THERE WAS PRECIOUS LITTLE SERVING involved in waiting at the captain’s table and for that I was happy as a pig in muck, since I’d never stood servant to any man at his dinner before, let alone someone who could throw me overboard if I didn’t do a good job of it, and I didn’t know where I should start. I’d never held down a job for a day in my life. Mr Lewis, him what brought me up, taught me to do certain things to earn my keep – pickpocketing and the like, good honest thievery and other jobs besides – but I’d never held a position where there was a wage involved, and expectations.
One of my brothers back at Mr Lewis’s establishment, a lad name of Bill Holby, got a job once and when he came home to announce it all hell broke loose. He’d been offered a position at a victualler’s in Portsmouth town and when Mr Lewis heard of it he said wasn’t that a sign of gratitude altogether: he brings a lad up and teaches him a trade, only for that lad to come home one day and say he wants no part of it any more and seeks nothing more from life than an honest day’s work for an honest day’s pay. I was only a child at the time and hid in a corner out of fright when Mr Lewis advanced on him with the poker, but Bill, who was strong and taller than most of us, wrestled it off him and threatened him with it on account of the things that Mr Lewis had forced him to do over the years. I’m finished with all of this, I remember him shouting, and the look in his eye was enough that it would have scared an Italian. If I could find a way to save these boys from you … I thought for a moment that Bill was going to murder him, he was in that much of a rage, and I was scared at the notion of it, but finally he threw the poker away with a terrible scream, as if he loathed himself more than anyone else, before looking around at the rest of us and telling us that we should get out and make our escape before Mr Lewis corrupted us the way he had corrupted him.
At the time I considered Bill terrible ungrateful, for didn’t Mr Lewis give us bed and food and warmth from the rain? Now I think differently. But then I was only about five or six years old and Bill had already gone through what lay in store for me.
I came out of the captain’s cabin, where I’d been stretching out his bed sheets in an attempt to make them look fresh, when the ship’s cook stepped out of the galley, took one look at me and let a shout out of him as if I was a stowaway, recently unearthed and discovered stealing from the most confidential area of the vessel.
‘Who the blazes are you?’ he roared, and me all dickied out in my fine new uniform, which might have given him some sort of an idea had he been in possession of even half a wit.
‘The new servant-lad,’ I said quickly, for he was a fine big fellow with a pair of hams on him that would have made short work of me if he’d had a mind to use them; obviously the news of my employment had not been deemed of sufficient interest to people that it should be known by all.
‘The captain’s servant? Don’t lie to me, lad. That’s John Smith and I know him ‘cause he’s under me.’
Mother of Lucifer, was every man on board struck by no other fancy than their position on the eternal ladder?
‘Cracked his legs,’ said I, stepping back a little. ‘An accident on the gangway. I have his place.’
He narrowed his eyes and leaned forward a little, sniffing at me as if I was a piece of meat and he wanted to make sure I was fresh before bothering to slice me up. ‘I seen you, lad, haven’t I?’ he asked quietly, poking a finger into the gaps between my ribs. ‘All curled up in that corner over there, retching to hell and back.’
‘Aye, that was me,’ I admitted. ‘I’ve not been well.’ It occurred to me that he might have been my unknown benefactor, the one who had helped me through my illness. ‘Did you put the compress on me?’ I asked.
‘Did I what?’
‘And take away my pot?’ I offered, and, truly, he looked like he would thump me now and send me downwards into the sea below.
‘I haven’t a mind to listen to your nonsense,’ he said finally, simmering slowly like a pot taken off the boil. ‘John Smith were a useless great lump anyway and you can’t be any worse than him, so I dare say you’ll do for now. You know what your duties are, do you?’
‘Well, no,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘No one’s said much to me so far. On account of me being so sick these last few days, I suppose, and then when I did awaken I—’
‘Friend,’ said the cook, raising a hand to silence me and giving me what he might have termed a smile. ‘I don’t give a bollix.’
That shut me up right quick, I don’t mind telling you, and I closed my mouth and studied him up and down. Mr Hall was a middle-aged man with a rough beard on him and a gleam of constant perspiration, and the stink emerging from the kitchen where he worked did nothing to stimulate the appetite. Still, I liked him and knew not why.
‘What’s your name, then, anyways?’ he asked me.
‘John Jacob Turnstile,’ said I. ‘At your service.’
‘At the captain’s service, more like,’ he muttered. ‘Not that we have one, of course.’
‘What’s that?’ I asked him and he just gave a laugh.
‘Don’t you know?’ he said to me. ‘That the Bounty is a ship without a captain? Now, there’s a fine omen for you.’
I frowned. This didn’t make a blind bit of sense to me, for after all Mr Zéla had referred to Captain Bligh as being a particular friend of his and Mr Samuel, the weaselly little scut, had remarked upon the fact of it several times.
‘The food’s all ready anyway and they’re waiting on it in there, so step lively,’ he continued, leading me into the galley and indicating a line of silver plates all covered with lids. ‘All you have to do is bring them into the captain’s pantry and lay them down on the table, then take a seat on the floor in the corner of the cabin in case anyone has need of you. Serve Mr Bligh first, mind; he’ll be at the head of the table. You can refill the officers’ glasses if you see them running low, but keep your mouth shut throughout, you understand? No one cares what you might have to say and you’re not there to offer conversation, so don’t imagine it’s of interest to anyone.’
‘Right,’ said I, picking up the first of the platters and going through the door. I didn’t know what to expect when I reached the pantry, which stood immediately behind the captain’s own cabin, as I hadn’t so much as peeped through the keyhole of that door yet. As I passed through it now I noticed that two of the three picture frames I had placed on the desk earlier had been reversed in their positions – the lady’s and boy’s portraits were moved to the right hand of the sitter, the old man with the scowl to his left – and the bundle of letters with the red ribbon had disappeared from the desk top; I suspected they were of a private nature and he’d hidden them away from prying eyes. Through the door beyond I could hear the sound of conversation and, as luck would have it, Mr Fryer appeared behind me as I attempted to make my presence known and enter.
‘All better now, young Turnstile?’ he asked me, opening the door to let me through, and I nodded quickly and gave him a ‘yes, sir, thank you, sir’ for good measure as in we went, the two of us.
There were four men already inside the cabin, seated around the long table, and Mr Fryer made a fifth. At the head sat a man I judged to be of no more than thirty-three years and I knew immediately that he was the one I had been brought on board to serve.
‘Ah, there you are, Mr Fryer,’ he cried, looking above my head and offering a cheery smile to my fellow entrant. ‘We feared you were gone man overboard.’
‘My apologies, sir,’ replied the ship’s master with a half-nod as he sat down. ‘I was engaged in a conversation about our course with one of the men on deck and he took a fit of coughing, would you believe, and I stayed with him till it passed.’
‘Good God,’ said the captain, barely stifling a laugh. ‘Nothing serious, I hope, so soon into our voyage?’
Mr Fryer shook his head and stated that all was well now. He poured himself a glass of wine as I placed the platter down and removed the lid, revealing a clutch of roasted chickens beneath that made my mouth water.
‘And who have we here?’ the captain asked then, peering across at me. ‘My whiskers, I believe the dead has arisen and is serving at table. Recovered now, are you, lad? Ready to do your duty?’
I’ll tell you now that I’ve never been a fellow to get easily intimidated by anyone, not even by those in uniforms or positions of power, but being in the presence of the captain – for I presumed that it was he who was addressing me – gave me the trepidations inside, and without warning or expectation I realized that I had a curious desire to impress him.
‘Yes, sir,’ I replied, deepening my voice so that he might think me more mature than my years. ‘It pleasures me to report that my health is fully restored.’
‘His health is fully restored, gentlemen,’ cried the captain with a cheer, raising a glass of wine to his fellows. ‘Well, I think that deserves a toast, don’t you? I give you the continued prosperity of the lad, young Turnstile!’
‘Young Turnstile!’ they all roared, clinking their glasses together, and I confess that although I was proud he already knew my name my face took on the reddenings out of shame, so that I couldn’t get out of the room quick enough. When I returned a few minutes later, potatoes and vegetables in hand, they had already begun on the meat, the filthy savages.
‘… but nevertheless I remain confident in the charts,’ the captain was saying to one of the officers on his left as I reappeared, and him paying no attention to me now at all. ‘It’s true I have considered a number of contingency plans – it would be remiss of me not to have done so – but others have passed around the Horn successfully, so I fail to see why the Bounty cannot.’
‘Others have not attempted it in the heart of winter, sir,’ replied the younger man. ‘It will be difficult, that is all I am saying. Not impossible, but difficult, and we should be aware of this as we progress.’
‘Tish-tosh, you are being a pessimist, sir,’ cried the captain jovially. ‘And I’ll not have a pessimist on board my ship. I’d rather have the scurvy. What say you, Master Turnstile?’ he shouted, turning to me now so suddenly that I came close to spilling the flagon of wine. ‘Do you share Mr Christian’s downheartedness?’
I stared at him and opened and closed my mouth several times in the fashion of a caught fish with the hook in his lip, not having any knowledge of what they were talking about. ‘Begging your pardon, sir,’ said I, trying to add an air of education to my tone. ‘I was engaged about my duties and am ignorant of the subject matter of which you speak.’
‘What’s that, lad?’ he asked, frowning as if he couldn’t understand me, which only unsettled me even more.
‘I wasn’t listening, sir,’ said I. ‘I was about my duties.’
There was silence for a moment from around the table and the captain gave me an enquiring class of a look before licking his lips and continuing. ‘Mr Christian here,’ he announced, nodding towards the gentleman on his left, a young man of about twenty-one or twenty-two years of age, I should say. ‘He doesn’t believe that ships such as ours are built to weather the storms at the Horn. I call him a naysayer. What say you?’
I hesitated; in truth I found it hard to imagine that he really wanted the opinion of one so inexperienced as I and wondered whether he was just making a farce of me. But the assembly was staring in my direction and I had no choice but to answer. ‘I’m sure I couldn’t say, sir,’ I replied finally, for I was entirely ignorant of the Horn, having failed to consult a map of our voyage before we set out. ‘Would that be the direction we’re headed in?’
‘It most certainly would,’ said he. ‘And I swear to you all now that we shall do it and in a record time too. Captain Cook managed it, and so shall we.’
Now, this was a different matter entirely. Show me the lad who did not know of or look up to the late Captain James Cook and I’ll show you a lad without eyes, ears or sense.
‘We’re following in the captain’s footsteps?’ I asked, all goggle-eyed and ears a-twitchin’.
‘Well, his path anyway,’ said the captain. ‘You’re an admirer, then, I take it?’
‘His most ardent,’ said I in delight. ‘And if he did it, then I should say we could give it a go.’
‘You see, Fletcher?’ shouted the captain triumphantly, slapping his hand down hard on the table before him. ‘Even the lad here thinks we can do it, and he’s been dribbling his innards down his chin for the past forty-eight hours like a suckling bairn. You could learn a lesson in fortitude from the boy, I think.’
I didn’t look in the direction of Mr Christian; the captain’s words and the atmosphere at the table that succeeded them made me think I should avoid his gaze.
‘You must tell us more of your voyages with Captain Cook, sir,’ said another officer after a lengthy pause, and this gentleman was in truth a lad not much older than I; he couldn’t have seen more than fifteen summers, if that. ‘They’re of especial interest to me on account of my father, sir, who shook the captain’s hand once at Blenheim Palace. Refill my glass, boy, will you?’ he added, looking across at me, and I swear if we’d been back in Portsmouth, or upstairs in Mr Lewis’s establishment, I would have taken that for a challenge and boxed his ears.
‘Your father was a fortunate man, then, Mr Heywood,’ said the captain, naming the cove for me. ‘For a braver, wiser man never walked the earth than Captain Cook and I thank the Saviour every morning that I had the opportunity to serve under him. However, I think we do right to consider some of the difficulties that we face on our voyage. It would be remiss of us to do otherwise. Mr Christian, you are quite sensible when you say that …’
He hesitated for a moment and narrowed his eyes then, putting his fork down by the side of his plate and looking across at me as I finished pouring the wine for Mr Heywood.
‘I think that will be all for now, Master Turnstile,’ he said to me, lowering his tone a little. ‘You may wait in the hallway beyond.’
‘But Mr Hall said I should stay here in case you might need something,’ said I, perhaps a little too anxiously, for who turned around to me then only that young Heywood again and him shouting at me like I’m a cur he could kick down an alleyway.
‘You heard what the captain said,’ he roared and the big pustules on his face were pulsing red with anger, the ugly bollix. ‘You do what Mr Bligh tells you to do, boy, or I’ll know the reason why.’
‘I’d like to see you try, you wee scut,’ said I, going over and pulling his nose, slapping his cheeks and unsettling his dinner over his britches, causing wild cheers of appreciation from the other fellows gathered there. But no! Only in my head did I say that and only in my imagination did I do it, for I might not have been on board the Bounty for long but I knew enough about sea life to know that I shouldn’t answer back to anyone wearing a white uniform, even if he was no older than me and a damn sight more ugly to boot.
‘Yes, sir,’ said I, standing up and opening the door. ‘Begging your most humble apology, sir. I’ll be within spitting distance if you needs anything, though.’
‘Spitting distance!’ said Mr Christian then, laughing, and a smile crossed the captain’s face too. ‘Hark at him!’ He exchanged a look of complicity with the lad Heywood and I could see I was off to a rough start with that pair of ruffians.
Off I went then all the same and made my way back to the hallway, where I paced up and down, imagining the things I might have said or done, and while I was there who should come out of the galley, only the cook, Mr Hall, who looked at me more out of pity than anger.
‘What did I tell you earlier?’ he asked me. ‘Didn’t I say to stay within in case they had need of you?’
‘I was sent out,’ said I. ‘Against my will. I’d have gladly held my ground.’
‘Did you misbehave?’
‘Not a bit of it,’ I replied defensively. ‘I answered a question that was put to me and filled the glasses and then the captain asked me to wait outside.’
Mr Hall thought about it for a moment and shrugged his shoulders, apparently satisfied with my response. ‘Well, ‘appen they wanted to discuss matters not fit for your ears yet. You are the junior after all.’
‘I know,’ said I, exhausted by this. ‘And you’re all above me. Even the mice in the woodwork are above me. I have it now.’
He smiled a little, but only for a moment, and then seemed to think better of his moment of humanity. ‘Come in here, then, my brave fellow,’ he said. ‘I dare say you could do with a bowl of something hot inside you?’
He was right and I could and I was grateful for it. And, to my surprise, while I was eating the stew he laid out for me, what did he go and say only, ‘Not a bad Christmas dinner for you, all things considered.’ Well, didn’t that make me stop eating for a moment and remember the day it was, a day I’d forgotten, a day – now that I thought of it – on which I should have been spending my ill-gotten gains in the Twisty Piglet, on a fine meal to celebrate the Saviour’s birth, and not here, on a ship in the middle of the sea without a friend or brother in sight.
I said no prayers, as Mr Lewis didn’t allow them in his establishment, and so it was my habit not to offer thanks for all the glories that had come my way; Mr Lewis said that praying was for papists and sodomites; looking back, I find that a rich statement to have come from his blistered lips.
‘What did you mean earlier?’ I asked Mr Hall after a moment, looking up from my bowl. ‘When you said the ship had no captain. She does, don’t she? In Captain Bligh, I mean. I just served him a roast chicken.’
‘Ah, well, that’s the riddle of it, ain’t it?’ said Mr Hall, lifting a pot and scraping the slime from the bottom of it into a bowl for later use. Our lunch the following day, perhaps. ‘Mr Bligh’s in charge all right, only Mr Bligh ain’t Captain Bligh, he’s Lieutenant Bligh. The Bounty ain’t a navy ship, you see. You’ve seen the size of her: less than ninety feet long, she is. She’s only a cutter. No more ‘n that. I been on navy ships in my time. And this ain’t one.’
‘A cutter,’ I repeated quietly, trying to rescue a tasty piece of gristle that was escaping down my chin; I knew enough already not to waste food. ‘And what’s a cutter when she’s at home? Ain’t that the same as a navy ship?’
‘Less than,’ he said. ‘We got three masts and a bowsprit – ain’t you seen her?’ I shook my head and he laughed in my face, but not making a farce of me, just out of surprise. ‘Don’t you know nothing about the sea?’ he asked. ‘We’re only a cutter, and a hired one at that, and on account of that she don’t have a captain, she has a lieutenant in charge. On a lieutenant’s pay too, which is more than yours or mine but less than he’d like. Oh, we all call him Captain of course, but that’s more of a courtesy than anything else. Sir Joseph would have us all call him that. But he’s just a lieutenant, like Mr Fryer. Although Mr Bligh is above him, of course. He’s above us all.’