‘Teraura!’ he calls. ‘Bring me my gun.’
And perhaps she even might have done so. But it all proves to be beside the point, as even before she can move, Menalee has reloaded and calmly shoots Timoa again. Shoots him dead.
There is, of course, pandemonium, with everyone running every which way, including Teraura, who runs to Tetaheite and, weeping, tells him that Menalee has murdered ‘her favourite black’.28
As it happens, Menalee is not far behind her, intent on killing Tetaheite. But the Native women will not have it. Seeing what is about to happen, they rush from all parts to surround Tetaheite for protection, even as he calls to Nehow for help.
When Nehow arrives, it is suddenly Menalee who is outnumbered, and he makes a strategic retreat, heading out into the same hills where his former quarries, Billy McCoy and Matt Quintal, are still hiding.
On an island this small, it does not take long for Menalee to find them, and he is quick to propose a new understanding. Instead of trying to kill each other, why not join forces?
Really?
McCoy and Quintal, who have been living off what they can forage, wondering if every day will be their last, are unsure. Here is the very man who had wanted to kill them, who had tried to hunt them down, now being hunted himself. And now he wants to join forces?
After a quick parley, the two make him an offer.
To prove your bona fides, we want you to lay your musket down at your feet, and move away from it.
Carefully, Menalee bends forward, places the gun on the ground and shuffles back a couple of steps, staring all the while at the white men, wondering if he is about to be betrayed, as …
As with a rush, the two Mutineers snatch the musket. Armed, at last!
Now, kill Menalee, or not?
They decide not to. For while there may be no honour among thieves, there is a bond between fugitives when pursued for their lives, and the three men begin to talk. Menalee makes a proposal. He would like Quintal and McCoy to join him in killing the other two Tahitian men – at which point there would be peace among all survivors. Menalee promises!
Quintal and McCoy consult with each other, and cautiously agree.
Slowly, thus, not quite trusting Menalee, or the situation, McCoy and Quintal head back to the village with Menalee in the lead, stopping right at the edge of the woods, just near the huts. They can see the glow from the communal fire up ahead, hear the low rumble of white men talking – clearly Smith and Young – as well as the sing-song voices of the Native women.
What now? What should they do?
Before they can decide, Menalee catches sight of Tetaheite and Nehow and immediately rushes forward, intent on attacking them. Convinced, however, that Menalee is intent on betraying their presence, so all three Natives can attack them – there have been so many betrayals in the last while it is difficult to keep track – McCoy and Quintal rush back into the woods.
Not long afterwards, Menalee joins them. He has indeed attacked Tetaheite and Nehow, convinced McCoy and Quintal were right behind him. But the second he had found himself alone and outnumbered, he had extricated himself and raced away. He is very disappointed by the lack of faith displayed by McCoy and Quintal, and says so.
What now?
Frustrated, tired, hungry, the three decide to at least express some of their emotion by climbing to a ridge above the village, and firing a shot down into it. And if they hit one of their wives or children, that is too bad, for they must deliver the message:
Yes, you have the village, but we have a musket, and don’t you forget it!
Fortunately the musket-ball hits no-one, but it is enough to start a panic. Young and Smith immediately decide on an extreme course of action – with Smith, though talkative, always deferring to Young. For he knows more than most just how ruthless the West Indian is, how heartless, with the exception of his desire to keep Smith alive, so he will have someone to talk to. So Smith talks, and talks some more, but whatever Young would like to do is fine with him.
Tetaheite and Nehow, we need to talk to you. Here is the proposal.
If Menalee is killed by Quintal and McCoy, they will be allowed to return to the village and live in peace. Do you agree to that?
They do. But how to get this message to the two Mutineers?
•
The following morning, early, Quintal is in their fugitive camp with Menalee and McCoy, when he looks up to see his Tevarua approaching. She has a letter with her, written by Young. And of course she cannot understand the strange shapes on the paper any more than Menalee can, but, as asked, faithfully hands it over.
Quintal and McCoy read the missive silently:
If you kill the black man and return to
the village, we will all be friends again.29
The two look at each other, and have a wordless conversation with their eyes, and finally with a mutual nod of their heads. It makes sense.
What does it say?
It is the last question asked on this earth by Menalee, as Quintal30 simply takes the musket – already primed and ready for action – and pulls the trigger. The black man is indeed killed.
Down in the village, Smith and Young hear the shot, and look at each other.
Has the job been done?
The job has been done! Quintal and McCoy know that. Should they simply turn up, back at the village to advise that Menalee has been killed, and expect there to be peace, and for all the killing to stop?
On reflection, they decide against it.
Tetaheite and Nehow have made no secret of their hatred for the white men, have tried to kill them just days ago, and now they’re expected to lay down their weapons, and for them all to live in peace?
AIMAH. NO.
They decide not to return to the village while the two Native men remain there.
It proves to be a sound instinct, for already, down in the village, armed with muskets provided by Young, Tetaheite and Nehow walk purposefully away from the huts and into the thick forest, to go looking for Quintal and McCoy.
Now, though it takes the better part of a morning, the same rule applies: on an island this small, it is simply not possible to remain hidden for long. For, there they are now. Just up ahead through the trees, Tetaheite and Nehow can see the two white men resting under a tree, Quintal nursing the one musket they have. This is going to need a clean shot, as the Native men want to avoid being caught in crossfire at all costs. Going down on his belly, Nehow steadies the musket, drawing a bead on Quintal’s chest, and pulls the trigger.
The sudden roar in the thick shroud of the forest causes birds as far as 500 yards away to take flight. Shouting in shock, McCoy and Quintal jump to their feet and start running away from where the sound of the shot has come. So little is their care for anything other than frantic flight that McCoy manages to badly cut his foot on a jagged jutting barb from a tree-stump. Clutching at the wound, he limps on, as the warm blood flowing out of the deep cut leaves a red path. Following on, the two Natives see such a trail of blood it is obvious that one of the white men is badly wounded and won’t be able to get far.
That, at least, is what they tell Young when – after abandoning the chase when the trail takes them into an area where they are the ones most at risk of being ambushed – they return to the village in the late afternoon. But is McCoy really that badly wounded?
If it is a part of the human condition that the most devious of men are the least likely to trust others – because they know better than anyone how easy it is to deceive – then let Young be the exemplar. For he refuses to trust the word of the Native men, and instead asks Jenny, Isaac Martin’s widow, to see what she can find out.
But, careful now. It is one thing for Young to ask her to leave the village to go and find the white men, but Jenny refuses to go anywhere unless she has the permission of Tetaheite and Nehow. Then, and only then – for they do indeed give her their blessing – does she venture up into the hills to look for the white men. Despite her show
of seeking male permission, the truth is that Jenny is on a mission on behalf of the Native women, who, after long discussion, have come to their own conclusions.
The Native women, and this includes Tetaheite and Nehow’s two ‘share-wives’, want the last two Native men killed. (Yes, the only way to stop all the killing is to kill the killers, or at least the two still alive who have killed most often.)
Finding Quintal and McCoy, Jenny puts the proposal to them, and they agree. They will, they say, co-operate with the women, and come down from the hills, to shoot the last two Native men tomorrow morning.
•
Throughout the morning, even as they do their chores, the Tahitian women, including Isabella, Jenny and Tevarua, keep gazing to the distant hills, and the near woods. Where are they? Quintal and McCoy have promised to come, but there is no sign. Again and again, the women manage to position Tetaheite and Nehow so they are isolated – human bait, placed so that Matt and Billy will come out to kill them. But by now, Quintal and McCoy are wary indeed when it comes to the ways of the Native women, so even when offered a human gift they are expecting treachery and these paranoid men will not be so lured.
And so the women quickly come up with another solution. In short order, Young and Smith are in deep conversation with Teraura, Jenny and Tevarua. It will be for Tevarua to invite Tetaheite, the strongest and most dangerous of the two Natives, to come to her bed at noon.
‘I caution you,’ says Young. ‘On no account put your arm under Tetaheite’s head as you go to sleep.’
For Young’s wife Teraura will be secreted nearby, will have an axe, and knows what to do once Tetaheite has taoto maitai, fallen asleep after sex.
Once she has done it, she must yell ‘Shoot’, and Young, in turn, will know what to do.
And so it goes.
When it comes to that look a woman gives to indicate to a man she is in the mood for love, Tevarua is not only expert, but irrefusable, and – even as Teraura stays by the fire, sharpening an axe with her file – Tetaheite is soon noted trailing the seductress to her hut. Some 15 minutes later, Teraura, too, heads that way. With no doors on the huts, bar light curtains of grass matting or canvas, entrance is easy and silent. And yes, it takes Teraura a moment or two to adjust her eyes to the relative dimness, but she quickly sees everything that she needs.
There is the naked Tevarua, on the right, her eyes wide, knowing what is coming. And there, on the left, is Tetaheite, conveniently on his side, asleep, his neck exposed. As requested, Tevarua has kept her arm well away from him. Teraura moves forward, silently, her large padded feet making no noise at all on the brushed dirt floor.
She steels herself, even while lifting the gleaming steel blade high above her head.
•
In the hut next door, Young is keeping Nehow talking, even while loading his gun. Young doesn’t want to talk much himself, he mostly wants to listen, waiting for the cry that must come.
Nehow is bemused at Young’s gun, wondering why he is loading it.
Oh, just some hog shooting.
‘Make sure you put in a good load,’ suggests Nehow.
‘Yes, I will,’ replies Young.
•
Gathering her strength, Teraura lifts the axe high, and with one sharp move brings the axe down hard and … Instead of hitting Tetaheite clean in the neck, the blade has struck the hard part of his skull. Though blood gushes out, he is not dead, and he is even able to partially sit up in bed, confused anger in his eyes … just before Teraura swings her axe down for the second time, and this time kills him clean, nearly severing his head.
‘SHOOT!’ she yells, which is the very call Young has been waiting for.
For he now does exactly that, shooting Nehow at near point-blank range, and very nearly blowing his head right off his shoulders. The last two Native men on the island are dead.
That afternoon, Smith, his hands empty, and raised in peace, is able to approach Quintal and McCoy high in the hills, and advise that the last of the Tahitians have been killed.
‘But so many instances of treachery had occurred,’ Smith would recount, ‘that they would not believe the report.’31
How to resolve their lack of trust? How to prove it to them?
Quintal and McCoy give their conditions.
Bring us their heads. And their hands, for good measure. Yes, that’s it. Cut off the dead men’s heads and hands ‘as a sort of certificate that the two Tahitians are really dead’32 and then Quintal and McCoy will return in peace.
Very well then. Late that afternoon, Young hacks away the two heads – at least what is left of them – and Smith returns with the grisly, dripping proof. Finally, Quintal and McCoy believe, and do indeed return to the village.
While they are glad to be back, and welcomed by the likes of Young and Smith, there is no doubt things have changed … and not in a good way.
With just four men left on the island, and 11 women, there is a clear change in approach from the women. They become much more free with their opinions, much less eager to serve the men, and are frequently off together, talking. Are they conspiring?
Is there danger to the men?
It is too early to tell, but, certainly, it is this very possibility which keeps Young tossing and turning at night, worrying – and for very good reason.
For the women of the island their sudden majority is a heady thing. As a matter of fact, the question has to be asked – on this island, do they even need men at all?
Well, yes, there is one thing they need them for, for the moment, and in this field, the four surviving men notice a real change.
When they had first landed on Pitcairn, most of them had just one woman, and that was enough. They lay with them when they liked, which was often, and the frequency of lying together was never determined by when the woman felt like it. The woman’s job was to submit, simple as that.
But now, things are … different.
With 11 virile women, in the prime of their lives, and only four men, it is the women who have expectations of them, who make sexual demands that they sometimes have trouble filling. And yes, each of the four men retains a wife, but the thing is, these wives don’t mind sharing their men with the widows, and a certain promiscuousness takes over. But it is no longer the women submitting. They are done with that. It is the men who must submit to them. And such is the new mood on the island, they dare not say no. The women are powerful. They must be pleased, and therefore appeased.
And so it is now the men who are chosen at will for sex and then discarded when the women are satisfied.
Meantime, though often exhausted by their nocturnal activities – not to mention day-time, when the mood strikes one or other, or several of the women – the four Mutineers occupy themselves with their fields and animals. Among the things they must do is to divide the original ten plots among the four of them, and build new fences, new gates, to accommodate their new domains, while also doing such things as ‘constructing pits for the purpose of entrapping hogs’.33
It is not a bad life, if only they could quell their nagging doubts about the women, who seem progressively more discontented – after all they have done, and are doing for them – and more obviously disobedient.
•
Come January 1794, Captain William Bligh is still without a commission for his next ship and his potato head glows constantly red with rage. It is not a good time, then, for Professor Christian to begin circulating a most intriguing document he calls the Appendix.
Legally, it is cleverly framed, as one might expect from a Cambridge professor.
That is, while it bears the name of Edward Christian on the cover and title page, the testimony within is unsigned – though it is clear who has contributed to this new version of events: ‘It will naturally be asked from whom, and how have these facts been collected?’ Professor Christian writes. ‘The following circumstances have been collected from many interviews and conversations, in the presence of several respectable gentl
emen, with Mr Fryer master of the Bounty, Mr Heywood, midshipman, Mr Peckover, Gunner, Mr Purcell, carpenter, John Smith, cook, Lawrence Lebogue, sail maker … and Joseph Coleman, armourer, Thomas McIntosh, carpenter’s mate, Michael Byrne, seaman … the writer of this has received also letters upon the subject from James Morrison.’34
It is … well, almost every Bounty man worth his salt who is in England.
Perhaps most devastating for Bligh’s reputation is that the Appendix includes the privately taken minutes of the previously unpublished court martial, obligingly provided by Muspratt’s lawyer.
The Appendix is sold on the streets of London for sixpence a pop and is an instant bestseller, a literary bombshell that shows Bligh at his worst, in the words of his own ‘loyal’ men!
Captain Bligh, of course, cannot help himself, and soon shuffles up to a street seller to – much as it grates – buy his own copy. Folding it in a manner that it can be secreted inside the pocket of his coat – for he does not want to be seen possessing it – Bligh returns home to Betsy and begins reading, feeling a rising rage with every page. And also there is hurt.
Could it really be that his friend, Nelson – his late friend! – could have made such remarks as those reported by the others? Could he have really announced that while Christian had mutinied, ‘we know whose fault it is’35 – and Fryer’s report of Christian having said, ‘I’ve been in Hell for weeks past; Captain Bligh has brought all this upon himself …’36
Of course, there is a whole lot more, all of it damaging and the whole lot lovingly curated by that infernal penny professor, Edward Christian!
They declare that Captain Bligh used to call his officers ‘scoundrels, damned rascals, hounds, hell-hounds, beasts and infamous wretches’;37 that he frequently threatened them that when the ship arrived at the Endeavour Strait ‘he would kill one half of the people, make the officers jump overboard and would make them eat grass like cows’.38
Damn the Christian name!
Yes, indeed. For those who read it, and they are many, a very different Bligh emerges to the hero they have previously read all about. This Bligh is not a saint, standing up to evil ruffians. This is not one who deserves to be hailed as the Lion of London, the Royal darling, the one-man miracle who outwitted that Judas, Fletcher Christian, to guide his small band of Loyalists on their frail craft, against impossible odds, all the way to Timor, rallying all good men and true to the greatest, most courageous navigational feat in all history. This Bligh is a foul-tempered, foul-mouthed fury who is a disgrace to the Royal Navy, and the King whose Commission he bears.
Mutiny on the Bounty Page 58