CHAPTER SEVEN

Friendly Isles, 1789

A seditious plot

The wind was still strong when Bounty cleared Matavai Bay, and its direction suited the chosen course of north-west-by-north, one that would lead to the island of Huahine, 100 nautical miles away. Once there, Bligh’s desire was to learn what he could of his friend Omai, a ‘noble savage’ who had freely left the island in 1773 with Captain Cook’s second South Pacific expedition and travelled with him to England. As the first Polynesian to visit the country, Omai became a sensation in English society, to which he was enthusiastically introduced by a proud Sir Joseph Banks. Bligh had befriended Omai during his return journey to Tahiti aboard Resolution, on Cook’s third expedition.

Once at the island Bligh decided it was best not to anchor. Instead he hoisted the Red Ensign to signal those on shore that the visiting ship they could see was British and friendly. He called for the ship’s progress to be slowed to a near stop by systematically being hove-to then making sail, a procedure undertaken in the hope that the islanders would have time to make their way out from the shore in their canoes before the ship drifted too far away – and they did. However, the news they brought of Omai saddened Bligh: he had died of natural causes ‘30 moons’ after returning home.

While doing his best to hold his ship close to land, Bligh could not prevent Bounty’s slow drift out to sea – simply due to the considerable windage her hull-profile and rig presented. So it was no surprise that the islanders became anxious and quickly departed when they realised the distance between ship and shore was expanding. The call came for the buntlines to be eased and the sails to be clewed down, then, along with the headsails and spanker, trimmed to the wind angle – and with that the ship bore away to the west-by-south, on track to the Friendly Isles (Tonga), the first actual stop on a route that would eventually take them to the West Indies, more than half a world away.

Over the next few days the crew was kept busy with wet and squally conditions. ‘Strong squalls with rain. Double reefed the topsails,’ was an entry in the log; then a few hours later: ‘Out all reefs fore topsail and loosed all staysails to dry.’

Despite the wet, it was solid sailing in a warm tropical environment, and Bounty claimed good miles. On the morning of 9 April, a sudden change came when a menacing, heavy black cloud rolled out of the east and headed for the ship. The crew readied themselves to reef the sails, then as they watched this ominous system close in, they were amazed to see a waterspout form and advance rapidly towards them. Knowing his ship could be seriously damaged should the twister hit, Bligh took no chances: he shouted an order to immediately alter course away from the waterspout, and for all sails to be taken in, except for the foresail, which would be enough to enable the helmsman to maintain steerage. Even so, the chance that the ugly vortex might hit Bounty remained real. The only thing the crew could then do was watch, wait and hope it would not make contact.

Those on deck were in awe as the spout continued on its deadly path; then as it came closer some took cover while others rushed down the companionway, seeking safety on the lower deck. The twister was almost frighteningly silent on approach – just a solid rustling sound – then it became a roar as it passed a mere ten yards from the stern. Bligh, as was probably the case for everyone else, had never been so close to this type of maritime phenomenon, so he was pleased to be able to record his impressions of the dangers it posed: ‘It is impossible to say what injury we should have suffered if it had passed directly over us. Masts I imagine might have been carried away, but I do not apprehend it would have endangered the loss of a ship.’

With Bounty sailing a route similar to that of previous voyages, there were no expectations of making any discoveries along the way. However, soon after sunrise on 11 April, there was great joy when an uncharted island was spotted about fifteen nautical miles to the south-south-west. It was what is now known as Aitutaki, an atoll in the Cook Island group measuring about twenty-five nautical miles in circumference. Conditions were terrible at the time: from tropical thunderstorms delivering squalls – some that put the sails aback and others that called for all sails to be taken in – through to calms that glued the ship to the sea surface. So it was no surprise that it took thirty hours for Bounty to reach a position three miles off the southernmost point of the reef that encircled the many islands making up the atoll.

During the approach Bligh plotted the island’s location on his chart and noted the dangers the reefs presented to navigators. He also observed that there was no sign of smoke from small fires, so it could be that the atoll was uninhabited.

From deck level he could easily see the white water being generated by the large ocean swells pounding on the reef. It was fair warning that it would be dangerous to take the ship much closer to shore, so he went aloft to survey the scene from the crow’s nest: ‘As I drew nearer to the southernmost key I discovered from aloft that there were a number of natives within the reefs, but as the sea broke dreadfully round them I imagined none were capable of getting through it to come out to us … I was however agreeably surprised by a visit from four men in a single canoe.’

He also realised he had discovered a true South Pacific paradise. There was a huge lagoon behind the reef and islands with long strips of white sand on their edges. The background for these beaches comprised thousands of coconut palms swaying in the warm trade wind.

As the canoe came alongside, Bligh beckoned the men to come aboard, and when they did they showed no apprehension or surprise – except that they would not venture below deck. Both sides were able to communicate in a basic form as the men spoke the same language as Tahitians.

During this sometimes difficult but effective discourse it became apparent that the islanders knew of hogs, dogs and goats, but they had none of them on their islands, so Bligh took pleasure in putting a young boar and sow aboard their canoe along with yams and taro. He added to this booty a knife, a small adze, some nails and a looking-glass. He expected the men would then leave the ship, but instead, while two of them boarded the canoe, the other two remained on deck and proposed that they stay all night – probably because some of the Bounty crew were trying to negotiate for women to be brought from the island for their pleasure then taken back the next morning. It is astonishing that these crewmembers would take it upon themselves to enter into such negotiations without any consultation with the commander, but it wasn’t to be: Bligh was already concerned for the safety of the ship, so to stop in such hazardous and uncharted waters overnight would have been unthinkable. He then told his visitors his predicament – that Bounty might be wrecked on a nearby reef should he choose to stay. On hearing this, the islander men decided to leave immediately.

The ship’s log on that day contained one additional brief but interesting note: ‘Punished John Sumner with twelve lashes for neglect of duty.’ There were no other details but a few days later Sumner would be among the ranks of the mutineers. Soon Bounty was under full sail again and being propelled into the night by a refreshing southerly breeze while heading towards Annamooka (in Tonga). At dusk the following day, 23 April, the easternmost of the islands in the group was sighted from the masthead, but unfortunately, with the wind as it was, the ship had to ply to windward for the next six hours for a gain of just ten nautical miles before anchoring in the safe shelter of the roads. It was by then too dark and dangerous to continue sailing any further through the reef-strewn waters, especially after having had one close call during their approach: ‘At two o’clock this afternoon in standing to the westward, we suddenly saw the bottom on which we had only at one time four fathoms. By direction from the lookout aloft we hauled to the northward and deepened in two minutes.’

In the morning Bounty was surrounded by canoes as it moved to the best anchorage at Annamooka, and while standing at the rail looking down on the friendly throng Bligh recognised a lame old man, Tepa, from when he was last there with Captain Cook twelve years earlier. Tepa was invited aboard, and soon after struggling up the boarding ladder from his canoe and being greeted on deck he was enquiring after Cook and others. He also told the captain that two chiefs Bligh had met there in 1777, Paulehow and Feenow, were at nearby Tongataboo and would shortly come to Bounty, but for some unknown reason they hadn’t arrived by the time the ship departed.

With Bounty manoeuvred into place, the call was made to release and lower the anchor, and here Bligh once again had cause to vent his anger over the lethargic and indifferent attitude that seemed to be spreading like a cancer throughout the ranks. The bower buoy, which is used to mark the location of the ship’s anchor, sank soon after the anchor had been set, and Bligh was adamant it was lost only ‘for want of a little exertion in Mr Elphinston, the mate, in getting into a boat to get hold of it’. The anchor had to be hauled up again and the buoy replaced.

While that exercise was underway the captain chose to be taken ashore so he could organise the ship’s wooding and watering requirements with the chiefs. About 300 people greeted Bligh when he reached the island. He was pleased to learn two things: that the convenient site Cook chose as a source of water remained the best, and the pineapples he had planted were proliferating.

Bligh took time to record in great detail the impressive and large ‘sailing canoes’ used by the islanders – the forerunner of the catamaran we know today. ‘What we call the canoe is formed of two joined together by strong cross-pieces … really a wonderful piece of art and contrivance, sailed with great swiftness and managed with much cleverness,’ he observed. ‘On the gunwale is erected a stupendous stage or platform strongly secured by lashings, and on this a hut or place of shelter, or sometimes a magazine for their provisions and valuable articles. In these vessels go whole families and a numerous attendance, and I have counted 90 passengers on board some of those that have already come to see us,’ he wrote.

At daybreak the following day two parties were sent ashore, one comprising eleven men under the direction of Fletcher Christian to collect water; the other, which saw four men join William Elphinston, to gather wood. Bligh ordered Christian’s party to be armed, but those arms were to remain in the boat, while Elphinston’s men were unarmed. Both groups were also directed to remain ‘unconnected with the natives’, but within an hour the ‘wooders’ had allowed themselves to be surrounded by an ‘amusing’ group of natives, and while they were distracted an axe and adze were stolen – both extremely valuable tools for the expedition. Bligh commented in the ship’s log after the incident:

The men cleared themselves of the neglect as they could not comply with every part of their duty and keep their tools in their hands, and they therefore merit no punishment. As to the officers [referring to Fletcher Christian in particular] I have no resource, or do I ever feel myself safe in the few instances I trust to them. These islanders are a clever dextrous set of people, and would ever take advantages if they saw people negligent… our iron utensils are jewels of inestimable value to them.

Later, with the assistance of Tepa, the axe was recovered, but not the adze.

Morrison’s journal gave a somewhat different account of the incident, stating that the islanders became threatening and ‘so troublesome that Mr Christian … found it difficult to carry on his duty’. He added that Bligh damned Christian for being a ‘cowardly rascal’, asking him if he was afraid of a set of naked savages while he had arms. Christian replied: ‘the arms are no use while your orders prevent them from being used …’

By the end of Sunday, 26 April, the expedition commander felt he was being slated from two sides – the natives on the island, and a growing number of his crew who were becoming increasingly intransigent. He had earlier sent Fryer ashore to collect more water, and the botanist, David Nelson, to gather some interesting species of plants. As a consequence: ‘these gentlemen both met with losses by the rabble. One lost the grapnel and the other a spade and met with some insults.’ The spade was soon located but the grapnel had vanished, so with the principal chiefs, Paulehow and Feenow, not being present to command the islanders and insist the missing grapnel be returned, Bligh took the law into his own hands. He decided to set sail while holding two lesser chiefs, and all other islanders who were then on board, as hostages, until it was delivered to the ship. He recalled:

At one o’clock in the afternoon, unmoored and got under way. Many canoes about us. I now told the two Tubows, Latoomylange Qunocappo and another old chief, that I should keep them on board until the grapnel was returned. Vastly surprised, canoes were sent away for it, but they notwithstanding assured me it could not be brought tonight for it was not on Annamooka but some other Island. I however detained them until sun down, when they began to be very uneasy and beat themselves about their eyes with their fists and at last cried bitterly. I now told them I should not detain them any longer and called their canoes alongside to take them in, at which they were exceedingly rejoiced, and when I presented each of them with a present of a hatchet, a saw and several large nails, knives and gimlets, they fell into a degree of crying and showed such gratitude and thanks for my goodness that it affected all of us. I told them all English people were their friends and that thieving from them was what they always resented. They acknowledged it and embracing me with a flood of tears we parted.

Regarding the loss of the grapnel, Morrison’s version contained some important points that possibly contributed in part to the mutineers seeing their act, which was less than forty-eight hours away, as being even more justified. He noted that, with the grapnel having been stolen and not recovered, Bligh had made prisoners of the chiefs and that the canoes alongside were ordered to cast off and stay astern of the ship. His journal reads: ‘At this the chiefs seemed much displeased and were ordered down to the mess room where Mr Bligh followed them and set them to peel coconuts for his dinner. He then came up and dismissed all the men but two, that were under arms.’ Morrison added that before the crew was dismissed the captain did not hold back in telling the officers and men ‘that they were a parcel of lubberly rascals’. Morrison then states that during this dressing-down Bligh aimed a pistol at William McCoy and threatened to shoot him for not paying attention. William McCoy would be one of the most active of the mutineers, a man who would subsequently die a violent death on Pitcairn Island.

Having set sail on the evening of 26 April, Bounty was by noon the next day sailing west-north-west between the islands of Tofua and Agoodoo. Bligh’s narrative relating to this part of the voyage, which was written some time after the event, concludes: ‘Thus far, the voyage had advanced in a course of uninterrupted prosperity, and had been attended with many circumstances equally pleasing and satisfactory. A very different scene was now to be experienced. A conspiracy had been formed, which was to render all our past labour productive only of extreme misery and distress …’

Interestingly, either because he didn’t place any great emphasis on it or had no desire to record it, Bligh made no reference to one final incident aboard Bounty which Morrison recorded at length: ‘In the afternoon of the 27th Mr Bligh came up, and taking a turn about the quarterdeck when he missed some of the coconuts which were piled up between the guns, upon which he said that they were stolen …’ Morrison reported that Bligh insisted this theft could not have taken place without the knowledge of the officers, but they denied all. According to Morrison:

Mr Bligh replied ‘then you must have taken them yourselves,’ … He then questioned every officer in turn concerning the number they had bought and coming to Mr Christian asked him. Mr Christian answered ‘I do not know, sir, but I hope you don’t think me so mean as to be guilty of stealing yours?’ Mr Bligh replied ‘Yes, you damned hound, I do. You must have stolen them from me or you could give a better account of them. God damn you, you scoundrels, you are all thieves alike, and combine with the men to rob me – I suppose you’ll steal my yams next, but I’ll sweat you for it, you rascals. I’ll make half of you jump overboard before you get through Endeavour Straits.’

He then called Mr Samuel and said ‘Stop these villains’ grog and give them but half a pound of yams tomorrow, and if they steal them I’ll reduce them to a quarter.’ The coconuts were carried aft and he went below. The officers then got together and were heard to murmur much at such treatment, and it was talked among the men that the yams would be next seized as Lieut Bligh knew that they had purchased large quantities of them and they set about secreting as many as they could of their own.

Virtually from this moment the embers that had ignited idle talk of a mutiny were now ablaze. Adding fuel to the flames was Bligh’s short fuse, tongue-lashings and his motives for floggings – and finally the incident relating to supposedly stolen coconuts. These potentially violent and hardened seafarers were mostly from the lower ranks, contemptuous of discipline, and had had enough.

As embittered as they were, though, by Bligh’s use of the lash, when compared with other Royal Navy captains, the revered Captain Cook included, Bligh was a restrained disciplinarian. Flogging was part of life in His Majesty’s Britannic Navy during this century: it was approved in the Articles of War. The fact is that over a period of sixteen months Bligh brought out the lash on just seven occasions, yet while Cook has been lauded as a hero, Bligh has been reviled, maligned and damned through modern history as a merciless flogging captain. Sir Joseph Banks, who knew both captains extremely well, gave this insight into Captain Cook’s management of his crew: ‘Cook’s sailors got more floggings than compliments … they got drunk whenever they could get drink. They had tapped every cask of wine on board. They grumbled and growled and swore.’ Also, while Bligh was known for his intolerance, sarcasm and anger towards his men, he mellowed as quickly as he exploded.

As night fell, Bounty sailed on while the conspirators counted those among them who would support a rebellion, and before long they knew an uprising against their captain could succeed: maritime history, beyond comprehension within the Royal Navy, was in the making.

During the early part of the night Bligh followed his usual procedure, first spending time at his desk below, checking charts then, with quill in hand, making entries in the ship’s log, the final one being: ‘Served fresh pork and yams as yesterday’ John Fryer recalled, ‘I had the first watch, and between ten and eleven o’clock Mr Bligh came on deck, as he always did, to leave his orders for the night. At that time we were on speaking terms – but I am sorry to say that was but seldom.’

Bligh paced the deck while making observations of wind, weather, sea conditions and the trim of the ship. He also chatted with Fryer and the man at the helm. At midnight, after giving his final instructions to Fryer, he went below to his cabin and retired for the night. For those on deck everything appeared very quiet. However, only yards away the conspirators were formulating the finer points of their clandestine and seditious plot.