Together with the nine white men, there are six Native men – four from Tahiti and two from Tubuai – making 15 in all, while there are just 12 women from Tahiti on board. In terms of that activity which has been known to soothe the savage breast since the dawn of time – and equally cause rising frustration and ill-will when it is denied – there are three men who will have to go without … or share with others. For the moment – as the Polynesian women clearly don’t mind sharing themselves, while the men are less proprietorial than whites – sharing will help to settle things.
As it happens, one notably beautiful young woman, Jenny – the prize of the Bounty, after Isabella – has already transferred her affections. Despite the fact that she has ‘AS 1789’ tattooed on her arm in honour of her one-time love of Able Seaman Alec Smith, she had found that behind Smith’s surly, violent façade he was … even surlier and more violent in private. A strong, smart and highly capable woman, she knows how to get things done, which had included ridding herself of Smith as a partner and taking up with Isaac Martin instead – the American being stunned with her beauty and intelligence – somehow without provoking Smith too badly.
With Jenny, perhaps, he does not dare to provoke her too badly in turn. These Tahitian women are beautiful, and none more than Jenny, but so too have the Mutineers come to understand they can also be dangerous. You push them, too far, at your peril.
2 October 1789, Batavia, an ill wind blows off the canals
Some mariners who have sailed the Seven Seas think of Batavia as the most dangerous port in the world. No, not because of knife-wielding thugs haunting the back alleys, ready to spring on the unsuspecting passer-by. Rather, it is the ‘vapours’, the pestilent, stinking air that rises from its stagnant and festering canals, vapours with buzzing insects that bring typhus and malaria, and in a bad year can kill as many as half of all new arrivals, while in a good year it is only one in seven.
Captain Cook had said of Batavia that it was responsible for ‘the death of more Europeans than any other place upon the globe’.66
As it happens, and exactly as he had feared, Bligh – who arrived in the infamous Dutch port just a day earlier – appears to have caught some of this pestilence.
He takes to his bed.
My health continues so very bad that the Physician has represented it … that I should leave Batavia without delay.67
Bligh decides to sell, at a maritime auction, both the Resource and … the mighty Launch.
The funds raised will be enough to buy their passage home, or at least Bligh’s.
10 October 1789, Tahiti, of castaways and Mutineers
As it happens, Captain Cox has left behind more than the painting of Captain Cook’s death. For yes, he has also left behind … a white man!
Here he is now, being paddled ashore in the canoe of Churchill and Millward, who had gone to the other side of the island to visit Tinah, where they had discovered this fellow, John Brown.
He proves indeed to be a former Mercury sailor, who had requested to be allowed to stay in Tahiti, and Cox had been only too happy to oblige.
As a matter of fact, Cox had even left Chief Poeno of Matavai Bay a letter to be given to whoever the next ship’s Captain is who comes this way, apparently affirming he is no runaway sailor, though the illiterate Brown is not sure.
Could Morrison read it for him?
John Brown is an ingenious handy man when sober but when drunk a dangerous fellow.68
Brown snaffles the letter roughly from the hand of Morrison, who, startled, looks at the hardened castaway with narrowed eyes. This fellow may mean trouble …
Brown is, in short, trouble, and as men with plenty enough troubles of their own, both the Mutineers and the Loyalists of the Bounty give him a wide berth, both to starboard and to larboard, and never more so than when he is three sheets to the wind, and heading straight for the teeth of a storm, which is mostly.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
PITCAIRN
Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship,
Yet she sailed softly too:
Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze –
On me alone it blew.
Oh! dream of joy! is this indeed
The light-house top I see?
Is this the hill? is this the kirk?
Is this mine own countree?1
Samuel Taylor Coleridge, ‘The Rime of the Ancient Mariner’
WHO IS WITH WHO ON PITCAIRN
(As of the day of landing)
Fletcher Christian (Captain) = ‘Isabella’ (Mauatua), nicknamed Mainmast
Ned Young (Midshipman, 2IC) = Teraura
Billy Brown (Gardener Assistant) = Sarah (Teatuahitea)
Alec Smith (Able Seaman) = Obuarei
Matt Quintal (Able Seaman) = Tevarua
Jack Williams (Able Seaman) = Faahotu
Isaac Martin (Able Seaman) = Jenny (Teehuteatuaonoa)
Bill McCoy (Able Seaman) = Teio (who also has a baby daughter with her)
John Mills (Gunner’s Mate) = Vahineatua
The Tahitians: Talaloo = Toofaiti
Nehow )
Timoa ) = Mareva (shared wife of three men)
Menalee )
The Tubuaians (referred to by the Mutineers as Tahitians in their accounts)
Ohoo )
Tetaheite) = Tinafornea (shared wife of two men).2
The names of the men and their wives, as recorded by Jenny and Alec
Smith in their written accounts of what happened on Pitcairn Island
10 October 1789, Batavia, a double-Dutch auction
A Dutch auction, Bligh now discovers, is like an English auction in reverse. Whereas with an English auction you start low and keep going higher until there is only one person left standing, with a Dutch auction you start a little higher than your wildest dreams and lower the asked price until the first person puts up their hand, and the new owner is declared.
And so it is that at 9 o’clock on this morning the Resource is ‘put up at 2000 Rix dollars’,3 about £75, which is, yes, a little beyond Captain Bligh’s wildest dreams, for a ship he had purchased for 1000 Rix dollars, just three months earlier.
But when in Rome do as the Romans do, and when in the Dutch East Indies, have the incomprehensible bids in Dutch quickly translated into English for you …
1500 Rix dollars then?
No-one.
1000 Rix dollars?
Still no-one.
500 Rix dollars, surely.
To Bligh’s stupefaction, hands of potential bidders seem to be pushed more firmly into their pockets than ever.
‘Strange as it may appear she only sold for 295 Rix Dollars,’ a bewildered Bligh writes in the Log.
Another vessel is sold today. Bligh writes sadly: ‘The Launch likewise was sold. The services she had rendered us, made me feel great reluctance at parting with her.’4 But needs must, and Bligh needs money and so it is that the Launch, the remarkable vessel that carried 19 men on one of the most extraordinary voyages in the history of the world, is sold for a trifling sum.
It is the final page of an extraordinary saga, and, as disappointing as the price is, perhaps, with the ending now, Bligh can at last let himself go a little, to do what he has long wanted to do but not been allowed the luxury – feel sick.
My health and strength is worse every day so that I am in tortures when I think or write.5
And he is not the only one.
For on this day, he records in his Log the fate of another Loyalist, ‘At ½ past 11 died at this Hospital Thomas Hall of a Flux. This poor man has never been well since my arrival at Timor.’6
Bligh cannot leave this place of pestilence quickly enough and mercifully they are nearly ready to do so.
Before boarding, however, Bligh pauses to write an important letter to Sir Joseph Banks, which will depart on a bigger and faster ship. It is important both that his patron be advised as soon as possible what has occurred, and, even more importantly, can understand how blameless Bligh is, ho
w courageous in the aftermath, and how valiant overall in the service of the Royal Navy, against the curs who had done him down. Most importantly, the letter will stand as testament to what has happened, should his own ship be lost at sea, and the letter even has a word of … implied warning.
Batavia October 13th. 1789
Dear Sir,
I am now so ill that it is with the utmost difficulty I can write to you …
You will find that the Ship was taken from me in a most extraordinary manner …
Had I been accidentally appointed to the Command, the loss of the Ship would give me no material concern, but when I reflect that it was through you Sir who undertook to assert I was fully capable, and the Eyes of every one regarding the progress of the Voyage, and perhaps more with envy, than with delight; I cannot say but if [it] affects me considerably.7
Reading his words, Bligh has every right to a certain satisfaction, for his message, while understated, is clear: When I get back, you would be well advised to give me your full support, in maintaining that I am the one wronged. For, the alternative view, that I am a tyrant will reflect badly on your judgement in putting me there.
As for the cause of Christian’s treachery, Sir Joseph …
I can only conjecture that the Pirates have Ideally assured themselves of a more happy life among the Tahitians than they could possibly have in England, which joined to some female connections, has most likely been the leading cause of the whole busyness.
If I Had been equipped with more Officers & Marines the piracy could never have happened.8
Ahem. As I told you …
Your most obliged Humble Servant
Wm Bligh9
Together with this opening letter, Bligh gives a detailed account of everything that had happened during the Mutiny, and what had happened thereafter; every adversity, the actions of every Loyalist and Mutineer, and just how extraordinary each of his nautical triumphs against the odds was. And yes, he is sorry to close his account with the tragic news of the death of Sir Joseph’s friend, Mr Nelson. Beneath this news, Bligh adds a note, in the hope that his patron will use his influence where it counts:
I have not given so full an account to the Admiralty you will please therefore to attend to it in that particular.10
•
Happy to have the task of writing to Sir Joseph Banks over with, the ailing Bligh turns his attention to the myriad matters that Samuel is bringing before him, non-stop.
The paperwork!
The certificates!
The bills! Leaving Batavia, as it turns out, is less a matter of maritime manoeuvres than of navigating through a miserable mountain of paperwork as the Dutch extract their pound of flesh from him with endless bureaucratic procedures, not to mention an unending series of fresh fees to cover the cost of hosting Bligh and his Loyalists, as well as getting them ready for the next leg of their journey. The charges are ‘exorbitant’, Bligh records in his journal, but ‘I had no resource, I must either lose my passage or pay the account’.11
It all wouldn’t sting so much if any of that which was provided was half-decent, but it is nothing of the kind. Bligh records, ‘Batavia is so unhealthy that it is a Miracle if a Stranger remains a Month … without a Fever.’12
Bligh is particularly irritated with Dutch house ‘cleaners’ who seem to specialise in spreading dust and dirt with a broom rather than mop with water and vinegar. A different man than Bligh, of course, might be more focused on the fact that he has only just escaped dying of fever thanks to Dutch medical care than the bad housekeeping he must put up with meantime, but this Captain is a special case.
In sum, the sooner they can leave this low citadel of ‘contagion and disease’, the better.
At last, it is done, with passage booked for himself and Samuel and Smith, and their bags packed, with their bills paid, and their loans guaranteed in a manner such that the Dutch will indeed let them go. The ship that Bligh will be returning to England on, the Vlydt, is fully loaded, and will be leaving on the morrow, 16 October 1789.
The rest of the Loyalists can make their way to England on later ships, as berths become available. Which brings Bligh to his final administrative duty.
Mr Fryer, if you please. Here are your formal orders:
Orders to Mr. John Fryer Master
Oct 16, 1789
Whereas from a representation of the Physician General it appears that my life is in great danger to remain here until the Fleet for Europe Sails, and that only myself and two others can be taken in the Packet which departs on the 16 Instant, I therefore impower you to take command of such remaining Officers and Men & to follow me to the Cape of Good Hope by the first Ships His Excellency the Governor General shall permit you to embark on …
You are also upon your embarkation or at a proper time to get a knowledge of what charges are against His Majesty’s Subjects under your Command & upon fairly & duly considering them you are to draw Bills for the Amount on the Navy Commissioners for Victualing His Majestys Navy.13
The bitter irony of it escapes neither man.
For yes, Mr Fryer, you who so much enjoy gathering documents and bills, and lists of prices, to ensure that every penny is accounted for, can now do this under my orders! And yes, you will be doing so, while still under the threat of court martial once you arrive in England, for I have as yet made no formal undertaking to drop all charges. I will decide on my voyage, and you may stew on it meantime.
Now, another thing. You must also ensure safe passage of my bread-fruit plants … all … three of them.
Yes, they are but three, but who knows … the Admiralty might find some way to put these three in a greenhouse and eventually produce a thousand more. It is, to be sure, faintly ridiculous but at least it is something.
Beyond everything else, Bligh is eager to find out if such plants can survive such a long voyage in the first place, as even that will be valuable to know.
Late October 1789, in the South Pacific, fragile command
Drop anchor.
The Bounty bobs just off a tiny island, which Christian knows from his chart was discovered by Captain Cook in 1777 and is called Purutea.
They don’t have to wait long to find out if it is inhabited. A few minutes after they drop one of their spare anchors, there appears some half-a-dozen Natives in a canoe, bearing a pig and coconuts, paddling steadily towards them. They are unarmed and look friendly, so no-one minds – at least nearly no-one – when one of the bolder of the Natives actually climbs up the anchor chain onto the deck of the ship and walks right up to Captain Christian, half-resplendent in his half heavily patched Master’s Mate uniform.
With great wonder apparent in his stupefied countenance, the Native is particularly taken with the shiny pearl buttons on Christian’s waistcoat. Rising to the occasion, bemused by his fascination, Christian carefully removes his navy blue jacket, and now takes off his white waistcoat jacket with the white-pearl buttons, before, with great generosity, presenting the waistcoat jacket to the Native as the fine fellow gazes wide-eyed at such a precious gift. So thrilled is he, in fact, that with Christian’s help with this unfamiliar garment, the Native immediately puts it on, and jumps up on the gunnel to display it.
From the look of his pride, and their wonder, Purutea very likely has no less than a new King, and . .
And suddenly the world stops, a shot rings out. The fine white jacket, with the pearl-shell buttons, sprouts angry red splotches and the resplendent Native – now, dead – tumbles from the gunnel and falls, narrowly missing his comrades in the canoe.
Shouts! Screams!
What on earth has just happened?
On the Bounty stands a Mutineer, grinning, with a still smoking musket, convinced that he has just suitably punished a Native who had stolen the jacket.
Below, the Natives in the canoe, stricken, haul the lifeless body of their dead friend from the waters, and furiously paddle away, wailing wild laments as they go.
Over their shoulders
they can hear much shouting, and a quick glance behind reveals it to be the one who had given the coat now yelling at the grinning man with the smoking stick.
The murderer proves to be none other than Alec Smith, who appears to be remarkably unrepentant, even when advised that the Native had not been stealing at all, but merely accepting a gift, graciously given.
Under similar circumstances, just eight months before, Bligh’s punishment for Smith would have been swift and merciless lashes.
But now, all is different.
Beyond the tongue-lashing, as one of the Tahitian women, Jenny, who has a gift for observation, would later note, Christian ‘could do nothing more, having lost all authority’.14
Yes, they call him ‘Captain Christian’, but the truth is, and they all know it, having cut down Bligh in a mutiny, having taken such extreme action in the cause of correcting injustice, he can hardly demand unquestioned authority from those who have joined him in the same quest. Thus, with tongue-lashing delivered, and the Natives of Purutea now turned entirely against them, there is nowhere else to go …
Weigh anchor!
31 October 1789, Indian Ocean, time does not fly on the Fly
Since leaving Batavia, bound for England, on the Dutch packet ship, the Vlydt, Bligh’s enduring fever had seen him below decks and sleeping for most of the time. But now, feeling stronger, it is time for the unfortunate Dutch captain, Peter Couvert, to be under one of the most critical eyes of this maritime age gazing grimly at every move he makes. For, untroubled by the fact that he is a mere passenger, with no authority, Bligh cannot help himself, and constantly calculates the latitude and longitude every day, to check against Captain Couvert’s figures – all so he can tell the remarkably long-suffering Dutchman just how wrong he got it this time. On a bad day, Bligh grimly tells him that he is wrong by 30 miles, while on a good day the Englishman allows Couvert has only miscalculated by six miles. Either way, Bligh’s tone suggests that, on his own ship, the best the Dutchman could hope for would be to wash the dishes.
Mutiny on the Bounty Page 43