Timor,’28 he says.

  ‘They must be the islands of Roti!’ Peckover agrees. ‘I remember when I was there with Captain Cook we could see Timor!’29

  Peckover’s words add to the general alarm. For if they continue Bligh’s course they risk missing the settlement entirely, and possibly even heading out into the Indian Ocean, to be swept along by the trade winds.

  With Bligh now out of earshot, engaged in deep conversation at the back of the Launch with Nelson, Fryer is up the other end, meaning more officers and men can approach him, to now openly voice their fears.

  ‘Mr Fryer, them are islands!’30 says one man, panicked.

  ‘We are running off from land,’ mutters an officer. ‘After all our suffering we shall get nowhere!’31

  Taking matters into his own hands, Peckover carefully threads his way to the stern of the Launch, and dares to interrupt the conversation between Bligh and Nelson, voicing his concerns. Interrupting him, Bligh calls out a question to the front.

  ‘Mr Fryer, what do you think of that land ahead?’32

  ‘What I first thought it was,’ replies Fryer. ‘Islands.’33

  The dismissive, contemptuous reply, spoken loudly so the whole Launch is left in no doubt what he thinks of Bligh’s navigation on this occasion, leaves the Captain infuriated.

  ‘Why did not you give your opinion before?’34 barks Bligh.

  ‘You must have heard me say, sir, that they was islands when we first saw them,’ returns Fryer in his deep rhythmic Norfolk accent. ‘But as you did not ask me my opinion, I did not think it proper to give it.’35

  ‘Well, sir,’ says Bligh, his voice managing to shake with anger at the same time as it drips with sarcasm, ‘What is best to do now?’36

  Fryer does not hesitate.

  ‘Go in for the land we have been running from,’37 he says firmly.

  In short, Captain Bligh, you damn fool, change your course immediately, and steer us back north-west to Timor proper!

  As stormy as Bligh is in response, still he is no match for the weather itself as, with remarkable rapidity, the sea begins to rise and rage.

  And yet, despite the sudden danger, the need to reef sails, and to commence baling, still Bligh does not calm but winds up, tighter and tighter, into ‘a great passion’.38

  The skipper cannot leave it alone.

  ‘Sir,’ says Bligh in that way he has where, though the word is respectful, the tone is a studied insult, ‘I suppose that you will take the boat from me?’

  ‘No, sir,’ replies Fryer, ‘I despise your idea.’

  Clearly, too, he despises Bligh personally.

  ‘[It is] far from my intention to take the Boat from you. But, sir, give me leave to tell you that life to me is sweeter than it has been yet since I left the ship.’39

  Again, Fryer’s meaning is clear, even if the words are cleverly framed.

  For the line between insolence and innocence is simply one of interpretation, don’t you see? But you get my meaning, now, don’t you, Captain Bligh, as do all the men. And that is all that counts: the closer we get to Timor, the sweeter it is for all of us, as we will all soon be able to get away from you!

  Lightning flashes, thunder roars. And that is just Bligh, livid as never before.

  ‘Oh no, sir,’ yells Bligh, his hand going to his sword. ‘I am not afraid that you would take the Boat from me, I would soon cut you to pieces!’40

  Fight fire with fire, and a storm with a storm.

  For now, the sea rises so fast in this real storm that they are in danger of being completely swamped and sunk, even though they are possibly just hours from safety. For the moment, the verbal clash must take pause, as they bale for their lives, with Fryer noting, ‘there was now as much Danger in swamping the Boat as any time since we were turned adrift’.41

  At least, however, once the storm abates, Fryer has the grim satisfaction of watching as Bligh directs the helmsman of the Launch to change course, away from the islands at their south-west and head north-west, on to what Fryer declares to be Timor.

  Yes, it seems that Bligh now agrees that he had been wrong, which, of course, makes him all the more furious at Fryer. For once the course is set, Bligh takes up the verbal cudgels once more to strike rhetorical blows upon Fryer, clearly intent on provoking him to the point that he will respond with unambiguous insolence, just a sentence or two for which he can be court-martialled.

  ‘Mr Fryer,’ advises Bligh sarcastically. ‘You would be dangerously troublesome if not for your ignorance and want of resolution.’42

  Very well, sir, if you say so, sir.

  Fryer refuses to rise to the bait.

  The waves lap against the hull.

  From a distance comes the cry of seabirds.

  Arriving in a sandy bay just as the sun starts to gain momentum on its downward arc, Bligh orders the grapnel to be heaved over the side so he may do some navigational calculations, before committing to following the shoreline.

  Gazing to that shore, men can soon see single plumes of smoke rising from several places. Where there are such plumes, there are people. Where there are people, there is food. Food being cooked! A real meal!

  Fryer, for one, would like to get to land and explore the possibilities of asking those people to share their meal.

  Alas, despite all his years at sea, the fact is, the Master can swim no better than a large rock. But, there is another way.

  ‘Captain Bligh,’ suggests Fryer. ‘If those that can swim take the small line onshore, then I will go overboard and haul myself on shore.’43

  ‘Mr Fryer, I will go with you,’44 says Purcell, to a small rumbling of excitement on the Launch.

  All eyes turn to Bligh. What will he decide?

  Should he allow the two most infernal men on the Launch to go ashore as a diplomatic party to Natives unknown? Even when they are so close to Coupang and still have bare rations on board?

  NO, he replies, firm.

  ‘You keep us from getting supplies!’45 Mr Purcell dares to complain.

  ‘I give you leave to quit the Boat,’ says Bligh. ‘The others I direct to remain.’46

  His meaning is clear. Both men are free to risk their lives dog-paddling the 40 yards to shore through a current unknown, before heading off, unarmed and unaccompanied, to confront Natives unknown. But everyone else on the Launch is ordered to stay here with him, in relative safety.

  Fryer and Purcell have no choice.

  ‘Finding no one to be of their party,’ Bligh gleefully notes, ‘they chose to be excused.’47

  They will remain on the Launch, fuming.

  •

  Fletcher Christian is worried.

  Things on Tahiti are not as they were before.

  ‘Several thefts were committed by the natives,’ Coleman would recount, ‘and the chiefs paid little or no attention to the complaints which were made against them.’48

  Most worrying of all, ‘Tinah, was particularly inquisitive and troublesome …’49

  An astute man, Tinah has clearly been thinking his way through the story. And now, with one eyebrow raised, he has some rather probing questions for Titriano.

  ‘I wonde
r that Captain Cook’s death, if he is now alive, was not contradicted long ago?’50 asks Tinah.

  Christian hums and haws, but has no response.

  ‘I am surprised,’ Tinah continues, ‘that he should fix his residence in Wytootacke.’51

  After all, Toote loved Tahiti, and Tinah knows very well, from the reaction of all Europeans to this shore, that what is offered here is not found anywhere else in the world. So why would Toote settle in Wytootacke?

  Christian strains for a plausible answer, but, not finding one, remains silent.

  ‘What induces Captain Bligh to settle there too?’ Tinah wonders. ‘Are the people of that island more friendly and agreeable than the people of Tahiti?

  ‘Has King George consented to it?’52

  ‘These questions,’ Coleman would observe, ‘puzzled Christian not a little, and his palpable confusion did not escape the notice of the enquirer.’53

  ‘What time do you mean to leave us?’ asks Tinah now.

  ‘Immediately,’ replies Christian, carefully, ‘if we are already grown troublesome.’54

  No, no, no, Tinah will not go that far. At least not yet. But now, another Chief speaks up, with yet another question for which there is no answer.

  ‘As Captain Bligh has settled in Wytootacke and seemingly abandoned his own people as well as his foreign friends, it would be equally just in Captain Christian to settle in Tahiti, after the example of your commander?’55

  ‘True, true,’ answers Christian, seeing a way out here. ‘Perhaps I may, I’ll consider.’56

  But this answer only worsens things, as Coleman observes once more. ‘Christian’s seeming approbation of this advice served to increase their suspicions, and in all probability the proposal was made for the sake of trying him.’57

  Tinah resumes his questioning, and is even more pointed, his usual jovial expression now inquisitorial.

  ‘Do you intend to abide with us during life?’58

  ‘Yes,’ replies Christian, forcing a smile.