I DID SURVIVE IT. We all survived it. But at great further cost, for now there were only a few of us who remained in any condition to row.
‘I feel we cannot be far now from New Guinea,’ said the captain, who looked as unhealthy as all of us did and whose beard, I noticed, was of a much greyer shade than his hair. We were sitting together watching the horizon and he had just finished writing his daily notes in the small notebook that Mr Christian, the donkey, had allowed him to take with him.
‘Do you know who I was thinking of this morning, sir?’ I ventured.
‘No, Turnstile,’ he said with a sigh. ‘Who was it? Some friend back home? One of the brothers you have spoken of?’
‘No, not them,’ I replied, shaking my head. ‘I was thinking of the lad Smith. John Smith, I believe his name was.’
The captain frowned and turned to look at me, raising an eye-brow. ‘John Smith,’ he said slowly. ‘The name means something to me, I am sure, but then it is a most common name. Was he—?’
‘He was the lad who had my position before I did,’ I said.
‘Isn’t it curious how everyone thinks they can interrupt me here,’ said the captain. ‘On the launch, I mean. Back on the Bounty, no one would have dared.’
‘No, sir, they mutinied instead,’ I replied. It was a saucy comment, not designed to insult, and one that would have seen me flogged six months previously, but the captain merely shook his head and looked away.
‘I suppose you’re right on that,’ he said sadly.
‘John Smith was your servant-lad,’ I explained. ‘He was due to sail on the Bounty before me. But he cracked his legs in an accident.’
‘Oh, I remember him now,’ he said, nodding. ‘He sailed with me a year before. A terrible fellow, as it happened. Stank to the heavens and back. No matter how often I sent him to the washroom he came back with a malodorous stench that would have brought a corpse back to life. But it was no accident, Turnstile. I think Mr Hallett had at him one day and he fell down the gangway as a result of it.’
‘Well, he had the last laugh, I expect,’ I said, smiling at the irony of it. ‘For here we are, you, me and Mr Hallett, all on board this blasted tub, and he’s most likely back in Spithead with his legs rested, drinking a mug of rum and eating a fine meal in the warmth of a local hostelry.’
‘You were unfortunate then,’ he admitted. ‘I hope you felt that the rest of your voyage, before the … unpleasantness, I mean, was of worth.’
‘Aye, sir, I did,’ I said, smiling at the use of the word ‘unpleasantness’ to describe our misadventure. ‘To my surprise I did.’
We sat in silence a while longer before the boredom caught up with us both and he turned to look at me again. ‘So how did you come to join the crew, then, Turnstile? I don’t think I ever heard.’
‘The truth of it,’ I began, feeling no shame for what were the facts of the case, ‘is that I was apprehended by the blues for stealing a Frenchman’s watch and that same Frenchman made a case to the magistrate for me to join you on your voyage rather than face the gaol for a twelvemonth.’
‘A Frenchman?’ asked Captain Bligh.
‘A Mr Zéla,’ I said.
‘Ah, Matthieu,’ he replied, nodding his head. ‘Yes, I have not known him long but he’s proved to be a fine fellow. He is much in favour with Sir Joseph Banks.’
‘Him what bankrolled our mission?’
‘Him what … he who bankrolled it, yes, Turnstile.’
‘The funny thing is if Mr Zéla had left me alone, I would have been freed from the gaol by now. My sentence, as it turned out, was a shorter one than the one I have endured here.’
‘He meant you no harm. I dare say both Mr Zéla and Sir Joseph will be distraught when they hear what has happened to us.’
‘But how will they hear, sir?’ I asked, confused. ‘The mutineers will surely never be able to return to England.’
‘We shall return to England, Turnstile,’ he said confidently. ‘And we shall tell them.’
‘And what will happen then, sir?’
‘Who knows?’ he replied with a shrug. ‘I dare say the admirals will send a ship to locate Mr Christian and his followers. I look forward to leading it.’
‘You, sir?’
‘Yes, me, sir,’ he said quickly. ‘Don’t you think I would want to?’
‘I think you would be right enough never to want to venture to this godforsaken part of the world again, Captain. I know I never will.’
‘Of course you will, Turnstile.’
‘I certainly will not, sir,’ I replied. ‘Not wishing to contradict you, Mr Bligh, but I do not intend even to look at water again after my return to Portsmouth, should I ever get there, let alone come here. I’ll be loath to take so much as a bath.’
He shook his head. ‘We shall see,’ he said.