Mutiny on the Bounty
Page 38
It all comes to a head when he begins scouting the island, looking for a good place to build his fort.
Chief Tummotoa, fancying his own tribe and territory as the most important, is anxious that the white men choose to build on his turf. When Christian finds, however, that none of the available sites suit their needs, the Chief takes it badly.
He becomes angrier still when Christian then goes to the district of Chief Taroatchoa, a minor Chief with a small amount of land, who might be willing to make an alliance to increase his own power. Sure enough, after finding the ideal site, Christian accepts Taroatchoa’s offer to build on his land.
Chief Tummotoa does all he can to dissuade Christian from this unwise course of action but, finding his efforts useless, he grows angry.
Very angry …
‘I will still be your friend,’3 Christian promises. But a friend of Chief Taroatchoa is no friend of Chief Tummotoa, and Chief Tinnarow feels the same … Tummotoa and Tinnarow quickly form an alliance, prohibiting their people from trading or having contact with the white men in any way.
Well, that is just too bad. Tiring of the endless intrigues, Christian decides to embark on building the fort regardless, and quickly at that, but …
But hang on!
Where are John Sumner and Matthew Quintal? Gone on shore without leave, he soon learns. It is, if not mutinous behaviour – that term has a different meaning these days – still hugely problematic, and Christian knows he must respond as firmly as Bligh would have.
At least it does not take long to confront them. For when they return to the ship the next morning, after a night spent with Native women, Christian is waiting for them.
‘How did you come to go on shore without my leave?’ asks Christian.
‘The ship is moored,’ Quintal replies evenly, ‘and we are now our own masters.’4
Christian does not hesitate.
Quickly drawing his British light dragoon pistol, and cocking it with ominous purpose, he holds it to Quintal’s forehead and says, ‘I’ll let you know who is master.’5
Well, when he puts it like that, there is no doubt that Mr Christian makes a very compelling case.
‘Put them in leg irons!’ Christian barks. The startled crew fly into motion, escorting the pair down the companionway and locking them up in the brig.
Christian hopes, privately, that his resolute show of force will work.
Mercifully, when allowed back up on deck the next day, both men are indeed hang-dog sorry.
‘We beg your pardon,’ they plead, before adding, ‘and promise to behave better in the future.’6
Noblesse oblige, Christian orders their chains to be removed. And so, to work.
On the morning of 18 July 1789, Christian takes a staff with a Union Jack attached and firmly plants it in the selected patch of ground, claiming this territory for Great Britain.
To mark the occasion, he grants an extra issue of rum for the men, and, with all hands joining him in a toast, he solemnly names the place ‘Fort George’, in honour, of course, of His Majesty George III, by the Grace of God, King of Great Britain, France and Ireland, Defender of the Faith, the very sovereign he has committed mutiny against.
Now, to build the fort.
Marking out the ground by pacing along it and digging in sticks, Christian soon has the basic contours done, the central feature being a ‘quadrangular form, measuring one hundred yards on each square outside of the ditch’.7
As to that ditch – in front of each wall, Christian wants a ditch that is no less than 18 feet wide, by six feet deep, and the walls made of palm tree trunks must be 12 feet high. The major entrance will be a drawbridge on the north side of the fort, facing the beach. It is, frankly, a ludicrous amount of work for just over 30 men to contemplate, and will obviously take at least six months to build – and will be all the more difficult, as, come to think of it, none of them has ever tried to build a fort before.
For firepower, the four-pounder guns of the Bounty are to be laboriously heaaaaaved from the main deck to be placed high on each fort corner, ready to blow apart any attacking tribe, or any ship from England that might try to enter the narrow harbour. Two of the swivel guns are to be permanently placed at the top of each wall, with two kept as reserve, deployed as the occasion might require. By this means, two four-pounders and four swivels can be brought to bear in any direction.
Just let anyone try to dislodge them, and the men of the Bounty will show them who rules in these parts.
And so, back to work. James Morrison works away with the rest, noting that all are dedicated to their new task: ‘Some cut stakes, others made battens, some cut sods and brought them to hand, some built, and others wrought in the ditch. The carpenters made barrows and cut timber for the gates and drawbridge. The work began to rise apace.’8
It is a long, exhausting process, and they are so short of manpower to get the job done that – unaccustomed as he is – Christian is obliged to take off his jacket, roll up his sleeves, wield a hammer and saw, and help. It is precisely the kind of heavy manual work that he never would have got close to on the Bounty, but now he makes sure to always take part.
The rhythmic sound of axes hitting wood echoes across the isle, followed shortly afterwards by the vision of palm trees falling, men grunting and groaning, sawing and hammering. Huts are constructed to shelter the working Bounty men from the heat, crops are planted, with yams and bread-fruit carefully cultivated. Oh yes, what was to sustain the slaves of the West Indies will now sustain the free men of the Bounty.
20 July 1789, in the tropical torpor of Timor, a light goes out
Famous last words?
None that are recorded, which is not surprising.
A man who has uttered so few words in this life is unlikely to come up with something memorable just before he shuffles off this mortal coil, and such is the case with the unfortunate David Nelson, who contracted inflammatory fever not long after arriving in Timor and savagely spiralled earthwards until now, on the evening of 20 July 1789, he near silently breathes his last and … is still.
Few deaths could have hit Bligh harder, as, through it all, he had greatly admired Nelson’s abilities and was sure the botanist returned the favour and the fervour in kind, and had been completely loyal to him.
As soon as the next morning – for funerals in these parts must be conducted quickly, before the body decomposes in the heat – Nelson is given a grand send-off.
(With the minister of the Dutch Reformed Church in the lead, followed by Captain Bligh, then ten dignitaries, his coffin is held on the shoulders of 12 Dutch soldiers dressed in black. The rest of the Loyalists and the people of Timor trail behind. Proceeding to the European cemetery behind the chapel, the coffin is lowered into the grave as the minister leads a sombre burial service.)
The tragedy is almost more than Bligh can bear and it is with real sorrow that he takes up his precious journal and records:
I was sorry to find I could get no Tomb Stone at this place, that a … man lay there who had surmounted every calamity and distress for eight and forty days across a dangerous Sea with Fortitude and health; but that at last after surmounting every difficulty, and in the midst of his humble gratitude and joy to Almighty God for his preservation; he [died].9
Indeed. But could there be any more fitting epitaph for a wordless man than no epitaph at all?
Early August 1789, Tubuai, civility and savagery
The Natives of the South Pacific?
Savages?
No. The experience of the Bounty men in Tahiti has made them think otherwise. Against that, there is no doubt that some of them are capable of extraordinary savagery – and today at Tubuai is a case in point.
In a rare break from building Fort George, Morrison has been invited by Chief Taroatchoa to watch an important tribal ceremony.
Arriving at the scene, he immediately notes young men of the tribe assembled in a square at the main morai, their place of worship, waiting for t
he priests and elders to arrive.
A stirring, a rumbling, a wave of excitement, and now here they are. Like the Red Sea before Moses, the square of young men suddenly parts on one side, and into the square walk the priests and old men, all with heavy staves in one hand – each staff with a tightly sharpened point – and a young plantain sapling in the other. After some holy utterances from one of the priests, all of the staves and the saplings are thrown into a heap in the middle of the square.
There are more prayers, building to a climax, and now all men – priests and elders – retrieve their staves, before one of the priests starts moving around the square of men.
Stopping before one particular young man, the prayer rises to a shout, there is a flash of the priest’s staff. The young man falls to the ground. All those with staves crowd forward and start ruthlessly stabbing his prone form. The young man’s blood gushes forth, he is dead within seconds.
‘The body,’ the stunned Morrison chronicles, ‘is instantly dissected with bamboo knives.’10
This human sacrifice is nothing less than an offering to the Gods. Pieces of the body are now wrapped in leaves, and each elder, accompanied by a priest, carries a piece of the corpse back to his own morai with a banana tree, while the head, bones and bowels of the victim are buried in the main morai and a stone is placed to indicate another sacrifice.
Now, and only now, is a feast held to celebrate the grand occasion.
16 August 1789, Timor, the pangs of Coupang
Of course Bligh desires to be on his way once more.
And of course, the problem once more is that wretch, Fryer. With the Resource now ship-shape, Captain Bligh has made the terrible error of entrusting Fryer to ready the vessel by taking it out to a sheltered spot in the harbour to test its seaworthiness.
Misjudging the tides, Mr Fryer manages to run the vessel aground in the shallows.
Infuriated, Bligh tells Fryer he must stay on board the Resource and wait until a sufficiently high tide, so the vessel can be refloated. He is not to come ashore, until then, is that clearly understood?
Very well indeed, Captain Bligh. But now Fryer adds a very strange thing:
‘When I am commanding officer, I shall come ashore when I please.’11
Bligh reels.
‘The vicious and troublesome disposition of this man can only be equaled by his ignorance and meanness,’12 Bligh confides to his journal.
And yet, despite the fact that Bligh has the power to confine Fryer to his quarters, it is not as if the Master does not have his own power to hurt the Captain in turn.
That much is apparent when, soon afterwards, the Governor sends quiet word that if Bligh wouldn’t mind, they would like a second signature beside his own, to sign all bills, so as to verify his credit – so there can be a sense that all of the supplies really are being purchased, and approved, by the Royal Navy, not just one Captain.
What? Him, a Captain of the Royal Navy, and just his signature is not enough? It is an insult! Bligh refuses outright and, in the face of it, Mr Timotheus Wanjon, the son-in-law of the Governor, feels he has no choice but to restore Bligh’s credit, and so, personally, becomes his guarantor even without a second signature.
For the moment, Bligh has no proof, but he has little doubt that behind this damn outrage lies Fryer.
My master, who I am under the necessity to keep strictly to his duty, and is a vicious person, it is hinted to me has been the cause of the Governor’s [move] … 13
20 August 1789, Tubuai and Timor, no time to tarry
Though separated by some 4000 miles of open ocean, and the law, it is an auspicious day for the captains Christian and Bligh in their respective small vessels.
On Tubuai, Christian takes a break from building Fort George to go to the other side of the island in his Cutter for his first meeting with Chief Tinnarow, who has resisted his overtures to this point – no doubt still furious over the men killed at Bloody Bay.
Bligh, meantime, on this same morning, is about to set sail in the Resource for Sourabaya, the next port on the way to Batavia – with the aim being to get there before October, when the Dutch Fleet will be sailing for Europe.
His last act before leaving is to send off a bundle of letters to go on one of the fast Dutch ships heading for Europe that, though they have no room for Bligh and his crew, can take his missives. The most important of these letters is to the love of his life …
Coupang in Timor
Augt. 19th. 1789
My Dear Betsy
I am now in a part of the world that I never expected, it is however a place that has afforded me relief and saved my life, and I have the happyness to assure you I am now in perfect health … What an emotion does my heart & soul feel that I have once more an opportunity of writing to you and my little Angels, and particularly as you have all been so near losing the best of Friends – when you would have had no person to have regarded you as I do, and must have spent the remainder of your days without knowing what was become of me, or what would have been still worse, to have known I had been starved to Death at Sea or destroyed by Indians. All these dreadful circumstances I have combated with success and in the most extraordinary manner that ever happened, never despairing from the first moment of my disaster but that I should overcome all my difficulties.
Know then my own Dear Betsy, I have lost the Bounty … My misfortune I trust will be properly considered by all the World – It was a circumstance I could not foresee – I had not sufficient Officers & had they granted me Marines most likely the affair would never have happened …14
As to how on earth the Mutiny occurred, Bligh is mystified: ‘The Secrecy of this Mutiny is beyond all conception so that I cannot discover that any who are with me had the least knowledge of it.’ Captain Bligh proceeds to recount the horror of what has occurred at the hands of the traitorous Fletcher Christian – yes, the very one who had bounced their dear children on his knee – and ‘Beside this Villain see young Heywood one of the ringleaders.’15
Yes, Peter Heywood, that young artist boy with the high-bred connections, who slept under their roof, is a traitor too! Bligh lists other protégés who have betrayed him, even the 15-year-old Monkey he was so fond of and was teaching to read, ‘even Mr. Tom Ellison’,16 concluding ruefully that, ‘I have been run down by my own Dogs’.17 Bligh’s words tell Betsy all of the amazing events of his extraordinary journey to Timor, and how ‘through the assistance of divine providence without accident a Voyage of the most extraordinary nature that ever happened in the world,’ was achieved, ‘let it be taken either in its extent, duration, or so much want of the necessaries of life’.18
Bligh assures Betsy that, ‘My conduct has been free of blame’,19 and yet, alas, the same cannot be said for some of the ‘Loyalists’ who remain with him, with young Midshipman Hallett being singled out as a ‘worthless impudent scoundrel’.20 He is now about to leave for Batavia, where he hopes to get on a ship bound for Europe.
The next summer will however I trust in God bring me to you and my Dear little Girls and that we shall find our affairs in a flourishing way …21
I know how shocked you will be at this affair but I request of you My Dear Betsy to think nothing of it all is now past & we will again looked forward to future happyness. 22
Financially, she need not worry …
I have saved my pursing Books so that all my profits hitherto will take place and all will be well … 23
Give my blessing to my Dear Harriet, my Dear Mary, my Dear Betsy & to my Dear little stranger & tell them I shall soon be home …
To you my Love I give all that an affectionate Husband can give – Love, Respect & all that is or ever will be in the power of your ever affectionate Friend & Husband
Wm. Bligh24
All thus, is in readiness. At Bligh’s word, the schooner is pushed away from the wharf and they set sail out of the harbour – towing the Launch, as it is, of course, the property of His Majesty – bound for Batavia.
Several of Christian’s men stagger back to the now half-constructed fort, dazed and bleeding profusely, reporting that they have just been set upon by an enraged mob of Chief Tinnarow’s tribesmen. One of the Tahitian Natives they have dragged back with them has been so badly beaten with a stone they are not sure whether he will survive.
Very well, then. The evidence builds that Christian’s meeting with Chief Tinnarow a few days earlier had not actually changed things.
Christian moves swiftly, ordering an armed party to go to where the attack took place in search of these tribal ruffians. They rush back to find several of the Natives still at the scene, still armed with incriminating spears, and they are quick to fire two muskets in their general direction, hitting and killing one of them.
No, this is not war.
But it is a skirmish, a way of giving Chief Tinnarow, in the time-honoured British fashion, ‘a taste of Bessie’, as in their Brown Bess muskets, an introduction to the firepower he and his tribe will face if they continue to resist their settlement on what is now, after all, declared British territory.
The skirmishes continue over the next few days, with Alec Smith – who had been unwise enough to visit a maiden in the Tinnarow area – captured and kept prisoner in the Chief’s hut. Other Europeans have their clothes stolen as they slumber in post-coital bliss.