The Bounty: The True Story of the Mutiny on the Bounty (25 page)
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Authors: Caroline Alexander
Tags: #History, #Europe, #Great Britain, #Military, #Naval
BOOK: The Bounty: The True Story of the Mutiny on the Bounty
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“As soon as I had time to reflect, I felt an inward satisfaction, which prevented any depression of my spirits,” Bligh reported in his published book. This was not after-the-fact bravado, but taken directly from his running log, which he continued to maintain, along with a rough notebook, until his return to England. Indeed, his personal log had expressed his immediate state of mind even more optimistically.
“I had scarce got a furlong on our way when I began to reflect on the vicisitude of human affairs”—Bligh had written these words either as the launch made slow progress toward Tofua, or, under yet more trying circumstances, on the beach of Tofua itself—“but in the midst of all I felt an inward happyness which prevented any depression of my spirits; conscious of my own integrity and anxious solicitude for the good of the service I was on—I found my mind most wonderfully supported, and began to conceive hopes notwithstanding so heavy a calamity, to be able to account to my King & Country for my misfortune.”
The boat’s immediate course lay for Tofua, at only ten leagues distant the nearest landfall, where it was hoped that supplies of fruit and water could be acquired. The provisions in the launch amounted to five days of rations for the nineteen men under normal ship usage. The sea remained calm and unthreatening and by nightfall of the following day the launch was riding off the island’s rocky shore; the
Bounty
, with her cheering crew, had long since vanished into the haze of the horizon. At daybreak, Bligh began a patrol of the shoreline, searching for a landing and scavenging for water, plantains and coconuts. After three days of this routine, some of the island’s inhabitants had appeared, friendly at first, bringing coconut shells full of water to Bligh’s parched men, and trading food for buttons and beads. In response to the islanders’ inquiries, Bligh replied that their ship had been wrecked.
Bounty
, with her cheering crew, had long since vanished into the haze of the horizon. At daybreak, Bligh began a patrol of the shoreline, searching for a landing and scavenging for water, plantains and coconuts. After three days of this routine, some of the island’s inhabitants had appeared, friendly at first, bringing coconut shells full of water to Bligh’s parched men, and trading food for buttons and beads. In response to the islanders’ inquiries, Bligh replied that their ship had been wrecked.
“[T]hey seemed readily satisfyed with our Account,” Bligh logged, “but there did not appear the least mark of Joy or Sorrow in their Faces, altho I fancied I discovered some signs of surprize.” All of the
Bounty
men were on edge, knowing from their experience at Anamooka that even a large company of British sailors, armed with muskets and with a ship at their backs, did not necessarily inspire awe.
Bounty
men were on edge, knowing from their experience at Anamooka that even a large company of British sailors, armed with muskets and with a ship at their backs, did not necessarily inspire awe.
Stormy weather as well as the hope of obtaining further provisions held the men at Tofua, and over the next few days the size of the crowd of curious islanders increased. Several professed to having heard of the
Bounty
’s visit to Anamooka—a statement of ambiguous significance, given the events at that place; a young man appeared whom Bligh had seen at Anamooka, and who expressed “much pleasure” at seeing him. Eventually, Bligh logged, “I observed some symptoms of a design against us.” Some of the crowd had attempted to draw the launch up onshore. Quietly, Bligh ordered his men to gather their possessions while he continued to make purchases of breadfruit and the occasional spear; four cutlasses, tossed over the side of the
Bounty
at the last minute, were held in readiness in the boat.
Bounty
’s visit to Anamooka—a statement of ambiguous significance, given the events at that place; a young man appeared whom Bligh had seen at Anamooka, and who expressed “much pleasure” at seeing him. Eventually, Bligh logged, “I observed some symptoms of a design against us.” Some of the crowd had attempted to draw the launch up onshore. Quietly, Bligh ordered his men to gather their possessions while he continued to make purchases of breadfruit and the occasional spear; four cutlasses, tossed over the side of the
Bounty
at the last minute, were held in readiness in the boat.
The ensuing events would prove to be as harrowing as any the company encountered in their long ordeal. Nothing met with at sea terrified the men so much as the sudden, palpable hostility of the crowd that now lined the beach. No words were spoken; there was only an ominous clacking of stones knocked against one another.
“I knew very well,” wrote Bligh, “this was the sign of an attack.” The same
clack-clack
had presaged an attack on Cook’s voyage and was drilled into his memory. As his men drifted with studied casualness down to the launch, Bligh sat at the entrance of the cave where they had set their camp and, while the increasingly raucous crowd pressed close round him, made a great show of writing up his log.
clack-clack
had presaged an attack on Cook’s voyage and was drilled into his memory. As his men drifted with studied casualness down to the launch, Bligh sat at the entrance of the cave where they had set their camp and, while the increasingly raucous crowd pressed close round him, made a great show of writing up his log.
“Stay the night onshore,” said two of the chiefs, who now approached him.
“No, I never sleep out of my boat,” Bligh replied.
“You will not sleep onshore?” was the response. “Then
Mattie,
” which, as Bligh observed, “directly signifies we will kill you.” The knocking of stones continued and the mounting tension on both sides betrayed that decisive action was imminent. Taking one of the men, Nageete, firmly by the hand, Bligh made his way with Purcell to the boat through the jostling, pressing mob, “every one in a silent kind of horror.” By the boat, Nageete broke free of Bligh’s grasp; all the men piled into the launch save one, big John Norton, a quartermaster from Liverpool, who, impelled by long years of dutiful training, splashed out into the water to cast off the stern line. While Fryer and others frantically called Norton back, Bligh clambered on board. A shower of stones fell on Norton like heavy hail, knocking him to the beach, where he was set upon by five of the Tofuans. Others began hauling on the stern line, dragging the launch toward the shore. Struggling with his knife, Bligh cut the line and the launch was free. As the boat pulled away, twelve of the Tofuans leaped into their canoes and began chase. Onshore, the men around Norton could be seen beating the fallen man’s head with stones, while others pulled off his trousers. As the canoes closed in, Bligh and Peckover hurled out clothes and other valuable provisions. The ruse worked, and as the canoes stopped to collect the plunder, the launch pulled away.
Mattie,
” which, as Bligh observed, “directly signifies we will kill you.” The knocking of stones continued and the mounting tension on both sides betrayed that decisive action was imminent. Taking one of the men, Nageete, firmly by the hand, Bligh made his way with Purcell to the boat through the jostling, pressing mob, “every one in a silent kind of horror.” By the boat, Nageete broke free of Bligh’s grasp; all the men piled into the launch save one, big John Norton, a quartermaster from Liverpool, who, impelled by long years of dutiful training, splashed out into the water to cast off the stern line. While Fryer and others frantically called Norton back, Bligh clambered on board. A shower of stones fell on Norton like heavy hail, knocking him to the beach, where he was set upon by five of the Tofuans. Others began hauling on the stern line, dragging the launch toward the shore. Struggling with his knife, Bligh cut the line and the launch was free. As the boat pulled away, twelve of the Tofuans leaped into their canoes and began chase. Onshore, the men around Norton could be seen beating the fallen man’s head with stones, while others pulled off his trousers. As the canoes closed in, Bligh and Peckover hurled out clothes and other valuable provisions. The ruse worked, and as the canoes stopped to collect the plunder, the launch pulled away.
“The poor man I lost was John Norton,” Bligh recorded. “[T]his was his second voyage with me as a quarter-master”—Norton, then, had also
sailed with Christian—“and his worthy character made me lament his loss very much. He has left an aged parent, I am told, whom he supported.”
Wounded by the rain of stones, and horribly shaken, the men in the launch now made a fateful and historic decision. There would be no more island visits. Tahiti was out of the question on account of the risk of running into the mutineers. There remained, as Bligh told his men, “no hope of relief . . . until I came to Timor,” some 3,600 miles away. There was a Dutch settlement, civilization and ships that could carry them to Europe—although “in what part of the island I knew not.” Coldly assessing the boat’s “stock,” Bligh extracted the “sacred promise” from each man to live upon the rations he would set: one ounce of bread and a quarter pint of water per day. A set of scales was later improvised from coconut shells and on this the ration of bread and occasional salt pork was balanced against a musket bullet weighing a twenty-fifth of a pound.
The plan of action having been determined, the men set about making the boat shipshape. The company was divided into three watches, not only for the usual ship functions, but to enable the men to find physical space in the impossibly overcrowded boat. While others lay prone on the boards, attempting to sleep, the watch on duty gained the space necessary to sit up, bail and work the sails.
Before retiring on this first night of the great voyage, the men offered prayers of thanks for their “miraculous preservation.” The wind had arisen sufficient to warrant reefing the foresail; the launch carried two sails, both lug-rigged, fore and midships. Despite her service to the men, she never acquired a name, being known throughout all the years her story would be told as simply “the
Bounty
’s launch.”
Bounty
’s launch.”
On the morning of May 3, the sun “rose very firey and Red, a sure indication of a Severe Gale.” By eight in the morning, the launch was in a violent sea, with waves running so high that she floundered becalmed when in the troughs of their valleys. Despite the men’s nonstop bailing, a following sea threatened to swamp them. “A situation more distressing has, perhaps, seldom been experienced,” Bligh wrote. The precious bread was stowed in the carpenter’s chest and all superfluous items— clothes, sails, lines—were thrown overboard. The fearsomely slender freeboard—the length of a man’s hand as one man described it, in calm seas—was of the greatest concern, and no excess weight of any kind could be accommodated.
The terrors and discomforts that the men experienced during the first twenty-four hours at sea would be endured for the next twenty-four days: Downpours of rain and nights of numbing cold, and the small boat continually awash with the onslaught of unremitting waves. At times, great storms of prodigious lightning crackled and forked around them, the sky booming and thundering as the launch dipped and skittered across the face of the Pacific. The bailing, bailing without respite took a severe toll on the increasingly exhausted and starving men. A frightening lassitude claimed them, so that some could barely stir their limbs; all the men were unbearably cramped, from the cold, from the impossibility of ever stretching. As the voyage progressed, the men were wracked by a dreadful tenesmus, the ineffectual straining of their unvoided bowels.
Three times a day—at breakfast, at dinner and at supper—Bligh weighed and distributed the pitiful rations. On days and nights when the wet cold took more than its usual toll, he administered carefully measured teaspoonfuls of rum. As the sea was at all times warmer than the air, the men repeatedly soaked their clothes in the ocean.
“I would recommend to every one in a similar situation the method we practiced,” Bligh advised, straight-faced, in his published
Narrative
, “which is to dip their cloaths in the salt-water, and wring them out. . . . We had occasion to do this so often, that at length all our cloaths were wrung to pieces.”
Narrative
, “which is to dip their cloaths in the salt-water, and wring them out. . . . We had occasion to do this so often, that at length all our cloaths were wrung to pieces.”
Bligh had set course first to the west northwest, by way of the Fiji Islands, which had been rumored by islanders’ reports to lie this way, and then west toward the Endeavour Strait and New Holland. Although the launch carried no charts, Bligh had a quadrant, a compass and the necessary tables required for basic navigation, along with a broken and unreliable sextant. Bligh had a knotted log line made from extra rope and taught lubbers like David Nelson to count off the seconds between knots.
“I have hitherto been only able to keep an imperfect account of our Run,” Bligh recorded on May 5, “but have now got ourselves a little better equipped and a line Marked, & having practiced at counting Seconds, every one can do it with some exactness.” The instruction in itself provided valuable diversion. Bligh also “amused all hands, with describing the situation of New Guinea and New Holland,” taking care to convey to them all he knew “in case any Accident happened to me.” Although William Peckover, the gunner, had been to Timor on Cook’s first voyage, that had been nearly twenty years ago, when he had been barely nineteen, and the charts they were steering by resided mostly in Bligh’s memory.
The launch met with the Fiji Islands as supposed, an event Bligh logged with a careful description of the high and low land, the isles and reefs and rocky places for future navigators. This passage in the
Bounty
launch, in fact, represented the first European navigation through this important group.
Bounty
launch, in fact, represented the first European navigation through this important group.
The long days and nights of rain at least enabled the parched men to gather water and slake their thirst, although as Bligh noted, “being extremely wet, and no dry things to shift or cover us, we experienced cold and shiverings scarce to be conceived.”
By May 17, some of the men had begun to implore Bligh to increase their rations, “but,” Bligh recorded, “I positively refused it.” The night had been wracking, “truly horrible,” dark, thick, and starless, but rent by great outbursts of lightning and thunder. When the long run of rain at last abated, “[e]very person now complained of violent pain in their Bones.”
After a fleeting day of respite, the rain began again, a deluge in a night “so dark we could scarce see each other.” At daybreak, Bligh began to fear for his men; “some of my People half dead,” he logged. “Our appearances were horrible, and I could look no way but I caught the Eye of some one in distress. Extreme hunger is now evident.” As an almost sublime record of extreme suffering and undaunted resolution, few documents can compare with the log William Bligh kept in the
Bounty
’s launch. In its stark phrases, dutifully penned at each day’s end, are conjured both the horror of the men’s ordeal and Bligh’s own firm and unwavering attention to all the responsibilities of his command: “Our situation to day highly perilous. . . . I however got propped up and made an Observation. . . . Not a Star to be seen to Steer by and the Sea breaking constantly over us . . . We are covered with Rain and Sea that we can scarce see or make use of our Eyes . . . every person complaining, and some of them solliciting extra allowance, but I positively refused it. . . . At Noon after writing up my Account I divided the two Birds. . . . For my own part a great share of spirits and no doubt of being able to accomplish the Voyage seems to be my principal Support. . . .”
Bounty
’s launch. In its stark phrases, dutifully penned at each day’s end, are conjured both the horror of the men’s ordeal and Bligh’s own firm and unwavering attention to all the responsibilities of his command: “Our situation to day highly perilous. . . . I however got propped up and made an Observation. . . . Not a Star to be seen to Steer by and the Sea breaking constantly over us . . . We are covered with Rain and Sea that we can scarce see or make use of our Eyes . . . every person complaining, and some of them solliciting extra allowance, but I positively refused it. . . . At Noon after writing up my Account I divided the two Birds. . . . For my own part a great share of spirits and no doubt of being able to accomplish the Voyage seems to be my principal Support. . . .”
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