WE SUFFERED TERRIBLY through this day with rain and gales, starvation and a lack of water, and though finally we moved into calmer waters I felt my spirits at as low an ebb as I could ever recall them being. It was then, while seated quietly by the side of the tub, that the captain sat down beside me and began to speak in a quiet voice.
‘We were at Kealakekua Bay in Hawaii at the time,’ he told me, without any preamble. ‘On board the Resolution. We had been there for some time and it was clear to all that tensions between ourselves and the savages were mounting. Things had started well, of course. Captain Cook was nothing if not able to impress a native chief. But they had dissipated terribly. I always believed the captain was too soft with the natives. He had too great a belief in their basic good.’
I sat up a little, surprised he had chosen this particular evening to relate the story, but pleased that he had. Perhaps he had seen how low my own spirits were.
‘On this particular day,’ he continued, ‘an incident occurred, small in itself, but, added to a series of smaller insults over recent days, it was enough to push us over the edge. When we were anchored in warmer climes the captain preferred to leave the cutters and launches from the ship in the water and one of these, the large cutter, was stolen by the savages. It was unacceptable, of course, and when he heard of it the captain stated that the bay was to be blockaded until the cutter was returned to us. He sent out two crafts; a fellow by the name of John Williamson was in charge of the launch, and I myself captained the small cutter.’
‘You, sir?’ I asked, wide-eyed. ‘You went to retrieve the stolen boat?’
‘Aye, in a way. And had they surrendered it peacefully there would have been fewer consequences. But as we approached the bay it became clear that there was no peace in store for us. The natives were dotted along the tops of the cliffs, adopting war-like stances and wearing the type of garb they felt would protect them from our cutlasses and muskets. They were prepared for battle, that was clear to us all.’
‘But why, Captain?’ I asked him. ‘Had they turned against you?’
‘I believe so,’ he replied. ‘At first all had been well, but they did not recognize our right to their land or their produce. They were becoming belligerent about it. We had no choice but to show our strength.’
‘What rights, sir?’ I asked, confused.
‘Our rights as emissaries of the king, Turnstile,’ he said, staring at me as if I was the worst kind of fool. ‘Isn’t that clear? They wanted us to leave them in peace. Savages! Ordering Englishmen away!’
‘From their land.’
‘But you’re missing the point,’ he insisted, as if the idea was quite a simple one. ‘It was no longer their land when we arrived. We claimed it. Anyway, as we approached, it became increasingly clear that there would be trouble and it was then that I noticed a large canoe of perhaps twenty savages setting forth from the bay, bound, no doubt, for the Resolution. They were eager, I’ll give them that, for they rowed at such a pace that I had to put the fear of God into all my own rowers in order to make them change direction and row westward to cut them off. When we were close enough we raised our muskets and fired at them and, with grace and justice on our side, managed to pick off some of the rowers instantly. The rest, a cowardly bunch, dived into the water and the canoe capsized immediately, and those savages who had not been fatally injured swam back to shore. It was an early victory for us, to show strength, and had they recognized this perhaps things would not have continued.
‘The next thing I knew, Captain Cook himself, along with four or five other men, was sailing towards us in a cutter. We held our position until he reached us and he was in a fury, a terrible fury.
‘“There will be no more bloodshed,” he informed me, as if I had been the author of the misadventure. “I am going on shore and I shall take the king hostage, bring him back to the Resolution and detain him there until all our boats and belongings have been returned to us.”
‘“But, Captain,”‘ I said, appalled by the idea, “Is that wise? When we have just—”
‘“You may join me, Mr Bligh,” he said through gritted teeth. “Or you may return to the Resolution. Which is it to be?”
‘Well, needless to say, I leapt from the cutter into the launch and we were quickly on shore and the captain, marching ahead, made directly for the home of the island’s high priest, with whom he had already established good relations, and informed him that we meant no harm to any of his people, only that we would not be the victims of a theft, not while we had breath in our bodies. He informed him of his plan to take the king with him back to the Resolution, but said that he would merely be detained as our guest, not a captive, and it was up to the priest to ensure that matters were brought to a speedy and happy solution.
‘Without waiting for a reply, the captain then made his way for to village, even as some of our men were landing in the bay, armed with muskets. I heard the roar of canons from our ship and assumed that more canoes were leaving the bay and aiming towards them and one of the officers had taken the decision to blow them out of the waters. I considered this very sensible and said as much, and the captain turned on me in a fury and said, “Damn and blast it, this is how an incident becomes a catastrophe. Every shot that is fired destroys our reputations and lessens our relationship with these people. Don’t you see that?” I told him that of course he was right, but it was good to show the savages who were their masters, and I presume he agreed with me, for he said nothing, simply continued on his way. I later learned that the other canoes, those that had not been damaged by the canon-fire, turned back towards Kealakekua, no doubt seeking vengeance for their fallen colleagues.
‘We arrived at King Terreeaboo’s house and the captain waited outside. When the king appeared, flanked by his two sons, Captain Cook extended an invitation to him to join him for dinner in his own quarters on the Resolution, and the king happily agreed. He was an aged fellow, Turnstile, and had to be helped back to the shore by his two sons, and none of them were aware that we had greater plans in mind. They considered it a simple act of hospitality, such as they had received from us on many occasions in the past.
‘When we arrived on shore, the canoeists had returned and it was obvious that a great drama was about to unfold. Word spread immediately to the king’s sons that both my launch and the Resolution itself had fired on the savages, killing some, and immediately a great cry went up, and in the mêlée the king fell and landed heavily on the beach.
‘At this, events turned beyond control. The natives surrounded us and began throwing stones, knocking several of our men over, and our muskets were drawn and we had no choice but to fire at them. The captain was shouting something at me but I couldn’t hear it, and I shot several of the savages dead even as they approached me. I turned to look at Captain Cook, delighted by my kill, and he was running towards me, no doubt to congratulate me, and, as he did, one of the savages ran at him from behind bearing a great boulder, which he crashed down on the great man’s head. In a moment, he had fallen to the beach, but he rolled over immediately to defend himself. Before he could, another savage was upon him with a dagger, the cowardly swine, and he sank it deep into the captain’s neck before dragging him a little forward and holding his head under the water. I made moves towards him, but a crowd of twenty or more savages were running towards my sailors and me. We were outnumbered five to one and had no choice but to turn and flee. We were fortunate that we managed to make our way back to our launch with no other injury than a rain of stones about our heads, but even as we sailed away I saw the captain, that brave man, rise once more to defend himself, clamber over some rocks, and then one last group of men descended on him with great stones and beat him to death.’
He became very silent after telling me this and his voice hesitated.
‘It was murder, a terrible crime,’ he said finally. ‘But it is a fact of our lives, the end that any of us can come to if we accept the king’s shilling. The question is how courageously we fall. And we avenged ourselves on those fellows most bloodily, of course. They lived only a short time to regret their deeds.’
I sat back and thought on it. It was not quite as I had expected the story to be, but he had told it now, he had done what I had asked, and there seemed little left for either of us to say. I couldn’t help but wonder about his part in the drama, and perhaps he felt a little of that too in his retelling of the dreadful tale, but if he held regrets he made no mention of them. Finally he stood up and relieved one of the rowers, taking the oars in his great hands and urging his companion to row, to row faster, ever faster, that we might make our destination all the sooner.
That night, it should be told, we fair swept through the waters.