WHEN DAYLIGHT CAME on the second day I was able to take full account of the predicament that we found ourselves in. The launch being no more than twenty-three feet in length and with nineteen loyalists on board, we were put together in a most intimate and unpleasant fashion. The captain was seated at the fore, engaged in consultations with the quartermaster John Norton and Mr Fryer, while two of the men sailed the vessel without a great deal of enthusiasm and the rest tried to sleep. We were pointed in the direction of the island of Tofoa, which the captain said was not a great distance for us to travel, and where we might land our small craft and send a party ashore in search of provisions for the journey ahead. I confess that I was not filled with the trepidations at this time; indeed, I felt almost cheerful that we were all gathered together in such confinement with little work to do, save the task of keeping ourselves alive. For I had been sailing alongside Mr Bligh for long enough – aye, and alongside Mr Fryer too – that I felt a confidence in their abilities to see us to safety.
‘This was a foolish thing,’ I heard the second quartermaster, Mr Linkletter, whisper to his mate, Mr Simpson. ‘What possibility is there of survival, I ask you that? We know not where we are and we have few provisions. We shall be dead before the day is out.’
‘You shouldn’t say such a thing,’ came the braver reply. ‘The captain knows what he’s about, don’t he? How quickly you give up!’
This was confidence all right, but it was only the second day. None of us knew what the weeks ahead held in store for us.
We arrived in sight of Tofoa by midday and it gave each of us a terrific boost to see the craggy rocks and stone aspect of that god-forsaken island, as if it was the smooth-walled harbour of Portsmouth herself that was coming into sight. I was at the rear of the launch, but the captain sat at the foremost part, watching directly ahead, occasionally staring bleakly into the waters below before shouting orders to the sailing men behind him in such a tone that we might have all been back on board the Bounty and not stuck on that miserable craft.
‘Ho there, men,’ he cried, raising an arm. ‘Keep her steady a moment.’
The launch came to rest and the men looked overboard. Through the blue waters we could see a long range of stone beneath us, ready to break our small craft into pieces should we venture across it. The land was still too far away for us to anchor and it was fierce miserable to be stuck at such a distance when a landing would have brought great hope to us all.
‘Turn her around,’ roared the captain. ‘Nor’ by nor’west.’
The launch turned and we sailed slowly and carefully, rounding the pointed tip of Tofoa until we came to a darker stretch of water, which indicated that an easier passage to shore might be available to us. Mr Fryer gave the order to make for the land and we did so, stopping only when the waters changed again and it became clear that to risk further ingress was to risk our own transport and, by extension, our lives.
‘Mr Samuel,’ said the captain, selecting the ship’s clerk at random. ‘You and Mr Purcell and Mr Elphinstone. Into the waters with you and over to shore. See what provisions you might find there and report back as soon as you can.’
‘Aye, sir,’ said the three men, plunging out and swimming for the island, not a great distance away, if truth be told. They were walking with the water lapping their waists in only a minute or two. As they did so, I moved my position near to the fore of the launch to be closer to the captain; it was the position I preferred for most of the voyage to come.
‘What say you, Mr Fryer?’ asked the captain quietly of his first officer. ‘Not the most helpful of islands, I suspect.’
‘Perhaps not, sir,’ acknowledged the master. ‘We may be forced to sail on and take a care with what provisions we have in the meantime.’
‘Oh, we shall take care of them, sir,’ said the captain with a half-laugh. ‘I can promise you that.’ I glanced to his left where a small crate lay, filled with bread and a few pieces of fruit, the only nourishment that our erstwhile shipmates had deemed necessary to provide us with. ‘It might surprise you how little a man needs in his belly to survive.’
‘Yes, it might,’ said Mr Fryer flatly before turning away and I thought it a curious reply.
We sat there for several hours, bobbing up and down in the water, each man considering how he had found himself in this unhappy position. Very few words were spoken, but if spirits dipped, then the man in question would look to port, espy the rocky island of Tofoa and take solace. The reason why is hard to know. Perhaps any sort of solid ground seemed comforting.
Our three fellows swam back to us as the sun started to fall and their reply was an unhappy one. There was nothing there, they stated. Nothing to eat. No fruit trees. No natural vegetables. One tame spring that had provided only two flagons of water, which they brought with them and which the captain took quickly out of their hands. We were each of us possessed by a terrible thirst at that point and there was little question in my mind that Mr Elphinstone, Mr Samuel and Mr Purcell had drunk several quantities of these flagons themselves before rejoining us, but there was naught that could be done about that. They settled back into their seats and we all looked to the captain to know what might come next.
‘We sail on, then,’ he said after a few moments, answering our unspoken question. ‘And if there is a man aboard who doubts that we can do it, then he may keep his infamous thoughts to himself, for we have difficult days ahead and only a positive outlook will be permitted or, I swear, I shall feed you all to the fish myself. Mr Fryer, hand me that loaf.’
The master reached into the crate and removed one of the larger loaves and I stared at it in horror, for although it was bigger than its fellows, there was scarcely enough in the captain’s hands to satisfy three men, let alone more than six times that number. And then, to my surprise, Mr Bligh tore the loaf in two, and then in two again, replaced three of those worthy quarters in their crated home and held the fourth aloft for all of us to see. The men stared at it wordlessly, appalled that this morsel was to be divided between nineteen of us – it seemed impossible that such a feat could be achieved – but before too long each of us held a few crumbs in our hands and were swallowing them quickly, teasing our appetites so cruelly that they cried out in complaint.
‘Where to now, sir?’ asked Mr Fryer, settling the sailors on either side of the launch, awaiting directions.
‘Isn’t it obvious, Mr Fryer?’ asked the captain, half-smiling. ‘Homeward, sir. Point us homeward.’