by Graeme Lay
After three days in London, Fletcher took a coach to Liverpool and the packet boat across to Douglas. There he moved back into the room at the rear of his mother’s townhouse.
If he had found life in Douglas quiet before, it was now utterly silent. There were few ships in the harbour, and its water was as grey as a sheet of lead. Snow fell the day before Christmas, coming in flurries from the north and settling on the hills above the town.
He walked the lifeless streets, climbed Bray’s Hill and stared seaward, then returned to sit on the waterfront, willing the time to go faster. The dark fog that had invaded his mind before began to hover once again. He found himself brooding, longing to get away. His mother irritated him more than ever, forever imagining slights from the Christians and gossiping about the family and the townsfolk. (‘Mary Duncan was struck with the flux.’ ‘There was a brawl on the waterfront, between a press gang and some local youths.’ ‘Loretta fell from her horse and broke her leg.’ ‘Isabella Duncan has had a child by her adulterous lover.’)
Of these titbits, only the last one moved him in any way. No wonder she had never replied to any of his letters. Poor Isabella. That night with her he would never forget. Whenever he was pleasuring himself — shaking the snake, as the saying had it, and such shaking was not infrequent — it was always Isabella he had in mind.
His only other solace was meeting cousin John in the Douglas Club and discussing the West Indies voyage with him. John was a good listener and showed gratifying interest in the expedition, and Jamaica. The club still had its Negro servant, Joseph. Remembering the shackled slaves in the cane fields, Fletcher went out of his way to treat him courteously. Joseph was a very decent fellow, and by returning his kindness Fletcher in a small way assuaged the guilt he still felt at his nation’s sanctioning of West Indian slavery.
Adding to his frustrations, he heard nothing more from William. As the New Year came and went and there was still no word, he became increasingly despondent. The fog in his head darkened. Would he ever get to sea again?
Then in mid-January, he received a letter.
Durham Place, Lambeth
Dear Fletcher,
I trust you and your family are well on the island. Your relatives must have enjoyed hearing of your voyage to the far side of the Atlantic, as have Betsy and our two infant daughters. And what delights they have afforded me over Yuletide and the New Year. Betsy’s parents, Dr Richard and Mrs Betham, have been our guests at Christmas, and greatly appreciated the pleasures of the London social scene.
I hope that 1787 will bring us both good health and good fortune.
With that in mind, I am delighted to inform you that I have been contracted again by Campbell to command Britannia on a voyage to the West Indies, to deliver trade goods to our compatriots there, and procure and convey to London more commodities from his Jamaica plantations. Furthermore, Campbell having received such positive reports from me pertaining to your diligence during our recent voyage, he has suggested that I once again engage your services.
I will be very pleased to do so, and hereby offer you the position as second mate aboard Britannia for the duration of her next voyage. That date is set down for no earlier than the 8th of February and no later than the 20th of the same month of this year.
Should you accept this offer, it will afford Betsy and myself great pleasure if you could spend time with our household in Lambeth in the days prior to the departure of Britannia.
I am,
Yours faithfully,
William Bligh
Fletcher set the letter down. Second mate. Wonderful.
The cab stopped in front of the block of townhouses. Fletcher got out, paid the driver and looked up at the Bligh house, which was the second in from the left of the block.
The brown brick, three-storeyed house was newish-looking. A flight of steps led up to the front entrance, lined on both sides with black spear-top railings. The door was navy blue, and above it was a wide white arch set into the brick. It matched the frames of the sash windows in the walls to the right and left of the entrance.
Fletcher rapped on the front door with its brass knocker.
The maidservant showed him into the drawing room, where William, Betsy and their infant daughters were waiting. The room was small, its walls papered dark green with gold floral patterns. A coal fire was burning in the grate and above it on an oak mantelpiece was a collection of South Sea artefacts: a carved club, a jade adze, fans of woven pandanus and an elaborate headdress with a crest of red feathers. Above all this was an oil painting of a ship in full sail, flying the Royal Navy ensign.
Elizabeth greeted Fletcher affably. Her pale blue gown was fastened at the front with a cameo brooch. Her hair hung loose and there were dark crescents under her eyes. Tiredness from child-caring, Fletcher presumed. The baby was in a cane crib under the window; the other daughter was stacking blocks in front of the fire.
William, in open-necked blouse, blue waistcoat, white hose and soft shoes, explained the significance of the mantelpiece artefacts. ‘The headdress is from the Sandwich Islands, from the island the natives call O-why-hee. That was where Cook was murdered. The club and fans are from Nomuka, in the Friendly Isles; the jade adze is from New Zealand. Poo-na-moo, the natives there call it.’
Fletcher glanced up at the painting. The ship’s name was painted across the stern: HMS Resolution.
‘A fine ship by all accounts, William.’
‘Certainly. She was Cook’s favourite vessel, he once told me. Took him around the world twice.’ He corrected himself. ‘One and a half times.’
After the maid brought in tea and scones, they sat round the fire chatting. Whenever William mentioned the forthcoming voyage, Fletcher noticed Elizabeth’s expression darkening. After a time she fell silent.
He stayed with the Blighs for three days, sleeping in an attic room at the top of the house. At times he was kept awake at night by the persistent crying of the baby, from the floor below his. By day he walked with William along the Thames path, or crossed the river to Westminster and took coffee at Wallbrooke’s, in the Haymarket. At the house he spent time playing with the little girl, Mary, whom he found delightful. Just starting to speak, she found his name hard to pronounce. ‘Lecture’, she called him, climbing on his back and pretending to ride him to Banbury Cross. Fletcher envied William these domestic delights, and the companionship of a wife and children. One day, he hoped, he would have such a loving family.
It was on his final day in the Bligh house, when William had gone off for a meeting with Campbell, that Elizabeth poured her heart out to him. Over morning tea in the parlour, they had been talking about the imminent voyage, and estimating how long it would take William away from England. Elizabeth said: ‘It’s hard being the wife of a sea captain, Fletcher. The long absences, the uncertainties. Being left with the babies, and with little Harriet being such a sickly child, it wears me down.’ Her eyes began to water.
Fletcher nodded. He could imagine how hard it was, and he felt for her. But would the benefits not compensate? The generous salary that Campbell paid her husband, the security of a career in the merchant marine. However, he did not venture to say this, and Elizabeth seemed to want to continue confiding in him.
‘After he returned with Resolution, after being away for over four years, William wrote to Elizabeth Cook, Captain Cook’s widow, expressing his condolences over her husband’s murder.’ She plucked a handkerchief from her gown sleeve and dabbed at her eyes. ‘And do you know what Mistress Cook did?’ Fletcher shook his head. ‘Although she replied to William, she also wrote a note to me, inviting me to meet her. At her house in Clapham.’
‘Did you go?’
‘I did. It was an honour to be invited. What a brave woman she was, not knowing where her husband was for all those years, then never seeing him again. And before that, the deaths of three of her young children.’ She took a deep breath, almost faltered. ‘Mistress Cook told me that people used to say that her hu
sband only came ashore to father children. A cruel remark, but not without some truth.’ She sighed heavily and stared at Fletcher with her tired eyes. ‘I am with child again myself, you see.’
The second voyage to the West Indies afforded Fletcher further valuable experience. As second mate he was accorded the privilege of dining with the ship’s officers regularly. Throughout the voyage William was his usual efficient self, both at sea and on land, negotiating contracts in Kingston, then bringing Campbell another valuable cargo of sugar-derived products home to London. And although Fletcher still disapproved of the human exploitation that was the foundation of this profiting, the pleasure of once more being at sea, then in an exotic port, had the effect of overriding this concern. The authority that accompanied the role of second mate he relished, too. On navigational matters William took him into his confidence, so that at times Fletcher felt that the commander was becoming almost a father figure to him, replacing the natural one he had never known. His respect for the man grew. Yet in a way he still didn’t really know William. He was such a contradictory man.
Shortly after their return to England, while he was again the Blighs’ guest at Durham Place, William divulged to Fletcher a unique opportunity which had just arisen. The autumn nights were drawing in and they were seated in front of the fire, drinking port wine. William said in a low, almost conspiratorial voice, ‘You know of Sir Joseph Banks?’
‘Of course. Our greatest natural philosopher.’
‘Indeed. And a great thinker.’ He set his glass down on the fireside table. ‘While in Wapping yesterday, meeting with Campbell, I heard of a scheme which Banks has devised.’
‘What sort of scheme?’
‘Artocarpus altilis. Do you know what that is?’
‘Breadfruit.’
William’s face fell. ‘How did you know that?’
‘I’ve read Sir Joseph’s journal, the account of his time on Tahiti with Cook. Breadfruit is a staple of the Tahitian diet. A remarkable fruit, he says.’
‘Yes. Dampier first described its qualities, observed during his circumnavigation, way back in 1688.’ William sipped his port. ‘Artocarpus altilis grows prolifically in some parts of the tropics. When the fruit is baked and the crust removed, on the inside its flesh is white and tender. As delicious and nourishing as a penny loaf, Dampier said. So, literally, food growing on trees. Banks also observed that even Cook’s common seamen loved breadfruit, and we know how conservative they are in their eating habits. I too saw how palatable the men found baked breadfruit when I was in the Society Islands with Cook in ’77.’
‘What exactly is Banks’ scheme?’
William explained. Since Britain lost the War of Independence, food could no longer be imported to the West Indies from North America. But supplies were needed there to sustain the plantation slaves. Campbell complained that the cost of feeding the slaves on his plantations with food imported from Britain was eating into his profits. Something had to be done.
After Campbell discussed this dilemma with Banks, the naturalist had come up with a plan. Since the climate of the West Indies — alternating wet and dry seasons, and hot all year round — was very similar to that of Tahiti, Banks suggested that young breadfruit plants be taken from that island and transported to the West Indies. There the plants would grow, mature and provide a cheap food source for the slaves. Campbell had enthusiastically endorsed this novel idea.
At this point Fletcher interrupted. ‘But William, is it feasible to take young tropical tree plants around the world? Carry them on a ship for weeks from Tahiti? Wouldn’t they die of the cold in the high latitudes? While being taken round the Horn, for instance?’
‘I had the same doubts. But Banks being Banks, he has a solution to that problem.’ A botanist would accompany the expedition to oversee the collecting of the young plants. These would be accommodated in special conditions, aboard a specially fitted-out part of the ship, kept warm by a cabin stove, kept watered by an irrigation system. In that way the breadfruit could be successfully transported across the world.
William concluded: ‘The scheme has the support of King George and the Admiralty, and the expedition will be underwritten by the Royal Navy.’
Fletcher nodded thoughtfully. ‘It’s certainly original. Banks is very enterprising. But it’s also challenging. Does he suggest who might lead such an expedition?’
‘He does.’ William patted his chest. ‘And it’s me. He has nominated me to lead it.’
He went to the escritoire and handed Fletcher an as-yet unposted letter he had written to Banks. It was his reply to the invitation to lead the breadfruit transporting expedition. William smiled and said, ‘Do tell me if my phrasing is unsuitable in any way.’
Durham Place, Lambeth, 6 August 1787
Sir, I arrived yesterday from Jamaica and should have instantly paid my respects to you, had Mr Campbell not told me you were not to return from the country until Thursday. I have heard the flattering news of your great goodness to me, intending to honour me with the command of the vessel you propose should go to the South Sea, for which, after offering you my most grateful thanks I can only assure you I shall endeavour, and I hope succeed, in deserving such a trust.
I await your commands, and am with the sincerest respect, Sir, your obliged and very Humble Servant.
Wm Bligh.
‘Well?’ William demanded.
Fletcher frowned. ‘Don’t you think its tone is a trifle . . .’ He searched for the right word. ‘Obsequious?’
William half-closed his eyes. ‘What does that mean, exactly?’
‘Fawning.’
‘Fawning? Not at all. Sir Joseph is a baronet, the President of the Royal Society, and I’m expressing my gratitude to him. To a man of a much higher station than myself, for his unique offer.’
‘Well, the tone is certainly one of gratitude.’
Fletcher was being evasive. He did think the letter excessive. Grovelling, even. But he had his own future to think of. If William Bligh was to command an expedition to Tahiti, he wanted to be part of it. Desperately.
Part Two
A VOYAGE TO TAHITI
DEPTFORD, LONDON, 16 AUGUST 1787
They stood dockside at the Naval Yard. Moored beside them was a solitary ship, a merchantman, unflagged and with her three masts bare. A team of carpenters were busy about her decks, measuring, sawing, hammering. It was apparent from the network of ropes and pulleys dangling from the masts that they had been shortened. It was a fine London afternoon and the workmen were shirtless in the heat.
William stared at the vessel and recited: ‘Built in Hull three years ago, served as a coastal trader. Coal, mainly. Two hundred and thirty tons, ninety-one feet long, just under twenty-five feet in breadth. Chosen by Sir Joseph, purchased last month by the Navy Board, for less than two thousand pounds.’
‘Her name?’ asked Fletcher.
‘Bethia. But that will be changed.’ He peered over the edge of the dock and at the hull. ‘She’s been sheathed with copper to keep out the teredo navalis.’
‘What boats will she carry?’
‘Two cutters, one of eighteen feet, the other sixteen, and a launch. The launch is not yet finished. I insisted that it be a decent size, twenty-three feet. The naval contractors will deliver the three boats after the rigging’s completed.’
Although Fletcher nodded, looking down at Bethia’s decks he wondered how a launch of such size could be accommodated there, as well as two cutters.
They walked along to the bow. Her figurehead was of a woman in a riding habit. Staring along the vessel’s larboard flank, Fletcher observed, ‘She seems small, for what she will be expected to achieve.’
‘Yes. But there will be more modifications. Before I ordered them topped, the masts were far too tall. They would have carried too much top weight for wild weather. And the ballast was excessive; I’ve ordered it reduced from forty-five to nineteen tons.’ He clicked his tongue impatiently. ‘There will be much more t
o do if we’re to get her to sea by September.’
Just then there was the shrill call of a ship’s whistle, and seconds later another vessel appeared at the stern of Bethia. It was a launch, coming downriver. The four naval oarsmen shipped their oars and the launch glided into the dock alongside the ship. Seated on a central thwart were two middle-aged men, dressed formally.
William’s jaw dropped. ‘Good God, I believe that’s Sir Joseph.’
The launch was tied up and two men climbed the steps to the dock, Banks leading. He was well-built and fleshy-faced; the man with him was thin and long-necked. As both removed their tricorns, William came forward. ‘Sir Joseph.’ He dipped his head and held out his hand. ‘William Bligh of His Majesty’s Navy.’ He turned to Fletcher. ‘And this is Fletcher Christian, late of the company of the merchantman Britannia, which I commanded.’
Banks nodded. ‘Ah, yes, Bligh, it’s good to meet you at last.’ He stood back. ‘Now, meet my good friend Lord Sydney, one of King George’s Secretaries of State. Sydney and I have planned your forthcoming voyage.’
Fletcher felt awed to be in the presence of the famous naturalist, the man who had underwritten Cook’s first world voyage, and who had sailed with him to Tahiti to observe the 1769 transit of Venus. He recalled Banks’ colourful account of the voyage and knew of his great reputation as a botanical collector.
Banks and Sydney observed Bethia with discerning expressions, then Banks said, ‘So this is our Tahiti breadfruit transporter. She looks sturdy.’
‘If a trifle small, sir,’ Fletcher felt obliged to point out.
Lord Sydney gave him a sharp look. ‘She is to carry breadfruit plants, Christian, not niggers or grain.’
Fletcher coloured slightly at this rebuke; William gave a small, apologetic cough. ‘I am certain she will prove adequate, my lord.’
Sydney nodded. ‘This will be a vital expedition, Bligh. To provide year-round sustenance for our niggers in the West Indies so that greater profits will accrue to our plantation owners. And to our government.’