Mutiny on the Bounty

by Peter Fitzsimons

  13 February 1791, Tahiti, a sacred day

  Today is the day.

  After much preparation, on a new ceremonial ground, Morai, prepared especially for the occasion, today King Tu, just nine years old, is to be invested with the Royal Sash, the ‘Marro Ora’,14 an important step on his road to manhood, something of a coronation. The exquisite sash is three feet long, made of fine netting and covered in red feathers of the lorikeet. The ends are divided into six tassels, themselves bursting with red, black and yellow feathers, ‘for each of which they have a name of some Spirit or Guardian Angel, that watches over the Young Chief’.15 It is to be worn by the new King for just a single day, the island’s equivalent of a crown and throne in one.

  Sure enough, on this hot morning all the Bounty men are dressed in what remains of their old uniforms, as spruced up the best they can, to carefully observe the ceremony.

  Surrounded by his High Priests, dressed in their own colourful finery, King Tu, a slender lad, is placed on the Morai. The High Priest makes a long prayer, ties the brilliant sash around King Tu’s waist, places a wicker hat on his head and finishes by hailing him ‘King of Tahiti’.16

  ‘King of Tahiti!’

  ‘King of Tahiti!’

  ‘King of Tahiti!’

  And now, three human sacrifices, already dead, are carried forward and placed on the ground, their heads towards the King.

  A priest, dressed in coloured robes replete with his own red and yellow feathers, makes a long speech over each of the bodies and lays a young plantain tree next to them. Now, the King above them opens his mouth as the priest, wielding a piece of sharpened bamboo, steps forward. One by one, he places the sharp end of the bamboo on the lower part of the eye socket and, with one shove and an effortless flick, scoops out the eyeball. The severed human eyeballs are all then placed on a plantain leaf, which another priest slowly brings up to King Tu’s mouth, so he can receive the souls of the sacrifice. He does not eat the eyeball, but inhales deeply. With that, the bodies are taken away to be buried with great honour.

  Still it is not over, however, as also gathered are different Chiefs from different parts of the island, who now offer their own human sacrifices, ‘some bringing one Victim & Some two according to the bigness or extent of their districts …’.17

  Within an hour, some 30 eyeballs line the altar in front of King Tu, staring back at the Bounty men, whose own eyes are now rather glazed over. By the time the grand feast is ready to take place, most of the men of the Bounty are feeling more nauseated than hungry.

  •

  What on earth is that?

  On this morning, Christian and Isabella wake to the sound of Alec Smith’s hogs rampaging through their garden, causing enormous damage. As calmly as he can, once he has chased the hogs back whence they came, Fletcher seeks out Alec to ask him to at least fix his fence.

  Now the fact that Alec is, by nature, a difficult and cantankerous man is relevant to his response.

  Go to hell! I will not fix it. If you want it fixed, you fix it.

  Christian is free with his opinion: Very well, if any of your hogs trespass on my land then I will shoot them.

  ‘Then I will shoot you!’18 roars Smith.

  Such a dispute cannot be easily contained.

  A threat to murder from a murderer is not a thing to be taken lightly and the other Mutineers have no hesitation in falling upon Smith and quickly binding him tightly with rope. There is, of course, nothing remotely resembling a prison on Pitcairn. As for justice, Smith’s trial amounts to a shouted argument between fearful men. What to do with him? Surely the answer is to do what they did with Bligh. That is, set him adrift on the ocean.

  For when the likes of Smith says he will shoot you, they know he means it. He is a man who has killed men for less – including a simple Native who had been accepting Christian’s jacket.

  Will no-one speak up for Alec, to save his life?

  Yes, and it is none other than Christian who does so.

  We must free him, and forgive him. We must stay together, must work together, if we are to survive and prosper.

  For the moment, things settle down.

  Smith promises to mend his fences, and his ways, and is let go.

  But they are watching him, hear?

  10 March 1791, London, if at first you don’t succeed, Bry, Bry, Bry again

  At last, at last!

  Captain Bligh, still the lion of London, receives the orders he has been waiting for. He is to return to Tahiti, in command of a second bread-fruit voyage. He has the support of the King and Sir Joseph Banks, and now he has orders from the Admiralty. It will be for him to find, this time, two ships appropriate to the task, and to set off as soon as possible, this time heading straight around the Cape of Good Hope.

  It does not take Captain Bligh long to form up his crew. William Peckover, who loves Tahiti like no man, applies to make what would be his sixth voyage to the island, but – likely because his testimony at the court martial had been so positive for the likes of Peter Heywood – Bligh is merciless. Not only does he refuse Peckover, but takes steps to further punish him.

  ‘Should Peckover my late Gunner ever trouble you to render him further services,’ he writes to Sir Joseph Banks on 17 July 1791, ‘I shall esteem it a favour if you will tell him I informed you he was a vicious and worthless fellow.’19

  No, when Captain Bligh has completed his roster, only two men from the original mission are both available, and selected, John Smith and Lawrence Lebogue. Oh, and this time, Bligh is going to be sure to take no fewer than 20 marines with him.

  23 March 1791, Matavai Bay, mutinous till proven loyal

  ‘Land ho! Fine on the starboard bow!’

  After a four and a half month journey from England, around Cape Horn in an easier season than when Bligh had attempted it – they have made the journey in less than half the time it took the Bounty – the Pandora is reaching its destination. On the bridge, his spy-glass to his eye, Captain Edwards scans the isles ahead for any sign of Natives, or Mutineers.

  Meantime, on the shore, Joseph Coleman – one of the three Loyalists identified by Bligh – is so beside himself with joy to see the ship that no sooner has it dropped anchor in Matavai Bay than he is leaving his canoe by the side of the ship and clambering up the rope ladder lowered for him.

  Joy, oh joy, oh joy!

  In short order he is presented to Edwards, babbling what has happened, and where the Mutineers might be found. Edwards’ eyes are on him the whole time, betraying nothing but a certain piercing coldness, though he seems pleased to have so much information confirming so many of the Mutineers are nearby. Still, his gratitude is not completely on show, right now, as he suddenly gives sharp orders that Coleman be placed in irons, and held below!

  Coleman is mortified, stunned, scarcely believing it can be happening.

  But has not Captain Bligh marked my name as innocent?

  Which is as may be, Mr Coleman.

  I, Captain Edwards, am not your judge. I am your jailer. I have my orders, and those orders are ‘to bring, in confinement, to England … Fletcher Christian and his associates … in order that they may be brought to condign punishment’.20

  And so you will be kept in confinement, until such time as we can talk to other white men on this island and work out exactly what has gone on and …

  And now there are more footsteps upstairs.

  New arrivals?

  Yes. Two men have just clambered over the side. Both are nearly naked, and so brown and so covered in tattoos that for a few moments they are mistaken for Tahitians.

  Lieutenant John Larkin gazes at them, stupefied.

  ‘I am Midshipman Peter Heywood of the Bounty,’ says the first arrival. ‘And I am George Stewart,’ says the second.

  They speak English! Lieutenant Larkin continues to simply stare back at them, and remains thus for a good 20 seconds.

  ‘I suppose you know my story?’ Heywood tries again, breaking the
strained silence. Another stare.

  ‘I am of the Bounty!’ Heywood expostulates.

  Stay here. As the other sailors of Pandora watch them carefully, Larkin goes below, and informs Edwards that two more men of the Bounty have arrived.

  ‘Bring them to my cabin, Mr Larkin,’21 orders the Captain.

  Within minutes, he, too, is gazing suspiciously at these two extraordinary-looking men, each clutching a journal, with Heywood’s being the Tahitian–English dictionary he has so laboriously compiled.

  ‘Well, gentlemen, what news?’22 asks Edwards.

  ‘I suppose you have heard of the affair of the Bounty?’23 Heywood begins, tentatively, unsure what the reaction will be.

  As a matter of fact, Edwards has. But what he wants to hear now, and he insists upon it, is their version of just what happened. Heywood cannot oblige quickly enough. While Stewart listens morosely, Heywood bursts forth with his side of the story, how he had never wanted to sail with Fletcher Christian at all, don’t you understand, Captain Edwards? It was just that, he desired survival, to see England once more, to see his beloved family, his mother and sister, dear Nessy and …

  And Captain Edwards has had enough. It is soon time to bring forth his guest, the man he has brought all the way from England, specifically to test out whatever captured Mutineers might tell him, against the truth.

  ‘Mr Hayward,’ Captain Edwards says, ‘come out of my Stateroom if you please.’24

  The door is opened and Lieutenant Thomas Hayward enters to confront the young man he had once been close friends with. It is the first time they have seen each other in nearly two years, but under the circumstances there is not an ounce of hail-fellow-well-met in the air.

  Rather, as Edwards notes carefully, Hayward shoots both his former shipmates a look so withering it could curl hair – a clear indication, it would seem, that he gives short shrift to their entire accounts. And why would he not?

  Both of these men had put Hayward and all the Loyalists with Bligh on a tiny Launch in the middle of the ocean, knowing that it was very likely they were being left to their deaths. Hayward has come back to Tahiti specifically to see justice done, and that, clearly, includes seeing these two, among others, swing from the end of a long rope.

  But Peter Heywood will not have it.

  Hayward was there! He knows we are innocent! But now he says nothing. Worse, ‘He (like all worldlings when raised a little in life) received us very coolly and pretended ignorance of our affairs.’25

  ‘How did you come to stay on the Bounty, Stewart?’ asks Lieutenant Hayward sarcastically, no doubt picturing Stewart doing his Tahitian dance of joy in front of the bound Captain Bligh.

  In response, Mr Stewart, choosing his words carefully, as though he is already waiting for his lawyer, says, ‘When called upon hereafter, I shall answer all particulars.’26 Peter Heywood has no such caution, he is innocent! He was loyal to Captain Bligh! He was a prisoner, Hayward knows this, he was there!

  Heywood’s furious protestations, however, prompt Hayward to tell Peter in turn exactly what he could have done, as the argument escalates … until suddenly cut short by Edwards, who has no interest in any such argument. His own mind is made up.

  ‘Sentinel,’ he calls to his Bosun’s Mate. ‘Take these men in to custody. Lt. Hayward you will desist speaking to these men.’27

  Heywood: ‘I shall be able to vindicate my conduct!’

  ‘Place these men in irons,’ counters the Captain. ‘They are piratical villains.’28

  Four burly sailors fall upon Heywood and Stewart and lead them below to join Coleman. Back in their hut, Stewart’s wife, Peggy, and their baby daughter – still on the teat – wait patiently for him to return.

  Meantime, Edwards orders Lieutenants Corner and Hayward to take two of the ship’s boats, with the ever friendly and pragmatic Hetee-Hetee as their guide, and go out after the Mutineers. By happenstance, four of the Mutineers who are living at Matavai Bay are away at this time, on a boat built by one James Morrison, visiting seven other Mutineers whose huts are scattered around the shores of Tahiti.

  ‘Get hold of them before they learn of our arrival,’29 Captain Edwards instructs his officers, who are soon sailing back out of the bay.

  •

  On the other side of the island, at Papara, where Morrison and his crew are now visiting Burkett, Sumner, Brown and Muspratt, they are just about to sit to have breakfast with one of the Chiefs when Morrison looks up to see a Native hurrying towards him. He has been sent by Hetee-Hetee, with a warning.

  ‘A ship has anchored at Matavai since you left! Those you left there have all gone on board.’30

  The Mutineers look at each other, ashen-faced, stunned silent.

  ‘The Ship’s boats are manned and armed and are on their way after you all. Hetee-Hetee is acting as their pilot but has sent me ahead to give you notice, so you might know how to act.’31

  Their consternation is immediate, as breakfast is forgotten and most of the men make immediate plans to flee. This is the moment they have dreaded for so long, and it is now upon them.

  While John Brown and Michael Byrn, the Blind Fiddler, decide to stay where they are – on the reckoning they have nothing to fear – the other white men are quickly racing to the beach to get into their canoes and paddle furiously to the Resolution.

  Quickly lads! Haul in the anchor, and get the mainsail up!

  Their timing is poor. For even as they get underway, their pursuers are just arriving, and spot them!

  Yes, there they are, on the starboard side, three miles off!

  At one glance, Lieutenant Hayward is stupefied. The Natives had told him that Morrison had built a Pahee, ‘a boat’. But what he now sees in the distance, under full sail, is nothing less than a full-blown schooner – it must be at least 16 tons! – under full sail, and moving swiftly away from them, perhaps a league out from their current position by the shore. Immediately, they give chase.

  Of course, it should be no contest.

  Two vessels of the Royal Navy, made by the finest craftsmen of the realm, manned by His Majesty’s fine sailors, up against a vessel effectively carved out of the jungle, with mats for sails, and now sailed by scurvy Mutineers?

  Hayward sets out with great confidence. His men should haul them in, easily. But he cannot help but notice one thing.

  They’re not.

  The vessel of the Mutineers is slipping away from them, hour by hour by hour, becoming ever smaller on the horizon.

  Worse, when the sun begins to fall, they have no choice but to turn back, and do not make it back to the Pandora until well after dark, where a miffed Edwards awaits. How could they have been outrun by a pirate craft?

  And yet, though humiliated, Lieutenant Hayward is not without hope. For in his absence a strange white man has come aboard with blind Byrn, an Englishman by the name of John Brown. He is not a Mutineer, but a free man, and even has the papers to prove it.

  Ah yes, Edwards does indeed remember being told by Admiralty to look out for a fellow left at Tahiti by Captain Cox of the Mercury. And now Brown can’t get his excuses for spending time with these criminals out fast enough.

  ‘I have been under the necessity for my own safety to associate with these pirates,’32 he declares. ‘I took the opportunity to leave them when they were about to embark in the schooner and put to sea. They have very little water and provisions on board, or vessels to hold them in, and, of course, cannot keep at sea long.’33

  Edwards is as impressed with the possibilities of Brown’s help as he is pleased with the information, and immediately has him entered on the ship’s books and payroll, as ‘guide, soldier and seaman’.34

  Brown says he knows exactly where they will try to hide on the island …

  •

  Among Morrison and his men, the exultation is overwhelming. They have done it! They have shaken off their pursuers, in the boat they built! And it handles like a dream. All that work, all that ingenuity. And i
t had all come together in that one superb vessel that had been able to outstrip a vessel constructed in a British dockyard.

  But what now?

  Upon consideration, they decide to sail back to Papara, where they will split up. While some of the men will go to hide in the mountains, Morrison decides his best option is to go voluntarily to the British ship. After all, sooner or later they would be found in the mountains, and, personally, what has he got to hide? He had never joined the Mutiny, and is confident that will be accepted.

  Turning his vessel, however, it is to find strong winds, and it is two full days before they are able to regain the south-west point of the island to again drop anchor at Papara.

  Within minutes they are surrounded by concerned Native friends in canoes, led by Chief Tommaree, bearing bad news.

  ‘Mr Hayward, of the Bounty, was an officer on one of the boats that you saw,’35 he declares.

  Hayward? On one of the boats we saw? Good God! It is their worst nightmare come to life. If Hayward is alive, and here with the Royal Navy, it means that Bligh and his men did indeed make it back to civilisation and have surely told the Admiralty the whole story. There is no way around it, they are all very likely dead men, unless they can escape. Obviously, their best hope is to get up into the mountains at all speed, where they can either successfully hide or, if the worst comes to the worst, mount a defence.

  Burkett, Sumner, Muspratt, Hillbrant, McIntosh and Millward hop into canoes and are taken to shore, whereupon their trek into the high green hills that tower over them immediately begins, while Norman and Monkey Ellison opt to stay with Morrison and the Resolution.

  Only a few hours later, up north, at Matavai, Edwards is given the word by one of his Native informants: ‘The pirates returned with the schooner to Papara. They landed and retired to the mountains to endeavor to conceal and defend themselves.’36

  Immediately, Edwards orders Lieutenant Robert Corner to go back towards Papara with 26 men in the Launch. The next morning, he sends Hayward, in the company of 20 heavily armed sailors, out to help Corner bring the Mutineers in.

  •