Mutiny on the Bounty

by Peter Fitzsimons

  Does Captain Bligh have any kind words for the Dutch sailors, at least? Certainly none that come readily to mind. But, of the other kind of words, they simply gush from his pen like an opened duct of bile.

  The Men are stinking and dirty with long beards, and their Bedding a nuisance, as may be conceived when they have not washed Hammocks since they have been from Europe. The Capt. in his person and bedding equally dirty. Some of the people [have] not a second shift of Cloaths. Cookery so bad I cannot make a meal; such nasty beasts.15

  Early November 1789, Tahiti, all things ship-shape for the new shipwright

  James Morrison is now committed.

  He wants to build a vessel, and a good one – good enough to outrun any British vessel that might arrive, and perhaps even good enough to sail all the way back to England. Keeping such a project secret is not possible of course, and when the likes of Churchill and Thompson ask why he is building the boat, Morrison replies carefully that it is a hobby pursuit only, the vessel is ‘only for the purpose of pleasuring about the island’.16

  Anyway, he will need help and now spreads the word among the other Bounty men on the island: he wants to build a small vessel. Immediately, there is some interest, particularly from Charles Norman and Thomas McIntosh, Purcell’s one-time assistants.

  The basic idea is for each man to bring to the boat whatever skills he has, to reproduce on an island in the Pacific, the best of British know-how, to make the best of British vessels, albeit with only the most rudimentary tools and little of the supplies on hand that could be found in even the most rudimentary British docks.

  The first and most obvious thing they will need is fine timber, from particular Poorow trees, ‘somewhat like Elm’,17 and also bread-fruit trees – for which they need, of course, the blessing of the local Chief.

  ‘We intend to build a little ship,’ Morrison tells him, ‘as we do not understand the method of handling canoes. When it is built, we could carry you and Tinah with some of your friends to the neighbouring islands.’

  The Chief is thrilled.

  ‘Tapu ra’au, cut down what timber you please,’ he says, ‘as there is plenty in Matavai.’18

  And so it begins.

  There remains, however, one particularly notable absentee from Morrison’s workforce.

  Peter Heywood has no interest in helping Morrison with his boat, as he has nothing to fear and would sooner wait for the first British ship for his salvation. Instead, he devotes himself to compiling his Tahitian dictionary, writing poems and doing his sketches, while also building a hut for himself and the beautiful Tahitian maiden who had been waiting for him. Not content with merely a simple hut in the native fashion, Heywood builds something grander, with more rooms and a higher roof, complete with a garden.

  And so back to the dictionary …

  Tafe poipoi – Breakfast.

  Mono’o – Joy.

  Ua here vau ia oe – I love you.

  Time for moe, sleep.

  •

  And can you hear the rhythmic man-made sound in the distance?

  It is the sound of an axe, as Morrison and his men keep building their ship.

  For within a week or so, Morrison is completely obsessed with his vessel and with the idea that they can build their liberty.

  And now, with the final of several dozen strong blows with his axe, yet one more tree – Timberrrrrr! – falls to the ground.

  And now, together, lift.

  Covered in dirt and sweat, with chips of wood in their hair and clinging to their clothes, James Morrison and John Millward use the stubs of cut branches to get a grip and, with their axes swinging from their hips, drag their newly felled tree to their rough work yard. There, Norman, Hillbrant and McIntosh are even more covered in grime and woodchips as they keep sawing on the last log brought to the yard, turning it into the long plank that will eventually be the keel, the spine of their grand new vessel.

  At 30 feet, it will be seven feet longer than the Launch, with one and a half times its volume and carrying capacity, a formidable vessel, formed up on Morrison’s ambitious planning and carefully calculated design:

  Length of the keel: 30 feet

  Length on deck: 35 feet

  Length of the sternpost: 6 feet, 6 inches

  Stem: 7 feet, 2 inches

  Breadth: 9 feet, 6 inches on the midship frame

  Depth of the hold: 5 feet

  Breadth of the floors and timbers: 4 inches to 3½, thickness 3¼ to 2½

  Keel, stem and sternpost: 8 inches by 4.19

  First of all, he realises, he must construct a shed with no walls to provide both shade and air to work in. As construction continues, Morrison faces the next challenge – getting maps that may guide their escape. Carefully, he approaches the always menacing Matt Thompson, wondering if he may borrow some of his naval books, the ones he knows contain maps. After all, as Thompson is as illiterate as a brick, the books are no good to him.

  And yet, as ill-educated as he might be, Thompson is no man’s fool.

  ‘No,’ he tells Morrison, ‘I have no cartridge paper. The books will answer better for that purpose.’20

  It is not just the words. It is the way he says it. And the look in his eye. For his message is very clear.

  We do not trust you, Mr Morrison, or any man who seeks to leave the island without us. And we are armed, Mr Morrison.

  Mid-November 1789, Tongataboo, Fletcher Christian finds a hideout

  And these, now, are more of the Friendly Islands – such as this one, Tongataboo.

  True to the name, the Bounty has no sooner dropped anchor than, again, friendly Natives approach in canoes, with gifts of hogs, yams and poultry. In a halting dialect of the Polynesian language, the Natives proudly tell Christian that none other than the famous ‘Toote’, Captain Cook, had visited their island back nearly 200 moons ago – and what is more, they still have some horned cattle that the great man gave them!

  Which is wonderful for them, but for Christian, the fact that Cook has been here, the fact that Tongataboo exists on Admiralty maps, is precisely what they don’t want. No, it is imperative that they find a dot of an island somewhere within range of the food and water they have, that, preferably, is unknown, but, at the very least, uninhabited. (In the meantime, let them quickly trade with the Natives to stock up on the supplies the Bounty needs, before weighing anchor.) True, without the Blind Fiddler and all the others, turning the capstan does not have quite the same feel – it is bloody hard work – but still they sing as they put their shoulders to the wheel …

  Heave, lads, heaaaaave!

  And push to the tune …

  So lean on your bar and walk ’er round

  (We’re outward bound)

  There’s a good stiff wind, and we’re outward bound!

  Thank God boys, we’re outward bound!

  (Walk ’er round

  We’re outward bound.)21

  Early December 1789, somewhere in the South Pacific east of the Friendly Islands, a treasure of an island

  Night after night, Isabella had woken to find her Titriano sweating profusely, panicky, haunted, full of fear and completely consumed with regret and shame. In recent nights however, it has been less the terrors of his mind that have troubled him, and far more real fears of what might happen now. Obviously, the longer they remain adrift, rootless out on the open ocean, the more they are in peril, and they must find a home, a refuge, soon.

  But, where? It is this question he now focuses on, frets over, flutters around to the point of total distraction, as Isabella hovers close, trying to soothe him. But she, too, is eager for this to end.

  Find us a home, Titriano.

  Thinking on it, as they push east, staring out at a blurry horizon, Christian realises that being discovered on an island by the British is not the only problem they face. For it would be equally troublesome to be discovered by the Polynesians, as word would spread – and it could only be a matter of time before a visiting British sh
ip would hear of white men in the area and come looking for them. Now, given that the South Pacific Natives can travel more than 300 miles in their canoes, and navigate by the stars, it means that the island they are looking for is not one in this whole region, and they must go further afield. But where?

  As it happens, Bligh has an extensive library in his Bounty cabin, and in one of his books, Hawkesworth’s Voyages, Christian discovers the possible answer. For there, yes, a Captain Philip Carteret of HMS Swallow records a brief visit, in July 1767, to a place he has called Pitcairn Island, after 15-year-old Midshipman Robert Pitcairn, who had first sighted it. It appears uninhabited and, as far as can be determined, no British citizen has ever set foot on the place. Best of all, it is no more than a speck on a dot in the vast ocean, two miles long, and 1500 miles from Tahiti. And, yes, it is on the Admiralty map, but the fact that Cook could not find it, when looking in 1773, suggests the recorded longitude and latitude is incorrect. Perfect … so long as Fletcher can find it now.

  Christian realises, of course, that it will strain both the resources left on the Bounty, and the temper of its crew and passengers, to get there. But what choice do they have?

  Christian sets a course to Captain Carteret’s co-ordinates – 25°2’S 133°21’W. It will be an arduous journey, beyond the range of Native canoes, to a place highly unlikely to be visited by British ships, but Christian knows Pitcairn is their only option.

  That night, as Isabella is quick to note, instead of tossing and turning, her Titriano has his best sleep in weeks.

  December 1789, Tahiti, the King is dead, long live … King Churchill!

  How far you have come, Charley Churchill. Born in Manchester, now 30 years old, raised on ships since the age of seven, sailor of the Seven Seas, bald as a badger, and with a vocabulary as rough as your head, here you are, living in paradise, with a good woman you love, among a tribe that has taken you to their bosom.

  And yet, an amazing thing happens in this twelfth month of 1789. For you see, for all his sins, Churchill has been the tyo of one of the more powerful Chiefs of Tahiti, Chief Vay-heeadooa of the district of Tyarrabboo in the south-east of the island. Before this, the understanding of the Bounty men had been that swapping names with your tyo was no more than a simple custom. What they had not appreciated until now was that if your tyo is a Chief, and he dies without a son, then in some cases, you become the new Chief.

  Churchill had not, of course, understood the intricacies of it all. Like everyone in the tribe, he had been saddened to see the Chief take suddenly ill – some Native lads had come to Matavai Bay to inform him of the old man’s condition and take him to Tyarrabboo. Churchill had stood hopefully by as the priests had recited prayers and administered decoctions to the Chief.

  Even the priests’ secret elixir, ‘the juice of herbs’,22 does little to help.

  The weeping tribe gathers around the ailing old Chief, who, in a lucid moment, shakes his head for them, indicating his inevitable dissolution. Sure enough, the Chief takes one last mighty breath and then … expires. There is a loud collective wailing from the tribe at this devastating occurrence, the men hit their heads hard enough to draw blood, and the women, screaming, lash their faces with shells and shark’s teeth until their own blood flows freely. They cut off all but a single lock of their hair to be buried with the body. The widow and daughters of the dead Chief go further, cutting a square of their scalp completely bare – and bare it will remain for at least the next six moons.

  Churchill grieves with all the rest for his tyo.

  But now, the most staggering thing of all.

  ‘The title and estate of this chief,’ Coleman would recount, ‘descended to Churchill according to the law of Tyo-ship; and a day being appointed for the ceremony Churchill received all the honours which are paid upon this occasion.’23

  Eyes right, and all hail Chief Charley Churchill!

  •

  The wood that Morrison intends to use for his new vessel – his own miniature version of the Bounty – is proving problematic. It is entirely unlike good old English wood. Even when seeming as dry as two bones, it actually contains moisture, and the results are disastrous.

  We found that several of those [planks] which were already trimmed and fitted, had started, and became straight, so as to alter their form some inches.24

  There is no choice but to remove the treacherous timbers, a process that keeps Morrison and McIntosh busy for weeks. Again, it will be a process of trial and error, trekking and lugging, splitting and planking, worry and warping, praying and staying, before they have located the best trees that give them the right timber that is then dried enough that it does not warp. No matter how long it takes, this whole thing must be done perfectly.

  16 December 1789, Cape of Good Hope, Bligh on the Fly

  It is something of a cruel reminder for Bligh. Nigh on two years ago, when he had last made his way to the Cape of Good Hope, he had been Commander of his own fine ship, on his way to fulfilling an important mission. This time, aboard this wretched Dutch ship, he is no more than a mere paying passenger, his ship gone, his mission failed. Still, during their brief stop, he manages a meeting with Governor van de Graaff, the same gracious administrator who had been so welcoming to the Bounty’s battered crew after they had been beaten back from their attempt to round the Horn. The Governor is suitably appalled by Bligh’s shocking tales of mutiny and misfortune on the High Seas, and even more suitably impressed by his guest’s triumph in surviving against such overwhelming odds, to be with him here today.

  Bligh has not just come here to tell the story, however. What he wants is the wheels of justice to be set in motion and, with that in mind, he hands His Excellency the list of pirates, imploring that should any of them show their scurvy faces in these parts, they be arrested forthwith. And, yes, he would like copies of his account and the description of the pirates to be given to all ships passing through these parts, and be distributed far and wide from there, so that no place on earth will be safe for the brigands of the Bounty. No corner of any empire, British or otherwise, is to remain oblivious to the outrage of what has occurred, and Bligh desires that even: ‘every port in India will be prepared to receive them, as I informed Lord Cornwallis from Batavia and orders are sent to all the Dutch Settlements’.25

  There will be no escape.

  4 January 1790, Tahiti, a blind test

  He is an old man, and a venerable one, a Tahitian elder, now being led forward by some young ones to acquaint himself with the sensation of the day, the vessel being built by the Mutineers.

  Carefully, the old man – who feels he has seen it all in his long time on this earth – now feels all over the vessel, asking Morrison careful questions as he goes.

  Finally, he is done, and makes his esteemed pronouncement.

  ‘Our canoes,’ he says with palpable wonder, ‘are foolish things compared to this one.’26

  And yet there remains a great deal of work to do and many problems to overcome, the chief one of which is finding a substitute for iron nails. Though Coleman has been able to make some from a block of waste iron they’d taken from the Bounty, most of that must be used to make various ship parts like eye-bolts and rudder hinges – which is achieved, in turn, by fashioning a bellows from the handle of a frying-pan, clay, canvas and wood. And yes, there is also some iron on Tahiti now, brought by passing European ships, but it is very difficult to secure when the Natives regard it as more valuable than gold. In the end, there is only one possible solution to get the nails they need, and it is Henry Hillbrant, the Cooper, who works it out, making ‘nails’ out of a Tahitian native hardwood, ‘amai’, timber so hard and unyielding it can actually be hammered through the softer planks.

  Those planks, though, are still being secured only with enormous effort. With no large saw, just handsaws, and only a few axes and two adzes among the boat builders, fashioning good quality planks from enormous trees way up in the mountains is no small feat. Getting a felled t
ree down to the work yard takes a full day itself. How many times do they find exactly the tree they need, spend hours sawing and chopping through its thick trunk and start to drag it down, only for one of them to lose his grip and all of them to jump for their lives as they watch the tree tumbling … down the precipice.

  What do they do in response?

  The only thing they can do.

  They go back up the next day, and start again, and will keep going – dragging the trunks down to the shed, using ‘ships’ ropes’ made from twined vines – until they have enough planks to build the vessel, sometimes working late, using candles made from goat fat.

  Truly, Bligh would be stunned to observe these men he characterised as wastrels, ‘lubberly Rascals!’,27 ‘scoundrels’28 and ‘villains’,29 the ones he bullied and bellowed at to work till they dropped, now displaying such a single-minded work ethic, such ingenuity, such pride in their craft, with nary a voice raised to harass them.

  Matt Quintal’s warning that if Carpenter Purcell had been handed his tool chest on leaving the Bounty then Bligh would have a new boat constructed in just a month turns out to be a touch on the optimistic side of things.

  By James Morrison’s reckoning, it will take about six months.

  9 January 1790, South Atlantic 500 miles off the African coast, trouble with his Fly

  More than ever, Bligh knows he can do better than the idiot skippering the Vlydt, writing in his journal …

  I am certain that if I had the Command of this Vessel I could run 1½ Knot per Hour more than this Man.30

  Second week of January 1790, in the Pacific, where in the world can Pitcairn be?

  It has taken seven weeks of gruelling sailing east from Tongataboo, with nary the tiniest vision of land in any direction, but at last – after relying entirely on the skills of Christian as a navigator – the Bounty is approaching 25 degrees south latitude, 133 degrees west longitude, which is where Captain Philip Carteret had recorded Pitcairn Island. Anxiously, Christian scans the horizon to the east, back and forth, searching for a telltale bump, a smudge of green that will tell them that they have arrived.