CHAPTER NINE

New Holland, 1789

The incredible launch voyage

Having reached Tofua safely, then over the following four days managing to find only a meagre replenishment of supplies, Bligh and all but one of his eighteen men had made their incredible retreat from the island in the face of the cold-blooded horde of tribesmen – all of whom were intent on slaughtering them. Having just witnessed John Norton being brutally stoned to death on the beach, they knew there was no turning back, even though the heavily laden launch was already under threat of being overwhelmed and sunk by a strengthening gale and seas that were on the rise. The oarsmen continued to pull hard as the launch headed for the horizon and the sun descended. There was little talk, the atmosphere being one of stunned disbelief, shock and wonder.

They knew their only option was to attempt the extremely dangerous passage across the open ocean to Timor and the Dutch East Indies if they were to have any chance of making it to England. They were in the hands of the elements in what would be a perilous voyage of more than 3,600 nautical miles. There was little going for them: Bligh had been grudgingly allowed the very basics of navigation equipment by Fletcher Christian – he didn’t even have a chart to work from – so it would be his skill as a mariner and navigator, his scant knowledge of the northern waters of New Holland’s east coast and the area around Timor, along with his leadership and the dedication of his men, that would get them through. In their favour was the prevailing wind at that time of year, a south-east trade wind, placing their destinations downwind. Still, this didn’t guarantee safe passage. So many other circumstances could wipe them from the face of the sea: starvation, because of the miserable amount of food on board; rudder or rigging failure; and exposure to the extremes of wind, rain, sun and salt water. Beyond this, their ever-present and unwelcome companion would be the threat of capsize, or the boat succumbing to the ferocity of the wild weather and the breaking waves they would inevitably face. They were not deterred, however, as this was their only path to salvation.

Before nightfall, and with the glow of the volcano atop Tofua still evident in the east, the men took stock of their provisions: near 150 pounds of bread, twenty-eight gallons of water, twenty pounds of cured pork, three bottles of wine, and five quarts of rum. There were also a few coconuts and some breadfruit, but the latter had been trampled and crushed while they were escaping from Tofua. Bligh did some calculations, then advised his men that what food they had would last eight weeks providing they rationed it to one-and-a-half ounces of bread and a quarter-pint of water – about a cupful – per man per day. The pork would be treated as a delicacy for as long as possible. The men accepted this decision ‘with a great deal of cheerfulness’.

Bligh knew that despite the worsening conditions it was safer to head off shore immediately instead of holding a position in the lee of the island, his theory being that if they stayed close to shore the islanders could be lurking at first light and resume the pursuit. So, from that moment, what is today recognised as a near impossible and unparalleled voyage across uncharted seas, was underway.

It was eight o’clock. Bligh had already called for the smallest area of sail possible to be set – a deep-reefed fore-lugsail – and subsequently divided the men into watches: ‘Our lodgings are very miserable and confined and I have it only in my power to remedy this by putting ourselves at watch and watch so that one half is sitting up while the other has no other bed than the bottom of the boat or upon a chest and nothing to cover us but the Heavens.’

It was baptism by fire, or more fittingly, flood, during that first night. Conditions deteriorated to the point where as many hands as possible were doing their best to bail water out as fast as it was delivered by the succession of waves bursting over the stern and cascading through the length of the boat. This water was particularly hazardous whenever the launch surfed down a large wave because it would flood to the forward sections, and its weight, combined with that of the men forced to sit at the bow, could easily cause the boat to nose-dive and submerge. If that happened, there would be no chance of recovery: eighteen wretched souls would be hurled into the ocean, all destined to perish.

This water also got to their food, as Bligh revealed: ‘Our bread was in bags, and in danger of being spoiled by the wet: to be starved to death was inevitable, if this could not be prevented … Fortunately the carpenter had a good chest in the boat, into which I put the bread the first favourable moment.’ This comment, and the complete detail of the entire open-boat odyssey, was recorded dutifully by Bligh in a notebook he appropriated from Thomas Hayward soon after the mutiny. Somehow he managed to protect it safely from the elements (‘kept in my bosom’) for the duration of the voyage, and fortunately, by making his notes and sketches using indelible iron gall ink, it exists to this day. Among the entries are navigational recordings, rough sketch charts of some of the islands they passed, and a chart showing the launch’s track through the Great Barrier Reef and onwards. Its contents were subsequently used in the case against the ten mutineers who were eventually captured and returned to England.

As the tempest continued to rage, the men bailing frantically found their efforts frustrated by equipment lying in the bilge of the boat and washing around. Everyone recognised this as being another critical threat, so Bligh had no hesitation in ordering that each man retain only one spare set of clothing and that ‘the rest be thrown overboard, with some rope and spare sails’. This move lightened the boat, which made it a little more manageable in the rough conditions.

They sailed through the night under the heavily reefed lugsail – just enough to hold them on course and provide sufficient speed to lessen the chance of their being pooped by a big breaking wave. The blazing red sunrise the next morning would soon confirm there was truth in the seafarers’ adage ‘Red sky in the morning, sailor’s warning’ because within hours the wind was blowing at gale force. There was no Beaufort scale back then, but this probably translated to around thirty to thirty-five knots: ‘The seas ran so high that when we were between them the sail was becalmed then when we were on top of the sea it proved too much to be set, but I was obliged to carry it because we were now in very eminent danger of distress, the sea curling over the stern by then was obliging us to bail with all our might. A situation equally horrible perhaps was never experienced.’ Having endured the full ferocity of this first night at sea, and with everyone then literally fighting to save themselves and their shipmates, Bligh felt it was appropriate to reward them: ‘I now served a teaspoon of rum to each person, (for we were very wet and cold) with a quarter of a breadfruit, which was scarce eatable, for dinner.’

The captain also realised that the course they were holding towards northern New Holland might mean they would sight the rumoured islands of Feejee (Fiji). This was a long shot, though. The only indication of where this chain of islands was located, as Bligh recalled, came from the most basic information – that is, when islanders in Annamooka had pointed in a general west-north-west direction during Captain Cook’s third voyage. Still, the thought of being the first European to discover them excited him. He and everyone else aboard the launch knew that after their close call with the islanders at Tofua, they would only land there in the most extreme of circumstances.

The conditions were not doing the men any favours: the tropics it was, but the weather was anything but balmy and benign, and the wind was no longer a gentle and refreshing trade wind. Forty-eight hours on from Tofua, they were still in the middle of a severe storm which, in addition to endangering the vessel, brought extreme levels of cold and fatigue to all on board: ‘The nights were very cold, and at daylight our limbs were so benumbed, that we could scarce find the use of them. At this time I served a teaspoonful of rum to each person, which we all found great benefit from.’ However, spirits lifted on this same day, 4 May, when they saw a small, flat island in the distance. During the next twenty-four hours other islands kept emerging above the horizon ahead and before long Captain Bligh and his men felt convinced they were the first Europeans to ever sight Fiji. As satisfying as this was, there was disappointment on board when the men realised some of the bread was already rotten. It was vital to their survival, however, so they decided it should be eaten.

To this point, Bligh’s navigation had been little more than dead-reckoning based around the latitude and longitude of their departure point, the average course, and an estimation of their speed through the water. But now necessity became the mother of invention; using bits and pieces he’d found in the launch he made a crude form of a log which, if it worked, would provide a reasonably accurate reading on their speed: ‘I had hitherto been scarcely able to keep any account of our run; but we now equipped ourselves a little better, by getting a log-line marked, and, having practiced at counting seconds, several could do it with some degree of exactness.’ This makeshift log-line comprised a length of light rope with a series of knots tied in it at a given distance – in this case they probably used the overall length of the launch or an oar as a measurement guide. A block of timber, weighted so it was barely buoyant, was attached to one end of the line and lowered over the side into the water. This block would remain almost stationary in the water as the boat moved forward, and while one crew member counted the knots in the line passing through his hands another would count the time to fifteen seconds. Then, by knowing how much line had run out in that time, they were able to calculate how long it had taken the boat to cover a known distance. Using that figure for the conversion, they could determine how many nautical miles (one nautical mile equaling 6,076 feet) they were covering in an hour.

Bligh’s resourceful seamanship came to the fore in this predicament. His judgement had to be perfect if everyone onboard was to survive. His superior seamanship and navigation, plus a rigid control of rations, were vital. However, Bounty’s master, John Fryer, would have you believe none of this judging by the narrative he wrote about the voyage following his return to England. His relationship with Bligh had been strained for much of the time since they arrived in Tahiti and after the mutiny he had become increasingly truculent. Once home, his sympathies turned towards the mutineers and the more rebellious of the men in the launch, so much so that after Bligh was lauded in England for his remarkable achievement, Fryer wrote, ‘There was others in the boat – that would have found their way to Timor as well as Captain Bligh and made everyone with them more pleasant.’

Apart from the daily ration of bread, the men were, at this stage, receiving a quarter of a pint of coconut milk and two ounces of pork each day, and as paltry as this appeared, it was proving to be sufficient. One day, though, they thought for a brief moment they might experience a change of diet when they hooked a fish on a lure trailing behind the launch – ‘but we were miserably disappointed by it being lost in getting into the boat’.

Their real concern was that unless heavy rain fell and they could capture it effectively their water supply might be exhausted before they reached New Holland. Up until now, there had been too much salt spray in the air when it had been raining heavily, so it was not drinkable. They knew they had the option to land on any of the islands surrounding them and search for food and water, but as Bligh explained, it was not worth the risk: ‘I dared not to land, as we had no arms, and were less capable to defend ourselves than we were at Tofua.’

The following day, 7 May, their voyage almost ended in disaster when they unwittingly sailed across a coral reef covered by little more than three feet of water. Fortunately, the depth stayed constant and they didn’t run aground, so they made their way safely to the other side of the reef and deep water. Had they been in a much larger vessel, they would have grounded on this well-camouflaged hazard and possibly been wrecked.

While the launch meandered its way through this maze of spectacular and often rugged islands of ‘Feejee’, Bligh the marine cartographer came to the fore. He sketched the profile of many of the islands and also approximated their position by noting a latitude and longitude. As a result, Bligh created the first-known chart of the Fiji Islands – or Bligh’s Islands as they were originally named.

Just hours after their first close call with a reef the launch went within yards of being swept onto one of the islands. A sudden change in the current forced them towards it, and they avoided being wrecked by rowing as hard as they could towards deep water. This relief was to be short-lived once more, as another threat emerged:

We now observed two large sailing canoes coming swiftly after us along the shore, and, being apprehensive of their intentions, we rowed with some anxiety, being sensible of our weak and defenceless state … Only one of the canoes gained upon us, and by three o’clock in the afternoon was not more than two miles off, when she gave over chase. Whether these canoes had any hostile intention against us is a matter of doubt; perhaps we might have benefited by an intercourse with them, but in our defenceless situation it would have been risking too much to make the experiment.

In John Fryer’s recollection of events during the voyage, he agreed in general with what Captain Bligh had written in his narrative. However, this apparent threat from the canoes was one situation where there was some dissension among the crew: ‘When the canoes were chasing us I was rowing and Captain Bligh was steering, and both Mr Cole and Mr Elphinston found fault with Captain Bligh’s steerage, to the point where they were very much alarmed. When one of the canoes was gaining on us the Captain said, “Hurry my lads. If they come up to us they will cut us all to pieces.”’

Fryer then claims that Bounty’s sailmaker, Lawrence Lebogue, challenged the captain, saying his decision to run was frightening everyone ‘out of our wits’. He suggested they should stand and fight, and declared that Bligh was seen to be ‘the first man frightened’. Fryer stepped in, telling Lebogue, ‘If you speak another word, I will come and heave you overboard …’ With that, the confrontation passed.

Bligh later reflected that these canoes were the same style as those of the Friendly Isles, confirming he was correct in not wanting to land on any of the islands. The similarity between designs left ‘little room to doubt of their being the same kind of people’.

This exhausting day did finish on a high note, with a powerful thunderstorm allowing them to catch enough rainwater to increase their store to thirty-four gallons. It was the first time since they had begun their enforced voyage that they could completely quench their parched palates. But while their thirst was quenched, pain from the forced confinement was starting to wrack their bodies. Bligh wrote, ‘Our limbs were dreadfully cramped, for we could not stretch them out, and the nights were so cold, and we were constantly wet, that after a few hours sleep we could scarce move.’

His effort to be fair to all in distributing the rations was made easier a week into the passage when he created a set of scales made from two coconut shells. Fortunately the men had found some pistol balls in the bottom of the launch, and in knowing twenty-four of these weighed one pound, Bligh used one as the appropriate counterweight to balance the ration of food for each man: ‘I now served each person an ounce of the rotten bread and a gill [about half a cup] of water for their supper.’ During the day he had also taken time to prepare his men for the worst. He knew there was no guarantee he or any of the crew would survive this ordeal, so he wisely decided to pass on his knowledge of the location and coastal environment of New Guinea and New Holland – thanks to his time with Captain Cook – so that they might be able to navigate their way there, and remain safe, should he not survive the passage. He also made some sketches for them.

While they continued to gain confidence in their handling of the launch they still held grave concerns about being swamped by the worst of waves during a severe storm, so they took the opportunity of fair weather to erect a ‘weather cloth’. Using some canvas, and by rigging rope shrouds between the gunwales and the masts, they were able to create a ten-inch-high curtain around the boat that effectively increased the freeboard and gave them a better chance of keeping water out. Just hours later their handiwork was put to the test and it possibly saved them:

About 9 o’clock in the evening the clouds began to gather and we had a prodigious fall of rain with severe thunder and lightning. By midnight we caught about 20 gallons of water. We were now miserably wet and cold. I therefore served to each person about a teaspoon full of rum to enable us to bear with our distressed situation … The weather continued to be extremely bad and the wind increased. We spent a very distressing night without sleep in heavy rain. At daylight the only relief was the light itself. The sea was constantly breaking over us and we kept two persons bailing. We had no choice except to steer before the waves to avoid filling the boat.

Even in such atrocious weather Bligh did everything to plot their position as accurately as possible through dead reckoning: ‘I observed the latitude to be 15° 17′S; course N 67° W; distance [covered] 78 miles; longitude made 10° W’ Maintaining this record every day was essential as the Great Barrier Reef, off New Holland’s north-east coastline – a coral macrocosm standing as a natural fortress – was a near impenetrable barrier on which it would be all too easy to come to grief. It was vital to know when they needed to be on high alert.

Having left the islands of Fiji, Bligh set a course he hoped would see them leave the New Hebrides to their south – but it was only a guess because, without charts, they were all but sailing blind. In the following five days the eighteen seafarers endured a constant barrage of thunderstorms and gales: elements that combined to generate large and malicious breaking seas. Scant sail was set – only enough to provide some degree of safety and steerage – but it remained a white-knuckle ride. Each time the low-lying launch was picked up by the surge of a following sea it would shoot forward in a cumbersome fashion, rolling from gunwale to gunwale and copping a bellyful of seawater over the side at the same time. While two sailors were head-down in the bilge and bailing frantically, the anxious looks on the faces of the others said everything: they knew they were as close to the brink as they ever wanted to be. So much could go wrong; deep down the men prayed that the pintles and gudgeons, the hinges that attached the rudder to the transom, did not fail. If they did, the launch would immediately broach, lie beam-on to the seas, and water would overwhelm them. It would be the end.

Bligh’s notes said everything:

Gales and very squally weather with a high breaking sea, so that we are miserably wet and suffer great cold in the night. In the morning at day break I served to every person about a teaspoon full of rum … Our limbs being so cramped as scarce to feel the use of them. Our situation was now highly dangerous, the sea frequently running over our stern which kept us bailing with all our strength. At noon the sun appeared which gave us as much pleasure as in a winter day in England.

Then the next day: ‘Having again experienced a dreadful night, the day showed to me a poor, miserable set of beings full of wants but nothing to relieve them. Some complained of great pains in their bowels, and all of having but little use of their limbs. What sleep we got was scarce refreshing being covered with sea and rain, and two persons were always obliged to keep bailing.’

Hour after hour, day after day, the gales and heinous conditions continued unabated, as did the suffering for the men. Since there was no chance of drying their clothes, Bligh told everyone to strip down and wring their clothes in the ocean: ‘by which means they received a warmth which they wouldn’t have enjoyed while wet with rain. It would assist them in being more exempt from catching cold, and violent rheumatic complaints … constantly shipping water and very wet suffering much cold and shivering in the night … constantly bailing.’

First light had barely presented itself at six o’clock on the morning of 14 May when, in the distance, stretching from the port aft quarter to the port forward quarter of the launch, there were four large and high islands, between eighteen and twenty-two nautical miles away. During the next six hours they sighted two more islands, and more came within the following twenty-four hours. These were the New Hebrides, but Bligh remained uncertain because, without any charts, he had no way of confirming it. Like all European explorers venturing into this region, he knew of the existence of the New Hebrides: they had been discovered in 1602 by Spaniard Pedro Fernáez de Quirós a man who, unfortunately for him, was best remembered for being the least significant of all the great Portuguese and Spanish explorers over two centuries. Because the main island was so large, Quirós hought he had discovered the much searched for Great Southern Continent, so he named it Terra Australis del Espiritu Santo – the Southern Land of the Holy Spirit. Immediately after this discovery his sailors mutinied and forced him to sail home to Spain – so he didn’t get to explore any of his find.

Reaching the New Hebrides meant that in two weeks these eighteen abandoned men had already defied an almost certain death and covered some 1,200 nautical miles of treacherous open ocean at an average of 4 knots – and they were about halfway to the coast of New Holland. This should have brought them joy, but the constant hammering from the weather, the lack of food, and the sheer fatigue they were facing had every one of them wondering if they could go the distance. Bligh described this ‘miserable situation’:

We are now but little better than starving with plenty [of islands] in view, but we could not risk going ashore to get relief – prolonging of life even in the midst of misery is preferable while we have hopes of surmounting all our hardships. For my own part I consider the general run of cloudy and wet weather to be a providential blessing to us. Hot weather would have caused us to have died raving mad with thirst, yet now, although we sleep covered with rain or sea, we do not suffer that dreadful calamity.

During the previous few days the wind had been significantly southerly in its direction, so Bligh was concerned they might be making too much leeway and they might be driven onto the coast of New Guinea, ‘In which case most probably an end to our voyage would soon be the consequence.’ So, with the gale still blowing and the seas literally breaking over the launch, he had to take the risk and insist that the course be held more to the south in a bid to avoid such a catastrophe.

From this point the men were confronted by nothing else but a 1,200-nautical-mile open expanse of ocean. There would be no point of refuge until they were safely inside the Great Barrier Reef. Everyone was starting to look emaciated – they were starving – and while Bligh would have liked to distribute larger portions of food, he stood steadfastly by his original plan, except for the odd occasion when he decided to include one ounce of pork with each serving.

By now the magnitude of their plight was unimaginable. Incredibly, while bailing to keep the boat afloat was originally looked upon as an exhausting and unpleasant chore, it was now considered to be their only form of exercise. If there was another pleasure to be had, it was the rum: ‘The little rum I have is of great avail to us, when our nights are peculiarly distressing I issue a teaspoon full to each person, which brings joyful tidings when they hear of my intentions.’

After sixteen days at sea the men would have been forgiven for thinking they had survived everything nature could throw at them, but on this day it was obviously the devil who was dealing: at midday a waterspout came whirling across the sea surface and almost scored a direct hit. It was yet another miracle escape.

Bligh had now plotted a course he hoped would see the launch reach New Holland well to the south of what is now Cape York. This tactic would allow him to sail north along the eastern edge of the Great Barrier Reef, for some distance if necessary, in search of an opening to the protected water inside the reef. From there they could easily reach shore and search for food before starting the next stage towards Timor. But would they even get to New Holland? On 19 May, Bligh’s log revealed some serious concerns: ‘Constant rain and at times a deluge. Always bailing. At dawn of day some of my people half-dead. Our appearances were horrible. Extreme hunger is now evident, but thirst no one suffers. What little sleep we get is in the midst of water, and we wake with severe cramps and pains in the bones.’ A few hours later things were looking up: ‘At noon the sun shone out and revived everyone.’ But the following day the worst weather had returned, and they were beginning to wonder how much more torture they could bear before surrendering:

Our distress is now extremely great – we are covered with so much rain and sea breaking over us that we can scarce see or make use of our eyes. Sleep, although we long for it, is horrible: for my part I seem to live without it. We suffer extreme cold and every one dreads the approach of night. About 2 o’clock in the morning we experienced a most extreme deluge of rain. It fell so heavy that we were afraid it would fill the boat, so we were obliged to bail with all our might. It continued until dawn, when I served a large allowance of rum.

The following two days were even worse:

Our situation today highly perilous. If ever men experienced the power and goodness of divine providence we have done so this day. Several heavy seas broke over us and almost filled the boat. Obliged to carry sail yet tremble every minute for losing the mast. Our present situation would make the boldest seaman tremble that ever lived. We are obliged to steer a course running directly before the waves, which are breaking all over us. We must steer with the utmost care, as the least error with the helm would immediately bring our destruction.

Yet, even in such threatening conditions, Bligh also noted that he had, with great difficulty, made a sun observation at noon using his quadrant. He plotted a dead-reckoning position which put them about 200 nautical miles south of New Guinea’s easternmost island and 500 nautical miles from the outer edge of the Great Barrier Reef. They had been averaging an impressive 100 nautical miles each day during the gales.

If these desperate men, wedged shoulder-to-shoulder in this small, overburdened boat, thought they had by now seen and survived the worst of it, they were mistaken. The following day, 23 May, came from hell, and Bligh later wrote of his great concern that some of his men wouldn’t make it through the night. ‘Everyone complained of severe bone aches – all of which were cured to some measure by about two spoonfuls of rum. After that, having wrung our clothes and taken our breakfast of bread and water, we were a little refreshed.’

After a further twenty-four hours came the first signs of real relief from the appalling weather in more than two weeks. The sun broke through with enough warmth for the scrawny, unkempt men to strip off their threadbare clothes and hang them out to dry. Bligh then had to make an extremely difficult decision. He took stock of the amount of bread remaining: at the current rate of consumption there was enough to last twenty-nine days, but if they were unable to source any additional food on the coast of New Holland and forced to sail all the way to Java without replenishing supplies, then the bread would have to last six weeks. He was left with no alternative but to advise his men that if they wanted to ensure their survival, with there being no guarantees that other food would be found, each man would receive only ¹/24 of a pound of bread for breakfast and dinner, and none for supper. For Bligh, telling the men of the revised rations made him feel as though he was robbing them of life, but he assured them that should their situation improve, he would immediately increase the allowance.

Incredibly, within twenty-four hours of this decision came this entry: ‘Providence seems to be relieving our wants in a very extraordinary manner. At noon we caught a Noddy [by hand], about the size of a small pigeon. I divided it with its entrails into eighteen portions and by the method of “Who shall have this?”, it was issued, bones and all, with the allowance of bread for dinner. We used salt water for sauce.’ They then caught the first of two boobies, birds which, much to their delight, are generally found in close proximity to land. ‘Many of those flying about us almost landed on our heads. This bird is as large as a good duck. I directed it to be killed for supper and the blood was given to three of the most distressed for want of food. I divided the body, entrails, beak and feet into eighteen shares, and with an allowance of bread we made a good supper.’ To their great delight the stomach of the second booby contained several small flying fish and squid. These were kept as a treat – tiny morsels that they were – to be shared by all for dinner.

These birds were a positive signal that land was near, because soon after came more encouraging signs: they sailed past tree branches, some of which were encrusted with barnacles while others showed signs of not having been in the water for long. Bligh then brought a rise in spirits among the men when he declared they must be in close proximity to ‘the reefs of New Holland’. He ordered for the launch to be steered due west until the reef was sighted.

It was then twenty-five days since they had escaped with their lives from Tofua, and finally it appeared that the incessant gales were on the decline. As promising as that might have appeared, however, it created a different level of discomfort for the weather-weary sailors: ‘The weather is now serene but unhappily we feel we are not able to bear the sun’s heat, many of us suffering a languor and faintness which gives an indifference to life.’ For the majority there had been little to do since departing the island, unless it was their turn to bail the boat, which even in moderate conditions was a requirement that came every ten minutes. For those not engaged in bailing they could only hang on, try to contain their fear, and pray that they would some day see Mother England once more.

That afternoon, 27 May, Bligh became increasingly convinced that land was not far ahead: ‘The clouds stayed so fixed in the west that I had no doubt we were near to New Holland and every person, after taking his gill of water before supper began, enjoyed conversation on the probability of what they would find.’

At one o’clock the following morning came the sound every man had so desperately wanted to hear, even though it was a portent of danger. John Fryer told the story:

I had been asleep in the forward part of the boat and relieved Mr Peckover as lookout at 12 o’clock. About an hour later I said to the man that was steering the boat, ‘Don’t you hear a noise like the roaring of the sea against the rocks’, and the man said, ‘Yes sir, I think I do’. I then stood up against the mast for some time, and at last I saw the breakers ahead. I immediately woke Captain Bligh and told him that the breakers were in sight.

Bligh saw the line of breakers pounding on the reef just a quarter-mile to leeward – dangerously close. He called for the aft lugsail to be lowered immediately, and as soon as he did a number of the men located amidships scurried to meet the order. Simultaneously, he changed the course to the north-north-east while calling on others to man the oars and pull hard away to ensure they escaped what he felt was imminent danger. Suddenly the aches, pains and stress of being at sea in such an abysmal environment for a month seemed to be forgotten. There was an air of elation; men found strength, and after little more than ten minutes of effort they could no longer see or hear the breakers. Fryer later noted that he did not interpret the danger to be as great as Bligh saw it, but even if Fryer was correct, it was still the captain’s call: his job was to ensure the safety of the launch and all on board. This was another situation where there was no second chance.

By reaching the coast around 300 nautical miles south of the northernmost point of New Holland, Bligh had maximised his chance of finding a safe passage through the reef and reaching the shore. The search for that channel began at first light when, with sails again set, the launch bore away to the west – and into yet another perilous position. By nine o’clock the reefs were in sight once again. ‘The sea broke furiously over every part,’ Bligh later wrote. ‘I had no sooner got near to them, and beyond them we saw the water so smooth that every person already anticipated the heartfelt satisfaction he would receive as soon as we could accomplish my intention.’ But, unannounced, the wind changed direction and they realised the launch was then trapped in the crescent-shaped bay the reef formed; they could not clear either end of the long, curving reef, even by tacking and sailing as close to the wind as possible. Worse still, they were being blown to leeward towards the massive surf breaking onto the coral. Bligh continued: ‘Our situation was now dangerous. I expected but little from the men on the oars because they had no strength to pull them, and it was becoming more and more probable by the minute that I would have no option and I should be obliged to take the reef.’

The size of the pounding surf left no doubt that the chance of successfully executing such a manoeuvre – surfing down a wave without broaching, then hopefully finding enough water covering the coral so they could sail across it and into the smooth water – was beyond calculation. The boat would almost certainly be wrecked, with fatal consequences. Seaman that he was, Fryer realised the dangers they faced so hastened to the stem of the boat and stood as high as he could, holding on to the luff of the foresail for security while he scanned the long stretch of white water to leeward and ahead, looking for a break in it. From the stern Bligh called to him, ‘Mr Fryer, do you see anything?’ to which Fryer responded, ‘Yes sir. I see a place where there are no breakers.’

Bligh scrambled his way forward, between men and over thwarts, and quickly confirmed the sighting about one mile ahead, as well as an island in the same direction that was obviously inside the reef. With that he gave the helmsman the course to steer, and the two sails were trimmed to suit.

Initially it appeared to be a very narrow gap in the coral, but still there was no certainty it would lead to the sheltered leeward side of the reef: it might have just been an indentation that led to nowhere. However as they approached they realised it was a lot better than that. ‘When we came in to it we found that providence had guided us into one of the finest harbour mouths that possibly could be,’ Fryer wrote in his narrative. ‘I will leave the reader to judge what feelings a set of poor fellows must have had at such a time as this as I do not have words to express myself.’

Within thirty minutes the launch had entered the channel and was heading west with the aid of a strong following current. They were safe. Every man had survived against the most implausible odds. ‘We now returned God thanks for his gracious protection, and with much content took our miserable allowance of ¹/24 lb of bread and a gill of water for dinner.’