Fletcher of the Bounty

by Graeme Lay

  The sailors continued to stare, entranced. Most had experienced nothing like the warmth and spontaneity of this all-embracing reception.

  William and Fletcher, both in dress uniform on the quarterdeck, stood out as the ship’s leaders. Accordingly, they were garlanded more heavily than the rest. Bedecked with the blossoms, Fletcher brought a garland up to his nose. Its fragrance was sweet and heady, almost intoxicating.

  The captain asked Peckover to tell the Tahitian men that he wished to speak to their leaders. The gunner, obviously enjoying this new responsibility, stepped forward. Although his Tahitian was stumbling, the men understood, nodding and muttering, ‘Ae, ae, ae.’

  Peckover reported to William. ‘Some chiefs will come aboard tomorrow.’

  Already the garlanded crew were choosing women and taking them by the hand. Some were leading them down the companionways, their intention obvious. Fletcher looked at William to gauge his reaction. He appeared unconcerned, so much so that Fletcher, surprised, asked William, ‘You have no objection to the women going below?’

  ‘No.’ He leaned over the rail. ‘If we allow the Tahitians to establish friendships, to find special taios, to use their word, then they are more likely to cooperate, and allow us to have their breadfruit.’

  ‘But the venereals—’

  William waved a hand dismissively. ‘Huggan has assured me that none of the men are infected.’

  Fletcher looked away, thinking this improbable. Several of the men had told him they had symptoms of the pox. Again he wondered at William’s judgment. Placing his faith in Huggan’s diagnosis, when he had recently castigated the surgeon for his incompetence, was at the very least optimistic. Not that Fletcher blamed the men for their lust: under the circumstances it was entirely understandable. He longed for some cunny himself. After all, disregarding the sooty creatures of Adventure Bay, it was many months since any of them had seen a woman. And for him the Dutch woman, Meike, was now just a distant memory.

  So the women stayed, and below decks there was mass, joyful copulation. The law of supply and demand greatly favoured the crew. For every seaman there were two or more women. Several times a hammock’s ropes broke, sending its occupants — a heaving man and two frantic females — tumbling to the boards. After nightfall, others fucked on the decks. Fletcher looked on enviously; William pretended it wasn’t happening.

  Next morning Bounty was moved to a more secure anchorage, closer to the shore. Five chiefs were paddled out and came aboard. After gifts were exchanged — beads and mirrors for cooked pigs and plantains — Peckover was able to establish that these were only minor leaders. William was disappointed by their lack of status, but they assured him that their paramount chief, Tu, would shortly be brought out to meet him.

  Through Peckover, one of the chiefs, a rotund fellow, asked, ‘How is Tute?’

  William replied. ‘Captain Tute is very well. He is retired from the sea now, and is living with Mrs Cook and their children in their house in London.’

  The man frowned. Again with Peckover translating, he said: ‘Another ship from Peretane came to Tahiti, a few months ago. Its name was Lady Penrhyn. Some of its sailors told us that Tute had been killed, in Hawaii, years ago.’

  Colouring slightly, William shook his head. ‘No, no, Tute lives. And he sent me, his son, to Tahiti, to send his best wishes to the people here.’

  The chiefs looked confused for a moment. Then one asked, ‘You are the son of Tute?’

  ‘Yes. I, William Bligh, am the son of Captain Cook.’

  The men’s faces broke into smiles. ‘Ah, ah. Maeva, Parai, son of Tute. Manuia Parai!’

  Observing these blatant untruths, Fletcher smiled. When it suited his purposes, the man could lie at the drop of a cocked hat.

  He peered again at the land through his spyglass, impatient to get ashore. Point Venus, where Cook observed the transit of the planet nineteen years ago, was a level promontory covered in coconut palms, plantains and breadfruit trees. Fletcher saw that a stream flowed into the lagoon from the centre of the point, and that the western shore of Matavai Bay was bordered by a black-sand beach. He raised his spyglass a little. Inland the terrain rose steeply, first to forested foothills, then to the jagged peaks they had first seen two days ago. Steep-sided valleys separated the mountains; waterfalls cascaded down their sides, glittering in the morning sun. Bruise-black rainclouds were gathering about the mountaintops.

  Clearly, Fletcher decided, Point Venus would be the ideal collection centre for the breadfruit plants, as well as for making repairs to the ship. There was wood and water aplenty nearby. Coconuts, too. Swinging his spyglass to the right, he could see a mile or so away a clearing in which there was a large, open-sided house, thatched with palm fronds. Smoke from an earth oven beside the house rose into the air. Could that be the paramount chief ’s residence?

  Later that morning William held a briefing with Fletcher, Heywood, Peckover and the gardeners, Nelson and Brown. ‘You will all go ashore today,’ he ordered. ‘Take spare sails and a tent with you, and erect them as shelters, in the centre of Point Venus. That will comprise our shore encampment and the site for a breadfruit plant nursery. Able seamen Lamb, Ellison, Tinkler and Williams will go with you, to assist.

  ‘Acting Lieutenant Christian, you will stay ashore and be in charge of the camp. Take all your necessary belongings, including your hammock. The seamen will be issued with muskets, as a deterrent against thieving by the natives. Armourer Coleman will also go ashore too, and set up a forge on the point. The axes and knives we traded with the natives back in ’77 are sorely in need of repair, I’ve been told.’ William paused. ‘We must do everything we can to earn the natives’ friendship, so that the breadfruit plants will accrue to the nursery. Peckover, you will use your linguistic skills as trade supervisor for the breadfruit.’

  Fletcher was delighted to be given his new role. Once ashore, he slung his hammock between the trunks of two coconut palms. Looking up into their crowns, he saw clusters of yellow nuts. Food and drink, growing at his front and back door! Stripping to the waist, he supervised the erection of the tarpaulin shelters. The ship’s boats had transported the hundreds of pots to the shore, and Nelson and Brown were stacking them under the trees, ready for filling with earth and breadfruit shoots. Nelson explained to Fletcher that the breadfruit grows not from seeds, but from suckers and shoots from a mature tree’s roots. Tanned and bearded, Nelson contrasted strongly with Brown, who was short, tubby and in spite of his name, very pale. But both men looked the part of dedicated horticulturalists, wearing wreaths of tiare flowers around the crowns of their straw hats.

  Later that day William came ashore and inspected the camp. There had been squally rain in the morning but the sky had cleared, although the ground was still damp under the palms and the air was muggy. The improvised shelters, their corners roped firmly to palm tree trunks, had held up well in the wind and rain.

  Fletcher offered William a coconut and he swigged its juice. Nodding approvingly at the pots, now laid out in serried rows, he said, ‘A miniature Kew Gardens. Sir Joseph Banks would be delighted.’ He tossed the nut aside. ‘Fletcher, I am shortly to meet Tu, the Tahitians’ high chief. When I do, I want you to be there too.’

  ‘Why so?’

  ‘Tu is, Peckover reports, from the highest class of Tahitians. He’s the ari’i rahi, the highest chief. He’s also been an arioi, another exclusive class. So it’s fitting that you accompany me when I meet him.’

  ‘I don’t follow you, William.’

  ‘You, too, are of an upper-class background.’

  Fletcher found it hard not to laugh. ‘William, I am from the aristocracy of Cumbria and the Isle of Man. Minor aristocracy. He is a paramount chief. All the chief and I have in common is that we are both islanders.’

  William’s expression became strained. ‘My point is, Fletcher, that you are from a class higher than my own. And it shows in your bearing. The Tahitian people are greatly conscious of status.
Cook learned that, and so did Banks. The Tahitian rulers truly respect only those of a class similar to themselves. Those men who visited us at first were lesser chiefs. Tu is the most important leader. Those of his class have contempt for the lower class, the manahune, and even more so for the very lowest class, the teu teu. Conversely, they have deep respect for the upper class.

  ‘It’s my impression that most of the women who have come aboard Bounty are teu teu.’ He snorted. ‘Fitting, since most of our crew are from England’s lowest class. Our own teu teu. But as I said, there is no one else among Bounty’s company who is of your elevated background. I have the authority of naval command, you have the authority which stems from your lineage. So it’s fitting that you are with me when I meet with the high chief. It will help our cause.’ His eyes bored into Fletcher’s. ‘All right?’

  ‘Very well.’ But he thought, that is a very odd stance for the captain to adopt.

  When Tu, his wife and their retinue were paddled into Matavai Bay in their pahi, a large double-hulled canoe, Fletcher greeted them on the beach, dressed in his officer’s uniform. That too was suitable protocol, William had told him. The chief must be met by a person in authority, in keeping with his great status.

  Tu certainly looked the part. He was tall, well over six feet, and powerfully built. A tangled bush of dark curly hair covered the sides of his face. He had a straggled moustache, a prominent nose and a small clump of wiry hair on his chin. Itia, his wife, was short and very fat, with long dark hair which hung loose. Both leaders were wrapped in several layers of white bark cloth.

  Fletcher offered the chief and his wife his hand and greeted them the way Peckover had instructed him. ‘Ia ora na. Maeva. To’u i’oa o, Lieutenant Fletcher Christian, of King George’s ship, HMAV Bounty.’

  Visibly impressed with Fletcher’s uniform and demeanour, Tu inclined his head respectfully, then said, ‘Maururu roa. To’u i’oa o, Tu. Ia ora na. Maeva.’

  They were paddled out to the ship in the pahi. The three men and three women manahune accompanying the leaders had baskets of food in their laps. One man carried something wrapped in tapa cloth.

  The canoe drew alongside Bounty and they all disembarked, Fletcher leading. Itia was so ungainly it took two seamen to get her up onto the deck. William greeted them at the starboard gate, removing his cocked hat and bowing. ‘Welcome, Chief Tu. Welcome Mistress Itia. Welcome to this ship of the navy of King George of Peretane, HMAV Bounty.’

  Fletcher stood back, now deferring to William. Observing the scene, he saw that it had a slightly absurd aspect. William was so short, the chief so tall, the one pale, the other bronzed. William’s head reached only to Tu’s chest. Because of this, his authority seemed diminished. Fletcher had been told that the natives revered physical size and prowess. If that was so, William did not stack up. Yet Tu was treating him respectfully, in keeping with his status as commander of this vaka nui, this big ship.

  On deck, gifts were given and received. Lengths of bark cloth, a large cooked pig and some breadfruit from the Tahitians were exchanged for adzes, axes, knives, files, a saw and mirrors from William to Tu. To Itia, William presented beads, necklaces and earrings. To Fletcher’s amusement Itia showed indifference towards these geegaws, indicating that she was much more interested in the axes.

  Tu then beckoned a man to come forward, the one who was carrying the parcel. He handed it to Tu, who handed it to William, who opened it.

  ‘Good God . . .’

  It was a portrait of James Cook, painted in oils on canvas. His expression was stern, his features haggard.

  Fletcher stared at it, amazed. ‘Who did it?’ he asked William.

  ‘John Webber, our artist, when we were here in ’77.’ He said to Tu, ‘You have been looking after this for many years?’

  The chief nodded. ‘Tute ari’i no Tahiti.’

  Peckover translated. ‘That means, he calls the picture “Cook, the high chief of Tahiti”. It is a treasured object to his people, I think.’

  ‘Yes, yes.’ William handed the portrait back. ‘You must keep it. Tute’s son orders you to keep his portrait. Forever.’

  William and Tu then exchanged names, signifying that each was now the valued taio of the other. William murmured to Fletcher, ‘Being taios means we will always support each other. Including supplying plenty of breadfruit for us.’

  They went below decks to the dining room, Itia included. William told Fletcher that normally Tahitian men and women dined separately, but Itia’s distinguished status meant that this edict would be waived. With Peckover’s language skills again being put to good use, William explained the purpose of their visit. What they needed, he told Tu, were young uru, breadfruit plants, to take back to King George of Peretane. He wished to grow them in his palace garden, in London.

  Tu nodded, Parai could have all the uru he wished. He also explained that Matari’i’i’raro, the Season of Scarcity when the breadfruit was not mature, was nearly over. Matari’i’i’ni’a, the Season of Plenty, when much rain came, would shortly be upon them. The breadfruit would from then on be ripening, he said. But the young breadfruit shoots would be suitable for transplanting now.

  As the chief and his entourage were farewelled, Tu told them that William, Fletcher and Peckover — who had obviously earned mana from his good spoken Tahitian — would be welcome as Tu’s guests the next day, at his fare nui, his big house along the coast at Pare. He would send a servant to guide them there.

  Nudging Fletcher, William said jubilantly, ‘You see? My tactics worked.’ Aware that Peckover had overheard him, he warned, ‘Don’t bother translating that.’

  The trio walked inland, guided by a barefoot boy. In spite of the cloying heat, both William and Fletcher again wore their uniforms, including cocked hats; William had buckled on his sword. Peckover, though, wore a plain jacket and cap.

  A well-formed trail led up through the forest, then veered right and ran parallel to the coast. Overhead were the crowns of huge trees: tamanu, toa, mape and uru, their leaves dripping from recent rain. Shrubs of flowering aute, fara and tiare grew prolifically, and clumps of plantains were everywhere. The foliage exuded an earthy smell, overlaid with the scent of wild herbs. Colourful parrots called to one another, then flew away at the men’s approach. William and Fletcher swatted away insistent, buzzing insects with their hats.

  After an hour’s walk through the forest, trailing the boy, they were all sweating profusely and it was a relief when they reached a clearing. ‘Here it is,’ Peckover announced, panting. ‘The fare nui of chief Tu.’

  Built atop a long mound, the house occupied the centre of the clearing. A crowd of onlookers had gathered around it, and they burst into excited conversations as the servant boy and the trio of Popa’a — foreigners — emerged from the forest. Some of the women began to sing and sway their hips; others tossed tiare blossoms at the visitors.

  The house was open-sided, its palm-frond roof supported by timber posts. Tu and Itia, both still wrapped in white cloth cloaks, greeted their guests by touching noses, then led them into the house. A mat of bark cloth like a hall runner was laid out along the length of the building, and seated at one end was Tu’s extended family, including his father, grey-haired Teina, and Tu’s young son. Behind them on a wooden platform was a display of food: two large cooked pigs, several baked tuna, sticks of sugar cane and fruits of all kinds. A large carved ’ava bowl had been placed in front of the food.

  Tu went to William and wound a length of white bark cloth around his shoulders. It was large and bulky. Encased in this cloth carapace, his bare head protruding from it, William resembled an albino turtle, Fletcher thought.

  Tu indicated that he and William should walk the length of the long mat and back again. As they did so Tu’s voice boomed out. ‘Parai, taio. Tama e Tute!’ ‘Good friend Bligh! Son of Tute!’

  The spectators looking on echoed his acclamation, crying out ‘Fa’aitoito!’ ‘Well said!’

  Fletcher sat to o
ne side, observing the scene and the ceremony. He was entranced. The cheering and singing crowd, the women’s seductive dancing, the exoticness and exuberance — it was all captivating.

  Tu and William sat down in front of the chief ’s family, with Fletcher and Peckover to one side. A servant filled a coconut shell cup with ’ava and handed it to Tu, who drank from it, then passed it to William. He sipped it, then passed the cup on hurriedly to Fletcher. He took a mouthful. It looked and tasted like a muddy puddle, but had an aftertaste that was refreshing. Thirst-quenching, too, although it left his lips a little numb.

  As Fletcher passed the shell cup to Peckover, he noticed someone on the other side of the fare, next to one of the pillars. A young woman, sitting cross-legged on a mat by herself, wearing a cape of white bark cloth. She had a mane of long black hair and a scarlet hibiscus flower behind her right ear.

  Unable to resist, and seeing that William was now eating with Tu’s party, Fletcher went over to her. He indicated that he wished to sit next to her. ‘Ia ora na. May I?’

  She nodded, then looked at him inquisitively. Her face was oval, her nose slightly flattened, her cheekbones prominent. She looked to be in her mid-twenties. He sat down and crossed his legs, then beckoned Peckover over. ‘Tell her who I am, and where I’m from.’

  Peckover said to her, ‘O Fletcher Christian to’u i’oa. No te mai rau Peretane.’

  She nodded, then tapped her breast. ‘O Mauatua to’u i’oa.’ Her eyes were lustrous, almost black.

  ‘Ah . . .’ said Fletcher, rolling the vowels. ‘Mow-ah-too-ah.’

  ‘Ae.’

  She smiled, showing bright white teeth, then placed her hands in her lap. She stared at his uniform, then his face, assessing both. He noticed that the back of her right hand, and all her fingers, were intricately tattooed. The fingers themselves were very long and slender. Like Isabella’s.

  Fletcher said to Peckover. ‘Tell her, tell Mauatua, that she is very beautiful.’