THERE WAS MUCH CONSTERNATION today over the condition of Surgeon Ledward, who appeared to be sinking very fast, and as a consequence of it the captain gave him a larger ration of food and water than the rest of us received and we made no complaint on it. To my dismay I was left seated near him for much of the day and I didn’t care for it, for I was sure he was going to expire directly in front of me and that would be a terrible omen for my own survival. It transpired I was being overly pessimistic and he remained with us throughout the day, as did others – Lawrence LeBogue among them – who were suffering nearly as badly themselves.
Mr Hall and I spent two hours side by side rowing the launch, and when we were relieved and replaced by William Peckover and the captain we took a seat together near the fore of the tub. I noticed then that the cook had a curious smile pasted across his phizzy and I demanded to know the reason for it, for I was sure that he was making a farce of me in his head.
‘Keep your britches on, lad,’ he said, a fine statement to make considering that those same britches were already in a terrible state of disrepair, with shreds and rips throughout. ‘I were just thinking back, that was all. To when you first stepped on board the Bounty. How green you were then.’
‘Aye, it’s true,’ I admitted, nodding my head. ‘But then I had never been on board a ship before let alone one of His Majesty’s frigates. You’ll forgive me if I didn’t fully know my way around.’
‘You learned it quick enough, I’ll give you that,’ he said.
‘And you were friendly to me when I arrived,’ I replied. ‘Unlike Mr Samuel, the old weasel: he made me feel inferior from the moment I stepped aboard. Told me that every man jack on the ship was above me and ordered me about like nobody’s business.’
‘I never cared for him,’ said Mr Hall, curling his lip in distaste. ‘It didn’t surprise me in the least when he took up with Mr Christian and his pirates. He had an air of disloyalty about him from the start. I dare say he’s making merry with half the mollies of Otaheite by this time,’ he added with a sigh.
‘He were an ugly sod,’ I remarked. ‘They wouldn’t let him near them.’
‘And you, Turnip,’ he said. ‘Do you miss the island?’
‘I miss the sustenance,’ I replied. ‘I miss the feeling of food in my belly and a decent place to sleep at night. I miss the confidence of knowing that I would wake up alive in the morning.’
‘And your young molly?’
‘And her,’ I admitted. ‘A little, anyway. Even though she betrayed me for the scut Mr Heywood. But, still and all, she were fun at the time. Aye, I miss her.’
I found myself growing surprisingly misty-eyed in my good eye as I said this – my bad one was still covered by a misty haze that showed no sign of leaving me.
‘There’ll be others,’ he said. ‘When you’re back in England, I mean. You’ll fall in love again.’
I nodded and agreed that I would, but I wasn’t so sure. There was no guarantee, after all, that I would ever see England again, let alone find love there. But we had to remain optimistic. It was either that or take a plunge in the ocean and not bother to come back up for air.
The evening time brought more rain and more stomach pangs. At one point they stabbed so hard that I cried out and was told to silence myself by the others, but by God the pain was so bad that I thought I was done for.