CHAPTER FIVE

Cape Horn, 1788

Capitulation and the long way to Tahiti

The easterly gale showed no sign of abating when Bounty surged boldly out of the English Channel and into the North Atlantic with a real bone in her teeth. The white waves churning away from her bluff bow resembled large banks of snow being pushed aside. Understandably, she was under greatly reduced sail, but she was still being pressed hard. There was good reason for this. Bligh’s experience told him that with the dangerous seas brought on by the gale it was essential that the ship maintained a reasonable and manageable speed to minimise the chance of being pooped and engulfed by one of the massive breaking rollers that regularly loomed up from astern, or being driven uncontrollably into a broach. He knew it would be far more dangerous to lower all sail, lie-a-hull and be at the mercy of the elements. If there was a positive in this situation, it was that Bounty was maintaining a course that would see her sail parallel to the coast of Portugal then head towards Tenerife for the first planned stop.

It was miserable and dangerous sailing on the high seas in what was the depths of winter. At one stage a crewman furling the main topgallant high above the deck lost his grip and almost fell. Somehow he managed to grab hold of a stay and save himself from certain death.

The following day was Christmas Day 1787, and much to the pleasure of all on board both the wind and sea moderated slightly – but the rain, hail and sleet persisted. Still, this meant that the crew could enjoy modest yuletide celebrations in a slightly more amenable manner, even though they couldn’t light a fire for cooking. As part of the celebration, Bligh ordered that each man receive an allowance of rum plus beef, and plum pudding, for dinner.

This respite was to be short-lived. By early morning on 26 December the wind rampaged once more and the seas were rising fast. A few hours later the wind was at storm force, and the waves had grown to such height and power that Bounty was beginning to labour under their onslaught, rolling violently and semi-submerging each time a wave broke over her, delivering a colossal cascade of white water. Two spare yardarms and a sweep oar on deck were ripped from their chain restraints and sent careering across the ship like rolling logs. Not much later another monster wave smashed into the larboard quarter, causing timbers and windows to implode. The safety of the ship was now under threat. A powerful surge of water bursting across the cabin claimed everything in its path, including a compass and some of the ship’s valuable bread supply. Bligh described the dramas they faced right then as being ‘of a very serious nature’. One more wave like that and only heaven knew what might happen. ‘Fortunately no sea struck us while we were repairing the damage,’ he added in the ship’s log.

A few hours later the waves had become so savage that the helmsman could no longer sail a proper course; it was a case of having to guide the ship as best he could down the face of the waves rolling in from astern like giant mountain ranges breaking into avalanches of white water. The chaos continued: one wave carried away the larboard bumpkin and its iron braces, while another was so powerful that it stove in planks on the ship’s cutter and launch, which were stacked one above the other on deck with the jollyboat stored atop them. It was only quick action by the crew in this threatening situation that prevented the small boats from being more badly damaged or possibly lost overboard. However, while they saved the boats, the crew had to face the devastating sight of seven hogsheads of beer – all full – being washed over the side. To add to their misery, two casks of rum carried below deck burst open during the pounding, spilling the contents into the bilge. Some crewmembers, though, just didn’t care: they were still struggling to find their sea legs and overcome severe bouts of mal de mer.

It was difficult for many of the crew to comprehend that less than one week into what might be a two-year voyage they were already confronting survival conditions. Just one rogue wave, or one incident, could remove Bounty from the face of the earth without anyone ever knowing what happened. It was a chance Bligh and true seafarers recognised all too well, and at that moment Bligh could have reflected on Vice-Admiral Hyde Parker, who had led the fleet at the Battle of Dogger Bank in 1781. Little more than a year later, in December 1782, he set sail aboard HMS Cato – a ship considerably larger than Bounty – bound for his new posting in Bombay. The ship and its entire crew disappeared without trace during the passage.

The maelstrom raged until around noon on 27 December, when the conditions had eased to the point where Bligh believed he could safely lower sails and lie-to. His men were exhausted, so allowing the ship to drift downwind for a period gave everyone time to recover. It also meant the main and lower decks could be tidied and a fire lit to dry saturated clothing. When it looked as though the gale was abating later that day, the crew set the sails again and Bounty returned to a course of south-by-west. Much to everyone’s relief, ideal sailing conditions – favourable and moderate northerly winds – prevailed until they reached Tenerife in the Canary Islands.

The anchorage at Tenerife was in an open bay influenced greatly by wind and sea, so to ensure the safety of the ship Bligh went to the extreme of mooring Bounty using four anchors. It was a five-day stop and during that time they took aboard additional supplies of water and wine.

Prior to departing the Canary Islands, Bligh announced he would be dividing the crew into three watches of four hours each, instead of two watches of four hours each. The master of the third watch would be Fletcher Christian. He explained his reasons for the new watch arrangement thus:

I have ever considered this among seamen as conducive to health, and not being jaded by keeping on deck every other four hours, it adds much to their content and cheerfulness. Some time for relaxation and mirth is absolutely necessary, and I have considered it so much so that after four o’clock the evening is laid aside for their amusement and dancing.

Bligh’s decision to do this was obviously influenced by his desire to proceed non-stop to Tahiti via Cape Horn after all. It would be a demanding passage that was very much weather-dependent and therefore of uncertain duration, so as a precaution he called for the crew’s bread ration to be reduced by one-third, ensuring there would be enough to go the distance. This caused little concern as the majority didn’t eat their full ration anyway.

When describing in detail the intention of the voyage to the crew, Bligh assured them there would be certain promotion for anyone whose endeavours earned it. He also distributed fishing equipment as conditions approaching the equator were ideal for such an activity. In a very short time, ‘some dolphins were caught’.

Before long Bounty was exiting the region of the north-east trade winds and entering the Doldrums, near the equator, and as she did her speed dropped from a maximum of around seven knots to just three or four knots. This equatorial region brought widely varying and rapidly changing sailing conditions around the clock. On some occasions the ship could be near motionless, trapped by an oily calm. In this windless environment the canvas set aloft hung forlornly like heavy drapes, their presence confirmed sporadically when they slatted with a thud against masts and spars as the ship lumbered through a swell-induced roll. At other times the wind would box the compass, blowing the sails aback with a sudden gust from an unexpected direction. Worse still, a cloud could bear down on Bounty with an accompanying rain squall so savage that she was immediately struggling under the pressure, heeling heavily and in danger of being dismasted, or at least having sails blown apart. The crew was forever on the lookout for these squalls and each time one of them struck, they had to man the sheets and furl the sails as quickly as possible so the loads on the ship were lessened. If there was a plus side, it was that the cloudbursts accompanying these squalls often brought torrents of rain with them. In one squall the Bounty crew was able to capture 700 gallons of precious drinking water in the run-off from canvas canopies.

This part of the passage was punishing both physically and mentally for those on board. The humid environment was stifling, especially below decks, and each time it rained things grew worse. Mildew thrived in the sultry conditions and the only way to freshen the air below was to light fires and sprinkle vinegar throughout. When the weather cleared, the crew could open the hatches and deadlights to bring some relief for those below, but the moment it rained, which was often, they had to be battened down. When the weather permitted, Bligh insisted that all wet clothing was brought on deck to be washed and dried. This order brought better comfort for the crew and lessened the chance of disease.

For much of the time, progress through the Doldrums was negligible: at one stage Bounty took twelve days to cover just 150 nautical miles – little more than twelve nautical miles a day. Then, on 6 February 1788, they reached the point where the south-east trade winds began to waft over them. Two days later, when Bounty crossed the equator, the due ceremony for those who had not previously ‘crossed the line’ took place. Twenty-seven of the crew were tarred then shaved with a piece of iron hoop. Later in the day Bligh granted every man half a pint of wine, a gesture that certainly helped enliven the dancing that followed.

As Bounty continued to ease her way deeper into the southern hemisphere the trade winds strengthened and she gained speed. By the end of the first week of March she was at full clip, around seven knots. There was a noticeable fall in the air temperature as the southern hemisphere autumn began to take hold: the thermometer dropped 8 degrees Celsius in just one day. Bligh’s ongoing determination to minimise the risk of ill-health among his men led to him calling for everyone to then dress in clothes more suited to a colder climate.

Bounty’s speed was such that a few days later she caught up to an English whale-fishery ship, British Queen, which had departed England eighteen days before Bounty. When they drew alongside, Bligh learned that the ship was bound for Cape Town so he took the opportunity to transfer a letter he had written to Duncan Campbell so that it could be delivered back to England. The letter read:

We are all in good spirits and my little ship fit to go round a half score of worlds. My men all active good fellows, and what has given me much pleasure is that I have not yet been obliged to punish any one. My officers and young gentlemen are all tractable and well disposed, and we now understand each other so well that we shall remain so the whole voyage, unless I fall out with the doctor, who I have trouble to prevent from being in bed fifteen hours out of the twenty-four. I am at present determined to push round the Cape Horn without touching anywhere as I have plenty of water, but that must depend on the winds … My men are not badly off either as they share in all but the poultry, and with much content and cheerfulness, dancing always from four until eight at night. I am happy to hope I shall bring them all home well.

Bligh’s pleasure in not having to punish any of his crew was short-lived. In his log dated 11 March he recorded: ‘Until this afternoon I had hopes I could have performed the voyage without punishment to anyone, but I found it necessary to punish Matthew Quintal with two dozen lashes for insolence and contempt to the master.’ Quintal would later be one of the most active of the Bounty mutineers.

As always, the trade winds provided perfect sailing conditions and Bounty was reeling off the miles, but each mile gained meant the challenge of Cape Horn was that little bit closer. It became increasingly important for the ship to be as seaworthy as possible for the inevitable battering it would face in the almost always hostile southern latitudes. As part of the preparation, Bligh ordered for some new sails to be bent onto the yards, that all deck equipment be lashed down, and all rigging checked to minimise the chance of any problems developing that might impede a safe passage.

At two o’clock in the morning of 23 March, lookouts on Bounty peering through the darkness spotted the coast of Tierra del Fuego at the southern tip of South America. From that point Bligh had hoped to sail through the Straits le Maire between Isla de los Estados and the mainland, but a contrary southerly wind forced him to navigate down the craggy shoreline on the island’s eastern side, a position from where his goal, Cape Horn, on Horn Island, was 140 nautical miles to the south-west. The following day would be the last time the crew would sight land until more than two months later, when Bligh finally abandoned his courageous effort to round the notorious landmark. Until then all onboard had to endure punishing conditions while they persisted with their bid to beat the odds and enter the Pacific from east to west at what was the wrong time of the year.

As Bounty pushed to the south to avoid any adverse currents and sail to a position where she could change course and achieve a safe rounding of Cape Horn, Bligh noted the magnitude of the situation they faced: ‘Having now entered on our most difficult and grand part of our passage, I took every precaution to render the ship proof against the general attacks of the weather. I stood away close hauled to the southward and at noon I considered myself totally out of the way of the current round Cape Horn.’

The gales sweeping in from the west were relentless and even when they eased, the conditions remained miserable due to sleet, snow and rain. It was absolute torture for those on deck: Bounty was essentially a flush-deck ship, so there was virtually nowhere to seek protection from wind or wave. On 29 March, and over the following days, Bligh’s log revealed the nature of the near-intolerable environment: ‘We are obliged to be battened down fore and aft, the sea frequently breaking over us, however we keep tolerably dry below.’ Then only a few hours later: ‘I do not wonder at Lord Anson’s “Account of the High Sea” for it exceeds any I have seen, and to be here in a laboursome ship must be an unhappy situation.’ (Bligh is referring to an account of a rounding of Cape Horn in a violent storm by a fleet of ships led by Anson in March 1741, in which lives were lost.)

A glimmer of hope that they might be able to round the Cape came on 31 March when the wind changed direction to the north-by-west, then north-north-east, which allowed them to steer the ship on the much-desired course to the west for the first time. Even so, conditions remained atrocious, as Bligh noted: ‘Fresh gale and sleet and rain with a very high confused sea.’

On 1 April, the wind blew from the south, allowing the ship to sail closer to the desired course. Misery still reigned, as Bligh’s log revealed: ‘As the wind came round we began to have very hard snow squalls, and at this time it was as much as we could do to bring the ship under the fore and main staysail. It blew a storm of wind and the snow fell so heavy that it was scarce possible to haul the sails up and furl them for the weight and stiffness.’

At all times Bligh maintained a caring watch over his men, appreciating the exceptional effort that was being asked of them during this desperate bid to enter the Pacific. He noted that he wanted to ‘see after my people who had undergone some fatigue, and to take care that a proper fire was kept in and that no one kept on wet clothes. This being done and seeing them all comfortably dry, I ordered a large quantity of portable soup to be boiled … which made a valuable and good dinner for them.’ Additionally, in an effort to vary their diet, some crew took to catching some of the seabirds that were prevalent every day. This also provided the opportunity for some interesting research, as the captain reported: ‘As we caught a good many birds but which were all lean and tasted fishy we tried an experiment upon them which succeeded admirably. By keeping them cooped up and cramming them with ground corn they improved wonderfully in a short time; so that the pintada birds became as fine as ducks, and the albatrosses were as fat, and not inferior in taste to, fine geese.’

Soon, though, the determination to forge a course that would see them safely around the ‘corner’ was outweighed by frustration. It was as if the Southern Ocean was as dogged about stopping their progress as they were about making headway, for Bligh’s navigation indicated that after ten days of sailing as close to the direction of the wind as possible, his ship was still barely west of the longitude of Cape Horn. His exasperation surfaced in his log notes on 3 April:

The gales we begin to experience are very heavy and distressing. At midnight I had hopes of a fair wind but an hour had scarce elapsed before I found, what would have done very well in moderate weather and little sea to have enabled me to clear the whole coast of Patagonia, I could do no more with than make a course directly for the land, however to make the most of it I carried a main topsail with four reefs in and a reefed foresail; but this was but little other than lying to as before … it was not a little distressing after the exertions we have made thus far to see ourselves losing what we had got with some difficulty … All I have to do now is to nurse my people with care and attention, and … look forward to a new moon for a change of wind and weather.

Then came the captain’s explanation of the weather they were dealing with: ‘The snow does not lie on the decks but comes in large flakes and covers us for a while, and the hail is very sharp and severe. The sea from the frequent shifting of the wind is very irregular and breaking.’

The new moon failed to deliver. Instead, Bligh logged on 11 April that his ship could scarcely make headway against the wind and giant waves, which were almost as high as Bounty was long. With each one she would start rising, rising, rising up a near-vertical wall of dark water before exploding through the ugly crest in a huge cloud of white spray, only to then plunge into the abyss that followed. On descent the flogging sails sent a heavy and frightening shudder through the rig and the entire ship, and when she landed in the trough, the fo’c’s’le (the forecastle at the bow where the crew quarters were located) was immediately buried under water. Bounty would labour, trying to free herself from the tons of water washing across her decks, and then, the moment she resurfaced, there was another of the ocean’s ogres looming up ahead. It was a horrifying perpetual motion, a scene that persisted day and night, and all the crew could only wonder when their punishment would end. The Cape’s reputation for desolation and death was justified: they could easily understand how so many ships and crews attempting to traverse those infamous waters before Bounty had disappeared without trace.

Making matters worse for the crew on deck was the wind and spray. It was as if the air was laced with shards of ice fresh from the yet-to-be-discovered frozen land – Antarctica – which was only a few hundred miles to the south. It cut through their wet and inadequate clothing like a hail of bullets.

All the time Bounty was being robbed of the ground she had gained to the west under the most trying of circumstances, fuelling Bligh’s determination to make headway, to the degree where he had the ship carry more sail than would otherwise have been set in such conditions. Fortunately the crew shared his determination: ‘my men and officers bear the fatigue with cheerfulness and health’. However, while the captain and his crew tried to cope with the incessant battering, the ship was starting to protest. Damage was evident: the constant pounding and wrenching was opening the seams between both hull and deck planks. This rendered the caulking ineffective in some areas, and without this the water could pour in. Soon there was so much water below that the bilge was awash, and the two large pumps mounted on the waist area of Bounty’s deck had to be manned every hour to keep the ship afloat. For the majority of the crew, especially those sleeping forward, being below was like enduring water torture. Bligh was so concerned that he had no hesitation in offering his own cabin to the men, setting it up as a dormitory for all those with wet berths to hang their hammocks.

On 13 April he noted:

It is now three weeks since we came round Staten Land [Isla de los Estados], a time we have spent with much fatigue and almost constant bad weather, I now begin to see that this is a most improper time to venture into these seas … upon the whole I may be bold to say that few ships could have gone through it as we have done, but I cannot expect my men and officers to bear it much longer, or will the object of my voyage allow me to persist in it.

Reinforcing the captain’s concerns was the incidence of injury and ill-health for the first time since departing England. This was despite his best efforts to ensure the men’s well-being, insisting they take precautions to prevent ailments, particularly scurvy.

Bligh soon found many of his crew were suffering from rheumatic complaints arising from the brutally cold climate, and fatigue meant men were being injured by the violent motion of the ship. The cook broke a rib and the ship’s surgeon fell and dislocated his shoulder. It was amazing there weren’t more injuries as the tempestuous seas were often so heavy they all but overwhelmed Bounty. The men on deck had to hang on for dear life and hope that the might of the waves did not carry them across the ship and over the side. ‘The repeated gales seem now to become more violent,’ Bligh wrote. ‘The squalls so excessively severe that I dare scarce show any canvas to it. The motion of the ship is so very quick and falls so deep between the seas that it is impossible to stand without man ropes across the decks.’

Another log entry revealed more:

The gale was very heavy and the weather cold with little or no intermissions of snow showers, until noon, when the sun shining very bright it cheered the spirits of all hands. To give the men a fresh meal tomorrow I ordered a hog to be killed, out of a half-dozen I have remaining. We had great abundance of poultry sheep and hogs but the weather for this month past has been so severe that we have now scarce any left.

As the battle with Cape Horn continued, physical exhaustion was beginning to affect the crew’s ability to handle the ship. While their hearts remained strong the incredible hardships placed on everyone by the malevolence of the storms and the intense cold were proving to be too much. Despite round-the-clock efforts to claim precious progress to the west, Bligh’s navigation calculations on 15 April again confirmed that they had made virtually no headway. Had more moderate winds prevailed, even from the same direction as they had experienced, then Bounty would have been able to claw her way to a point where she could safely clear the many islands scattered along the western side of Patagonia to then head towards Tahiti, some 4,500 nautical miles to the north-west.

At five o’clock in the morning of 22 April the time had come. A simple entry from the captain in Bounty’s log said everything: ‘At five the wind backing to the westward I bore away, it being needless to persist any longer.’ He later added: ‘It was with much concern I saw it improper and even unjustifiable in me to persist any longer in a passage this way to the Society Islands’, and that the decision to head to Tahiti east-about was ‘the surest way to accomplish the grand object of the voyage’.

Three days after altering course towards Cape Town, Bligh was convinced that his decision to turn back was the right one as the westerly gales persisted. He called on Bounty’s helmsman to steer north-east-by-east in the hope that on the way to Cape Town he might be able to confirm the latitude and longitude for the island of Tristan da Cunha, which Captain Cook, among others, had visited and explored. However, this mission was unsuccessful. Later it would be confirmed that the latitude Bligh had for the island was incorrect and as a result Bounty passed too far to the north.

The intensity of the weather was only matched by Bligh’s resolve to retain good health among his crew. In one of his reports he described how he had not only opened his cabin to forward-sleeping crewmembers and their hammocks, he had other bedding brought in to be dried. He provided hot breakfasts ‘of wheat with sugar, portable soup … and a pint to each man of sweet wort a day, with their allowance of spirits, (very fine old rum) besides keeping them as dry as possible and clean is all that can be done’. The crew also had as much sauerkraut (for scurvy), mustard and vinegar as they wanted.

The raging seas continued to threaten Bounty’s safety, so every hatch had to be battened down. Conditions below were extremely claustrophobic as a result, which led to many of the sailors becoming violently seasick and incapacitated. Fortunately, though, there were still no symptoms of scurvy or any other disease among them.

In a bid to make life more bearable, fires were maintained below deck to dry the air and enable dinner to be boiled, but the downside of this was that eye-watering amounts of smoke spread through the ship. Bligh’s notes at the time described how he wished he had installed a small cooking caboose on deck before leaving England.

One month to the day after Bounty abandoned the effort to round Cape Horn the crew rejoiced at the sight of land: the flat-topped Table Mountain, the magnificent backdrop to Cape Town. On approaching the coast, Bligh decided to heed the advice of other experienced mariners, that Table Bay was often an unsafe anchorage during autumn, so he opted for the more sheltered waters of False Bay to the south. Once there and at anchor, he and the crew could assess what work needed to be done to make the ship fully seaworthy again, and the supplies they needed before they sailed. There was no doubt that Bounty’s hull had to be re-caulked from bow to stern: it had been leaking so badly all the way across the Atlantic that the crew had to operate the pumps every hour.

By now, Bligh was realising that as captain he stood alone among his men. While he did everything possible to care for his crew’s health and keep them happy on such a gruelling voyage, he always had to stand apart because, without any marines on board to support him, he had to retain a firm hand when it came to discipline and the safety of the ship. On the latter point he had no option while in False Bay but to deal a dose of six lashes to Able Seaman and Armourer’s Mate John Williams, for ‘neglect of duty in heaving the lead’; in other words he did not satisfactorily carry out orders to check the depth of the water with a lead-line, a duty designed to minimise the chance of Bounty running aground.

During this stopover, Bligh wrote a considerable number of letters which were to be delivered to England by ships heading that way. In one, to Duncan Campbell, he toyed with the notion of visiting the new British colony Captain Arthur Phillip was to establish on the shores of Botany Bay, if it wasn’t going to interfere with the object of his voyage, but decided against it:

I might wood and water at Botany Bay with little loss of time, and it may be imagined I will do so, but I cannot think of putting it in the power of chance to prevent my accomplishing the object of the voyage. I shall therefore pass our friends at that place, but could I have taken in any considerable supply it would have been for the good of the service for me to have done it. In the present case I can render them no service and Government will hear of them before any accounts could be brought home by me.

With all maintenance work completed and the stocks replenished, Bounty put to sea on 1 July, thirty-eight days after arriving, bound for Tahiti. As she departed she fired a thirteen-gun salute in recognition of the Governor, and this was returned.

She cleared the Cape of Good Hope and sailed into the Southern Ocean, where she was confronted by the worst elements of a southern hemisphere winter – icy westerly gales and intense thunderstorms. It certainly wasn’t the best time of the year to be there, but she made good speed until Sunday, 20 July, when she was on the northern edge of the Roaring Forties. Just after midday, and with only a foresail and a close-reefed main topsail set, the wind suddenly increased in strength to violent storm conditions. Before the crew could react and get the sails clewed up, Bounty surged down the face of an almost sheer Southern Ocean comber and kept going – down. As the bow was driven deep into the turbulent sea, the fo’c’s’le disappeared beneath a mountain of white water. The helmsman managed to retain control and Bounty resurfaced unscathed from yet another incredibly dangerous situation. As the shout went out for the sails to be taken in, Bligh, who was standing on the exposed quarterdeck near the helmsman, ordered that the helm be turned and the ship put head-to-wind so she could lie-to and ride out the storm in relative safety.

Bounty remained this way throughout the night, until eight o’clock the next morning when the wind had eased to the degree where a reefed foresail could be set. She was then able to bear away to the east and resume her course. Just eight hours later the tempest returned, giving Bligh no option other than to once again order that they lie-to, and again Bounty remained that way all night. While this was considered the safest option, they were still in danger, as Bligh revealed in his log: ‘By a violent blow from a heavy sea on the quarter the man at the wheel was thrown over and was much bruised.’

Bounty’s course had been plotted to take her to St Paul Island, a small and desolate rocky outcrop which, due to its location, would later be used as a point of confirmation for navigators traversing the Southern Ocean. Bligh’s aim was to verify through the use of his more modern navigation equipment the position of what was nothing more than a pin-prick on his chart. However, the chance of achieving this was being lessened by the poor weather. Visibility remained minimal and those on deck had to keep their wits about them. Still, there were no guarantees that Mother Nature couldn’t, and wouldn’t, deal a test that was beyond them.

Such a situation came on 25 July when a huge sea treated the 215-ton Bounty as a plaything, hurling her onto her beam ends so that she was all but knocked down. The crew on deck clung to whatever they could to avoid being lost overboard. Everything around them – equipment, the livestock and chickens cooped on deck – hurtled in every direction. Somehow Bounty suffered no damage, and as soon as she staggered back to upright, she was on her way once more as if nothing had happened.

At six o’clock in the morning of 28 July the weather had cleared to the point where the pinnacle of St Paul Island, which towers 900 feet above the sea, was sighted east-by-north of Bounty at a distance of ten leagues. Striding the deck in uniform as always, Bligh changed their course to pass close to the shoreline, giving him the opportunity to use his modern navigation equipment and confirm that the latitude given for the island was incorrect. He later made the appropriate corrections to his chart.

For the next three weeks Bounty bullocked her way across the Southern Ocean, mostly driven by strong gales accompanied by snow and hail. With his crew having been punished so horrendously by the elements for seven weeks, the captain decided to seek shelter in the east-facing Adventure Bay, a short distance north of the southern tip of Van Diemen’s Land. Bounty arrived there on 20 August 1788.

Once the ship was safely anchored, Bligh went ashore to look for the best locations to collect wood and water and also to search for any sign of islanders. Much to his surprise, there was no evidence of the indigenous people’s presence for some time, but even more surprising was that there was no sign of any Europeans having visited the bay since Resolution and Discovery in 1777.

It could be seen as a tribute to Bligh that his men continued to retain a high level of respect for him after their torrid five-month passage through back-to-back winters from England, first to Cape Horn and then Van Diemen’s Land. However, on arrival at Adventure Bay a significant sign of dissension emerged involving the ship’s carpenter, William Purcell. Bligh explained:

My carpenter on my expressing my disapprobation of his conduct with respect to orders he had received from me concerning the mode of working with the wooding party, behaved in a most insolent and reprehensible manner, I therefore, ordered him on board, there to assist in the general duty of the ship, as I could not bear the loss of an able working and healthy man; otherwise I should have committed him to close confinement until I could have tried him, the prospect of which appears to be of so long a date made me determine to keep him at his duty, giving him a chance by his future conduct to make up in some degree for his ill behaviour at this place.

But the problem didn’t end there. When Bligh returned to the ship he was informed by his master, John Fryer, that Purcell had refused to assist in loading water barrels into the hold, stating that he would only ‘do anything in his line’. Under normal circumstances on a larger ship the captain would have had no option but to commit him to some form of confinement, but Bligh needed every man in his small team to work as one, so he devised a tactic that would impose a form of discipline while at the same time bring the man to his senses. He declared Purcell was to receive no food or water and that any man in the crew who assisted him in any way would be dealt a most severe punishment. Much to Bligh’s delight, it immediately produced the desired response from the carpenter: ‘It was for the good of the voyage that I should not make him or any man a prisoner.’ This particular incident would stand as one that demonstrated Bligh’s ability to balance justice and compassion in a shrewd manner.

Bounty lay at anchor in Adventure Bay for nearly two weeks before there were any active signs of islanders: small camp fires were seen flickering among trees across the bay. Bligh knew from having been at Adventure Bay with Captain Cook that the indigenous people were timid, and it was no different this time. While it was obvious that they could see Bounty in the bay, they made no effort to make contact, so instead, Bligh went to them. This experience, along with what he and some of his crew had seen earlier on shore, led to the following observation: ‘These people are an itinerant set and the whole dependence of their living is totally on mussels and other kinds of shell fish, as their resting places are always where those things can be gathered, which we easily discover by seeing heaps of shells wherever they have stopped.’ Bligh was also curious about whether these people slept in the trees they hollowed out using fire, but concluded after the meeting that the ‘wigwams’ nearby were most definitely for sleeping, and the hollowed-out trees were merely fireplaces.

With there being no wind on the afternoon and evening of 3 September, Bligh took the opportunity to warp Bounty on her anchors away from the shore and into deeper water. At daybreak the next morning an offshore breeze prevailed, so the captain called for the ship’s boats to be hoisted aboard and secured, then the rig readied for sailing, which came at midday. Soon Bounty was gliding across what is now known as Storm Bay and towards Tasman Island to the east. While on that course Bligh made two important observations of his surroundings, the first being: ‘there is a remarkable high flat topped mountain to the NW by N’ (Hobart’s Mount Wellington); and the second: ‘its western cape is exceedingly remarkable from the pitch of it being cut into a remarkable number of upright rock pillars of unequal heights’ (the famous Organ Pipes on Cape Raoul). This confirms that Bligh discovered both these outstanding features of southern Tasmania. He also charted the existence of Tasman Island at the eastern entrance to the bay.

Within twenty-four hours Bounty was beginning to feel the surge of the swells in the Tasman Sea, from which point the captain set a course to the east-south-east that would take them to the south of New Zealand in following winds on what was the final stage of this voyage to Tahiti. Fortunately it was the final days of winter, but even so the men would have to endure extreme cold once more. They would be at an inhospitable 48 degrees of latitude when they cleared New Zealand’s Stewart Island and headed into the South Pacific. The island hove into sight on Sunday, 14 September, and at that point the helmsman was called to steer east-by-north for what would then be a looping course to the final destination.

Five days after passing New Zealand, Bligh was to make another of his discoveries: a parcel of more than a dozen rocky islands which he named Bounty’s Isles. On 9 October there came an emotional setback for all on board when one of the most energetic young able seamen, James Valentine, died from an asthmatic condition which it appears was brought on by complications following an illness he experienced while the ship was in Adventure Bay. On the same day it is recorded that Bligh clashed with both his surgeon, Thomas Huggan, who had neglected young Valentine before his death, and with his master, John Fryer, whose attitude towards Bligh had gone from being supportive to belligerent and troublesome. The first real sign that there were serious issues with the surgeon surfaced when some crew complained of rheumatic pain and were unable to dance in the evening as Bligh demanded. Huggan, who was himself suffering from alcohol-induced problems, diagnosed the supposed rheumatic pain as being a sign of scurvy. Bligh strongly disagreed, saying their symptoms were ‘nothing more than prickly heat’, and documented in the ship’s log how the men’s condition first became apparent: ‘John Mills and William Brown refusing to dance this evening. I ordered their grog to be stopped with a promise of further punishment on a second refusal. I have always directed the evenings from five to eight o’clock to be spent in dancing, and that every man should be obliged to dance as I considered it conducive to their health.’

As Bounty sailed into the higher latitudes, the hot tropical climate began affecting the crew, and Bligh believed this was the cause of an expanding sick list among his men. ‘Several have complained of faintness towards midday,’ Bligh observed. Accordingly, he insisted everything be done to maintain their health. This involved the widest possible range of food for them and a series of concoctions, which by today’s standards are beyond comprehension: soup thickened with pearl barley, salt meat, a beverage made from Elixir Vitriol, ‘thick barley gruel constantly for breakfast’, vinegar, mustard and sauerkraut.

Soon there was another confrontation with the surgeon, and Bligh’s frustration surfaced once more: ‘The doctor’s intoxication has given me much trouble these last five days…’

Despite this, Bligh’s log the following day reveals he tried desperately to reason with the surgeon in the hope he would ‘turn sober again’: ‘I sent for the surgeon and in the most friendly manner requested him to leave off drinking, but he seemed not sensible of anything I said to him and it had little effect,’ Bligh wrote.

When the surgeon was too drunk to get out of his bunk for four days, Bligh had no alternative but to order his cabin searched and all alcohol removed. Huggan soon emerged from his drunken hibernation and was back on deck in a sober state, much to Bligh’s relief as he had an important task for him to carry out before their arrival in Tahiti:

As I have some reason to suppose the Otaheitans have not been visited by any ships since Captain Cook, I hope they may have found means together with their natural way of living, to have eradicated the venereal disease. To prove this and free us from any ill-founded suppositions, that we might renew the complaint, I have directed the surgeon to examine very particularly every man and officer and to report to me his proceedings. This was accordingly done and he reported every person totally free from the venereal complaint.

By now Bounty had swept up out of the Southern Ocean and was for the first time enjoying the influence of the south-east trade winds, and Bligh’s navigation confirmed that the Society Islands would come into view within forty-eight hours. Accordingly, it became increasingly important for the ship’s lookouts positioned in the rig to be even more vigilant, and they were. During the morning of 25 October the eagerly anticipated call came from aloft: the small volcanic island of Maitea (Mehetia), the easternmost of the Society Islands, had loomed over the horizon. Before long they were cruising past the northern shore of Maitea in such close proximity that the crew could see a small group of islanders on the shore waving large pieces of cloth. Bounty continued on a course to the west towards the northern side of Tahiti, which was a further eighty-five nautical miles away, and at six o’clock that evening it was sighted.

Early the next morning, as the well-travelled ship and its weary crew rounded Point Venus at the entrance to the expansive Matavai Bay, they were welcomed by a huge fleet of canoes. The arrival was as exciting for the Englishmen as it was for the locals, who were eager to clamber aboard and welcome their visitors. But first they had to be assured that these foreigners were friends and not foe, and establish that they came from ‘Pretanee’ (Britain), the home of their great friend Captain Cook.

With a rapport between the two sides then established, there was no stopping them: the islanders, men and women, came over the side en masse shouting words of welcome and celebrating Bounty’s arrival. Within ten minutes there were so many visitors that Bligh, who stood regal and proud in his full naval uniform, had trouble locating any of his crewmembers, and understandably so. They were surrounded by a plethora of exotic near-naked, caramel-skinned women, many exuding a beauty and allure beyond belief. They had discovered paradise – and it was obvious to Bligh that it was going to be too difficult and dangerous under the circumstances to move the ship any further into the bay. The captain had no option but to call for the anchor to be released. Within minutes the two sides were exchanging gifts and the Bounty crew knew that they were among friends.

When Bligh and his men did have time to reflect on what lay in the wake of the ship, they had every right to feel proud: they had sailed more than 27,000 nautical miles since leaving England – already the equivalent of circling the world at the equator – covering an average 108 nautical miles a day at a mean speed of 4.5 knots.