ON TAKING UP MY PEN, I realise that it is a full year since Bounty sailed from Otaheite, laden with breadfruit. In future years, should our story be told, many will assume that events on Otaheite determined the happenings to follow. This is not entirely true as most of what proceeded resulted from my turbulence of mind, which had a number of causes. But time enough to tell of that. I resume with our initial mooring in Matavai Bay and how things fell out thereafter.
Under a light breeze but made difficult by the many canoes clustered around the ship in the bay, we manoeuvred to a secure mooring and dropped anchor. I was in charge of the launch which was to convey the King to the ship and drew the admiration of the natives by springing from the bow to the sand and arriving with dry feet – a jump I fancy of about twelve feet. Along with Peckover, I was conducted into the presence of Tynah, more the chief of the area than a King, to whom we made presents and behaved with the greatest courtesy and respect. Tynah and his consort were both impressive figures, he being well over six feet tall and well made. They gladly boarded the launch and sat most regally through the short trip to Bounty.
After much circling about and polite enquiry from the chief about England and his counterpart King George, B— got down to the business of explaining our mission.
‘That went well, Mr Christian,’ the captain observed after the interview. ‘We have permission to uproot and grow the tree to the number we require, indeed I fancy he was relieved we had no other request.’
‘Just so, sir.’ And so it seemed, although I was later to learn that the natives regarded these visitors, some of whom had come to stare at the sky and others to acquire trees that grew in abundance, as what we would term ‘touched’. However, in the days that followed we made expeditions along the coast to ensure the goodwill of an adjacent chieftain, a child, and inland to inspect the villagers’ gardens and their methods of cultivation. Bivouacking, the natives performed a dance of remarkable lasciviousness and B— demonstrated his indifferent ability with his pocket pistol, shooting at coconuts from very close range. I was prevailed on to make several running broad jumps and far out-leaped all others.
After several days of such politenesses, we took possession of an area of land at Point Venus where Nelson the gardener and Brown, his assistant, were to establish the breadfruit garden. Along with them went Peter Heywood and Will Peckover, who had been appointed comptroller of trade as B—’s paper had promised, and myself as the officer in charge. In fact it was the site of Captain Cook’s camp for the astronomical observations and very ill-chosen for our purpose, as I shall relate. It was situated close to the river where all white visitors, including ourselves, drew their water. We built several huts and a shed and a line was drawn around the area and light barricades erected. The place was out of bounds, except by permission, to all natives without exception and this was explained to them. Although visited regularly by B—, our encampment became something apart from the ship and its rules and regulations.
Four ratings served as an armed guard on a rostered system and right glad they were to have the duty as they had almost nothing to do and spent their time pleasantly. I saw no reason to put them to meaningless tasks, so they enjoyed their shore time very much as we did. Another spending much time ashore was Joe Coleman, the old Otaheite hand, who won much praise from the natives, and enjoyed the favours of their women, by sharpening and re-fashioning their tools and weapons at his forge.
Peter and I consolidated our friendship still further and quickly equalled and out-distanced Will Peckover in our grasp of the language. With the gardeners busy and time to spare, we associated freely with the natives, allowing them to approach the compound but meeting with them at a short distance to eat and smoke, swim and talk. We were provisioned from the ship but ate a good deal of the native food and thrived on it as, indeed, did the whole company.
‘I doubt those men had scurvy,’ Peter observed after one of the supposed sufferers had delivered a heavy set of tools from the ship. ‘I think that devil Huggan diagnosed them as such to annoy the captain.’
‘He succeeded then,’ I said. ‘But in truth this climate and food agrees with me mightily. I never felt more …’
Peter scratched in the sand with a bare toe. He caught my meaning. ‘Nor I.’
I laughed. ‘Nor you! You’d done no more than squeeze a hand before this I’ll warrant.’
‘’Tis true. But are they not wondrous free, Fletcher?’
‘They are.’ His words recalled B—’s warning of their cruelty but I took no heed. I had lain with half a dozen of the island women and had come to no harm. The King himself visited and presented me with a fine spear which I kept on display.
Right glad we were to be ashore for when the large cutter’s gudgeon was stolen, Alexander Smith, later to be known under another name, whose responsibility the cutter’s equipment had been, was given twelve lashes. I was not present but I was told by some who were that the native women were shocked at the punishment, and wept and begged Morrison to desist. B— continued to have men flogged for neglect of duty although no more than a dozen lashes were inflicted. That is for the company. It was different for the natives. One night an empty water cask, part of a compass and the bedding from Will Peckover’s hammock at the camp were found to be missing.
I was for letting the matter pass over in the interest of harmony but Nelson, proving to be something of a toady, reported it to the captain. B— stormed up to the camp. ‘You are a set of neglectful villains and hounds.’
I protested. ‘Sir, I will endeavour to recover the items by diplomacy. In any event, they are easily replaced.’
‘Diplomacy is it? By God, sir, that is another word for cowardice and slackness. I swear your native King, who shows you such favour, will bring me the thief or suffer severe consequences.’
‘I don’t take your meaning, sir.’
‘I refer, Mr Christian, the diplomat, to the ship’s guns and their destructive capacity. Good day.’
Very frightened by this threat, the chief absented himself for a time and eventually returned with a captive whom he declared to be the thief. Tynah advocated killing him, but B— had him taken to the ship and spreadeagled on a grating. He had the ship’s company assembled and several score natives. Will Cole, the bosun, was given the duty and we all expected twenty.
‘A hundred lashes, Mr Cole,’ B— ordered. ‘And lay them on.’
A hundred! I watched in horror. I doubt I could have withstood fifty myself.
B— later said that he had been merciful in not executing this wretch but he was entirely wrong. His vengeance not complete, he had the native, who had survived the punishment remarkably well, confined in irons. Tynah and his consort dined aboard that night I was told and harmony was restored. But the wretch who, I learned later was not guilty of the theft, but had merely been nominated by the chief, broke loose from part of his shackles and threw himself overboard, still somewhat weighed down, whereupon he drowned. So an injustice was multiplied and I began to wonder if the captain had resumed his poisonous habit, his moods once again swinging so wildly.
‘You bear a charmed life, Mr Christian,’ Nelson said after the theft reported above was followed by the more serious one of a boat’s rudder stored within our shore tent. Although a replacement was available, the theft reduced the number of spares and was therefore of concern. I had recently earned B—’s commendation for my supervision of the airing and drying of the sails, and fully expected to incur his wrath at the theft as all stores within our camp were my responsibility. In theory, as a mere midshipman, I could be flogged or, at the very least, have the cost of the rudder debited to me. No mention of any such punishment was made. This made me wonder again if B— recoiled from a severe punishment aware that I knew of his habit.
‘Yet I tread on eggshells daily,’ I replied.
Nelson, never heard to question the captain in any matter, surprised me by saying, ‘As do we all.’
Nevertheless, the time passed pleasantly enough, especially after I made the acquaintance of Mauatua, a tall stately woman, who granted me her favours and whom I came to love. I gave her the nickname Mainmast because of her height and bearing and spent my nights with her, sometimes in her quarters, sometimes in mine, in violation of my orders. Again, tattle-tales might have alerted B— to this association but he took no action. Although others among the island women claimed to prefer fair skins, Mauatua admired my brown colouring and encouraged me to bare as much of my body to the sun as I might so that my colour would approximate to hers. This I willingly did, finding the darker the skin the more resistant to sunburn. I also submitted to the painful ordeal of having a star tattooed on my breast. Thus we drew ever closer. She was tender and passionate and since meeting her I have sought no other, and so it remains to this day.
Many of our company were tattooed but no others, I fancy, received the stripe across the buttocks that was the mark of a warrior. I was accorded this doubtful honour, doubtful because the pain of the operation was prolonged and intense and the recovery slow, through having bested one of their strongest wrestlers. Otaheitean wrestling involves a great deal of hand clapping and foot stamping but not much fight. Although the man was taller and heavier than I, he had no notion of scientific holds or the cross buttock and I was able to use his weight against him.
As a boy, I had seen Peter Corcoran, the Irish champion of the prize ring, fight an exhibition bout at the Cockermouth fair. Although Corcoran was not reckoned a scientific boxer, he milled well enough and several of my schoolmates and I amused ourselves by sparring and attempting to copy the style of the pugs. I was the equal or better of any at my height and weight and several times, in my wrestling contest with the Otaheitean champion, I was tempted to tap his claret with a right cross. But, having seen the horror displayed by the islanders when one of the seamen punched another, I refrained and wrestled him straight.
Spending all of my spare time with Mauatua and her family and friends, my grip on the language tightened so that I could converse fairly easily on most matters. Indeed, often wearing only a loin cloth and taking part in fishing expeditions and, with increasing enjoyment, dances and other rituals – many very lewd that so shocked the puritan in B— that he once ordered a dance to be stopped – I began to think myself as near to one of them as a civilised man could become. Living in a balmy climate with an abundance of food and the minimum of work needed to acquire it, life on Otaheite was seductive. And that is not to mention the charms of my Mainmast. But I never lost sight of my ambition to rise in the navy, make a name for myself, perhaps take prizes in time of war and restore my family’s fortunes. Ambition burned with me only matched by my concern that B— might scupper all such plans should he resume his arbitrary ways towards me and provoke me into a rash act.
His moods remained uncertain, swinging from favouring the natives one day to concern for the company another. Above all was his care for the plants, which meant a care for his future. Like me he was ambitious, but when thwarted he flew into a rage whereas it was my habit to retreat into myself until the obstacle receded. I believe this was a habit acquired since my early schooldays when, bullied by a bigger boy, I lost control and thrashed him so badly he was sick for a month. I knew, or some part of me knew, that such violence must be kept in check.
Although little happened to disturb us ashore, it was not so on the ship. When the thin-skinned carpenter Purcell refused to make a whetstone for the natives because to do so would blunt his tools, the captain scorched the air with oaths and confined him to his cabin for a period. Had the captain known how his attempt to control trade, particularly in the matter of pigs, had failed, his anger might have brought on apoplexy. After a few months most of the seamen had formed friendships with natives who were anxious to supply pigs in return for items they esteemed – knives, nails, beads and the like. But by the captain’s orders all pigs taken on board were seized to become part of the common pool and payment was minimal and impersonal. On a visit to the ship I found Quintal, McCoy and Mills feasting in secret on two roasted hogs. Quintal winked at me and offered me a slice which I accepted. Later I asked Menalee, one of the native men with whom I had become friendly, how the men were able to eat as they pleased.
‘Oh, we wait until the captain is ashore and then bring the pigs out to the ship. We make better trade this way.’
Little by little, B—’s authority was weakened by these things and some of the natives began to mutter against him and wonder when he would be gone. He was no Cook in their eyes and his distaste for their freedom with their bodies and the arts of love they openly displayed made him the butt of much concealed humour. Whether he noticed or not I cannot say, but he was frequently out of sorts and often confined himself to his cabin for long periods, complaining of eyestrain and headache.
‘That bastard Huggan,’ Peter Heywood exclaimed one day as he dried himself after a swim. We were both powerful swimmers and had improved our capacity in this regard by racing each other and covering ever longer distances.
‘What now?’ I asked.
‘He has listed me as a venereal, and you as well. We are both to be fined.’
I struggled to contain my anger. ‘He has not examined us.’
‘He will claim he had. I went to him some time back with a cough and you’ll recall you had him give you some liniment for a twisted ankle.’
‘That’s villainous! The man is constantly drunk and delights in provoking the captain. I must make some representation about this. I won’t have my name entered as a venereal.’
‘I’m with you.’
We resolved to approach B— with our protest and schemed to find a reason to go to the ship, for our duty was to remain ashore unless summoned. A violent storm blew up at this time agitating the sea, swelling the river than ran close to our camp so that we were cut off from all communication with the ship. Such was its strength that it brought salt spray our way so that we were busy lashing canvas in place to protect the plants and keeping watch on the rising water for the time the blow lasted. Only the digging of a trench, supervised by Nelson but the work of all hands, saved the garden from devastation. Mauatua told me that the wet season had arrived and that no white people had been present on the island during it ever before.
She said that such storms were frequent and that the place chosen for our plant nursery was a poor one.
‘Why did no one tell the captain?’ I queried.
She shrugged. ‘He chose, he did not ask.’
Throughout this struggle with the elements, I seethed with anger at Huggan’s slander and had decided to go out to the ship without an excuse other than the protest itself when a summons to muster arrived. The summons applied to the whole shore party and its deliverer, sprightly Tom Ellison, stressed urgency.
‘What’s the occasion, Tom?’ Peter inquired.
‘The surgeon’s dead, Mr Heywood.’
‘Of what cause?’ I said.
Cheeky Tom picked up a half coconut shell and mimed.
‘Too late now,’ Peter observed as we readied ourselves. ‘We’ll be entered as poxed.’
‘I’ll be damned if I will,’ I said as I struggled into the unfamiliar clothes. ‘I’ll not have it even if I have to rip the page from the log.’
‘Have a care, Christian,’ Nelson said. ‘The captain will be in a fret over the plants and the loss of the surgeon and his mind at such times is as a tinder box.’
‘Just so,’ I said. ‘And mine the same. As for this piece of hypocrisy …’
‘Meaning, sir?’
‘Spouting gibberish over the corpse of a useless, drunken, lying scoundrel who should have been fed to the sharks years ago.’
Nelson looked at me curiously and Peter drew me away. ‘Fletcher, he has the captain’s ear. Do you want to be reported for atheism?’
‘What care I? I’ve a mind to introduce each and every one of these bloody plants to a bucket or two of sea water.’
‘You’re over-wrought. The work of the last days and the lack of sleep have twisted your judgement. We must conduct ourselves properly at the burial and see what lies in store. Our enemy has perished. We must rest content with that.’
‘Who steals my purse steals trash. But he who steals my good name, steals all that I have,’ I said. ‘You’re the poet, Peter. Don’t deny it, I’ve seen you scribbling. Who said that?’
‘Shakespeare, of course.’
‘What play?’
‘I don’t know.’
I laughed. ‘Nor do I. One of the Henrys I fancy. Come on, let’s bury that old bastard.’
Most of the company, apart from the sick, attended the ceremony along with Tynah and a good selection of the natives, some of whom wept although all our eyes were dry. B— conducted the affair with appropriate gravity, and the disgusting tub of guts was lowered into the black sand to rot away in a more beautiful spot than he had any right to be.
‘A melancholy event, Mr Christian,’ the captain observed as we left the spot.
‘Yes, sir, and all the worse for it now being impossible for him to correct his errors.’
‘And what is the meaning of that?’
It was on the tip of my tongue to burst forth about Huggan’s slander but, seeing B—’s pale visage with a blue vein throbbing at his temple, I forbore. ‘I hardly know, sir. Please forget I spoke.’
‘You puzzle me, sir. Your conduct verges on the insolent and your performance on the incompetent – at times, at times. But you sometimes acquit yourself well and deserve the respect all seem to accord you.’
I said nothing as we tramped along the sand under a dark, threatening sky.
B— cleared his throat as though to dismiss our conversation to that point. ‘The garden will have to be moved. I am informed storms such as the one we have endured are common in the monsoon season. I have selected a place. The plants, when Nelson deems them strong enough, will be taken to the ship and transported, landed and cared for as before. I put you in charge of this operation and need hardly tell you that the loss of a single plant will reflect ill upon you.’ He increased his pace and stumped away from me.
‘He’s at it again, Peter,’ I said, later. ‘Giving with one hand and taking away with the other.’
Peter slapped my shoulder. ‘Never mind, Fletcher. It will soon be Christmas and we’ll show the natives how Englishmen celebrate.’
Celebrate we did with a pudding as near to a plum duff as the cook could manage with the foodstuffs to hand and a double ration of rum and an allowance of wine. Not all hands were joyous, however. Will Muspratt, the cook’s assistant, had been flogged twelve lashes for neglecting his duty and a few days later we heard that Robert Lamb, the butcher, had received the same punishment for allowing his cleaver to be stolen. Again, we had reason to be glad to be ashore while such discord was going on aboard ship.