The Bounty: The True Story of the Mutiny on the Bounty (59 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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Captain Sir Thomas Staines, in his forties and with one arm lost in battle, and his colleague Captain Philip Pipon found much to admire as they strolled around the settlement. There was the island’s own rich bounty, the coconuts, wild birds and fruit, as well as the produce garnered by the residents’ industry in their carefully tended fields. The captains admired the unconcealed joy the “poor people manifested, on seeing those whom they were pleased to consider their countrymen.” In Fletcher Christian’s son they had been happy “to trace in his benevolent countenance, all the features of an honest English face. . . . He is of course of brown cast, not however, with that mixture of red, so disgusting in the wild Indians,” Pipon recorded. Other Englishmen, as Pipon hardly needed reminding, had not found the Tahitian tincture so off-putting. Thursday October was now married “to a Woman much older than himself”; in fact, he had married Edward Young’s widow, a woman of his own mother’s generation.
 
Above all else, the Englishmen admired Pitcairn’s young women—their “bashfulness that would do honour to the most virtuous nation,” their tall, robust forms, their regular, ivory teeth and most of all “the upper part” of their bodies, so frequently displayed whenever they laid aside the shawls that formed their only upper dress.
 
“[I]t is not possible to behold finer forms,” Pipon observed delightedly. Venerable John Adams, the island patriarch, had complemented the young women’s native modesty by instilling in them “a proper sense of religion and morality.” According to Adams, since Christian’s death, “there had not been a single instance of any young woman proving unchaste; nor any attempt at seduction on the part of the men.” To the English captains wandering beneath the luxuriant trees among the bare-breasted virgins, it seemed they had entered a kind of paradise—a rich Eden with its own Adam, innocent of civilized wiles. Pitcairn had many of the attractions of Tahiti, enhanced by a recognizably English decency, the
Book of Common Prayer
and blushing modesty. Here, in short, a decent man might feel no shame in gawking at the island’s naked girls.
 
The Englishmen’s admiration increased when on entering the houses they found feather beds on proper bedsteads, tables, chests all with neat cloth coverings. There were shutters at night, but no locks upon the doors, as the notion of theft did not exist among the pious colonists. In lieu of candles, a certain oily nut was burned for light. John Adams was not bashful about letting his visitors view his library, which “consisted of the books that belonged to Admiral Bligh.” Bligh had written his name on the title page of every volume, beneath which Fletcher Christian had inscribed his own signature.
 
Adams was assured by the captains that the authorities in England were “perfectly ignorant of his existence,” and indeed it was he who informed them of the visit of the
Topaz.
Relaxing in his library, the old mutineer dropped his guard somewhat and chatted about the colony’s early history. His voluminous journal turned out to be a kind of landsman’s log more than a personal diary, containing only brief notations of each day’s principal events. From this, Staines and Pipon learned that one other ship had approached Pitcairn before the
Topaz,
in 1795. Adams elaborated on this event and in doing so contradicted his journal: three ships had arrived, he said, one in December 1795, one shortly after, and later still a third, which had come close enough to the island to see them and their houses. In later reports, he would say that one of these ships had actually sent a boat ashore, for the islanders had afterward seen evidence of its landing.
 
The
Bounty
had arrived at Pitcairn on January 15, 1790, with the nine mutineers, eleven Otaheite women, one child, and six “black men,” by which was meant Otaheite men; the insistence on the men only being “black” while the women were “Otaheitian” is in itself striking. Despite the error of the island’s position on all the
Bounty
’s charts, Christian himself was certain they had found Pitcairn’s. The mutineers drove the ship into a creek against the spray-beaten cliffs, unloaded all they could carry, and then set her on fire. Adams’s account of this point of no return, the climactic and symbolic firing of the
Bounty,
would change over the years with different tellings. For now, to the English captains, he claimed that it was Fletcher Christian who had been responsible.
 
Christian himself was never the same after the mutiny. He became, Adams said, sullen and morose and “having, by many acts of cruelty and inhumanity, brought on himself the hatred and detestation of his companions, he was shot by a black man whilst digging in his field, and almost instantly expired.” This had taken place less than a year after they were on the island. The black man was himself later assassinated, so justice had been served. Christian’s behavior had so alienated his people from him that divisive parties had formed, with feelings running very high and each seeking occasion to put the other to death. One act in particular had incurred the hatred of the black men: when Fletcher Christian’s wife died, he had then seized upon one of their wives, which had “exasperated them to a degree of madness.”
 
As for old John Adams, the English captains were in agreement that on him the “welfare of the colony entirely depends.” It was he who had taught the Pitcairn Islanders the Lord’s Prayer and the Creed. Other, somewhat contradictory information was given by the young men who had first romped through the treacherous surf to greet the ships. Their religion had been learned by Fletcher Christian’s order, they had reported, and “he likewise caused a prayer to be said every day at noon.”
 
“And what is the prayer?” the young men were asked.
 
“It is ‘I will arise and go to my Father, and say unto him, Father, I have sinned against Heaven, and before thee, and am no more worthy of being called thy son.’ ”
 
Before Staines and Pipon left the island they asked Adams if he would wish to see his native land again, and to their surprise he said he would. Alone with the captains in his house when this bold ploy was discussed, Adams turned to summon his family for a consultation. Suddenly, it seemed the entire community was gathered outside his door.
 
“Oh, do not, Sir, take from me my father: do not take away my best—my dearest friend,” Adams’s daughter had implored the captains, before breaking down entirely. The whole company was soon in tears. Adams’s daughter in particular was lovely in her tears, “for each seemed to add an additional charm.” With much feeling, Staines and Pipon assured their hosts that they had no intention to take the old man from his flock. And should he ever return to England, perhaps “his unremitting attention to the government and morals of this little colony” might win him his sovereign’s pardon.
 
With regrets and brimming hearts, the captains bade farewell to the picturesque colony, and to the former able seaman of His Majesty’s service. Both Staines and Pipon wrote accounts of their remarkable discovery, as did their lieutenant of marines, John Shillibeer, who had remained on the ship. Following their return to England, a lengthy story appeared in the
Naval Chronicle.
Consisting of Captain Staines’s report filed from Valparaíso and largely paraphrasing Pipon’s more personal account, the editors of the
Chronicle
made discreet editorial cuts in the interest of good taste. Pipon’s observation that Christian’s death “[t]hus terminated the miserable existence of this deluded young man, whose connexions in Westmoreland were extremely respectable” was subtly revised to read simply that Christian was a man who “was neither deficient in talent, energy, nor connexions, and who might have risen in the service, and become an ornament to his profession.”
 
A similar toning down was effected by the exclusion of a striking and key paragraph in which Pipon had described Christian’s actions on the death of his wife: “Christian’s wife had paid the debt of nature, & as we have every reason to suppose sensuality & a passion for the females of Otaheite chiefly instigated him to the rash step he had taken, so it is readily to be believed he would not live long on the island without a female companion.” The attachments of the mutineers to the women of Otaheite was of course the cause Bligh had ascribed to the mutiny.
 
The editors of the
Chronicle
also took the opportunity to impress an important point upon their readers: Adams, that venerable and sage old patriarch, would one day also pay the debt of nature, and it was “exceedingly desirable, that the British nation should provide for such an event, by sending out, not an ignorant and idle missionary, but some zealous and intelligent instructor.” For on Pitcairn’s Island “there are better materials to work upon than missionaries have yet been so fortunate as to meet with”—namely, men and women of English blood.
 
This time, the discovery—or rediscovery—of Pitcairn and the fate of the
Bounty
mutineers incited wide interest. As with the story of the mutiny itself, back in 1790, this new chapter in the
Bounty
saga was quickly exploited in the theater.
Pitcairn’s Island, “A new Melo Dramatic Ballet of Action,”
opened in Drury Lane in April 1816; this distinguished theater had been managed for several seasons by the multitalented Aaron Graham.
 
Snuggled expectantly in the grand auditorium, the London audience watched as the curtain rose to reveal the picturesque colony of maids and youths against the painted Pacific scenery. Entering from offstage and sporting a remarkable, long beard, Fletcher Christian suddenly appeared behind the footlights. The script describes his entrance: “he extends his arms in giving them a general Benediction.” Two ships appear:
 
“With what Terror do I recognize the Ensigns of my Country,” Christian exclaims. As the English crew approach, dressed as captains and jolly tars, Christian departs into hiding, admonishing his people to show the visitors “the graves of the departed and let them think that my family lie buried there with my companions.” There is playful interaction between the sailors and the handsome children of the mutineers, and a midshipman chats up a native daughter. Later Christian reappears, disguised and pretending to be John Adams, to preside over various sporting games between his people and the sailors. Finally, the visitors return to their boats as tearful women cling to them, waving flowers and with hearty cries of “when we meet again!”
 
The single most interesting detail of this “spectacle” is of course that its writer understood that the hero of this story, whether in fact dead or alive, must be Fletcher Christian. John Adams, venerable patriarch and survivor though he may have been, did not possess the drawing power of the arch-mutineer. This very public fantasy that Fletcher Christian was alive and ruling an island kingdom did not appear to raise eyebrows in any circles.
 
Following this new account, British ships became not infrequent visitors to the remote island colony. Sir William Sidney Smith, who had been in command of the South American station at the time Captain Folger made his report, now learning of plans to “send some succour to the semi british colony” and feeling it his duty as an Englishman to contribute to the moral and intellectual improvement of his countrymen, begged the Admiralty to forward the islanders a gift. His gift was “the
academic edition,
” as he emphasized, of
Robinson Crusoe,
with its elaborate and instructive notes, which would doubtless be of value to these ingenious islanders—one can imagine the face of Alexander Smith, now John Adams, as he cautiously handled the unexpected volume.
 
One more ship, the American whaler
Sultan,
under Captain C. Reynolds, in 1817, was to discover the island for herself, without prior knowledge of its history. The
Sultan
was also the first ship that Adams himself was induced to board. Apparently “elated” to feel the unsteady motion of a deck again beneath his feet, the old mutineer had pulled at the rigging and sung songs, to the appreciation of the Yankee crew. The
Sultan
carried away much of importance. Adams presented Captain Reynolds with “an old spy glass, and two blank books which belonged to the
Bounty,
” doubtless the spoils of Captain Bligh’s possessions. As it turned out, one of the notebooks was not entirely blank, for it contained Adams’s touching efforts at writing his own biography: “I was Born at Stanford Hill in the parrish of St. John Hackney, Middellsex of poor But honast parrents My farther Was Drouned in the Theames thearfore he left Me and 3 More poore Orfing.”
 
One of these other poor orphans was Adams’s brother Jonathan who, while his brother had been reinventing himself as a Pacific island patriarch, was himself more prosaically employed as a fireman of the London Assurance Company. In time, through the medium of visiting ships and the friendly assistance of the occasional fully literate visitor, the two brothers were able to enjoy an intermittent correspondence:
 
 
Pitcairn’s Island, March 3, 1819
 
Dear Brother,
 
. . . it gives me much pleasure to hear that you are in health . . . hope with the blessings of Providence you will continue so, and likewise that your worldly circumstances will be improved: but we must leave all to the all-wise disposer of events. As to my coming to England, that is not much to be expected. . . .
 

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