Mutiny: A Novel of the Bounty

by John Boyne

  ‘Do you write about me in there, sir?’ I asked.

  He let out a short laugh and shook his head. ‘It is not a melodrama, Master Turnstile,’ he said. ‘It is a record of places and sights, the flora and fauna, the longitude and latitude of places that might be of interest to future travelling men. It is not my personal diary.’

  ‘Do you mean to make a book of it?’ I asked him then.

  ‘A book?’ he said, frowning a little and considering it. ‘I had never considered such a thing. I imagine it might be a record for the admirals, not for the populace. Do you think it would be of interest to the general reader?’

  I gave a small shrug, for what knew I of readers, I who had only read two books in my lifetime and both of them concerned with the land of China? ‘I imagine you might ask Mr Zéla about that,’ I suggested. ‘The French gentleman, I mean. Him what got me into this messy business in the first place.’

  ‘Ah, Matthieu, yes,’ he said, nodding his head. ‘Although truthfully, Master Turnstile, I think it was rather more your own fault that you ended up in your position on board our ship and not his, don’t you?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ I admitted.

  ‘But you might be right,’ he said, writing a little more. ‘The admiralty might see fit to publish my report so that the decent men and ladies of England would know exactly the character of officers such as Fletcher Christian and Peter Heywood. Their names will live in infamy after this, Turnstile, you mark me.’ I didn’t doubt it for a moment and told him so, suggesting that his memories would make worthy reading. The captain smiled at me and gave a gentle half-laugh. ‘Turnstile, have you taken too much o’ the sun?’

  ‘No, sir. Why?’

  ‘You’re uncommon lively today.’

  ‘It’s my character, sir,’ I replied, a little offended by the comment. ‘Haven’t you noticed it?’

  Making no reply, he looked around at the dots of islands we were passing on left and right as we made our way into the open ocean. ‘The Endeavour Strait,’ he told me. ‘It is magnificent, isn’t it? Our ordeal was almost worth it just to pass through here in such a vessel.’

  ‘Aye, sir,’ I said, glancing around, and in truth he was right. It was a pretty sight to behold and might have been prettier had I not been staring at water without cessation for more than a month since.

  79

  Day 39: 5 June

  AND HERE WAS THE TORMENT of it. We had been sailing for thirty-eight days already and stopped at islands, when we could find them, for rest and sustenance, but I knew only too well from the maps I had studied day after day for a year in the captain’s cabin that, when we passed through the Endeavour Strait, then there was nowhere left for us to go but onwards to Timor, and that was at least a week away from us. We would have to maintain our provisions and survive both hunger and drought until we next saw land, but when we did – if we did – our journey would be over and we would be saved.

  There was a look of resignation on the faces of many of the men on this day. Some, such as Peter Linkletter and George Simpson – who had good days and bad days as far as his sanity was concerned – looked afeared of what was to come, and I do believe that the slightest expression of doubt voiced by any of the other men would have been the cause of consternation. Others, such as Robert Lamb, appeared almost excited by the challenge ahead, confident in the knowledge that, whatever happened, we would not have to endure this hardship for much longer. And then there were men like Captain Bligh and Mr Fryer, who wore their usual expressions – of forbearance – and looked ever outward for salvation. In my head I had the fears of the first group; in my soul, the bravery of the second; and in my heart, a desire to be like the third, for it was they who would ensure our survival, or so I believed.

  As the captain provided our dinner that night from the crate, he was met with sighs and signs of a certain amount of disappointment from the men.

  ‘You know where we stand,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘You know what is ahead of us this last week or more. We must eat only enough to keep mind and body functioning. We have no alternative if we are to survive.’

  The men agreed, of course we did, but it made things no easier. This was our final challenge. And it began today, on our thirty-ninth day.

  80

  Day 40: 6 June

  IHAD A LIGHT-HEADED FEELING THROUGHOUT the day, as if my mind was not fully my own. After rowing for two hours, I stood up and had to grab the shoulders of two men or I would have fallen over, and they were unhappy about it and told me so. I tried to consult with Surgeon Ledward on the issue, but he was in a sleep that came and went and when he was conscious he did not seem himself at all, so I left him alone.

  Other than that I can recall little of the day except a few grumblings from the men when the captain cancelled the middle meal of the day and offered us breakfast and supper only, and scant feedings at either of them. There was little that he could do. He wanted us to survive.

  The rain was miserable too, I remember that much.

  81

  Day 41: 7 June

  IWAS ILL AGAIN THIS DAY and every time I looked upwards towards the heavens I found that I had to grip something on either side of me to keep some semblance of reality. One of my eyes – my left, as I recall – took on a shading whereby I could not rightly say that I saw through it. I blinked away at it furiously but it made no difference and when I reported this to the captain he said it was the fact of my hunger playing tricks with my body. He sought agreement from Surgeon Ledward on this score, but that man merely nodded and said it was so and turned away from us, a rare thing to do to the captain. He appeared to me to be suffering from the depressions, though, and so was left alone on account of it.

  ‘Perhaps when you awaken tomorrow it will be better,’ the captain remarked, which comment only served to irritate me and not help a jot.

  ‘And perhaps I’ll be blind in both eyes,’ I suggested. ‘Must I wait until tomorrow to find out?’

  ‘Well, what would you have me do, Turnstile?’ he asked, equally irritated. ‘Our focus must be on survival, nothing else.’

  Swearing an oath under my breath, I stepped away from him and returned to my seat, which in my absence had been invaded a little by three separate men, who caused me to lash out at them verbally before they would agree to move. I felt as if the days were growing lengthier somehow and my tolerance levels for the torment we were suffering were decreasing with every minute. In the past there had always been the hope of an island, a place where we could rest and eat and where we knew we would not drown. Now there was nothing but ocean and it was a fierce lonely place to be. The captain said he knew not when we would spot Timor, perhaps a week yet, and I wondered whether we would all survive the voyage. Indeed, we were fortunate to have lost only one man so far – John Norton – although there were at least half a dozen souls in the tub who seemed to me to be destined for their reward in a very short time, should salvation not come to us.

  In truth, I felt as if I was one of them.

  82

  Day 42: 8 June

  THERE WAS MUCH CONSTERNATION TODAY over the condition of Surgeon Ledward, who appeared to be sinking very fast, and as a consequence of it the captain gave him a larger ration of food and water than the rest of us received and we made no complaint on it. To my dismay I was left seated near him for much of the day and I didn’t care for it, for I was sure he was going to expire directly in front of me and that would be a terrible omen for my own survival. It transpired I was being overly pessimistic and he remained with us throughout the day, as did others – Lawrence LeBogue among them – who were suffering nearly as badly themselves.

  Mr Hall and I spent two hours side by side rowing the launch, and when we were relieved and replaced by William Peckover and the captain we took a seat together near the fore of the tub. I noticed then that the cook had a curious smile pasted across his phizzy and I demanded to know the reason for it, for I was sure that he was making a farce of me in his head.


  ‘Keep your britches on, lad,’ he said, a fine statement to make considering that those same britches were already in a terrible state of disrepair, with shreds and rips throughout. ‘I were just thinking back, that was all. To when you first stepped on board the Bounty. How green you were then.’

  ‘Aye, it’s true,’ I admitted, nodding my head. ‘But then I had never been on board a ship before let alone one of His Majesty’s frigates. You’ll forgive me if I didn’t fully know my way around.’

  ‘You learned it quick enough, I’ll give you that,’ he said.

  ‘And you were friendly to me when I arrived,’ I replied. ‘Unlike Mr Samuel, the old weasel: he made me feel inferior from the moment I stepped aboard. Told me that every man jack on the ship was above me and ordered me about like nobody’s business.’

  ‘I never cared for him,’ said Mr Hall, curling his lip in distaste. ‘It didn’t surprise me in the least when he took up with Mr Christian and his pirates. He had an air of disloyalty about him from the start. I dare say he’s making merry with half the mollies of Otaheite by this time,’ he added with a sigh.

  ‘He were an ugly sod,’ I remarked. ‘They wouldn’t let him near them.’

  ‘And you, Turnip,’ he said. ‘Do you miss the island?’

  ‘I miss the sustenance,’ I replied. ‘I miss the feeling of food in my belly and a decent place to sleep at night. I miss the confidence of knowing that I would wake up alive in the morning.’

  ‘And your young molly?’

  ‘And her,’ I admitted. ‘A little, anyway. Even though she betrayed me for the scut Mr Heywood. But, still and all, she were fun at the time. Aye, I miss her.’

  I found myself growing surprisingly misty-eyed in my good eye as I said this – my bad one was still covered by a misty haze that showed no sign of leaving me.

  ‘There’ll be others,’ he said. ‘When you’re back in England, I mean. You’ll fall in love again.’

  I nodded and agreed that I would, but I wasn’t so sure. There was no guarantee, after all, that I would ever see England again, let alone find love there. But we had to remain optimistic. It was either that or take a plunge in the ocean and not bother to come back up for air.

  The evening time brought more rain and more stomach pangs. At one point they stabbed so hard that I cried out and was told to silence myself by the others, but by God the pain was so bad that I thought I was done for.

  83

  Day 43: 9 June

  WE SUFFERED TERRIBLY THROUGH THIS day with rain and gales, starvation and a lack of water, and though finally we moved into calmer waters I felt my spirits at as low an ebb as I could ever recall them being. It was then, while seated quietly by the side of the tub, that the captain sat down beside me and began to speak in a quiet voice.

  ‘We were at Kealakekua Bay in Hawaii at the time,’ he told me, without any preamble. ‘On board the Resolution. We had been there for some time and it was clear to all that tensions between ourselves and the savages were mounting. Things had started well, of course. Captain Cook was nothing if not able to impress a native chief. But they had dissipated terribly. I always believed the captain was too soft with the natives. He had too great a belief in their basic good.’

  I sat up a little, surprised he had chosen this particular evening to relate the story, but pleased that he had. Perhaps he had seen how low my own spirits were.

  ‘On this particular day,’ he continued, ‘an incident occurred, small in itself, but, added to a series of smaller insults over recent days, it was enough to push us over the edge. When we were anchored in warmer climes the captain preferred to leave the cutters and launches from the ship in the water and one of these, the large cutter, was stolen by the savages. It was unacceptable, of course, and when he heard of it the captain stated that the bay was to be blockaded until the cutter was returned to us. He sent out two crafts; a fellow by the name of John Williamson was in charge of the launch, and I myself captained the small cutter.’

  ‘You, sir?’ I asked, wide-eyed. ‘You went to retrieve the stolen boat?’

  ‘Aye, in a way. And had they surrendered it peacefully there would have been fewer consequences. But as we approached the bay it became clear that there was no peace in store for us. The natives were dotted along the tops of the cliffs, adopting war-like stances and wearing the type of garb they felt would protect them from our cutlasses and muskets. They were prepared for battle, that was clear to us all.’

  ‘But why, Captain?’ I asked him. ‘Had they turned against you?’

  ‘I believe so,’ he replied. ‘At first all had been well, but they did not recognize our right to their land or their produce. They were becoming belligerent about it. We had no choice but to show our strength.’

  ‘What rights, sir?’ I asked, confused.

  ‘Our rights as emissaries of the king, Turnstile,’ he said, staring at me as if I was the worst kind of fool. ‘Isn’t that clear? They wanted us to leave them in peace. Savages! Ordering Englishmen away!’

  ‘From their land.’

  ‘But you’re missing the point,’ he insisted, as if the idea was quite a simple one. ‘It was no longer their land when we arrived. We claimed it. Anyway, as we approached, it became increasingly clear that there would be trouble and it was then that I noticed a large canoe of perhaps twenty savages setting forth from the bay, bound, no doubt, for the Resolution. They were eager, I’ll give them that, for they rowed at such a pace that I had to put the fear of God into all my own rowers in order to make them change direction and row westward to cut them off. When we were close enough we raised our muskets and fired at them and, with grace and justice on our side, managed to pick off some of the rowers instantly. The rest, a cowardly bunch, dived into the water and the canoe capsized immediately, and those savages who had not been fatally injured swam back to shore. It was an early victory for us, to show strength, and had they recognized this perhaps things would not have continued.

  ‘The next thing I knew, Captain Cook himself, along with four or five other men, was sailing towards us in a cutter. We held our position until he reached us and he was in a fury, a terrible fury.

  ‘ “There will be no more bloodshed,” he informed me, as if I had been the author of the misadventure. “I am going on shore and I shall take the king hostage, bring him back to the Resolution and detain him there until all our boats and belongings have been returned to us.”

  ‘ “But, Captain,’ ” I said, appalled by the idea, “Is that wise? When we have just—”

  ‘ “You may join me, Mr Bligh,” he said through gritted teeth. “Or you may return to the Resolution. Which is it to be?”

  ‘Well, needless to say, I leapt from the cutter into the launch and we were quickly on shore and the captain, marching ahead, made directly for the home of the island’s high priest, with whom he had already established good relations, and informed him that we meant no harm to any of his people, only that we would not be the victims of a theft, not while we had breath in our bodies. He informed him of his plan to take the king with him back to the Resolution, but said that he would merely be detained as our guest, not a captive, and it was up to the priest to ensure that matters were brought to a speedy and happy solution.

  ‘Without waiting for a reply, the captain then made his way for the village, even as some of our men were landing in the bay, armed with muskets. I heard the roar of canons from our ship and assumed that more canoes were leaving the bay and aiming towards them and one of the officers had taken the decision to blow them out of the waters. I considered this very sensible and said as much, and the captain turned on me in a fury and said, “Damn and blast it, this is how an incident becomes a catastrophe. Every shot that is fired destroys our reputations and lessens our relationship with these people. Don’t you see that?” I told him that of course he was right, but it was good to show the savages who were their masters, and I presume he agreed with me, for he said nothing, simply continued on his way.
I later learned that the other canoes, those that had not been damaged by the canon-fire, turned back towards Kealakekua, no doubt seeking vengeance for their fallen colleagues.

  ‘We arrived at King Terreeaboo’s house and the captain waited outside. When the king appeared, flanked by his two sons, Captain Cook extended an invitation to him to join him for dinner in his own quarters on the Resolution, and the king happily agreed. He was an aged fellow, Turnstile, and had to be helped back to the shore by his two sons, and none of them were aware that we had greater plans in mind. They considered it a simple act of hospitality, such as they had received from us on many occasions in the past.

  ‘When we arrived on shore, the canoeists had returned and it was obvious that a great drama was about to unfold. Word spread immediately to the king’s sons that both my launch and the Resolution itself had fired on the savages, killing some, and immediately a great cry went up, and in the mêlée the king fell and landed heavily on the beach.

  ‘At this, events turned beyond control. The natives surrounded us and began throwing stones, knocking several of our men over, and our muskets were drawn and we had no choice but to fire at them. The captain was shouting something at me but I couldn’t hear it, and I shot several of the savages dead even as they approached me. I turned to look at Captain Cook, delighted by my kill, and he was running towards me, no doubt to congratulate me, and, as he did, one of the savages ran at him from behind bearing a great boulder, which he crashed down on the great man’s head. In a moment, he had fallen to the beach, but he rolled over immediately to defend himself. Before he could, another savage was upon him with a dagger, the cowardly swine, and he sank it deep into the captain’s neck before dragging him a little forward and holding his head under the water. I made moves towards him, but a crowd of twenty or more savages were running towards my sailors and me. We were outnumbered five to one and had no choice but to turn and flee. We were fortunate that we managed to make our way back to our launch with no other injury than a rain of stones about our heads, but even as we sailed away I saw the captain, that brave man, rise once more to defend himself, clamber over some rocks, and then one last group of men descended on him with great stones and beat him to death.’