Mutiny on the Bounty

by Peter Fitzsimons

  But, suddenly, all is relatively quiet. The attackers, so strong coming at them through the jungle, are suddenly shy when it comes to open ground. The warriors remain hidden, hurling stones in volleys, but not spears. All the fire and fury seems suddenly to have left them as they contemplate the all too apparent reality: death comes from the puff sticks the white men bear, even when they are a great distance away, and so it is best to stay back. At least, most of them feel like that.

  Some, however, prove a little braver – or less sensible.

  The men of the Bounty can see them clearly: several brave warriors trying to rally their men to attack. Whatever they are screaming seems to wash over the others, but none of them makes the move required – which is to charge at the white men, hurling their spears.

  There are still more angry yells.

  But still no mass move.

  Finally, one particularly brave Native, a Chief by the looks of his impressive, shiny pearl-shell helmet, adorned ‘with a semicircle of feathers from the wild duck’s wings round it’,37 now takes matters into his own hands, and steps forward in violent motions, urging his men onwards while keeping his menacing eyes trained on the white men.

  Shoot that man, says Christian coldly.

  Beside him there is a sudden click as a Brown Bess is cocked, a steadying as one of the Mutineers takes aim at the shiny brown form in the distance, and now a powerful explosion and a puff of stinking acrid smoke as the musket is fired.

  And that brave young Chief is no more, felled by a single musket-ball. Around his felled form there is desperate anguish, many screams and shouts, as his shattered corpse is dragged backwards … and of course … no attack. Yet.

  Is it safe, though, Captain?

  That part is not yet sure. A strange stalemate settles as the seconds tick by.

  But now, the oddest thing.

  Fletcher Christian, in a show of sportsmanship and tribute that would do justice to the schooling he received at the Cockermouth School (in the company of no less than William Wordsworth), orders ‘Three cheers!’38 and the men of the Bounty respond in full cry.

  Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah!

  And something clicks in the Natives …

  They interpret this as the white man’s war cry, meaning they are about to attack. They retreat hurriedly and the battle is finally over.

  Huzzah! indeed.

  The relief of the Mutineers is palpable.

  The important thing now is to get Burkett – who is pasty white and growing faint from the loss of blood from his spear wound – back to the Bounty, and Christian orders Skinner to assist him.

  Meantime, to the victors, the treasures of triumph are now available, and the Tahitians, particularly, load themselves with spoils, especially with clubs and spears. One of the Tahitian boys suggests removing the jawbones of the corpses, ‘to hang round the quarters of the ship as trophies’,39 and frighten future opponents.

  But Christian, appalled, is firm.

  No.

  Still the bloodthirsty boy won’t relent, and begs.

  Can he cut away just one jawbone for himself?

  No.

  Just one?

  NO, says Christian, reaching for his bayonet.

  In the end, it was ‘only the fear of being put to death that prevented him from setting about it’.40

  Having recorded the most unlikely victory, against overwhelming odds, the men of the Bounty return to Fort George.

  With their enemies defeated for the moment, there is no further problem with gathering in the last of the missing stock, whose number even includes their prized cow, now peacefully led back to the fort.

  Now, given that the Good Lord has smiled upon them, it seems appropriate: the fatted calf is slaughtered and a feast is given for the Chief Taroamiva, who had sent warning of Tinnarow’s attack. As they eat and drink, young Chief Taroamiva is able to give them some detail of just how big their victory over Chief Tinnarow’s men has been. No fewer than 60 of them were killed, he gleefully recounts, along with six women who were supplying them weapons.

  And what, pray tell, was the decisive point in the battle? Chief Taroamiva is delighted to tell them: It was when Christian, fighting with the strength of two men, felled the brother of Chief Tinnarow!

  Toasts all round to our noble leader, and Chief Taroamiva remains delighted to be the bearer of such bad news about Chief Tinnarow.

  But now he has a request of Christian.

  Yes, Chief Taroamiva?

  I would like to go to Tahiti along with two of my men.

  Why?

  Well, Tinnarow will not lick his wounds forever and, ‘I have been Mr Christian’s friend so much,’ the young Chief states in a worried tone, so ‘If I stay on shore I shall be killed.’41

  All up, it seems a reasonable request from a Chief who has greatly aided them, and Christian has no hesitation in agreeing. The young Chief may come with them when they leave Tubuai for good in a couple of days, and be accompanied by two of his best men: his nephew, Tetaheite, and Ohoo – a Native with muscles that not only bulge, but bristle.

  And so to work, one and all, as we load the Bounty once more with fresh stores.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  WHAT SHALL WE DO WITH THE DRUNKEN SAILORS?

  Ingratitude, more strong than traitors’ arms, Quite vanquish’d him.1

  William Shakespeare, Julius Caesar, Act 3, Scene 3

  15 September 1789, Sourabaya, the Captain martials his forces

  After waiting four hours at the harbour entrance, Bligh and his Loyalists are allowed to enter Sourabaya, where the Governor, Mr Anthony Barkay, extends them warm hospitality, offering every civility and help, as His Excellency wishes it to be known that, even in the midst of pirate-infested waters, his port is a safe and lively hub.

  For Bligh it is a most welcome relief, but after just a few days, he is ready to sail for Batavia, to continue his triumphant path to England.

  All is set, and today is the day.

  The Resource is ready to sail, not alone but – at the insistence of Governor Barkay – in the company of two Dutch vessels, for protection against pirates.

  Typically, however, just as the Loyalists are readying to depart, their mood buoyant, Bligh contrives to do something to seriously aggrieve them. Many of the officers – William Peckover, William Purcell, William Elphinstone, William Cole, John Hallett, Peter Linkletter and Thomas Hayward – are having last drinks at an ale house by the harbour when an emissary from the Governor arrives, asking them to take charge of a gift that Bligh has accepted. Ah, yes, and what would that be?

  ‘A small bullock, some poultry and Vegetables …’2

  It is unbelievable! Difficult enough to accommodate cattle on ships, it will be a nightmare in something as small as the Resource, and for what purpose? Presumably, it is so Bligh can sell the beasts in Batavia, and pocket the money for himself. Fryer always maintains that Bligh is working some scam, and here is another example.

  Well, first things first, as Bligh’s men have not yet had their fill of ale, they decide to continue drinking, while the ‘presents’ remain tethered, cooped and stacked outside, waiting for them.

  Finally, the drunken sailors – Elphinstone and Hallett, particularly, being more than three sheets to the wind – stagger out of the ale house, early in the morning, gather in the wretched bullock and the rest, and head to the harbour foreshore, where a ferryman in a strong vessel is indeed eager to take their animals and goods out to the Resource. By happenstance, he proves to be an Englishman himself, washed up on these shores years ago. And yes, he will do that for a fee of four ‘doits’, the equivalent of an English penny.

  The drunken sailors are outraged! It is not the penny, it is the principle of the thing. Ever and always, they seem to be reaching into their own pockets to pay for what should be Bligh’s cost; sweating and straining to aid Bligh’s private ventures.

  As ever, though, one man and one man alone, the lackey’s lackey, the sycophant’
s sycophant, the lickspittle’s licker of spit, Thomas Hayward, speaks up for Bligh. In fact, more than that, he dresses his fellows down: ‘You disobey orders! I shall take the boat off without you all.’3

  Hayward! Always bloody Hayward!

  ‘Lackey!’4 they slur his name, in more ways than one.

  Flunkey!

  Lickspittle!

  But he will not resile and, in any case, they have no choice. Hayward pays the ferryman, Bligh’s booty is loaded, and they all follow.

  Nothing, however, will stop their insults about Bligh and Hayward, and the Sourabaya harbour ferryman listens in horror to their drunken ramblings, which he just knows must be against the law somewhere.

  ‘Captain Bligh,’ Purcell says firmly, ‘should be hanged.’5

  Yes, most of the others agree with equally treacherous remarks.

  ‘It will not go well with our Captain when he returns to England,’ says Hallett, ‘he having ill treated every person under his Command, for which reason he will be tied to the mouth of a Cannon and fired into the Air.’6

  As it happens, Bligh himself is not far behind them, being rowed on a separate boat, in the company of the Commandant and the Master Attendant, a Mr Bonza, of Sourabaya, who see him safely on the vessel, and then take their gracious leave.

  Bligh is not long on board before he hears whisperings, a rumbling grumbling getting louder. Apparently, below, a man is refusing to work. And who would that be?

  Two names come to Bligh’s ears: William Elphinstone and John Hallett.

  Bligh quickly heads to their quarters to confirm it, and, indeed, finds them ‘both beastly drunk’.7 With his furious bark, he orders all men aft, including the two drunkards, even as he himself dashes on deck to confront the Master about this disgrace.

  ‘Mr Fryer, what is the cause of you carrying on duty in such a manner? What is the reason you did not see these Officers on deck?’8 asks Bligh.

  ‘I don’t know,’9 replies Fryer shortly.

  ‘God damn you, sir, why don’t you know?’10 Bligh barks. ‘Are they drunk or ill or what is the matter with them?’11

  ‘Am I a doctor?’ replies Fryer sarcastically, before pointing at the crew surgeon, Thomas Ledward, and saying, ‘Ask him what is the matter with them!’12

  But Bligh will not have it.

  ‘What do you mean by this insolence?’13 booms Bligh.

  ‘It is no insolence,’ replies Fryer before finally snapping. ‘You not only use me ill but every man in the vessel and every man will say the same!’14

  Purcell, lips loose from liquor, is quick to join the fray.

  ‘Yes, by God, we are used damned ill!’15 Purcell growls. ‘Nor have we any right to be used so!’16

  Bligh looks around. Instead of averted eyes, there are eager faces, cries of agreement from the men. Emboldened, Purcell glares at Bligh with ‘a daring and Villainous look’.17

  So it is Purcell, in the place of Fletcher Christian, who is the leader of this fresh mutiny? Egged on by the wide support – including that of the Master himself, whose usually expressionless face has suddenly come alive with contempt – Purcell roars some more: ‘You have used me ill! And everybody on board!’18

  In the midst of the uproar that bursts forth, Bligh does what he was never able to do with Christian – he draws his sword.

  You, Mr Fryer, are under arrest. And so are you, Mr Purcell.

  In fact, Mr Fryer? I have something even stronger in mind for you, if you dare to glare one more time at your lawful leader.

  ‘If you offer to look up I swear I will run you through,’ Bligh sneers. Fryer keeps his eyes down.

  Bligh himself – for he simply can trust no-one else – escorts the two scoundrels below, to confine them to their quarters, pausing to order Hayward: ‘Call the Commandant back to the Resource.’19

  Shortly thereafter, the Commandant is bemused to see a harried Hayward arrive, insisting that he and the Master Attendant must immediately come back to the Resource, and bring some soldiers with them.

  Whatever for? I have just left …?

  Mutiny.

  As fate would have it, the ferryman in charge of the vessel that takes the Commandant is – as he tells them in conspiratorial tones – none other than the man who took the drunken Bounty men to the Resource just hours before.

  Do tell?

  So the ferryman does, and in sufficient detail that by the time the Commandant sets foot on the deck of the Resource, he is the man with the evidence, not Bligh, and he has the chief independent witness in tow.

  ‘Commandant, I charge the Master with Mutiny,’20 says Bligh as he steps aboard.

  No doubt. But the Master Attendant, Mr Bonza, is able to shock Bligh with his reply.

  ‘We believe you have some villains about you who you do not suspect,’21 he says.

  ‘Our ferryman has told us your officers and men were saying that you should be hanged or blown from the mouth of a cannon once you get home.’22

  ‘I desire everyone be asked if they have said it!’23 roars Bligh, his voice a shrill shriek, his whole body shaking with rage. The Commandant explains that the ferryman who heard the words is now amongst them.

  ‘Point out those who told you,’24 he encourages the old Englishman.

  There is a pause as the startled ferryman looks around at the men in the line-up before him, as they gaze back at him in turn, aware that their fates may very well hang in the balance.

  He lifts his leathery hand and points a thick, gnarled finger at … Purcell, the Carpenter. There is a collective expulsion of breath, a release of tension.

  Ah, but the ferryman is not done.

  With the same work-wearied hand, he points to … all the men!

  Yes, sir, each and every one of them was cursing Bligh as he ferried them out. And they all agreed that he was the one who was responsible for the Mutiny on the Bounty.

  Now, even Bligh is taken aback. Such treachery! Such traitors, all around him! All of them!

  One man, however, aghast, ashen-faced, steps forward to refute the terrible charge.

  It is Hayward, who rushes to his Captain, embracing him and tearfully imploring, ‘I beseech you, Captain, you will not believe I could be possibly guilty of such infamy and ingratitude.’25

  Bligh does indeed believe Hayward, knowing he could not be capable of any such thing. For, in the wake of the death of Nelson, if Bligh had to stake his life on one man being loyal to him, it is Thomas Hayward, closely followed by John Samuel, his Clerk.

  Tears streaming, Hayward whirls on the others and, caught between shock, misery and fury, roars:

  ‘I dare any one to assert I was guilty of any such baseness or in the least degree privy to it!’26

  Of course, no-one will make any such assertion. (In the first place, the sycophantic wretch is telling the truth, and in the second place, this is not a time to speak up, it is a time to keep your head down.)

  Triumphant at their silence, Hayward whirls back to dear Captain Bligh, noting his disgust for these fellow so-called ‘officers’, assuring him that he only ever speaks to such an unprincipled lot when he absolutely must.

  Of course Bligh not only believes him, but says so, to Hayward’s profound relief.

  Still, the good Captain has no time to receive Hayward’s tearful burblings of gratitude, as he in turn whirls on the wretches who have defied him, and delights in watching them shake and cower in the face of his overwhelming and vindictive anger.

  Looking at them, one by one, Bligh decides that so grave are their offences, they cannot possibly wait to face a court martial in England. Oh no. He will have to do it right here, before he sets sail with these traitors again.

  ‘Commandant,’ Bligh asks and orders. ‘Ask who has any complaints to make against me. Those who have are to go into the Boat to lay such charges before the Governor.’27

  Bligh is calling the bluff of his officers. If you want to take me on, you heroes in your cups, now is your time. It is classic Bligh �
� if under pressure from an underling, his instinct is to make a public confrontation of the whole affair, upping the ante. The Commandant is here, the law is here, the crew is here, all are listening, all are watching. You’ve had some things to say about me in private. Now, take me on! In public! And if you don’t, let everyone witness your craven cave-in.

  Captain Bligh knows, of course, that none of them would dare, and … And, what?

  To his amazement, it now happens …

  Thomas Ledward, John Hallett and William Cole step forward.

  Wretches! But still Bligh does not buckle. They may be brave now, carried along by the Dutch courage that always sustains such curs, but let’s see how they feel after a night in the cells as they contemplate their fates.

  ‘Mr Samuel,’ says Bligh, calling for his Clerk. ‘Write down what Mr Fryer said. The Gentlemen are to sign it. Those that refuse to sign it are to go into the Boat and go onshore.’28

  The five Gentlemen in question – Ledward, Hallett, Cole, Purcell and Fryer – coldly refuse to sign it. Very well then. Their choice. For their trouble, and the trouble they are causing, Bligh draws his sword and hotly escorts them all to the Cutter that will take them to shore. Still, let us give you all one last chance to change your minds before the boat sets off.

  Gentlemen, a bargain as we bob? I lay my sword down and offer you my pen.

  ‘Gentlemen, you will sign to what Mr Samuel wrote and I will hope you will behave like men of Honour.’29

  Ah, no. Call them dishonourable if you will, but not one of them reaches for the quill, not one is disposed to sign what might amount to their death warrant. Very well then. The boat sets off, Bligh so angry he can barely speak. Clearly considering that the sword might be mightier than the pen after all, Bligh puts down the quill, lifts the sword once more and points the point right at Master Fryer, who … offers a smirk so insolent, Bligh nigh explodes.

  ‘Rascal … if you speak [one word] I will run you through!’30 threatens Bligh.

  ‘You are to use your pleasure in doing what you think proper,’31 replies Fryer tartly, calling his bluff.

  ‘I will use my pleasure, I will break every bone in your skin!’32 retorts Bligh.