THREE HUNDRED AND EIGHT DAYS.
That’s how long I spent on board that rusty old tub, the Bounty, before we reached our final destination. To my surprise, though, about half of that time consisted of days when I didn’t feel so bad about myself or my place in the world. I spent a long time resenting the crew for what they’d put me through when we were crossing the Equator, but after a while that, like so many other things, was forgotten. And then I spent a long time planning my escape from the clutches of the king’s navy, but there was such little time spent ashore that I finally put that out of my mind too. And soon the weather changed and the waters changed and the smell in the air grew a little sweeter and the word went round that it would be any week now, any day, any hour, perhaps only a few minutes, before one of us would espy land and cry the word and be hailed a hero by all.
In preparation for this long anticipated moment, one fine morning as we drifted along the captain gathered together on deck the whole complement, officers and men alike, on a matter of what he called ‘the highest urgency’. Usually I had some idea what this would be about, as I would hear him muttering to himself in his cabin with his thoughts on what he might say to the assembled throng, but on this particular morning I had no idea whatsoever and thought he had an uncomfortable look on his face as to address us he climbed on a box, the better to see every man.
‘Well, men,’ he shouted, and I swore I could hear a little nervousness in his tone, ‘it looks as if it will be only a matter of hours before our ship reaches her destination and what a merry voyage it has been, wouldn’t you agree?’
Among the men surfaced a polite murmur, which finally turned into a general nodding of heads. No one could deny that we hadn’t done too badly. I knew from the conversations of sailing men I had listened to back in Portsmouth that they went through trickier times than we had and that there were captains in the navy with a greater affection for the lash than our own.
‘We have suffered through some harsh weather, that’s true enough,’ continued Mr Bligh. ‘But you have each shown great fortitude. And we saw our journey extended in a way that none of us had anticipated or hoped for. But nevertheless we saw it through and here we are, safe and well. And I think it’s true to say that there has been no better disciplinary record of any ship in the history of the British navy. We officers have had to keep order at times, of course, but I appreciate the fact that there has been only a single flogging in all these thousands of miles. You should be commended for that, every one of you.’
‘I’ll take mine in gold,’ cried the voice of Isaac Martin, an able seaman, to a cheer from all.
‘Shut your trap, you,’ shouted Mr Heywood, the scut, advancing on him despite the good humour of the remark. ‘You’ll keep a silence when the captain addresses you.’
‘No, no, Mr Heywood,’ said the captain loudly, waving his hands in the air to call the hound off his prey. ‘No need for that. Mr Martin is right and his point is well made. Sadly, I’m not in a position to offer financial rewards to any of you men, but rest assured that if the coffers of Sir Joseph Banks belonged to me then I would see each of you fairly rewarded for your travails.’
A round of applause greeted this remark and I noticed how everyone on board felt like true members of a happy company now that the prospect of release from our prison was upon us.
‘I am, however, in the position of being able to offer you some leisure time,’ said the captain then in a cheerful tone. ‘None of us know how long we will remain on Otaheite while we gather the breadfruit. There will be work to be done, of course. There are many plants to be gathered and stored. There are repairs to be made to the ship. But I expect that each of you will have more than your share of time to enjoy a rest from your labours; I intend to see to it that all the island work is shared out equitably between officers and men.’
Another murmur of appreciation came from the men and I thought that maybe that was the end of it; only, the captain looked at us then and frowned, staring down at the deck for a moment before looking up again, and this time I swear I could see the rouge in his cheeks.
‘There is a matter … a matter of some importance, however, that I wish to address,’ he stated finally, with more nervousness in his voice than I had ever heard before. ‘As many of you know, I have visited these islands before, when I was a younger man, of course, in the company of the late Captain Cook.’
‘God bless his sainted name!’ cried a voice from the back to general cheers.
‘God bless it,’ echoed Mr Bligh. ‘God bless it indeed. And well said, that man. But I mention this because the rest of you … well, you are novices here and may not understand the customs. I should warn you that … that the people who reside here may not know our Christian ways.’
He looked out at us as if that would explain things, but on this occasion the men simply stared back blankly, unsure what he was referring to.
‘When I say our Christian ways, I of course mean the way that we comport ourselves as men, both here and at home, and the way that the … how shall I put it? … native ladies comport themselves. Differently from our good wives, I mean.’
‘I should hope so,’ roared William Muspratt. ‘I have to give my wife a farthing every time I want her to kiss my whistle!’
The men exploded in laughter when he said this, but the captain looked merely embarrassed. ‘Mr Muspratt, please,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘There’s no call for such vulgarity. Let us not abase ourselves to the level of the savages. But look here …’ He hesitated now and coughed and appeared to grow more confident for a moment. ‘We are all men here, are we not? I shall put it bluntly. The women on these islands … they have known the favours of many of their menfolk. They are indiscriminate, do you see? This does not cheapen them, you understand, it is merely their way. They are not like us, cleaving to a wife and holding her dear for ever.’
Another few shouts were heard, more jokes, but the captain shouted over them.
‘Many of them are in possession of cruel diseases,’ he said. ‘Venereal diseases, if I may call it by its proper name. And it is my advice to each and every one of you that you do not place yourself in a position where you may become susceptible to them. Of course, men will be men and you have been a long time at sea in one another’s company, but I beseech you to think of your health when you associate with the natives … and if you cannot do that, then I ask you to consider your morals. We may be among the savages but we are Englishmen, do you see?’
There was absolute silence among the men and I anticipated a great burst of laughter at any moment, but before it came a small voice piped up from my left; the voice of George Stewart, a midshipman.
‘I’m a Scot,’ he said in his thick brogue. ‘So can I fuck whoever I want, Captain?’
The crew exploded in laughter and Mr Bligh stepped down from his box, shaking his head in a mixture of embarrassment and disillusionment; on any other occasion a remark such as this, directed at the captain, would have caused uproar, but with our being so close to the end of our journey, discipline had become more relaxed. ‘Here, Turnstile,’ said Mr Bligh, grabbing me by the collar as I passed him. ‘I hope that you will heed my words anyway.’
‘Of course, sir,’ said I, although I confess that I had a cobbler’s understanding of what a venereal disease was, only that it didn’t sound pleasant.
‘I doubt if any of the native ladies will take a shine to Turnip anyway,’ said Mr Heywood, the scut, approaching us. ‘He’s a pasty fellow, don’t you agree?’
‘Still your tongue, sir,’ said the captain, walking away, leaving the officer open-mouthed and humiliated. I gave him a wink and ran off myself.
It was very early the following morning; the sun was still on the horizon, but offering sufficient light to see anything that might appear before us in the distance, and I was at the tip of the ship, alone with my thoughts. Few of the men were around me, but Mr Linkletter, the quartermaster, was steering the ship and singing ‘Sweet Jenny of Galway Bay’ in a low and melodious voice not far from where I stood.
Somewhere out there lay our island, I thought, and on it lay new adventures. My mind was filled with thoughts of the native women who had so dominated the conversations of the men for months. They said they ran naked as the day they were born, a concept that filled me with both excitement and terror. The truth was I had yet to know a woman and the thought of it was something that kept me awake at night with anxiety; for a moment I couldn’t help but wonder whether it would not be a better thing entirely for me to stay on board this ship for ever more and never have to face the realities of what lay ahead.
‘Turnip,’ said Mr Linkletter quietly, ending his song, but I didn’t turn round. I had sworn never to respond to that name again.
‘Turnstile,’ he said then, a little more urgently, but still under his breath.
Again, I held my position. I wasn’t ready to surrender my thoughts just yet; I wasn’t ready for the world.
‘John,’ he said finally, and this time I turned round to find him smiling at me. He nodded in the direction that I had been looking towards and I turned back again, narrowing my eyes to focus them better. ‘Take a look,’ he said, and despite my anxieties I felt my face breaking into a broad grin and the excitement of the moment overtaking me so much that I could have jumped over-board in my enthusiasm and started swimming.
Land.
We had arrived.