They shall sleep on the Launch this night, no easy task when there are 19 of them, crushed one upon t’other, huddled hard amongst their provisions, spare clothes and possessions. There is so little space, you have to stand up just to change your mind – and in the meantime they can neither all sit up or all lie down at the one time, and most must sleep sitting up, slumped against each other. A restless night is thus passed, the sound of the waves crashing on an unseen reef.
At dawn, as Bligh chronicles, they carefully row ‘along shore in search of a landing-place, and about 10 o’clock we discovered a cove with a stony beach at the north-west part of the island, where I dropped the grapnel within 20 yards of the rocks’.4
Mercifully it is shallow enough that, after Bligh instructs Fryer and two men to stay with the Launch, the rest of them are able to clamber through the surf to the shore, to set foot on land, for some of them for the first time in a month. Using a tinderbox, one of the sailors is soon able to start a fire to warm the sodden Loyalists.
Now, Mr Samuel, if you please. Take a small party with you to scout the surrounds, looking out for Natives, and, most importantly, food and water. Oh, and try not to get killed by an eruption of the volcano.
Two hours later, the foraging party returns with just a few quarts of water, and the news that no bread-fruit plants, or indeed food of any variety, are apparent.
Very well, then, we must move on.
In short order all of them are back in the Launch, at least with the few quarts of fresh water, and continuing their exploration of the island, heading south and sticking close to the shore. By mid-afternoon, though no harbour is apparent, they can see some coconut trees high on some cliffs, which is particularly good news as they know that Bligh is very partial to coconuts.
Sure enough, the Boy and Simpson are quickly dispatched and, after braving the surf, are soon seen first clambering up the towering precipice and then the trees themselves; shinnying up in the manner they had perfected on Tahiti. Shortly thereafter they are able to hurl down – Watch under! – no fewer than 20 coconuts to their waiting comrades, who bring the Launch in as close as they dare to scoop them from the turbulent water. It is a small breakthrough in terms of food, but the fact remains that, despite the day’s exploration, there is still no discovery of ample food and a good water source, nor have they found a protected harbour or any Natives who may be of help. And so what choice does Bligh have? There is no better option but to return to the cove of last evening, and spend another hideously uncomfortable night bobbing in the sea, safe from whatever dangers the Natives might offer on land. At least, this time, each man receives one coconut for his dinner, and they hand the precious cutlasses around to open them up.
So stormy is the next day that Bligh’s plan to set sail for the more bountiful island of Tongataboo must be abandoned, and they instead return to the stony cove where they had landed yesterday, where, after breakfasting on ‘a morsel of bread and a spoonful of rum’,5 Bligh, together with Nelson and Samuel, heads off on a more serious search of the island. To begin, they laboriously scale, hand over hand, the twined vines that the Natives have dropped from the cliffs above. As they traipse forward, they find some deserted huts, but with the volcano above still rumbling and smoking continuously it is obvious why the village has been abandoned. Pushing on, they soon find themselves in a deep, dark, ferny gully, their presence causing birds to cry in alarm, and buzzing insects to swarm all around, until the growth thins, the dappled light strengthens, and they emerge on the other side, at the foot of the volcanic peak towering above.
By the time they re-emerge at the top of the cliffs, all their efforts have delivered just nine measly gallons of water collected from nearby dried-up rock pools – likely less than the sweat expended – and three small bunches of plantains. Dispirited, hungry and thirsty, Bligh looks down from the lofty heights at the gruelling climb down and very nearly faints. Only with the help of Nelson is he able to make it safely down. At least in this rare moment of weakness from Bligh – as the shaken skipper sits dazed on the shore, recovering – the other sailors can talk of him, just beyond his earshot.
One of those speaking is David Nelson.
‘Our Captain’s economy has upset our voyage,’6 says Nelson grimly to Mr Fryer, referring to the endless privations visited on the ship’s company by the skipper.
‘Never mind, Mr Nelson, have a good heart!’ replies Fryer. ‘We shall see old England and tell them our grievances by and by.’7
‘Aye, Mr Fryer,’ he replies. ‘Sir Joseph Banks will ask me a number of questions – and be assured that I will speak the truth if ever I live to see him.’8
Nelson’s words give Fryer great heart and, effectively, strengthen his arm in the struggle with Bligh. Fryer is not alone now, and won’t be alone in the future.
For all that, it is not as if Bligh isn’t occasionally, very occasionally, capable of something that, on a good day, might even pass for warmth. At this moment, as a matter of fact, he is chatting to Cole.
‘I have been told, Mr Cole,’ he begins, ‘that it was through your application to Christian that we got the Launch, instead of the small Cutter with her bottom almost out. Is there any truth in that?’9
A little stunned at such acknowledgement, Cole is emboldened to reply with what might even pass for a little cheek …
‘Truth in it? Yes, you would never have got the Launch yourself!’10
‘Don’t you take any notice of that!’11 Bligh remarks jokingly to the men around them, before adding graciously and gratefully to Cole, ‘I will always be a friend to you.’12
From a man known for mostly making enemies, and bitter ones at that, this is no small statement. Bligh now decides that while half the men will stay on the Launch to keep it secure, the other half may sleep in a cove cave that they have discovered, about 150 yards from the water’s edge, which will afford a perfect place for rest.
But there is to be no relaxation or dropping of standards, even with this momentary relief. Quite the reverse!
For now, Bligh divides his men into three groups, so that, just as it was on the Bounty, there can be three watches of eight hours each – with the primary responsibility, here, of keeping the Launch safe. Yes, Bligh is no longer the commander of an actual ship, but he insists that exactly the same order and discipline be maintained, as if he were.
•
What has he done?
What has he done?
How has it come to this?
Aboard the Bounty, in what used to be Bligh’s cabin, Fletcher Christian tosses and turns in the night. Time and again he wakes with a start and, courtesy of the moonlight reflecting off the waters through the square windows, he stares at the cracks in the low cabin ceiling as he goes over and over the events of the last week. Could he have handled it differently? Should he not have borne the wretch’s insults in the sure knowledge that at least that way he would return to England, and never have to sail with Bligh again?
Will his family understand that? How could they ever find out what happened? If Bligh survives – and Christian has the uncanny feeling that he will – it will be only his side of the story that will be told, and the Christian name will be dragged through the mud, through no fault of his parents, brothers and sisters.
On the other hand, perhaps he deserves all the ignominy coming his way? Again and again the words of Bligh come back to him.
‘Consider, Mr Christian, I have a wife and four children in England, and you have danced my children upon your knee.’13
For it’s true. He had done exactly that, with those dear little girls, as wonderful Betsy had laughed gaily at the fun her daughters were having with him. And he, that same man, had cast their father and Betsy’s husband adrift on the ocean! Could they ever come to understand? Of course not.
WHY had he done this?
There is no answer, just haunting regrets that leave Fletcher alone with his demons, allowing him snatches of exhausted sleep here and there.
>
1 May 1789, Tofoa, Latitude 19’71 South, Longitude 175’09 West,14 Bligh’s dead reckoning
Just a couple of hours after another foraging party has set out at dawn, Norton’s jowly face appears over the towering cliffs above as he bellows down to those on the shore and in the Launch; ‘Good news! Good news! Natives! Here is a man and a woman!’15
And sure enough, a couple of Natives indeed appear, making their way to where Bligh and the second watch await them by the shore. Beaming, hopeful, Bligh welcomes them warmly, if awkwardly. For while it is one thing to explain through sign language and the few common words of the Tofoan and Tahitian languages he might know that he is the Captain of a ship from a powerful country, it is quite another to explain just where that ship is now, and why he is no longer in command of it. The best course, he decides, is to indicate that their ship has been sunk, and they are the only survivors.
‘They seemed readily satisfied with our account,’ Bligh will recount, ‘but there did not appear the least symptom of joy or sorrow in their faces, although I fancied I discovered some marks of surprise.’16
Whatever the Natives think, the main thing is that the two visitors soon head off to make contact with the rest of their people, who arrive a couple of hours later in their canoes, bearing bread-fruit, plantains, coconuts and a small amount of fresh water – all of which they are happy to trade for buttons and items of clothing. Still watching from the Launch, all the frustrated Fryer can do is cut a button from his jacket and send it to shore, so as to get some extra supplies for himself.
The Natives promise to return on the morrow, and for now the Loyalists – bar those on watch – can sleep easy with bellies full of coconut and bread-fruit.
At dawn, against the probability that the Natives will fail to reappear, Bligh dispatches a foraging party to gather whatever final supplies they can find, only to have many Natives suddenly arrive, just when his own numbers are halved. And now still more arrive, to the point that Bligh and his men are outnumbered many times over. The Loyalists exchange wary glances.
Two Chiefs present themselves to Bligh.
‘Maccaackavow,’ says the elderly distinguished-looking Chief, introducing himself.
‘Eefow,’ offers the younger and rather more dangerous-looking buck – there is a troubling look in his eyes, as if he is sizing them up.
Bligh presents each Chief with an old shirt and a small knife. The gifts are accepted, a conversation ensues, and to Bligh’s amazement, he finds that the Chiefs already know exactly who he is, and that he and his men had had some trouble at Annamooka recently?
Indeed.
And what of Cook, who, the Chiefs also know, Bligh sailed with?
How do they know such things?
Well, that too becomes clear, when yet another young Native Chief suddenly appears, with yet more men, who tells Bligh, he remembers him very well indeed from his recent visit to Annamooka.
My name is Nagatee and I was one of the Chiefs that you held prisoner on the Bounty when you were so anxious to get your small anchor back.
…
…
Well, this could be a little awkward.
And yet, there is no outward aggression, no sense of a desire for unpleasantness due to that unfortunate affair. Indeed, Nagatee seems happy to see Bligh again.
The three Chiefs do have another matter that greatly interests them.
‘In what manner have you lost your ship?’17
Never have they come across a British Captain without the massive power of a ship, its cannon and muskets at his service.
Ah, yes. Well, then. We actually lost it in a very bad storm, Bligh lies. We salvaged what we could, and got it into the only vessel we could.
Bligh remains cautiously optimistic of the Chiefs’ good intentions until Chief Eefow proves ‘very inquisitive’18 indeed – far too inquisitive – as he wades out to the Launch to see what sort of firepower the visitors have, almost as if he is determining the likelihood that an attack on the white men would succeed. That chest, for example. Can it be opened, so he can see inside?
‘No, the contents are fire-arms,’ replies Fryer firmly in Tahitian, before, for added effect, making a pantomime of the giant explosion that would take place if he even dared to open this mighty chest of arms. Eefow does not look convinced.
‘They would kill us,’19 finishes Fryer.
Eefow is not intimidated and, in fact, does not believe him. Now looking far more acquisitive than merely inquisitive, Eefow wonders if he might at least have the saw that he spies in the Launch?
No.
Eefow grimaces and lets out a guttural growl to the other Natives.
Becoming ever more anxious, Mr Fryer gazes meaningfully at Captain Bligh on the beach, hoping to catch Bligh’s eye. He succeeds and Bligh wordlessly indicates he agrees: All hands on deck and everyone be on full alert. The situation is deteriorating; the Natives start to surround Bligh and his men, and they must be ready to react.
No matter that there is, as yet, no overt aggression, no posturing, no shouting. For there is something afoot, and just the sheer weight of numbers makes it … menacing. It is an atmosphere that Bligh has felt before – once before, in Hawaii, with Captain Cook.
Still more canoes arrive, with still more Natives pulling up on the shore, even as more come clambering down the vine ropes that hang from the cliffs – and, most worrying of all, none of the new arrivals are carrying the hoped-for supplies. They are bearing spears and stones.
Again and again, Bligh and Fryer catch each other’s eye from across the water that divides them, wordlessly communicating their rising alarm, and always looking from each other to the path where the foraging party is likely to come from. In part, they need their manpower, should fighting break out. But, more importantly, the sooner they arrive, the sooner they can all get in the Launch and be on their way.
And now Fryer notices that the Launch is coming dangerously close to the shore. How can that be?
There! In the middle of the throng, some Natives are pulling on the Launch’s stern rope.
‘You are discovered!’20 he roars, motioning the mischievous men to stop.
Startled, the Natives do … only to start again within 30 seconds. The time for manoeuvring is coming to an end. Bligh suddenly pulls his cutlass from his scabbard, and tells Eefow that his men must stop pulling on the rope.
Which they do … for a time … laughing as if this is all a big joke.
Bligh forces a smile to his own face, while still holding the cutlass. This is all so familiar. This is precisely as things had turned for Captain Cook. But Cook had had the protection of two large ships with guns ranged on the shore, smaller boats filled with armed men, while backed up on shore by armed Marines. Bligh has nothing. No guns. No armed Marines. He has just one Launch, one cutlass in his hand, one in the hand of a sailor beside him, and two cutlasses with the sailors on the Launch.
For their part, the 200 Natives have, likely, about 200 spears – as seemingly each and every one of them is armed, forming a solid wall of warriors along the beach. And now many of them pick up large stones, worn smooth by centuries of waves washing over them, and begin knocking them together, in curious rhythm.
Clack, clack, clack-clack …
Hold your nerve. Think. Do not turn this into a fight before you have to. Play for time. The sailors in the foraging party must be close now, surely.
Meantime, the sailors who remain with Bligh, though alarmed, take his lead and try to keep things as normal as possible, trading whatever they have for the coconuts and bread-fruit the Natives have brought with them. Bligh, while continuing to talk warily to the Chiefs, whispers to the Boy to start moving the assembled supplies to the Launch in leather buckets with rope handles, by wading them across.
As quickly as you can, Mr Tinkler, make a game of it, all jokes and smiles. A frolic, not a retreat.
Mr Tinkler frolics with the best of them, his extreme youth – he is still only 13 yea
rs old – helping him to look the part of a will o’ the wisp of no account, remarkable only for the fact he seems to be dancing about, smiling a lot, as he wanders back and forth with another bucket of supplies.
And here, at last, is the foraging party!
Bligh wanders casually with all the crew that are on shore to a nearby cave, and there his manner changes. The hidden hundred feet of cramped space in the cave allow Bligh brief privacy and honesty.
Bligh tells them of their peril.
The Natives are restless. If they attack now, ‘our destruction must be inevitable. We shall have nothing left for it but to sell our lives as dearly as we can.’21 Agreed.
Everyone stay calm. But get ready to fight. Now here is the plan …
‘I will wait till sunset,’ says Bligh, ‘by which time something might happen in our favour. For if we attempt to go at present we must fight our way through, which we can do more advantageously at night; and that in the meantime we will endeavour to get off to the boat what we have bought.’22
Good luck.
As they exit the cave, all sailors smiling and carefree, with just a glance at the Natives, Bligh can see that the situation has markedly worsened. And it is not just that there are now swarms of Natives lining the beach, it is that they have all now picked up two large stones and are knocking them together, loudly, and in perfect rhythm.
Clack, clack, clack-clack …
‘I knew very well,’ he would later note, ‘this was the sign of an attack.’23
Steady. Hold your nerve.
The eerie and intimidating sound of the bashed rocks goes on.
Clack, clack, clack-clack …
The mesmerising sound of the stones beating together, as well as inducing a rather glazed-eyed look in the Natives, is acting as a siren call for others. More and more arrive on the beach and pick up stones.
The sound of the beat is getting louder, faster; a menacing crescendo all around the Bounty’s cast-offs …
Bligh remains calm, acting as if none of this is happening.
Mutiny on the Bounty Page 29