It means, let’s see, each man can have, every day, just one ounce of bread, a very small morsel of pork, all of it to be distributed by the Captain himself, to ensure absolute fairness.
True, lads, we may be desiccated skeletons held together by parched skin, blackened by the sun, but we will be alive. As for the water, there is only enough to last for three weeks, at a quarter pint each per day, but that should be less of a problem as in this season, in these parts, there should be a rainy day about once a week.
Bligh now properly understands the situation and asks the men to make a promise. ‘Do you all agree,’ he asks, addressing every man in the Launch, ‘to live on one ounce of bread, and a quarter of a pint of water, per day?’48
Aye. Aye. Bligh repeats this solemn vow and commands that they are ‘not to depart from their promise’.49
We shall not, the men do so solemnly swear.
Very well then, we are agreed.
Bligh looks to Fryer once more, who, for once, looks pleased.
‘Let’s make a fair wind of it and trust to providence,’ says the Master. Bligh nods.
‘Shall I put the helm up, sir?’
‘Yes, in God’s name,’50 replies the Captain.
•
Unaccustomed as they are to their surroundings, the men settle down for the night in slightly more comfortable circumstances – the absence of poor Norton allows them all another six inches square of space per man – and are well content to have both survived the day and have a plan. And yet, while the men are filled with hope, the Captain himself, the man who has got them this far against all odds, and has been waxing lyrical about their prospects, is filled with quiet doubt, as the fresh breeze makes the sails creak above, even as the small waves regularly thud against the Launch’s bow. At least the prevailing winds are pushing them exactly where they want to go – to the west.
But the starkness of their situation remains unaltered, and Bligh knows it. The odds against them surviving long enough to succeed are too great to grasp.
Still, he knows there is no doubt his words have worked, as the quiet, happy chatter in the Launch attests.
I was happy, however, to see that everyone seemed better satisfied with our situation than myself.51
•
At last allowed up on the deck of the Bounty, Peter Heywood can barely believe the sheer rapidity of what has happened. Just a short time ago the Bounty had its full complement of sailors, had made a good start on its journey to Jamaica, and his dear friend Fletcher Christian had been the most respected and liked person on the ship. And now?
Bligh and 18 Loyalists gone in the Launch, the Bounty in the grip of Mutineers, his friend Fletcher the leader of the whole revolt, and his own fortunes now tied to the fate of men who – though many, like Fletcher, are his friends – are intent on a course that he does not want to pursue. But can he express his revulsion, his outrage, his shock at what they have done?
Of course, he cannot. To publicly proclaim himself a Loyalist is clearly to place himself in danger, his friendship with Christian notwithstanding. The likes of Charley Churchill and Alec Smith would more than likely heave him overboard for making a fuss. Besides, while fate has placed him on a ship with Mutineers, rather than where he belongs, with the Loyalists, it is not all bad. At least here, he is in comfort, aboard a solid ship, with plenty of supplies – he cannot imagine what it must be like in the Launch right now …
3 May 1789, 86 miles west of Tofoa by Bligh’s calculations, a tub in a tempest
As it happens, most of the high morale of the previous evening aboard the Launch does not survive many hours into the next day. At first light Bligh starts making careful records and calculations to plot their course, but it is not at all easy.
For, no sooner has the sun risen ‘fiery and red’52 – a sure indication for sea veterans the calibre of Bligh that a gale is on the way – than they are indeed hit by such a violent storm, with such a heavy and high sea, that ‘between the seas the sail was becalmed, and when on the top of the sea it was too much to have set: but we could not venture to take in the sail for we were in very imminent danger and distress, the sea curling over the stern of the boat, which obliged us to bale with all our might’.53
Bale, lads, bale!
And bale they do, as if their lives depend upon it … because they do.
A situation more distressing has perhaps seldom been experienced.54
It is not simply that the Launch threatens to take on so much water that it will sink – it is that the water will get into the bags holding the bread, and spoil it, in which case they would be as good as dead anyway. The only possible way of surviving is to lighten the boat further, and so, on Bligh’s orders, more clothes are thrown overboard, together ‘with some rope and spare sails’.55
Not only does the Launch immediately sit marginally higher in the water, but with more space, the men have more room to scoop out the water.
Regarding the crucial bread, mercifully, Purcell has a secure and waterproof chest in which he is able to stow it.
Still the waves pound, rocking the boat – as Bligh, on the tiller, uses a lifetime of seamanship to work the boat this way and that, to slide over the waves and not be blindsided by them. If, and it is a real possibility, any part of the tiller or its gudgeon hinges break, the Launch would not survive 30 seconds.
Miraculously, however, despite the extreme stress on both the boat and its crew, everything holds together – just.
Once the worst of the crisis is over, Bligh uses the most sure-fire method to lift the morale of his freezing and sodden crew, serving a single teaspoonful of rum to each man with a quarter of a bread-fruit, which the men try and swallow without gagging, as the slimy mess is both squashed and near-rotten.
And now, where was he, before being so rudely interrupted?
Ah, yes, doing his calculations, as he must do every day at noon. From here, Bligh’s reckoning is that they must set a course of west-north-west, so as to pass within ‘sight of the islands called Feejee if they laid in the direction the natives had pointed out to me’.56
Sure enough, two days later – after a wretched time, marked by yet more storms, bone-chilling nights, and unwavering hunger, with little relief – some previously uncharted islands appear off their starboard quarter. What to do?
Well, given that Christian has stolen from him the last 15 years of his map-making master-works together with his precious copies of Cook’s charts, now would appear to be as good a time as any for Bligh to begin again, and taking his pencil in one hand, and small journal in the other, he begins to mark down the coastal contours of what he strongly suspects are the Feejee Islands. And he continues to do so over coming days, a navigator resuming his profession even while survival is his task – also satisfied that as Feejee has shown up almost exactly where expected, it means his calculations have been correct.
Yes, whatever their circumstances, they must maintain discipline and remain vigilant – taking down information at least every hour, allowing Bligh to make a good estimation of their longitude, and thus their position on the globe. Without it, they risk running into reefs, islands and even continents in the middle of the night.
Early May 1789, approaching Tahiti, another Mutiny on the Bounty?
Whispers on the waves at midnight.
Since they had parted company with the Launch, Joseph Coleman, the Armourer, has been extremely careful to keep his distance from fellow Loyalist James Morrison, for it simply will not do for them to be seen together, for the others to have any sense of them as being united, as well as separate from the Mutineers. It is for the same reason they stay away from Charles Norman and Thomas McIntosh, the two other Loyalists. Instead, they must even ‘affect a shyness to each other’.57 But yes, they have managed enough fleeting meetings in the night to hatch something that might very well pass for a plot to retake the ship.
What is clear from the first is that there can be no retaking of it while at sea, because t
here are just not enough of them to make the ship function. No, they must wait until the night the Bounty reaches Tahiti. What will help, apart from the Mutineers being back with their women, is the certainty that Christian will allow them ‘an extra allowance of grog’,58 and the double-certainty that most of the Mutineers will so over-indulge they will be incapable of resistance. Ideally, what the Loyalists need more than anything is to turn some of the Mutineers back to their side on the promise that, if successful, they will be spared the noose and likely even be handsomely rewarded.
Alas, alas, despite their certainty that their plans have been kept secret, somehow, somewhere, someone has overheard them and, as Morrison will recount, ‘to my unspeakable surprise … Mr Christian was acquainted with our intentions’.59
No, mercifully, Christian does not know precisely who is in on the whole plot, but he knows that Coleman is behind it, and that is enough.
‘Coleman,’ he says, when the Armourer is dragged before him, ‘you shall be left on shore at Tubuai until the ship returns from Tahiti.’60
It is an empty threat, and Christian knows it. As the Armourer, Coleman is simply too valuable to be dropped off at Tubuai. For if ever they are confronted by hostile Natives in whatever part of the Pacific they end up, or, worse, a ship of His Majesty’s Royal Navy catches up with them, having the Bounty’s guns in working order will be crucial to their survival. Coleman does have his keys to the Arms Chest taken from him, and given to Churchill, who puts them in his pocket and, for good measure, now sits down on the chest, with his musket and cutlass by his side.
As for you Loyalists who might be thinking of making your escape, once we get to Tahiti, understand this. We Mutineers have already made a solemn oath to each other:
‘Should any one make his Escape, we will force the Natives to restore him and shoot him as an example to the rest.’61
Clear, gentlemen?
Yes, very clear, as the Loyalists understand more than ever that they are being watched, and will be watched.
Still, the discovery of the plot means that Christian is henceforth more cautious than ever on his own ship, and not only does he always have a weapon on him, but, on his orders, so too do the other Mutineers.
‘Each of Mr Christian’s party was armed with a brace of pistols,’ Morrison would recount. ‘Mr Christian never went without a pistol in his pocket, the same one that Lieutenant Bligh formerly used.’62
Yes, though Christian now has Bligh’s ship beneath his feet, and his pistol in his pocket, he is determined not to share Bligh’s current fate. On Christian’s orders, the Loyalists are marked men.
6 May 1789, Feejee Islands, Latitude 17°09’ South, Longitude 178°57’ East, forbidden fruit, and coconuts and pork and water and …
It is a strange thing to be so constantly passing the solution to their woes, without being able to avail themselves of it. For, however hungry and wet the Loyalists might be, however tempting the fertile and inhabited islands they pass might be, the dangers they had only narrowly escaped at Tofoa mean that Bligh refuses to land.
Sail on, Bligh, sail on!
And so they do, as no fewer than a dozen more islands show up on his chart – for the first time in history, their position is formally recorded – and the Launch sails on.
The sodden men, waves forever crashing over them, keep gnawing on their slender rations, while gazing upon columns of smoke, at the base of which the Natives are surely cooking succulent meat. The Loyalists nearly get some flesh of their own to eat when, to enormous excitement, a trailing hook actually catches a fish, ‘but we were miserably disappointed by its being lost in getting into the boat’.63
Sail on, Bligh, sail on!
And so they do. At one point on 7 May they look up to see two large sailing canoes coming straight for them from one of the islands and, given their previous experience, are alarmed.
Being apprehensive of their intentions, we rowed with some anxiety, being sensible of our weak and defenceless state.64
Do the canoes back off?
They do not.
One of those rowing for his life is Fryer, while Bligh mans the tiller. After a few minutes, Fryer receives the whispered views of both Cole and Elphinstone that the Captain is not steering a course best calculated to get them safely away from their pursuers. Fryer quite agrees but declines to say anything for fear that it would only distract Bligh from the task at hand, and not actually help them.
But now, one of the canoes really does start to close on them ‘very fast’65 and it is Bligh himself who yells.
‘Heave away, Lads! If they come up with us they will cut us all to pieces.’66
For Lawrence Lebogue, the old salt sail-maker who is rowing right behind Fryer, such words from Captain Bligh are too much, and if he is about to die, it will be with his views at least expressed.
‘God damn my eyes, Sir!’ he calls loudly, straight at Bligh. ‘You frighten us all out of our wits! Let the thiefs come and be damned if they will, we will fight as long as we can!’67
Mr Lebogue continues his impertinent mutterings within earshot of Mr Fryer.
‘Very pretty indeed, by God,’ he mumbles. ‘The Captain is the first man frightened.’68
Though the Master agrees, he has no choice but to shut such insolence down.
‘You old scoundrel!’ snaps Fryer. ‘If you speak another word I will come and heave you overboard. Pull away!’69
For three hours the pursuit goes on, even when they are far out to sea again, and the islands have disappeared, though at last the men of Feejee give way, to Bligh’s great relief.
Whether these canoes had any hostile intention against us is a matter of doubt; perhaps we might have benefited by an intercourse with them, but in our defenceless situation it would have been risking too much to make the experiment.70
7 May 1789, Bounty, deep dreams of a lost life
Drip, drip, drip … drop.
Drip, drip, drip … drop.
Drip, drip, drip … drop.
All through the silent watch of the darkest hours, the nightmares are getting worse. They are always the same. They are about a young man who threw away a life of promise in an instant, who in a fit of stone-cold rage had launched, yes, a mutiny! Is it possible? He, Fletcher Christian, descended from an English King, had actually held a cutlass to the throat of one of His Majesty’s commissioned officers, and taken his ship from him. And now, he can never return to England again, never see his family, never see his friends, never … sleep in peace again. Time and again he awakes in a cold sweat in a darkness nearly as profound as the dark panic that grips his soul. All he can do, as ever, is restlessly await the dawn, where he heads out on deck, with a crew to order about, a façade of confidence to maintain. But for how long can he maintain it?
9 May 1789, on the Launch, discipline in the balance
As ever, Bligh’s core principle applies. Even on this tiny vessel, they must comport themselves with exactly the same discipline as if on the Bounty. And this afternoon, in this burst of fine weather, that means cleaning out the entire boat, and hanging everything up to dry. Each man is responsible for his own section of the boat, ensuring it is shipshape, clean and organised – just as he is responsible for all of his clothes, including the ones he is wearing.
Most men are soon near-naked and happily sweating as they get to work, even as Bligh makes preparations of his own. To this point he has doled out the rations purely according to guess, but now, with the help of Samuel, he fashions a set of scales with half a coconut shell at either end and will henceforth serve exactly equal portions to each man.
It is a good afternoon. The Launch is clean once more, everything is dried, and in the evening Bligh uses a pint cup to give each man a quarter of a pint of water, and a little more than half an ounce of bread, the last measured by putting one pistol ball in one half-coconut – for they have discovered some pistol balls unaccountably in the Launch, and Bligh knows that 25 of them weigh a pound or 16 ounces
– and the commensurate amount of bread in the other end.
All the while, Bligh, in an unexpectedly conversational mood, talks to the men about New Guinea and New Holland, giving them as much information in his power so that they may find their own way there, should anything happen to him.
Nothing is to be left to fate.
CHAPTER TEN
HARD TIMES, CHANGING CLIMES
Day after day, day after day,
We stuck, nor breath nor motion;
As idle as a painted ship
Upon a painted ocean.
Water, water, every where,
And all the boards did shrink;
Water, water, every where,
Nor any drop to drink.1
Samuel Taylor Coleridge, ‘The Rime of the Ancient Mariner’
9 May 1789, two days past Feejee Islands, water, water everywhere AND a drop to drink
It isn’t only in the cloistered and comfortable realms of science, music, literature and philosophy that the gentle muse of inspiration may alight on the shoulders of the genius and whisper a master-stroke in their ears. Sometimes, such things may appear in even the direst circumstances, as in when, say, 18 men are on the High Seas in a tiny boat with only eight inches clearance from the sea to the gunnel, at risk of being swamped by just one large wave coming over the sides.
And today, 9 May 1789, is a case in point.
For, after contemplating near-catastrophe for the last fortnight, this morning Bligh – master mariner that he is – comes up with a solution.
Following Bligh’s instructions, the men place ‘a canvass weather cloth round the boat, and raise the quarters about nine inches … which proves of great benefit to us’.2
They are just in time, too. That very evening, they are hit by a storm which, though it brings precious rain – allowing them to collect 20 gallons, using spread sails to funnel water into one of the barrels – also brings towering, threatening waves. Even with their new canvas protection, the turbulent seas rear up and crash down, their peaks breaking over the men all night, obliging them to bale like demented monkeys, only ever 50 scoops ahead of disaster.
Mutiny on the Bounty Page 31