Mutiny on the Bounty

by Peter Fitzsimons

  Across the azure waters off the coast of the far north of New Holland, the Launch proceeds apace, the Loyalists now suffering more than ever from the sun’s glare off the water, the wind, and the sheer gut-busting exhaustion of staying alive. Through their red slits of eyes, they gaze to their larboard side to see extraordinarily long stretches of white sandy beaches occasionally punctuated by brown rocky headlands, and beyond them seemingly impenetrable dark green bushland.

  True, there has been only a smattering of a scattering of Natives sighted on this stretch of coast – naked, gesticulating wildly, waving tree branches, yelling at them – but even they are enough for Bligh to decline to make a landing. Sail on.

  Their best hope is to get to an island, which is far more likely to be entirely uninhabited, and on this Sunday morning just after 8 o’clock, having found just the thing, Bligh gives his emaciated men the order to drop anchor just off its sandy shores.

  Now in a choice between naming the island after their condition – ‘Starving Island’ – or the day of the week, Bligh chooses the latter, but even before they land on ‘Sunday Island’, Fryer has something to say that has been troubling him.

  ‘Captain,’ he says before everyone, ‘some of the men were rather idle in picking up oysters at the other place. I think it better for those idlers to have what they get by themselves.’49

  In other words, finders keepers; idlers weepers.

  Now, as an advocate of industry, Bligh considers Fryer’s position, even as Elphinstone – who has been quite ill – offers his own view.

  ‘I would rather stay in the boat than go after oysters,’50 he says mournfully.

  Well, when you are genuinely ill, that presents no problem to Fryer.

  ‘Captain Bligh,’ he says, gesturing to Elphinstone, ‘if any man is sick and can not get any thing for himself, he shall with cheerfulness have part of mine … Every one able to go through the fatigue as I am … it stands that every man should provide for himself.’51

  ‘You are very right, Mr Fryer,’ replies Bligh ‘I think it best we divide ourselves into three parties and what they [get] shall belong to that party.’52

  Now, to the Captain’s understanding, this means each party will have a good incentive to work hard.

  The way Fryer sees it, however, it means that, ‘what every man put into the kettle should take the same quantity out’.53

  Now, as Bligh, typically, chooses to stay with the Launch, in a moment of rare collegiality Fryer promises him, before heading out in charge of one of the three parties: ‘I think I can get a sufficiency for you and myself.’54

  By Fryer’s side is Purcell, who is more than pleased to hear from his friend that, as he understands it, all the oysters he gathers will be his alone.

  ‘I’ll be bound that we will provide for ourselves!’55 he says cheerfully and sets out with his bag.

  As it happens, here on Sunday Island, oysters are bountiful and Purcell’s bag fills so quickly that he is the first one to head back on his own, where Bligh waits in the beached Launch, pleased to see he has a good haul.

  ‘Hand the oysters aft, Mr Purcell,’56 the Captain orders blithely.

  ‘The oysters belong to my party,’ replies the starving Purcell, a little sharply, as he steps into the Launch. ‘That was agreed before we left the boat!’57

  ‘Hand the oysters aft, Mr Purcell.’

  ‘No,’ replies Purcell.58

  ‘You damned scoundrel!’ yells Bligh. ‘What have I brought you here for? If it had not been for me you all would have perished!’59

  Purcell recalls the now quietly celebrated quip of Nelson two days earlier, and repeats it, right to Bligh’s face.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ says Purcell. ‘If it had not been for you we should not have been here!’60

  ‘What’s that you say, sir?’ asks a puzzled Bligh, unsure if this is a studied and monstrous insult, or just a rare attempt at a joke from the Carpenter.

  Purcell is happy to remove all confusion, and pointedly repeats it, word for word, complete with sneer. ‘I say, sir, that if it had not been for you we should not have been here!’

  Bligh now at least understands the tone of insolence, but not the entire purport of the remark.

  ‘You damned scoundrel! What do you mean?’61 he asks furiously.

  ‘I am not a scoundrel,’ replies Purcell. ‘I am as good a man as you!’62

  There, he has said it. For months, Bligh’s assumption of superiority has rankled with Purcell, who knows full well that Bligh is no more a gentleman than he is.

  It is a mutinous remark, matching the ‘mutinous aspect’63 Bligh observes in Purcell’s eyes, and for a man who has already suffered a mutiny, it proves too much to bear.

  ‘I did not just now see where this was to end,’ Bligh would write. ‘I therefore determined to strike a final blow at it, and either to preserve my command or die in the attempt.’64

  Bligh draws his sword, raises it in a threatening manner, and faces Purcell.

  ‘Take hold of a cutlass you rascal, defend yourself!’65 he roars, even as Fryer, who has returned just in time to bear witness to this extraordinary confrontation, begins to laugh in a slightly deranged manner at the absurdity of it all. Two men in a boat, a beached boat, about to battle! Others too – having heard the shouting, and fearing an attack by Natives – arrive on the gallop, and are also stunned by what they see.

  For here is Bligh, ‘swaggering with a cutlass over the carpenter’s head’,66 while Purcell faces him. The Carpenter is shaking with anger, clearly yearning to do exactly as the perfidious captain has commanded, but unwilling to let go of his prized bag of oysters to do so.

  Fryer soon goes from being amused to being profoundly shaken. For Bligh is serious. Just 30 days ago Bligh had had a cutlass held to his own throat, on his own ship. And now, here he is, standing in the only boat he has left, with a cutlass to the throat of the first of the Loyalists to truly stand up to him and his vastly diminished reign.

  ‘Take hold of a cutlass!’ repeats Bligh

  ‘No, sir, you are my officer,’67 replies Purcell, seeming to calm and come to his senses. For there is no way around it. If he takes up a cutlass, and wins the duel – oh how he’d love to – he would surely be hanged on their return to England for defying his commanding officer. But even his refusal to duel does not make him safe, as Bligh shakes with fury, clearly aching to strike the Carpenter down.

  ‘The Captain is going to kill me!’68 Purcell yells to all.

  With the whole thing teetering on something between mutiny on one side and murder on the other, Fryer decides to take drastic action in his role as Master.

  ‘No fighting here!’ he says. ‘I put you both under arrest!’69

  As the men stand, blinking in the sunshine, unsure what to do, Bligh still holds his cutlass as high as his towering rage.

  ‘Mr Cole, place Captain Bligh under arrest,’70 orders Fryer.

  ‘Mr Fryer,’ barks Bligh. ‘By God, sir, if you order any to touch me I will cut you down.’71

  ‘On the contrary, Captain Bligh,’ Fryer replies, as he also returns to a certain calm. ‘You may rely on me to support your orders and directions in the future.’72

  Which leaves Purcell, once more, as the only man directly threatened by the cutlass. Changing tack, Fryer tries pleading with the rankled Bligh.

  ‘Sir, this is a very wrong time to talk of fighting,’ he says.

  ‘That man,’ says Bligh, pointing at Purcell, ‘said he was as good a man as I am.’73

  ‘When you called me “a scoundrel”, I said that I was not,’74 explains Purcell meekly, while still firmly holding on to his bag of oysters.

  ‘As good a man as you in that respect,’75 qualifies Purcell, his remaining resistance collapsing.

  Bligh seems to relax, ever so slightly. But what did the man mean by that other remark?

  ‘You said that you had brought us here,’ Purcell goes on, carefully, cravenly explaining himself. ‘I told you t
hat if it had not been for you we should not have been here.’76

  Ah, the Nelson remark. Fryer and Nelson know exactly what he means, as do all those who had heard the Nelson remark whispered. Happily, however, Bligh either remains ignorant of the real meaning, or pretends he is, and accepts this explanation.

  ‘Well then,’ says Bligh. ‘If you had not any meaning in [what] you said I ask your pardon.’77

  Purcell gives his pardon, and the oyster mutiny, ‘a tumult that lasted a quarter of an hour’78 as Bligh would describe it, is over. And so to the stew. Bligh orders that it be begun, and Purcell meekly hands over his bag to get it started.

  As the stew bubbles away, Bligh approaches Fryer.

  ‘Mr Fryer, I think that you behaved very improperly,’ he says.

  ‘I am very sorry for it, sir,’ replies Fryer. ‘At the same time, beg to know in what?’79

  ‘In coming … and saying you would put us under arrest,’ states Bligh.

  ‘Sir, will you give me leave to tell you how far I think you were wrong?’ asks Fryer.

  ‘Me, wrong?’ asks, in turn, an incredulous Bligh.

  ‘Yes, sir, you wrong,’ replies Fryer. ‘You put yourself on a footing [with] the carpenter when you took up a cutlass and told him to take another. If he had done so and cut you down it is my opinion he would have been justifiable in so doing.’80

  It is a critique so candid – and quite possibly correct, in hindsight – that even Bligh cannot muster the bluster to counter. And so Fryer dares follow up.

  ‘Captain Bligh, there [are] other methods in making people do as they are ordered without fighting them. You can be assured I will support you in these as far as lies in my power.’81

  In the pause that follows, as Bligh absorbs his words, a cry comes from the distance. The oyster stew is ready – news that trumps everything else.

  Without another word, Bligh and Fryer walk over to eat the meal that nearly sparked a mutiny, nearly caused a murder. At least the fact that it is a big meal, with everyone able to have their fill, helps to lighten the mood, and once it is done, and their water and food supplies are replenished, they quickly cast off.

  Sail on.

  Bligh sits in his customary spot at the right rear of the Launch – just as he was always to be found at the rear right-hand corner of the Bounty – as Sunday Island fades into the distance and the darkness. As they leave, Bligh broods on recent events. Not so long ago, he was a trusting man, never doubting for a moment the loyalty of his men. But Christian’s betrayal has changed all that. And so has Peter Heywood’s – something that cuts nearly as deep after all that Bligh has done for the lad. If Fletcher and Heywood could betray him, who couldn’t?

  He broods on it long enough that he will write in the Log a list of the Loyalists who he is sure will remain exactly that, loyal to him, whatever happens, ‘well disposed’ men, who give ‘no uneasiness’,82 men he actually can trust: ‘Hallett, Hayward, Nelson, Samuel, Peckover, Ledward, Elphinstone, Cole, Smith and Lebogue.’83

  Two names are conspicuous for their absence: Fryer and Purcell.

  And it is in contemplation of the likes of them that Bligh has come to another decision:

  I now took a cutlass, determined never to have it from under my seat, or out of my reach, as providence had seemed pleased to give me sufficient strength to make use of it.84

  •

  The next morning at dawn, the Loyalists land on another sandy island and go in search of more supplies. At noon, one man has returned from the oyster hunt extremely unwell. It is Nelson, who is so weak he can only hobble back with a man supporting him on each side. He has a terrible fever, bowels that are boiling, he cannot see properly, and cannot walk. Put simply, the heat of the sun, the starvation, has completely sapped the last of the strength he had, and now he has nothing left.

  No little alarmed, Bligh oversees the men taking Nelson’s clothes off, to help cool him down, as they lay down under some shady bushes before hand-feeding some bread soaked in the precious wine Bligh has saved to help revive him. More alarming still, two others, Cole and Purcell, also soon prove to be crippled by churning stomachs and blinding headaches.

  The sick soon outnumber the well, a sure sign that the toll of the journey is starting to tell.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  RETURN TO THE PROMISED LAND

  Their sea-green isle, their guilt-won Paradise,

  No more could shield their Virtue or their Vice:

  Their better feelings, if such were, were thrown

  Back on themselves, – their sins remained alone.

  Proscribed even in their second country, they

  Were lost;1

  Lord Byron, ‘The Island’

  6 June 1789, Tahiti, return to Aphrodite’s Isle

  At last, the promised island lies before them once more. Tahiti!

  Though it has only been eight weeks since their departure, for most of the Mutineers it feels like years. Before they come into the familiar waters of Matavai Bay, Christian wishes to give one order in particular. All aft …

  ‘Every man,’ he says, ‘is to remain under arms. It is possible that Captain Bligh has visited some of the neighbouring islands and communicated his misfortunes to Tinah. If so, Tinah will be on his side, and will order his men to recover the vessel.’2

  …

  …

  The men look at each other. Can Christian possibly be serious? Just what kind of powers does he think Bligh has? It is the domineering, always bristling Churchill, now emerged as the second-in-command of the Mutineers, who speaks for them all.

  ‘It would have been impossible for Captain Bligh to reach Tahiti,’ he says, ‘or any of the adjoining islands, without us observing the Launch.’3

  It is a fair point, from a man known far more for violence than fairness. Nevertheless, Christian insists that everyone remain on their guard, and armed, ready for anything.

  But now, Churchill takes him aside. A man practised in lying, speaking to one to whom telling falsehoods does not come easily, Churchill makes the point to Christian that he will need to have something plausible to tell Tinah and the others about why they have returned, for they can hardly tell the Chief that they have cast his beloved Bry onto a tiny boat in the ocean.

  In response, Fletcher Christian, one of the Mutineers will note, ‘seemed quite indifferent about the matter, imagining that any story they thought proper to tell would be credited by the natives’.4

  Still, he does indeed come up with a story …

  •

  The word spreads quickly around the island.

  The big ship! The Bounty. It is back, and Titriano is with them. Come quickly, Isabella!

  And so they all do, with such enthusiasm that even before the anchor of the Bounty has touched the harbour floor, Natives are swarming her deck, old friends eager to know what’s going on. Minutes later, Christian sets foot once more on the shore, and the two lovers embrace.

  You are back.

  I am back, and will part from you no more. Your shore is my shore, forevermore. For now, however, I must see the Royal family and give to them the extraordinary news of what brings us back to these parts so soon.

  King Tinah receives them graciously, if curiously, and Christian excitedly tells them what has happened.

  ‘Where is Bry?’5 asks Tinah.

  ‘He is gone to England,’6 replies Christian.

  ‘In what ship?’7 asks Tinah

  ‘In Toote’s ship,’8 replies Christian.

  Tinah looks back, stunned. The ship of Captain Cook? Bligh has met up with his father?

  ‘How came you to meet Toote,’ he asks excitedly, ‘and where is he?’9

  Well, therein lies a quickly invented tale. For as Fletcher now tells it, they had been not long out at sea, when they came across another ship, and it proved to be Captain Cook himself! Yes, wonderful news. Captain Bligh had been quite beside himself to find his father, and now that they are reunited, neither could bear to be p
arted from the other. And so Captain Cook had insisted that his son come with him to settle the new country of ‘Wytootacke’.

  ‘He … has sent me for all those who will come and live with him!’10 Christian continues.

  The great Toote has also specifically asked his great friend Tinah, for ‘The Bull and the Cow and as many Hogs as you will send him!’11

  And yet, King Tinah also has another question that Christian has been expecting.

  ‘What is become of the bread-fruit?’12

  ‘He has sent it home to England with Bligh,’13 Christian quickly explains. King Tinah accepts the explanation without question for the moment.

  It is extraordinary. And wonderful.

  Toote has asked for our help?

  The Tahitians feel as if God himself has honoured them by asking for their earthly aid. Of course they can help!

  Anything for Captain Cook!

  Within mere minutes of the request being made, the Tahitians have hopped to with a haste that is almost unnatural to them, corralling the first of the hogs and goats, leading them like a scene from a poor man’s version of Noah’s Ark to a makeshift pen on the deck of the Bounty. And chickens, you will need lots of chickens, a dog, and the very bull and cow originally brought to these shores by Captain Cook.

  In the meantime, of course, the greatest pleasure for most of the Mutineers is to be back among those who love them most and, as Mr Coleman would note, ‘It is impossible to describe the pleasure which some of the females felt upon seeing their former gallants.’14

  Merriment and music is the order of the day, before they get to the pleasures of the night, and the Blind Fiddler, ably accompanied on the flute by a talented Tahitian named Timoa, puts on a virtuoso performance. For many hours, their worries are banished as they immerse themselves in paradise. Certainly, the Mutiny was an extreme measure, but compare all this to being back on the Bounty with the bastard, Bligh.

  Apart from the general celebrations, there is also a special wrestling match, this one between a man and a woman, ‘wherein all difference of sex was lost sight of, for the woman was equally if not more violent than the man, and she almost broke his leg with a fall … The lady who had thrown him, received universal congratulations, and, indeed, she was not a little proud of her triumph.’15