by John Boyne
Mr Elphinstone considered the sense of this for a moment before shrugging his shoulders, nodding his head and retaking his place in the tub. Mr Nelson, in the meantime, had stood erect but failed to place one foot before the other and the captain summoned him with a click of his fingers. ‘Quick, quick, now, Mr Nelson,’ he said. ‘Join me, if you please.’
Within a few minutes our small crew, depleted now to seventeen, were in our places, turning our heads to watch the climbing-race of the two men up the side of the cliff. It was not difficult to guess who would be the winner; the captain was a fine healthy specimen of a man and, despite a few initial difficulties finding purchase between hand, feet and mossy stone, he ascended with no more difficulty than a spider along a wall-face. Mr Nelson, on the other hand, struggled a little more and we could not help but show concern that he might fall backwards, crash on to the rocks below, and provide a more permanent depletion to our crew.
Among much cheering from the men, however, our two fellows were soon at the top and struggled their way over, disappearing from our sight for a time. We sat and talked among ourselves, at first happy that they had made it, and then slowly beginning to worry why it was taking so long for them to reappear. I looked across at the two remaining officers, Mr Fryer and Mr Elphinstone, and watched their faces for similar signs of concern, but if they had any they kept them carefully concealed.
The sun was high in the sky and I looked down at my feet in order to ease the light in my eyes and the crick in my neck, and then a strange thing happened. The men let out a roar at once and looked upwards. I turned to look too and, as I did so, their faces turned to surprise and I thought they were pulling away from me. Knowing not what was the matter I tried to look up again, but the sun was too bright and I could see naught but a blinding sensation, and then what appeared to be a missile heading towards me, and then before I could scramble out of the way my own lights went out and a blackness took its place.
It was, I was told, some fifteen minutes before I returned to full consciousness. In the meantime, the men had been throwing sea water in my face, taking care that I would swallow none of it, and slapping my cheeks to revive me, but it took a time for my sensibilities to return and, when they did, it was with a great sickness of the head. I reached a hand up and felt a tender mark above my eyes and what appeared to be the beginnings of a great bruise. I hissed when my fingers touched it and attempted to sit up and when I did so, who was seated before me only the captain himself, looking both amused and embarrassed.
‘Sorry about that, Master Turnstile,’ he said. ‘You don’t seem to have an awful lot of luck, do you?’
‘I was attacked, sir,’ I cried. ‘A missile of some sort.’
‘A coconut,’ he replied, indicating a dozen or so of these hairy items that were now placed at the fore of the boat. ‘Very few to be found, I will grant you, but they will be of great assistance to us in the days ahead. Mr Nelson and I threw them from the top. I think you got in the way.’
I nodded and felt insulted by the whole experience, but a few minutes later, when the captain deigned to crack open one of the coconuts and distribute its flesh among the men, he handed me a slightly larger portion than was my due – and for that, if nothing else, I was grateful.
I forgot my injury quickly, but I began to worry that these stomach pangs were of a more serious nature than any of us was conceding. We could only hover among these islands for so long; at some point we would have to put to sea, and when we did, what would become of us then?
44
Day 4: 1 May
BETTER NEWS TODAY IN THAT we set out for yet another of the small islands dotted around those regions that the late Captain Cook had christened the Friendly Islands – which gave me a warm and satisfying feeling – and on this occasion we discovered a small cove where our boat could rest and we could, every one of us, emerge from our confinement and stretch our legs, walk on the sand, or lie on our backs without fear of kicking another three fellows in the face, just as we fancied. After seventy-two hours trapped on the launch I could scarcely believe how liberating it was to feel the freedom of my pins once again, and I leapt and danced and twirled around the beach like a Bedlamite until the captain himself marched over to me and boxed my ears, as if the injury of the coconut on my forehead was not disfigurement enough.
‘Have a care with yourself, Master Turnstile,’ he said, shaking his head irritably. ‘Just because there is no one to observe your behaviour does not mean that you should carry on in such a ridiculous fashion. Think you to be a dancer at the Covent Garden?’
‘No, sir, not I,’ said I, pirouetting on my toes for a moment with my hands stretched wide above my head, a sensation that felt so good I could have held the ludicrous pose for a weekend and a day. ‘I merely meant to return some of the blood to my extremities as it’s been fierce cramped in the Bounty-tub.’
The captain snorted and stared at my continued prancing, wondering whether he should put an end to my nonsense once and for all with either a command or a swipe of his hand, but when he turned he was presented with a further tableau to test him: seven or eight of my fellows, engaged in similarly buffoonish behaviour, stretching and a-posing and a-dancing with abandon.
‘A bunch of fools is what I have in my company,’ said the captain finally, shaking his head but allowing himself a hint of a smile, hidden as it was in the growth of his moustache and beard, which were beginning to take precedence on his face. ‘A bunch of frolicking fools.’ But, still, for all that he let us be, perhaps aware that it was exercise at least, not indifferent to the dancing he had commanded on board the ship. Or perhaps he knew that the nature of authority had undergone a change over those past four days and it would be wise of him to relax his rules a little.
A scouting group of four men were assembled and sent to investigate the island, which appeared at first glance to be of a far more hospitable nature than any we had seen in recent days. Already the men were dining off fruit-trees and berries, filling their stomachs as they would, although the lack of water continued to prove a difficulty as our hydration levels were low. Indeed, one of the things that the men were sent to look out for carefully was a spring, that we might drink and fill our flagons before setting off again.
To our surprise, they went as four but returned as six, the crew on the beach turning in surprise as a young woman – not pretty, but worth a glance nonetheless – and a boy of three or four years of age appeared in their company, the men wearing broad smiles at what they had discovered, as well as carrying a bushel of plantains, some breadfruit and some more coconuts. The woman did not speak English but wore a smile that suggested she was simple in the head and cracked coconuts open on her noggin with scarce a thought for the brain within. Indeed, she seemed to take pleasure in it.
To the men, this was great sport, for she was a new person to take an interest in, but perhaps the interest grew too strong, for as we all surrounded her she took fright and then took a hold of her boy and the two of them turned and ran away, with no more than one or two men following in half-hearted pursuit, among them Lawrence LeBogue, who was singing a bawdy song and threatening her virtue, the filthy fellow.
‘We shall rest here the night, men,’ the captain announced. ‘Sleep will come easier to us all, I think, if we are flat on our backs on the sand for an evening rather than locked together on the launch. What say you?’
The men gave a hearty cheer, for at that moment I swear that we would have happily stayed there for ever. There were things that we could have done, of course. We could have searched for more food and water. We could have checked the launch for any repairs that needed doing and set about them with wood from the island. But at that moment no one wanted to do much other than exercise their limbs and then rest them, which is what we did.
It was two hours later when the midshipman Robert Tinkler let out a shout and we all turned to look in the direction he was pointing. Coming around a hill were a group of men, women and children
, carrying gifts in their arms but spears on their backs, walking at such a pace that they would be upon us in minutes.
‘Stay close, every man,’ said the captain, moving to our front, as was only right and proper. ‘No one is to make a sudden movement or antagonize the savages. They may be friendly.’
‘They outnumber us, sir,’ said I, slipping to his side. ‘There must be thirty of them, if not more.’
‘And what of it, Turnstile?’ he said. ‘Half are women. Another quarter children. And we are all men, are we not?’
The group arrived in front of us and stopped, not gathered together quite as close as we were, and although their apparent leader stood face to face with the captain the others began to spread out and surround us, looking at each one of us as if we were the savages and not them. They pointed at our faces and white skin and appeared to find us highly amusing, which was both an insult and a bore. A girl of indeterminate age came over to me and I stood my ground like the fierce soldier I believed myself to be and she leaned forward and what did she do, only take a dirty great sniff at me! I didn’t know whether to run away or sniff back.
The leader of the group handed a slab of pork to the captain, thrusting it at him as if there was any chance Mr Bligh would not accept it, and in return the captain took a scarf from his neck and wrapped it around the chief’s own neck, providing much hilarity for his fellows. Words were spoken on both sides, but they were inconsistent with each other and so a conversation ensued where neither man knew what the other was saying, or whether it was friendly or threatening.
After an hour or so of this lunacy had passed, the chief let out a cry and his group gathered behind him again, and without any ceremony whatsoever they turned on their heels and departed, leaving us alone on the beach, Englishmen together again.
‘Well, Captain,’ said Mr Fryer, ‘they seemed friendly enough. And there are healthy provisions to be had here. Should we stay a spell?’
The captain considered it; his face gave away little of his thoughts. ‘For tonight, yes,’ he said. ‘We shall let the men sleep. And fill their bellies. But organize a watch, Mr Fryer, would you? Three men alert at all times. This place may not be all it seems.’
And so it was that we had our first good night’s sleep since leaving the Bounty and woke refreshed and alert, ready for our next adventure. The captain had appeared to distrust the people of the island, but me, I thought him a sorry fellow for it, for they seemed happy and generous and determined on doing us no harm. And it was with such cheerful and optimistic sentiments that I closed my own eyes and found a much-needed slumber.
45
Day 5: 2 May
THE FOLLOWING MORNING I AWOKE to a face peering down into mine and I gave a start, uttered the Saviour’s oath, and scrambled to my feet before backing away into some of the bush that stood behind me. The fellow who had been observing me was about my age, I supposed, perhaps a little older, although it was difficult to tell with some of the savages, as they had a raw look to them that suggested they might be of any age from fifteen, perhaps, to about forty.
‘What’s to look at?’ I enquired of him, trying to keep the note of trepidation out of my voice, although it was most decidedly lodged within my bonce. ‘Can’t a fellow sleep no more without observation?’
The fellow started a low laugh and wagged his finger at me before turning around and displaying his rump, which was tattoo-blackened like the married men of Otaheite, although this of itself offered no clue to his age, as the fellows there were at it like rabbits or Frenchmen from the time their hair grew in below.
‘The name’s Turnstile,’ said I then, attempting to establish a conversation. ‘John Jacob Turnstile. And I’m pleased to meet you, I’m sure.’ Taking my life in my hands I extended a hand to his, but he seemed to interpret this as an offensive gesture, for he stopped laughing immediately and offered me a dirty frown before walking away, disappearing into the undergrowth as quick as you like. He was back out no more than a minute later, just at the point when I was pacing up and down and feeling perturbed at the encounter, but this time he was accompanied by three men, taller and broader than he, and every man jack of them was speaking loudly and pointing angrily in my direction. They stared at me for a few moments, pinning me with a look of such incivility that I had a mind to start a fight with them, but then as before they simply turned round and vanished into the trees, leaving me unsettled by the whole encounter.
While thirty natives had surrounded us the previous afternoon, that day they brought even more of their number with them, perhaps half as many again, and three canoes appeared from around the island, each carrying two rowers and a proud silent man seated between them. They were friendly to the captain, happy to allow him to skin some plantains and coconuts and carry their meat to our crate, but the tension in the air was there for all to feel and made us nervous for our souls.
Mr Purcell, the carpenter, and a few of the men were engaged in repairing some of the wood of the launch, which had held for us so far but was not as tough as might be needed for a longer voyage, and the captain enquired of them how much longer it would take.
‘Tomorrow afternoon and we should be ready,’ said Mr Purcell, who had brewed up some glue from the sap of the trees and a log fire to hold the planks and nails together. ‘Are we to set forth, then?’
‘I think so,’ said the captain, looking around carefully. ‘I feel that our welcome here may be a short-lived one.’
I couldn’t help but feel that our lack of ability to communicate with the natives contributed to the unhappy atmosphere. We Englishmen and they, the savages, spoke constantly, as if our very lives depended on it, but as neither side had any understanding of what was being said to them, the whole thing seemed a terrific farce.
As the evening drew in there was another drama when a young savage – who had gone to every man one by one, pointed at his own heart before saying the word ‘Eefor’, which we interpreted as being his name – appeared with two others on a canoe, full of smiles and laughter, as if we were all engaged in a matter of some hilarity, before stepping out to where our feeble Bounty-tub was steadied in the water and did his damndest to drag it in to shore.
‘Stop there, that man!’ cried Mr Fryer, marching towards him, followed by the captain and Mr Elphinstone and some of the braver men. ‘Unhand that launch!’
Eefor made a long and unintelligible argument for why he should be permitted to continue with his dragging, and before long he was surrounded by ten of his own fellows, who did not assist him but watched, grinning and laughing like madmen.
‘Young Eefor,’ said the captain, bursting into laughter too, as if to prove his friendly nature, and showing his face to the savages, ‘I must ask you to take your hands from our craft. It is ours; we do not wish to trade.’
Eefor smiled and shrugged and continued trying to drag it ashore, although it was far too heavy for him to manage on his own, so he looked to his fellows who had been observing the scene and shouted something towards them. At this, conscious that a further development could mean the end of our travels, the captain placed a hand on the cutlass that hung by his side and unsheathed it only a fraction, allowing the blade to glisten in the sun; he turned it slightly so that for a moment the light caught the steel and the eyes of Eefor were momentarily blinded. Immediately he dropped the craft and stepped away, his face fallen, looking for all the world as if we had just insulted him terribly and he might begin to cry like a baby.
‘Mr Fryer, take six men and sit in the launch; take it out to sea a little, would you, please,’ said the captain in a low voice and the master’s mate replied with an ‘Aye, Captain’ and before any more time had passed the tub was safely back in the hands of those who owned it.
The captain approached the savages and bowed to them briefly before turning his back again and this time the crowd began to disperse until, before long, there was only the loyal crew of the Bounty left ashore.
‘Tomorrow, you say, Mr Purcell
?’ called the captain to the carpenter, who was seated on the launch itself at sea.
‘Aye, sir,’ he shouted back. ‘Early, do you think?’
‘I think early would be wise,’ was his dark reply.
46
Day 6: 3 May
THE LAST TIME I HAD been so afeared was the morning I had been taken from my bunk by dirty hands and dragged to the court of King Neptune. On the sixth day of our voyage away from the Bounty, I spent the morning aware that if my heart was still beating by the end of it, then I would be a lucky lad, a very lucky lad indeed.
There was no question that the time to leave this particular Friendly Island was at hand. The captain and the officers had consulted with Mr Purcell that morning and it was agreed that our tub was ready to set out again. We had placed as much provisions within it as we deemed safe while still maintaining our own weights, which were diminishing by the day.
‘No one is to board the launch until my signal,’ said the captain. ‘When I say it is time for us to leave, I want every man to make his way there very slowly, gathering up whatever belongings he may have. No one is to seem in the least afraid or aggressive. We act as if everything is perfectly normal.’
It was easy for him to say that. When I turned away from him the sights and sounds that were before me suggested that everything was far from normal. It seemed as if all the savages had come to the shore that morning. There was at least one hundred of them, six for every one of us, and they surrounded us, observing our every move, those damnable cheerful smiles still pasted across their chops. In itself that was nerve-racking enough, but added to this was the fact that every one of them, men, women and children alike, held a large stone in their hands, a stone that was as big as a man’s head and could cave one in without fear of disappointment. They banged the stones together at regular intervals, a great cacophonous sound echoing around us that suggested there was trouble to come. The louder the noise, the more I started to get the trepidations.
