‘Consider, Mr Christian,’ he says softly, ‘I have a wife and four children in England, and you have danced my children upon your knee.’64
It is the cruellest blow of all. For, whatever his fury at Bligh, Christian adores kind Betsy Bligh and those innocent little girls. The full realisation of what he is doing to the patriarch of the family hits him like a crack to the head.
‘My heart melted,’ he would later recount to Heywood, ‘and I would have jumped overboard, if I could have saved you, but as it was too late to do that, I was obliged to proceed.’65
Rallying, Christian comes up with a fair reply, albeit in a faltering voice.
‘You should have thought of them sooner yourself, Captain Bligh! It is too late to consider now, I have been in hell for weeks past with you!’66
Christian cuts the rope around Bligh’s wrists, and Bligh steadies himself to climb down to the Launch, his aching hands on the gunnels, and his feet on the ladder. He looks at the captive Loyalists and the jeering Mutineers alike and declares: ‘Never fear, my lads, I’ll do you justice if ever I reach England!’67
All of them understand. This is a promise … and a clear threat. Exoneration for the declared Loyalists on board who are there against their will, and the NOOSE for the rest of you triumphal traitorous dogs, starting with Christian.
They are extraordinary, bold words for one now climbing down into an overcrowded tiny boat with few supplies, bobbing thousands of miles from any European outpost, but …
But Bligh is an extraordinary man.
•
It has all happened with such raging rapidity.
Two and a half hours ago, William Bligh was the sleeping Captain of the Bounty. Now, he is the Captain of a 23-foot, overladen Launch floating just off the stern of the Bounty, tethered only by a single rope. And already he is finding fault with the order of things, not least the lack of food and water.
‘I request some provisions,’68 Bligh calls up to the ship.
The cry instantly goes up to give him some lead, for starters.
‘Shoot the Bugger!’69
Roars of rum-fuelled laughter. But one sharp word from Christian and Morrison runs aft and gets ‘all the pork which was in the harness Casks, twenty five or six pieces’,70 which are tossed down, a few lost into the water.
Taking advantage of Christian’s momentary humanity, Bligh orders the Launch be rowed closer to the Bounty, so more things can be handed down. There are two things in particular he wishes for.
‘Mr Christian, my commission and sextant, I beg you!’71
Bligh, begging?
So lowering himself?
Yes, and for good reason. It is the one hope he has of getting the sextant, the most crucial navigational instrument of all. The greatest navigator in the world – and Bligh has more than a sneaking suspicion that he is that very man – would be as helpless as hopeless as hapless without at least a sextant to work out where they are.
As for the ‘commission’, that, too, will be crucial, should they make it to any European outpost or be met by a European ship – as it is the formal paper and badge that conveys the confirmation of the Crown itself. And yet, while Christian hands down the commission to the Launch, he refuses to hand down Bligh’s sextant, an instrument, he knows, was a personal gift from Sir Joseph Banks on the eve of the Bounty’s departure, and is very likely the finest sextant available in the world. That is fine for the Captain of a ship, but far too good for the Captain of a tiny Launch. No, Bligh can make do, instead, with Christian’s sextant, along with a book of nautical tables, and Hamilton Moore’s Seaman’s Complete Daily Assistant, which contains the latitude and longitude of all known lands. They will have to do, in the place of maps.
‘There, Captain Bligh,’ calls Christian, giving Bligh his rank back, if not his ship. ‘This is sufficient for every purpose, and you know the sextant to be a good one.’72
Though not satisfied, Bligh is at least quietly pleased. From having nothing, he now has a compass, a sextant, a crew and a half-decent boat. And, of course, he has the unshakeable confidence that, as the Royal Navy’s finest Captain, and best navigator, he will find a way, notwithstanding the fact he still has not a single chart, and will have to rely on his nautical tables, but this means he at least has a direction to steer for, and to steer away from.
In the meantime, though Bligh is relieved to see Morrison hand a couple of water gourds into the Launch, which are gratefully received by many reaching hands, he decides there is a more precious item they absolutely must have. Guns.
‘Mr Morrison,’ Bligh calls, ‘I desire a musket or two.’73
Morrison hurries off, and, encouraged, Bligh tries his luck with another man who has just wandered into view, the very man who had displayed kindness to him, earlier, in covering his bare buttocks.
‘Mr Burkett,’ he calls up, ‘get me a musket or two?’74
So it is that, just as Morrison is asking Christian for permission to give Mr Bligh his guns – ‘No,’ comes the firm reply – Burkett appears.
‘Mr Christian, let me give a couple of muskets into the boat?’75 he asks.
‘I’ll be damned if you do,’76 replies Churchill, again with menace, in a manner no seaman or officer would ever have dared speak when Bligh was in charge of this ship.
As it happens, Christian agrees, and says no, for the second time.
Morrison persists: ‘Mr Christian, I beg you, let me give one into the Boat.’77
They are Englishmen. They are our former shipmates, up until just three hours ago. We can’t possibly, surely, send them among the savages of the Pacific without a weapon to defend themselves?
‘Four cutlasses,’ Christian concedes.
Well, it is something. With great care, the wrapped cutlasses are ‘thrown into the boat’78 by Morrison and Churchill. Churchill also throws in a jeer of explanation.
‘There, Captain Bligh! You don’t stand in need of firearms as you are going among your friends!’79
The Mutineers whoop and hoot with laughter.
It is not clear if Churchill is making an unlikely pun on the ‘Friendly Islands’ – he is not known for his sophisticated humour – or making an observation as to the ‘loyalty’ of the Loyalists, but either way, Bligh takes an exceedingly dim view of it.
The three captive Loyalists – Coleman, McIntosh and Norman – feel the same, gazing enviously down upon the Launch, weeping and sobbing, as the Mutineers are dancing in delight, a rolling jig of jeerers all around them.
As the Launch moves away, they cry and call out to Bligh to remember that they are on the ship against their will.
‘I beg you, Captain,’ yells Coleman through his tears. ‘Take notice that I had no hand at all in it.’80
Bligh gives a further pledge of his long memory.
‘My lads, I will do you all justice for I know who is who!’81
Mr Coleman yells out once more with a very particular request. ‘If ever anybody lives to get to England, I beg you, remember me to a Mr Green in Greenwich.’82
Mr Green in Greenwich? Though nobody in the Launch knows who on earth the eponymous Mr Green is or why Mr Coleman is so concerned about this man’s opinion, the Loyalists call out that they will.
Now James Morrison, never able to resist a joke, also calls out to the departing Loyalists, ‘If my friends enquire after me, tell them I am … somewhere in the South Seas!’83
Ah, how the Mutineers laugh. And even in the Launch of Loyalists, there is some snickering, at least until such time as a withering glare from Bligh cuts it dead.
And now another shout, this one of anguish … but where is he? Not on the deck, and not in the Launch, though everyone looks around on both levels. It takes a few moments before he is discovered.
Oh. Oh, dear.
It is coming from down there, on the other side, in the Cutter nudged up against the Bounty. Why, it is Michael Byrn, the Blind Fiddler, who in all the confusion is still following Mr Cole’s order,
and sitting, alone, in the large Cutter.
He is, by default, now a prisoner of the Mutineers, making him the fourth known Loyalist stuck aboard HMS Mutiny. ‘I am detained, Captain!’84 Byrn yells. The half-soused Mutineers are both amused and pleased at the mix-up.
‘We must not part with our fiddler!’85 one yells.
More laughter.
The Blind Fiddler doesn’t care. He wishes it noted. He is loyal to Bligh, and he insists it be marked down.
Now, given that the Launch is probably a good ten hours stout rowing to the nearest island of Tofoa, Christian calls out to Bligh, ‘I will tow you in towards the land.’86
And perhaps Bligh might be tempted.
But the fact that the deck of the Bounty has myriad Mutineers with guns upon it, leaning over the gunnels to roar with derision at the Loyalists’ predicament, points him the other way. It is becoming ever more obvious they must be on their way, and quickly, as a slurred shout goes up once more from one of the drunken pirates: ‘Shoot the Bugger!’87
More cackling comes in response, even as his comrades slug back more rum, and Captain Christian shouts to his unruly mob: ‘Clear the Great Cabin, throw the bread-fruit overboard!’88
Yes, sir, Captain, sir!
William Bligh’s humiliation is complete. He watches with disdain as the Mutineers, with hoots of derisive laughter, break into a frenzy of activity the likes of which Bligh never witnessed when they were working for him. They throw the precious pots overboard. Out! Out! Out! Everything must go!
Of all the indignities, all the outrages, this is the one that hits Bligh hardest. He must turn away. All that work, all his organisation, now irretrievably gone forever as the pots continue to hurl down, crashing into the water, splashing the Loyalists.
‘We had better cast off,’ Cole wisely advises the Captain, ‘and take our chance, for they will certainly do us a mischief if we stay much longer.’89
‘Shoot the Bugger!’90 one of the Mutineers cries again.
With that, William Bligh takes a cutlass and with one mighty blow cuts the rope that binds them to the ship.
‘Go and see if you can live on a quarter of a pound of yams a day!’91 Millward shouts maliciously from on high, now every bit as enthusiastic a Mutineer as he is a drunken one.
‘Keep right astern,’ Bligh orders Fryer, ‘to prevent her guns from bearing on us.’92
Of course. Bligh would not put it past one of these evil wretches to fire a cannon on them, and be done with the Loyalists and their Launch entirely.
But only moments after they start to haul on the six oars, the Captain of the Launch barks a sharp order: ‘Stop!’
Bligh is not quite done.
‘I DESIRE TO SPEAK WITH MR CHRISTIAN,’93 he yells.
Yes, he wishes to make one last appeal.
On the deck of the Bounty, Christian is done.
‘No person shall answer,’94 orders Christian quietly.
Almost like naughty schoolboys, hiding from the headmaster behind the woodshed, all duck down and say nothing.
‘I WISH TO SPEAK WITH MR CHRISTIAN,’95 Bligh yells once more.
Still nothing. Yesterday, Bligh screamed ‘NO REPLY’ into Christian’s face as he shook his fist.
Today, Christian’s silence pierces the air.
The simple truth dawns on Christian, giving him a rare moment of lightness on this turbulent morning: never again will he hear the raised voice of Captain Bligh, which is slowly fading … in … the distance.
For this, let the Lord make us truly thankful, for ever and ever, Amen.
Christian orders his men to set sail.
In the Launch, as the men heave hard on the oars, they can hear the chorus of triumphant cheers floating to them over the water in their wake:
‘HUZZAH FOR TAHITI! HUZZAH FOR TAHITI!’96
Such is not their mood. They are 19 sombre men crammed into a tiny vessel, who, on the orders of their own rumbling volcano, sitting imperiously high at the bow, are bound for the smouldering volcano of Tofoa, some 30 nautical miles away, where they will hopefully find the water they need and, if they’re lucky, perhaps even heaps of bread-fruit …
And … stroke.
And … stroke.
And … stroke.
And … suddenly an enraged shark emerges from the deep and bites off a paddle! (Shakespeare’s Claudius is right: ‘When sorrows come, they come not in single spies but in battalions.’) There is momentary consternation, followed by some Bligh bellows and order is restored. A spare oar is slid into the rowlock.
And … stroke.
And … stroke.
And … stroke.
Nothing is to be allowed to interfere with the plan to get to Tofoa by nightfall.
No-one speaks. The heavens themselves have been stunned to silence.
The only sound is the constant creak of the oars slotted into the gunnels, and the splash of their paddles. In mid-afternoon, there is the ruffle of a breeze, just enough for the sails to fill not flap, and they are propelled thereafter by the breath of God.
Taking from Hayward the small leather-bound book the young officer has smuggled aboard, Bligh ignores the first two pages which the Midshipman has filled, and begins making careful notes. He needs a plan.
•
As Christian gazes at Bligh’s Launch gradually sinking below the northern horizon, his thoughts tumble madly. Everything has happened so quickly.
He is the leader of a bunch of Mutineers aboard the Bounty, and Bligh is adrift.
But should he even be the Captain of this ship? With the authority of the law no longer behind him, it is clear that he can only remain Captain if his fellow Mutineers so desire it.
Christian gathers around him the Mutineers – the four Loyalists on board are left out – and puts it to them.
‘I have no right to command,’ he says firmly. ‘I will act in any station you will assign me.’97
More than a ripple of surprise moves through the men, who quickly express their view that of course he should be their Captain. As to who should be his second-in-command, here there is genuine debate. Fletcher is firm that he wants George Stewart to fill the role, but most of the other Mutineers are too resentful of his ‘former severity’ under Bligh – he had been a notably tough superior – to readily agree.
No, their choice is Peter Heywood. Which is one thing. However …
‘I think Mr Heywood, who is only sixteen, too young and inexperienced for such a charge,’98 Christian says.
Though surprised, and a little reluctant, the crew bow to the Captain’s desires. Henceforth, Fletcher Christian is Captain, and George Stewart is second-in-command, while the crew is to be divided into two watches.
Now, as to their destination … that is something that will have to be decided in due course. Obviously they will have to search for a safe haven somewhere in the Pacific, a place beyond the ken of the Royal Navy, its Marines and their guns. But for now, Christian charts a course to an unexplored island with a difficult harbour, called Tubuai. Situated 300 miles south of Tahiti, it is ‘out of the track of European ships’,99 and had been mapped but not visited by Cook. If all goes well, they can establish their base there, build huts, ensure it has a fresh water supply and arable land, before heading to Tahiti to pick up the women.
Oh yes, the women. Since they had left Tahiti, the women have been foremost in their minds and in their hearts, perpetually missed.
Sail on, you Mutineers!
CHAPTER NINE
‘ALL AROUND THE RUGGED ROCKS, THE RAGGED RASCAL RAN …’
Red sky at night, sailor’s delight.
Red sky in the morning, sailor’s warning.1
Old British saying
28 April 1789, aboard the Launch, 30 miles south of Tofoa, an island of calm in a sea of madness
Bligh feels an almost unworldly calm. Despite the gravity of their situation, he feels no panic, little danger, and not even a great deal of anger.
‘I had scarc
e got a furlong on my way when I began to reflect on the vicissitude of human affairs …,’ he will chronicle, ‘but in the midst of all I felt an inward happiness which prevented any depression of my spirits; conscious of my own integrity and anxious solicitude for the good of the service I was on, I found my mind most wonderfully supported and began to conceive hopes, not withstanding so heavy a calamity, to be able to recount to my King and country my misfortune.’2
In such mind, he does not waste a single second blaming himself, for it is obvious what the cause of the Mutiny was: Tahitian women. Nearly to a man – with the admitted exception of Christian and Heywood – the mutineers ‘are void of connections at home’,3 making them so susceptible to being led astray, to crave more debauchery.
He must not dally on such thoughts, for his responsibilities are grave – he must bring the Mutineers to justice, but, more immediately, he must keep safe the good men who have come with him.
This latter duty is supported by the anxious eyes of all the men in the Launch, staring at him, willing him to keep them safe.
Row, men, let us make Tofoa by nightfall.
And so he plots – their course, their future, the ultimate revenge on Fletcher Christian and the fall of the Mutineers.
The rattled men pull on their oars with a will, the perfectly cone-shaped, smoking island gradually looming towards them, even as the sun starts to drop, illuminating the luscious green plants that grow thick upon the volcano’s mineral black soils in an ethereal red glow.
Hoping against hope, they peer in the dusk-time gloom for some signs of a safe harbour, ideally one with a sandy beach where they can easily come ashore. Alas, all they can see are towering cliffs, against which the waves are crashing – a sure death-trap if they get too close – and so Bligh guides them instead to what is little more than a small indent in the shore, a rough cove, with towering cliffs above, which, although it has no landing spot, at least provides a small amount of shelter from the wind and waves. As the tropical twilight descends on this most extraordinary of days, Bligh orders two of the oars to be secured to the rocks in a manner to give the boat maximum stability in the swell.
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