Mutiny: A Novel of the Bounty

by John Boyne

  His belongings contained nothing more than I would have expected to find there. A few different uniforms, some fancier than others, which I presumed to be for when we ended up wherever we ended up and he had to face the savages in his finery. After that there were some lighter garments and underthings which were a lot fancier than any underthings I’d worn in my life and I dare say a lot more comfortable too. Almost as soft as the ladies wore, I thought. There was some as would get enjoyment out of going through another man’s vestments, but not I, so I went about my task quickly, placing everything I found in their new homes as carefully as possible, trying not to crease his clothes, or dirty them, for this after all was my new job and I had determined to make a success of it.

  In the smallest of the four boxes I found a number of books – poetry mostly and an edition of The Tragedyes by Mr Shakespeare – and a parcel of letters, bound together with a red silk ribbon, and these I placed at the back of the captain’s desk top. And then, finally, I extracted three framed portraits. The first was of a gentleman with a white wig and a sharp red nose. His eyes were buried deep in his skull and he stared at the portrait artist with a look approaching murderous contempt; I would not have wanted to have a difference of opinion with him. The second, however, was a lot more to my taste. A young lady, fancy curls and a button nose, her eyes looking upwards in a warm fashion, and I supposed her to be the captain’s wife or sweetheart and my heart skipped a little as I looked at her on account of her giving me the motions. The third was of a lad, a boy of about eight or nine, and I knew not who he might be. Minutes passed before I stepped over to the desk and placed them on either side, so that they might be seen by the captain when he was completing his log, and at the moment I was about to step away the boat gave an unexpected lunge and it was all I could do to stop myself from falling over by throwing a hand out to grasp on to the corner of the desk for support.

  I hesitated for a moment, then righted myself and stood erect. There was only one tiny window in the cabin and the rain was beating down on it relentlessly. I staggered over and wiped it clear, but I could see little through it, and when I stepped away again the boat lunged in the opposite direction and this time I did fall over and narrowly avoided thrashing my skull against the corner of one of the captain’s cases.

  After a few moments equilibrium was restored and I resolved to place the cases within each other, as instructed, and out of harm’s way in case I should slip again, and when this task was completed I made for the door, my arms outstretched as I held on to anything that might help to keep me vertical.

  The corridor outside was empty of men now and I stepped through the great room with the earthenware pots, walking in the direction of the stairs beyond, when another lunge of the ship sent me in one direction and my stomach in another and I felt a great pressure building deep inside me that was unlike any sickness I had known. I took a moment to gather my thoughts and after a little concentration let loose a stream of gas from my mouth that made even me recoil with its unexpected violence and all I could think of was getting up the stairs to the air beyond.

  I had decided now that a sailor’s life was not for me after all and determined to make my excuses to Mr Zéla and return whence I had come – gaol or no gaol – but when I emerged at the top of the steps I looked around and land was no longer visible. We were at sea already! I opened my mouth to cry out to some of the men rushing back and forth, but no words emerged, and the sound of the waves and the violence of the rain and wind was enough that I didn’t think a soul would hear me anyway.

  Trying to wipe the rain off my face, I was sure that I could see Mr Fryer in the distance, standing with another man, who appeared to be issuing orders and pointing things out left, right and centre; he grabbed a sailor as he passed, pointed towards something else, and the man nodded and ran in that direction. I resolved to go over and ask them to turn the ship round and let me return home, but as I stepped on to the deck another great lunge sent me back off my feet and I tripped backwards down the stairs, falling on my already injured arse at the base. Again my stomach turned and I was glad I had not eaten since morning time, as surely now I would be unable to vomit, but, looking up, the distance back to the deck defeated me and I retreated whence I had come, collapsing into the small bunk outside the captain’s cabin, where I turned on my side, faced the wall, clasped my stomach tightly and willed the ship or my stomach to stop turning, whichever might be the more solicitous.

  All seemed well for a moment then, my body appeared to relax, but a moment later I knew that all was lost and I rotated at great speed, grabbing a pot from beside the canvas and vomiting in a most excellent fashion into it, a process that continued for some time, until my stomach was entirely emptied and only air escaped me as my stomach retched.

  And how did my day end? This day unlike any I had known before and which had brought so much trouble to me? I know not. I drifted in and out of sleep, my body swaying to the rhythms of that demon ship, my head slipping over the side intermittently to barf into the pot once again, before I fell into a stupor. At one moment I was sure I felt a presence beside me, removing the pot and replacing it with a clean one and then returning a few moments later with a dampened cloth, which this unknown stranger placed across my forehead.

  ‘This will pass, my fine fellow,’ said the presence of who-knew-what-person in a low and kindly voice. ‘Allow your body to accustom itself to the heft and flow and soon this, like all things, will pass.’

  I tried to focus on my generous protector, but the mist that covered my eyes would not give up his face and I turned away, burrowing my body in on itself even as I groaned and wept, and then a great silence, a sleep without dreams, and I awakened again, to daylight, to steadiness, to a foul taste about my lips and tongue and a hunger inside me unlike any I had known before that day but would know again, and for a longer time before my adventures had ended.

  6

  TO MY GREAT SURPRISE WE had been at sea for two full days before my body was restored to its former condition and I was once again able to walk the decks without fear of collapse. Of course I remained a little unsteady on my trotters at first and my bowels were not to be depended on for any length of time, but the constant vomiting had finally come to an end – and for that, if nothing else, I was grateful.

  The low bunk in which I lay throughout those rotten days and nights had proved surprisingly comfortable, but looking at it anew from a position of standing I could only recall the endless hours of tossing and turning that had caused me such distress. I had heard men walk past me as I lay in my sick-bed, their boots making firm sounds on the wood and copper flooring below, and they conversed merrily with one another as they went about their business, paying no heed at all to the poor unfortunate creature who lay in a pit of agony by their feet, the selfish scuts. In fact, the only person who had shown me any kindness since I had come aboard was the mysterious stranger who had emptied my vomit-pot on that first evening (and again on several occasions since) and who had placed the cold compress across my perspiring forehead to keep the ague from torturing me any further. I determined to discover the name of this good-hearted fellow at the earliest opportunity and make some show of appreciation.

  On the afternoon that I was restored to good health, I ventured some careful movements away from that corner of the ship in which I had lain for too long, noting the motion of the vessel and attempting to keep my footsteps in line with it, finally deciding that my body had grown accustomed to the changes in equilibrium now and all would be well. I walked through the great cabin where the pots and crates were stored and made for the stairway at the end, when who should come running down it towards me, only the weasel himself, Mr Samuel.

  ‘You’re about again, are you?’ he shouted at me, stopping for a moment and glaring at me with such disgust in his eyes that you’d think I had just whispered an obscenity in his mother’s ear.

  ‘I was ill,’ I replied quietly, for despite my restoration I was not yet r
eady to engage in any verbal jousting with the likes of him. ‘I think I am better now, though.’

  ‘Well, isn’t that wonderful,’ said he, all bitter with his crooked smile. ‘Perhaps we should stop the ship and fire a six-gun salute in appreciation.’

  ‘Not necessary,’ I told him, shaking my head. ‘And it would be a great shame to waste the artillery. The doctor helped me, I think,’ I added. ‘Is he about that I might offer my thanks?’

  ‘The doctor?’ laughed Mr Samuel, looking at me as if I was an idiot-boy. ‘Dr Huggan came nowhere near you. Sure, you’re nothing at all: you think a man of his responsibilities would care whether you live or die?’

  ‘Well, someone did,’ I protested. ‘I assumed—’

  ‘We see less of the doctor than we do of you,’ he muttered, interrupting me. ‘He’s been in his cups since boarding. Don’t flatter yourself that there’s a soul on this ship who looked after you; they’re all above you, even the least of them, so don’t think it, because not a one of them gives a shiny shite for your well-being.’

  I sighed. He was a fellow with but one mode of discourse. ‘I could manage a little food,’ I said after a moment. ‘If any is to be found.’

  He rolled his eyes and took a step towards me, looking me up and down as his lip twisted in disgust. ‘And what am I?’ he asked. ‘Your butler? You’ll eat later. For now you’re to change. You stink to holy heaven. You smell like a dog who died and was left out in the sun to fester.’

  I looked down at myself and, sure enough, I was clothed in the same outfit that I had been wearing a few days before in Portsmouth. And a few days of tossing and turning in my bunk, perspiring like a horse and vomiting like a bairn, had done them no good either.

  ‘I don’t have any other clothes with me, though,’ I told him. ‘I came on board without warning.’

  ‘Of course you don’t, you wee scut,’ he replied. ‘Do you think this is a place for you to bring luggage on to? You’re not a gentleman and don’t think you are on account of you sleeping between the gentlemen’s quarters. I have a uniform for you, the uniform of an AB.’

  ‘An AB?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, and don’t tell me you don’t know what that is or I’ll have you thrown overboard for ignorance. You’ll wear it at all times, Turnip, except when you’re asleep. Is that understood?’

  ‘It’s Turnstile,’ I told him, not thinking for a moment that he wasn’t aware of my proper name. ‘John Jacob Turnstile.’

  ‘You think I give a whore’s kiss? Follow me, lad.’

  He marched us both quick and lively down a corridor that I hadn’t seen before and withdrew a large bunch of keys from his apron, searched for one and then opened a door, stepping inside a dark room for a moment before emerging again a moment later to look me up and down, spin me round like a top, and mumble a few obscenities under his breath. He disappeared inside again then and a few moments later he was back, this time carrying a pair of long, baggy trousers, a pale tunic and a dark-blue jacket and slippers.

  ‘Down there you’ll find a washroom,’ he said, pointing to a door at the end of the corridor. ‘Do what you can to take the stink off your body and then put these on. Don’t stand around to play with yourself neither. You’re to serve the captain at table tonight and you must look presentable.’

  ‘But I haven’t met him yet,’ I said. ‘How shall I know him?’

  Mr Samuel barked a laugh. ‘You’ll know him right enough,’ he told me. ‘Mr Hall, the cook, will be along presently and give you your instructions. Now, not another word in the meantime. Wash and dress, them’s your orders, and I’m above you so heed me.’

  I nodded and went towards the door as indicated, only to find a pair of enormous caskets inside, each filled with water and a crate beside them to let you step up to them. I frowned. I’m no tinker and many’s the time I’ve used the public baths in Portsmouth – Mr Lewis was always saying I was a right nance on account of how often I liked to wash myself, tip to toe, twice a year without fail – but I didn’t know how many sailors had already used the water contained within and the thought of it gave me the revulsions. But, still, I could smell the rankness of my own filth about me, not to mention the vomit that streaked my shirt and pestered my nostrils, so I had little choice but to strip down to the altogether and throw myself inside. The water was cold – freezing cold, to the point where I expelled a sudden scream of shock – and I was glad the room was dark, for I didn’t want to know what might be floating inside it and not seeing was half the battle. My feet only just reached the bottom, so that I was forced to hold my chin up a little to prevent myself from disappearing altogether and suffering a drowning, but I did this carefully as I had no desire to allow my eyes or mouth to make contact with the noxious liquid anyway. I stayed there for no more than a minute or two before emerging, flapping my arms and legs around on the floor until I was dry before donning the new uniform. I wished for a glass in order to see my reflection, but there were no such niceties to be found and so I stepped out into the corridor instead and made my way back whence I had come in search of food.

  7

  THERE WAS PRECIOUS LITTLE SERVING involved in waiting at the captain’s table and for that I was happy as a pig in muck, since I’d never stood servant to any man at his dinner before, let alone someone who could throw me overboard if I didn’t do a good job of it, and I didn’t know where I should start. I’d never held down a job for a day in my life. Mr Lewis, him what brought me up, taught me to do certain things to earn my keep – pickpocketing and the like, good honest thievery and other jobs besides – but I’d never held a position where there was a wage involved, and expectations.

  One of my brothers back at Mr Lewis’s establishment, a lad name of Bill Holby, got a job once and when he came home to announce it all hell broke loose. He’d been offered a position at a victualler’s in Portsmouth town and when Mr Lewis heard of it he said wasn’t that a sign of gratitude altogether: he brings a lad up and teaches him a trade, only for that lad to come home one day and say he wants no part of it any more and seeks nothing more from life than an honest day’s work for an honest day’s pay. I was only a child at the time and hid in a corner out of fright when Mr Lewis advanced on him with the poker, but Bill, who was strong and taller than most of us, wrestled it off him and threatened him with it on account of the things that Mr Lewis had forced him to do over the years. I’m finished with all of this, I remember him shouting, and the look in his eye was enough that it would have scared an Italian. If I could find a way to save these boys from you . . . I thought for a moment that Bill was going to murder him, he was in that much of a rage, and I was scared at the notion of it, but finally he threw the poker away with a terrible scream, as if he loathed himself more than anyone else, before looking around at the rest of us and telling us that we should get out and make our escape before Mr Lewis corrupted us the way he had corrupted him.

  At the time I considered Bill terrible ungrateful, for didn’t Mr Lewis give us bed and food and warmth from the rain? Now I think differently. But then I was only about five or six years old and Bill had already gone through what lay in store for me.

  I came out of the captain’s cabin, where I’d been stretching out his bed sheets in an attempt to make them look fresh, when the ship’s cook stepped out of the galley, took one look at me and let a shout out of him as if I was a stowaway, recently unearthed and discovered stealing from the most confidential area of the vessel.

  ‘Who the blazes are you?’ he roared, and me all dickied out in my fine new uniform, which might have given him some sort of an idea had he been in possession of even half a wit.

  ‘The new servant-lad,’ I said quickly, for he was a fine big fellow with a pair of hams on him that would have made short work of me if he’d had a mind to use them; obviously the news of my employment had not been deemed of sufficient interest to people that it should be known by all.

  ‘The captain’s servant? Don’t lie to me, lad. That’s
John Smith and I know him ’cause he’s under me.’

  Mother of Lucifer, was every man on board struck by no other fancy than their position on the eternal ladder?

  ‘Cracked his legs,’ said I, stepping back a little. ‘An accident on the gangway. I have his place.’

  He narrowed his eyes and leaned forward a little, sniffing at me as if I was a piece of meat and he wanted to make sure I was fresh before bothering to slice me up. ‘I seen you, lad, haven’t I?’ he asked quietly, poking a finger into the gaps between my ribs. ‘All curled up in that corner over there, retching to hell and back.’

  ‘Aye, that was me,’ I admitted. ‘I’ve not been well.’ It occurred to me that he might have been my unknown benefactor, the one who had helped me through my illness. ‘Did you put the compress on me?’ I asked.

  ‘Did I what?’

  ‘And take away my pot?’ I offered, and, truly, he looked like he would thump me now and send me downwards into the sea below.

  ‘I haven’t a mind to listen to your nonsense,’ he said finally, simmering slowly like a pot taken off the boil. ‘John Smith were a useless great lump anyway and you can’t be any worse than him, so I dare say you’ll do for now. You know what your duties are, do you?’

  ‘Well, no,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘No one’s said much to me so far. On account of me being so sick these last few days, I suppose, and then when I did awaken I—’

  ‘Friend,’ said the cook, raising a hand to silence me and giving me what he might have termed a smile. ‘I don’t give a bollix.’