Mutiny on the Bounty

by Peter Fitzsimons

  The Bounty sails out of Isabella’s sight, across the seas, through the day and onward into the night. A trailing whale might note a sole dull gleam coming from high on the stern of the ship. It is Captain Bligh, doing what he loves most – consulting his charts, noting his ship’s position against its destination, the obstacles and ports between the two, and reviewing the course he has charted. From Tahiti, they must proceed, broadly west, towards the northern end of New Holland, being very careful to find a way through the formidable barrier of reefs that defends that coastline. Once through, they will push north along the coast to the tip of New Holland, and then – with the prevailing trade winds right behind them – turn west once more, at least after navigating the very narrow, very shallow, Endeavour Strait – first breached by Captain Cook in 1770, going east to west – which will be supremely difficult, but quite doable for a man such as William Bligh. Thereafter they will head towards the Dutch East Indies, before sailing down to the Cape of Good Hope, then into the Atlantic, and up to Jamaica. And then home. Home to England, to his wife and four gorgeous bairns! The whale winks, the lantern fades.

  CHAPTER SIX

  THE MOOD TURNS MUTINOUS

  He that only rules by terror

  Doeth grievous wrong.

  Deep as hell I count his error.

  Let him hear my song.

  Brave the Captain was; the seamen

  Made a gallant crew,

  Gallant sons of English freemen,

  Sailors bold and true,

  But they hated his oppression;

  Stern he was and rash,

  So for every light transgression

  Doom’d them to the lash.

  Day by day more harsh and cruel

  Seem’d the Captain’s mood.

  Secret wrath like smother’d fuel

  Burnt in each man’s blood1

  Lord Tennyson, ‘The Captain’, 1865

  It was in those violent Tornadoes of temper when he lost himself, yet, when all, in his opinion, went right, could a man be more placid and interesting …? Once or twice indeed I felt the unbridled licence of his power of speech, yet never without soon receiving something like an emollient plaster to heal the wound.2

  George Tobin, Royal Navy officer and artist, who also sailed with Bligh

  9 April 1789, 120 miles north-west of Tahiti, a whirl of fury

  ‘Ship’s companyyyy … attennn-shunn!’ bawls Master-at-Arms, Charley Churchill to the assembled crew. ‘On command you will fix bayonets … fix bayonets! On command you will charge bayonets … charge bayonets! Orderrrr arms!’3

  On the foredeck of the Bounty, the men are in ‘Exercise’ – the daily exercise of naval musket drill – when they are interrupted by a small package of fury, whirling towards them, a furious force of nature, terrifying all. Just for once, it is not Captain Bligh.

  No, this is a water-spout, a kind of mini-tornado that the men of the Bounty spot to the east – roughly in the direction they have come from – looming ever more threateningly against a backdrop of angry black clouds.

  ‘As nearly as I could judge,’ Bligh would recount, ‘it was about two feet diameter at the upper part, and about eight inches at the lower … The column, which was higher than our mastheads, and the water below was not otherwise visible than by the sea being disturbed in a circular space of about six yards in diameter, the centre of which, from the whirling of the water round it, formed a hollow; and from the outer part of the circle the water was thrown up with much force in a spiral direction, and could be traced to the height of fifteen or twenty feet.’4

  And this whirling dervish of weather is coming right for them, a clear and present threat to the ship’s masts and maybe more!

  ‘Haul off,’ Bligh barks. The helmsman yanks down hard on the wooden wheel and the ship hauls off their westward course to the south, pulling away from the danger.

  ‘Take in all sail bar the foresail,’5 Bligh roars again and some of the crew start shinnying up the rigging like crazed monkeys – and no-one more than the lovable Monkey himself, springing up in one bound, leaping from spar to spar – even as others haul on the ropes below. In less than ten minutes it is done. And still the water-spout keeps coming, almost as if it is hunting them.

  The men watch anxiously as the menacing spout passes just ten yards clear of the Bounty’s stern, leaving the ship unscathed.

  They are safe from the whirl of fury and the cry goes up, ‘Make more sail!’

  Alas, the other whirl of fury – Bligh – simply won’t let up. Now that they are back at sea, Bligh has not turned a new leaf, calm and content to be on the voyage once more. No. He remains the terrifying tyrant of old – only worse. Thus, even as the ship’s company is trying to adjust from the free and easy life at Tahiti, back to the rigid discipline and endless tedium of crossing the ocean, they also must deal with a hissing, shouting, forever furious Captain who finds fault with everybody and everything.

  And, there is no doubt about it. One member of the ship seems to attract his ire, almost more than all the others combined.

  ‘Whatever fault was found,’ one crew-member would recount, ‘Mr. Christian was sure to bear the brunt of the Captain’s anger.’6

  For something indeed has changed in the formerly close relationship of Bligh and the man who was nothing less than his protégé and favourite, Acting Lieutenant Fletcher Christian.

  Perhaps Bligh had been disappointed at just how seduced Christian had been by Tahiti in general and Isabella in particular, or perhaps he feels that Christian needs a big injection of discipline, so he can both display it himself and be able to demand it of others – as befitting the rank of Acting Lieutenant, to which exalted level Bligh has personally promoted him. Whatever it is, the men are quite stunned at how often, and how publicly, Bligh upbraids the popular officer, frequently including the fact that Christian still owes him money. (And, truly, Christian is shocked himself, and humiliated – gritting his teeth, and hoping that it will pass, and soon. For he knows that, one way or another, he cannot bear it for long.)

  The ship sails on, but there is a growing uneasiness among her crew, a sense that all is not right, that trouble is festering.

  Ah, if only they could know, and …

  And what now?

  Coming across an uncharted island on 12 April, the Bounty men are on their guard as several canoes, loaded with Natives, approach. Fortunately, the Natives are friendly, and Bligh even allows some of them to board. Identifying one of them as their Chief, Bligh rubs noses with him, and is rewarded by the Chief removing the ‘large mother of pearl shell, which hung with plaited hair round his neck’7 and fastening it round the Captain’s neck.

  The name of this island, Captain Bligh is told, is ‘Wytootacke …’8 As a gesture of reciprocal good will, Captain Bligh orders ‘a young boar and sow to be put into their canoe with some yams and tarro, as we could afford to part with some of these articles’.9

  Yes, the Bounty is a ship of plenty and Bligh can indulge this rare burst of generosity in parting with such gifts.

  Such generosity of spirit, however, continues to be elusive for him when it comes to dealing with Fletcher Christian, as their relationship disintegrates by the day.

  Meanwhile, Christian is not the only one in trouble, with Bligh recording in his Log on 12 April, ‘Punished John Sumner with 12 lashes for neglect of duty,’10 but his tirades against Christian are just so constant, so unending!

  One who notes this disintegration is Fryer, who on 21 April 1789, overhears Christian’s shaking voice answer back: ‘Sir, your abuse is so bad I cannot do my duty with any pleasure. I have been in hell for weeks with you.’11

  Bligh snaps back, and Fryer hears ‘several other disagreeable words’,12 exchanged.

  23 April 1789, Latitude 20°23’ South, Longitude 174°80’ West, taking arms to a sea of troubles

  Land ho!

  The island of Annamooka, of the ‘Friendly’ or Tonga islands, appears off the larboard quar
ter. Bligh knows this island and its Chiefs well, having visited with Captain Cook in 1777. It is the perfect place to replenish their supplies of wood and fresh water.

  Ideally, they will be able to drop anchor in Annamooka Harbour, and barter their way over a few days to full supply with these people who have received many visits from European ships over the years. And here is a Chief now, a new one since Bligh was last here, Chief Latoomy-lange, being paddled out to the ship on his fine canoe, soon joined by two older Chiefs well known to Bligh, Chief Noocabo and Chief Kunocappo. Just as at Tahiti, the Bounty is quickly the place to be, with the Natives flocking to the ship in enormous numbers and bartering anything and everything, from hogs to fowl, from deliciously sweet yams to lovely bunches of coconuts.

  A particularity of this island is their sailing canoes, ‘formed of two joined together by strong cross-pieces … really a wonderful piece of art and contrivance, sailed with great swiftness and managed with much cleverness’. The platform between the two canoes can carry enormous amounts of goods and people, with Bligh noting, ‘I have counted 90 passengers on board some of those that have already come to see us.’13

  And what people they are!

  ‘The men are tattooed from the knee to the waist,’ James Morrison chronicles, while, far more importantly, ‘the women are handsome but know how to set a price on their favours’.14

  And yet, while the principal interest of the men in visiting such islands remains unchanged, so too is Bligh’s focus exactly the same – bread-fruit. Since leaving Tahiti, one of his precious cargo has died and two or three plants are looking sickly. His hope is that Annamooka might have some replacement seedlings that Mr Nelson – another rare being on the ship, for having a focus other than women – might quickly claim.

  And oh, what a pleasure it is for Bligh and Nelson to venture ashore once more, just as they had in 1777, to visit the places and houses they had visited with Cook, to remark how little had changed in this timeless land, to meet up with familiar faces, all of which are smiling at them, even as Bligh distributes some ‘beads and trinkets to the women and children’, and arranges with his oldest ally on the island, a man by the name of Tepa, to send a wood and watering party on shore the next day. At the break of day, Bligh gives his final orders to the two parties – an 11-man watering party under the command of Christian, and a four-man wooding party under Elphinstone.

  Christian’s watering party may take arms with them, but the arms are ‘to be kept in the Boat’.15 Bligh is firm: ‘You will be much safer on shore without them’.16 As to the wooding party, no arms at all.

  ‘You are to keep yourselves,’ he orders, ‘unconnected with the Natives.’17

  Get your wood, and come straight back to the ship.

  Yes, Captain Bligh.

  Taking the Launch, which can seat his 11-man party, but only just, Christian heads off, closely followed by Elphinstone and his three companions in the Jolly Boat. It shouldn’t take long …

  Hours later, the sailors on the Bounty note the steady stomp of Bligh’s black boots pacing across the deck, back and forth.

  Where can Christian be?

  He calls to Mr Fryer to ready the Cutter and go ashore: ‘Hurry Mr Christian off with the Launch.’18

  Fryer is soon on his way with half-a-dozen men pulling on oars, guiding the Cutter to where Christian has left the Launch on the shoreline guarded by two of his party, who tell Fryer that Christian and the men can be found over yonder hill, the one covered with plantain trees, about a quarter mile away.

  Meanwhile, the arrival of the Cutter has drawn quite a crowd of ‘very friendly’ Natives, among whom are ‘a good looking young man and woman’,19 who appear to be Chiefs.

  Taking Mr Fryer by each arm, they kindly offer to show him the way.

  Certainly.

  He will accompany them, right after snapping off an order for the crew to drag the Cutter just a little up the beach, and to keep the crowding Natives at a safe distance.

  ‘Lay off your oars until I come back,’20 he instructs.

  Only a short time after starting out from the beach in the company of his two helpful, handsome guides, Fryer runs into Matt Quintal who is ‘rolling a cask of water down to the boat with a number of natives about him’.21

  Fryer moves on but not for long as he hears Quintal scream: ‘MR FRYER! THERE’S A MAN GOING TO KNOCK YOU DOWN WITH HIS CLUB!’22

  Fryer whirls around to see the handsome man ‘brandishing his club,’23 about to strike the Master’s head, but suddenly stopping, frozen.

  The moment, and the movement, hang suspended in time … until the man drops his threatening arm, turns on his heel and runs off. To get more men? A surer weapon? What?

  Fryer is badly shaken.

  ‘I was not armed,’ he would later note, ‘even with a stick.’24

  His best chance of safety, of course, lies with Christian and his men, and he and Quintal race to find them.

  Reaching Christian and his party, they see that these men too are having problems, as ‘there was a number of Natives about … some heaving stones frequently and one chief with a very long spear frequently pointed at Mr Christian’.25

  At least Christian is personally armed ‘with a musket and bayonet’,26 but, despite the danger, he is strictly adhering to the Captain’s orders and is not using, or even threatening to use, the weapons on the aggressors.

  Under the circumstances, the men are going as fast as they can – eager to fill their water barrels and get away from this hostile environment – and it is hardly necessary to tell them to make haste, but the shaken Fryer cannot help himself.

  ‘Mr Christian, get the casks down to the boat empty or full,’27 he orders. Fryer quickly gives some of the Natives who are not throwing stones or brandishing spears, ‘several small nails’28 as a bribe. It works. In short order, the watering party is being aided by some of the Natives to roll the barrels down to where the Cutter and Launch await.

  Alas, to Fryer’s great distress, and against his previous orders, he finds the sailors he has left behind frolicking with the friendly Natives, most particularly the young women. The sailors have landed the Cutter and the small, hooked anchor, known as the grapnel, is planted firmly in the sand of the beach. Or at least it was – for they have no sooner arrived than in the general hubbub one of the Natives manages to cut the rope and whisk the grapnel away. Furious, Mr Fryer questions the Chiefs among the crowd, to be told only that the anchor was ‘taken by the people of another island’.29

  This, at least, is their claim.

  It leaves Christian and Fryer brooding darkly as they are rowed back to the Bounty, each stroke bringing them closer to what will surely be a brutal burst of Bligh bellicosity that will likely singe their eyebrows. And sure enough …

  ‘I will have [the Grapnel] again,’ Bligh hisses on receipt of Fryer’s quavering news, ‘or I will detain some of the chiefs on board until it is brought back.’30

  Fryer reels. This is precisely the manoeuvre that caused the death of Captain Cook.

  ‘I think,’ the Master says carefully, ‘it is not worth our while [to] trouble these poor fellows about it that are on board, as they could not know anything about it! We have several more [Grapnels] onboard and plenty of Iron to make one if we should want, therefore our loss is not very great.’31

  Captain Bligh pounces.

  ‘Not very great, sir? By God! Sir, if it is not great to you, it is great to me!’32

  ‘I am very sorry that we have lost the Grapnel, but being sorry I think is of no use,’33 replies Fryer tartly, his usually stoical face flashing anger.

  Bligh’s glare could peel paint, but Fryer is his own man, has said his piece, just as he intended to do – and so shuffles off, leaving Christian to give his report.

  Well, Mr Christian? Hesitantly, the Acting Lieutenant tells his Captain of the difficulties in gathering water when Natives are throwing stones and brandishing spears at you, and you –

  ‘You damn
ed cowardly rascal!’ Bligh roars. ‘Are you afraid of a set of naked savages while you have arms?’34

  Christian is stunned. He is being called a ‘coward’? A ‘rascal’?

  Scarcely bringing himself to believe it, he tries to remain calm and explain.

  ‘The arms,’ he explains carefully, ‘are no use while your orders prevent them being used.’35

  Insolence! Get out of my sight!

  As an old hand, Christian has seen Bligh this angry many times before. But never has Christian seen him so angry at Christian himself. In fact, Bligh is so incandescent with rage that, for the first time, Christian even wonders if he is in physical danger from Bligh?

  For now, Christian is dismissed, and stumbles off with a faraway look in his eyes – still trying to comprehend his Captain’s diatribe – leaving Bligh to fume, as only he can, on what course of action to take now. Why is he cursed to be so surrounded by such incompetent fools, liars, idlers and fops?

  As ever, he decides, it will be up to him to do all the work himself, just as he had done with catching those wretched deserters. And already he has an idea. First of all, he goes in search of the Master, who is in the process of hoisting up the boats when the Captain finds him.

  ‘Mr Fryer,’ he says casually, ‘anybody that wants to buy curiosities has leave.’36

  Fryer is more than a little surprised. After his previous foul mood, Bligh now seems almost … cheery? Bligh now turns to the Bounty’s old Gunner, William Peckover, and affirms: ‘Purchase anything. Don’t mind what you give for it.’37

  Even more curious! Peckover agrees to trade generously with the Natives on board, but is none the wiser as to why the Captain is being so generous.

  ‘Mr Fryer, we’ll heave the anchor up and go away,’38 orders Bligh. Perhaps that is the explanation? Perhaps it is simply that, as they are about to get underway, Bligh is keen for the men to replenish their personal stocks to the maximum, whatever might amuse them or feed them, for the long journey to Jamaica.