Mutiny: A Novel of the Bounty

‘How long will we be docked?’ I asked him. ‘At the West Indies, I mean.’

  ‘Not long, I shouldn’t think,’ replied the captain. ‘A couple of weeks. We have more than a thousand breadfruit plants to transplant and I dare say by the time we get there we shall need to make some repairs to the ship and take on fresh supplies. Three weeks at most. Then it’s homeward bound.’

  Three weeks. More than enough time to make my move. And at least when I did so it would not be from an island, so I would not be caught as easily as Muspratt, Millward and Churchill. They wouldn’t see me for dust.

  The king was seated on his throne with Queen Ideeah by his side, just as he had been on the day, some three and a half months earlier, when we had first arrived to pay our respects. A servant was standing behind him, feeding him chunks of mango, for it was against protocol for the regal hand to feed the regal mouth itself. Our party consisted of the captain, all the officers with the exception of Mr Elphinstone, who remained on board the Bounty, and myself.

  Although the captain had presented Tynah with many gifts over the course of our stay, there were some final tokens to be presented and he did this with a flourish. Tynah accepted them gratefully and it seemed as if most of the islanders had come out to say goodbye to us. There was a terrible crying and wailing emerging from them as usual – I wondered whether it might not be in their interest for us to leave so that they might finally be cheered – and the women ran to the seashore, waving their arms hysterically at the sailors in the boat beyond.

  After the formalities were over, Tynah stood and took Captain Bligh aside to speak to him privately and the officers and natives milled around, speaking to one another. Stepping out of the forest at this time, who should I see but Kaikala, waving at me to come forward. I stood my ground for a moment or two but was finally led by another part of my anatomy and went towards her and was quickly dragged into the thickets out of sight of the rest of our party.

  ‘Yay-Ko,’ she said, kissing me again and again about the lips and cheeks as if her very life depended on it. ‘Where have you been? I have not seen you.’

  ‘The captain insisted we all stay on board,’ I explained. ‘I’m sure you know this.’

  ‘Yes, but couldn’t you find a way to escape? To come see your Kaikala?’

  ‘I suppose I could have,’ I said, stepping away from her and removing her arms from my body, despite the fact that every part of me wanted to throw her to the ground and take her there and then. ‘I suppose I could have swum ashore one night at great risk to my person and come to see you, but, had I done so, who knows what I might have discovered? I might have come to our special place and found you there, playing with Mr Heywood’s whistle in my place!’

  She looked at me as I said this and frowned. ‘Peet-a, you mean,’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, Peter,’ I said. ‘Peter Heywood, who is the lowest scut that the Saviour has ever put on hind legs. I find it astonishing that any Christian woman could lay a finger on him, so deformed is he.’

  ‘But Yay-Ko,’ she said with a smile, ‘I am not a Christian woman.’

  I opened my mouth to respond, but answer had I none to that. ‘How could you do it, Kaikala?’ I asked her, pleading with her now. ‘How could you betray me like that?’

  She shook her head and appeared genuinely mystified by what I was saying. ‘I have not betrayed you, Yay-Ko,’ she said.

  ‘I saw you with him,’ I insisted. ‘You took him as a lover.’

  ‘And that is a betrayal? Why?’

  I stared at her. At first I believed this was little more than further proof that we were from different cultures, but then I recalled my own idea that the men of the Bounty did not see relations with the women of the island as an infidelity, but merely as a need satisfied. Could it be that the women of the island felt the same way?

  ‘You asked him to take you back to England with him,’ I said.

  ‘He has denied me,’ she replied. ‘He came to see me last night. He told me there would be no more between us and that I could not come with him.’

  ‘Then, you are as badly deceived as I.’

  ‘So I told him that you would take me instead. I said that Yay-Ko would never leave Otaheite without me, that you would bring me to England and make me your wife and I would live in your palace and ride your horses and meet the king with you.’

  ‘Ah,’ I said, shrinking back a little. ‘That.’

  ‘And you know what Peet-a did? He laughed at me. He said that you were talking lies to me. That you have no palace, no horses. That you are not a rich man at all. And you talk to me of betrayal?’

  ‘Kaikala,’ I said, feeling suitably ashamed of myself, ‘I’m sorry. It seemed harmless at the time. I just thought that—’

  ‘Oh, Yay-Ko, it doesn’t matter,’ she said quickly. ‘I don’t care. I just want to leave. Will you take me with you?’

  ‘Turnstile!’ I heard a voice calling me from the beach; Captain Bligh’s.

  ‘It’s the captain,’ I said, turning away from her. ‘I must leave.’

  ‘No, wait,’ she shrieked, grabbing me by the arm. ‘Take me with you.’

  ‘I cannot,’ I said. ‘I have other plans. And as much as I care for you, after Mr Heywood . . . ? Never! Not in this world!’

  I made my way through the clearing and back to the beach, where the officers were standing by the launch, looking in all directions for me.

  ‘There you are, Turnstile,’ shouted the captain. ‘For a moment there I worried you had deserted us yourself. Get a move on, boy. We return to the ship.’

  ‘Sorry, Captain,’ said I. ‘I didn’t hear—’

  No further did I get in my sentence, for I heard the sound of running and screaming behind me and saw the eyes of the officers open wide. I thought for a moment I had been murdered, for something landed on my back and knocked me off my feet to the sand below. It was Kaikala.

  ‘Take me with you, Yay-Ko,’ she cried. ‘Please. I will be good wife to you.’

  I sat up and scrambled back, shocked by the look of madness in her eyes, and looked towards the officers and captain, each of whom was laughing wildly at my situation, except for Mr Heywood, who looked furious that Kaikala was beseeching me to marry her, and not begging him instead.

  ‘I can’t,’ I said, rushing for the launch. ‘Captain, tell her!’

  ‘Oh, Turnstile, I think you have made a pretty bed here!’

  ‘Captain, please!’

  ‘I’m sorry, miss,’ he replied then, wiping a tear of laughter from his eye. ‘It’s quite impossible. A ship is no place for a lady.’

  We jumped in and the launch sailed out into the water, but it did not stop her yet, for she came swimming after us and almost received a bang on her head from the oars for her trouble.

  ‘Good God, Turnip,’ said Mr Christian. ‘You must have hidden talents of which we were unaware.’

  I frowned and didn’t dare look at Mr Heywood. Within minutes she was tiring and we were getting closer to the Bounty. I watched as the men still laughed and saw her turn for the shore, her head bobbing up and down in the surf as she disappeared out of my life for ever.

  She had hurt me, it was true.

  She had betrayed me, although she did not see it as a betrayal.

  And she had certainly behaved in a fashion at the end that made me glad that I had chosen to leave her behind.

  But still, I had loved her for a time. My first love. And she had taught me things about myself. I was sorry to see her go. There, that’s the truth of it. And if it makes me sound a nance, then so be it.

  39

  AND SO WE LEFT.

  The island disappeared behind us, the men resumed their duties, the breadfruit plants were safely stored in the hold, the captain was happy to be back at sea, the officers appeared satisfied to walk the decks and issue orders, and I returned to my place outside the captain’s cabin, ready to give service, plotting my escape, and wondering where my life might take me after the West Indies.
br />   If you had asked me, I would have said that the men – all the men – were sorry to have left Otaheite behind them but understood that all good things must cease. That is what I would have said and it was what I believed.

  But then, as you know very well, I would have been quite wrong.

  40

  WHEN I LOOK BACK AT the few short weeks that passed between leaving Otaheite and the night of which I write now, it astonishes me to recall that there was an entire universe of disappointment, despondency and conspiracy taking place on board the Bounty of which I was entirely ignorant. It seems to me now that there were four separate groups on board the ship: the first was a party of one, the captain himself; the second, his officers; the third, the sailors; and the fourth, another party consisting of only one soul – myself – a boy trapped between his responsibilities to the ship’s commander and the separation that existed between the crew and me. Many was the night that I went on deck in search of conversation and company, only to be snubbed by my fellows, who thought that anything they might say to me would be transported directly back to the captain. An unfair charge, certainly, considering that I had never once betrayed a trust in more than eighteen months on board, and if my dishonesty was to be asserted simply by regard to the proximity of my bunk to the captain’s, well, then there was naught I could do to change minds.

  There was, at times, a certain level of jealousy attached to my position too. I had the ear of the captain, that was plain to all. He looked at me with a certain fondness, although had he known of my continuing desire to escape the ship that fondness might have altered into something more sinister. But the men also liked to make kiss with him; whenever he was on deck, in tolerant form, and willing to exchange pleasantries with a sailor, then that sailor would be up on his hind legs telling the captain every piece of information he required and plenty more besides, offering intelligence about his own life back home and the people he missed. It came down to this: the captain was in charge, he was the power, and every man likes to be under the rays of the sun.

  But still, it meant that I was privy to nothing.

  On the evening of 28th April, I was restless of spirit. We had been away from Otaheite for almost three weeks but we were a long distance yet from the West Indies. The weather was unremarkable and a spirit of ennui had settled over all. From those conversations that I did hear, I knew that the men, rather than putting their experiences on the island behind them, appeared to be missing them more and more. They talked of the women they had left behind, of the peaceful days they had enjoyed there and that had ended all too soon. They spoke of a paradise lost to them for ever. And then they got back down on their hands and knees and scrubbed the deck.

  At nights, when Mr Byrn would take out his fiddle so that we might dance, as were the captain’s orders, to keep our bodies exercised, there was scarcely a man who did not look around at these sweating, tired sailors kicking their skinny limbs around them and imagine the fires, and the natives, and the music of the islands; the dancing that would lead to them being dragged into the sands and given as much pleasure as they could take on any night. The Bounty, it was clear to all, was no substitute for the island.

  The captain was suffering a sick headache and had gone to bed early, which was a blessing in itself, for he had been in a foul mood all day, damn-and-blasting his way around the decks, throwing insults at the officers more than the men, and I had made sure to stay close enough to him that I was near by if needed, but far enough away that I wouldn’t catch his eye and suffer a roasting of my own. What was inspiring this fit of pique, I knew not, only that when he entered his bed that evening there was a spirit of antipathy present around all the decks and scarcely a man on board who would not have wished that he might sleep for several days hence.

  It was too early for me to sleep, however, and so I wandered on to the main deck in search of a little fresh air. I saw most of the crew gathered together towards the foresail, Mr Byrn playing his fiddle quietly, as the low hum of conversation came my way. Before stepping towards them, however, I took a fit of irritation and thought that I did not seek company after all, not that evening. They would only end their conversation when they saw me anyway and I did not desire the snub. I turned on my heel instead and walked towards the mizzen-sail, where, as far as my eye could see, there was peace and solitude to be had. I had left my shoes below deck, so my approach made no sound as I walked along.

  I stood by the rail and looked out into the dark night, staring in the direction from which we had come, and quickly I realized that near by, but not at a point where I could see who was there, a conversation was taking place. One of the voices quite obviously belonged to Mr Christian; the other, I was unsure about. I barely took any notice of it at all until something in the tone and the wordplay made me cock up my ears. I recount that conversation now as I heard it.

  ‘I am in hell,’ said Mr Christian, stressing the final word, and I swear by the sound of his voice he sounded like a man who was suffering an extreme of the anxieties. ‘I cannot take it any longer.’

  ‘We are all in hell, sir,’ said the second voice. ‘But the days are passing by. We get further away with every hour of the clock. It must be tonight.’

  ‘I can’t . . . I am unsure,’ he replied. ‘But his insults are too much, his madness. Why should he be in charge anyway? Do you know who his people are? Does anyone? And I, sired by a great family, am reduced to this?’

  ‘Sir, it’s not a question of charge, it’s a question of where we choose to live. And how.’

  A great silence ensued and I frowned, wondering what they could be talking of. Perhaps now it seems ignorant of me not to have realized it, but it is only with the knowledge of how that night ended that such an accusation could be made of me. I would never have thought that matters had come to such a head.

  ‘Will it be tonight, sir?’ said the second voice.

  ‘Do not push me!’ cried Mr Christian.

  ‘Will it be tonight?’ insisted the man, and I wondered who it could be that would speak to the master’s mate in such a tone; only a fellow officer? But no, the officers, even the scut, had voices of the gentry. This man did not.

  ‘It will,’ replied Mr Christian finally. ‘You believe that we will have all the men?’

  ‘I would swear on it. Their memories are short. Their hearts are on the island.’

  There was further conversation for a few more moments before the two men separated; I looked over to my left and saw a figure walking back towards the sailors, but in the darkness of the late night I could not make out his form. Instead I turned back to the sea and frowned, considering the words I had heard. And here’s the farce of it: I was all set to put the matter out of my head and think no more of it, considering it to have been a conversation about some trifling matter of little concern to me, only at that moment Mr Christian himself appeared from my other side, walking quickly and purposefully towards me, before stopping suddenly when we met, his mouth falling open in surprise as if he had never laid eyes on so glorious a form as mine before.

  ‘Turnip,’ he said. ‘You are here.’

  ‘Aye, sir,’ I replied, turning to look at him. ‘The captain is asleep. I thought I would take the air.’

  ‘You have been standing there long?’

  I stared at him and frowned, suddenly aware that to suggest I had overheard their words could be to my detriment. ‘No, sir,’ I replied. ‘I just got here.’

  He narrowed his eyes and looked at me. ‘You wouldn’t be lying to me, Turnip, now, would you?’

  ‘I, sir?’ I asked, all innocence. ‘Not in this world! The last time I told a lie was to a shopkeeper in Portsmouth, when I said that his apples had worms in them and I wanted a sixpence or I would tell the street.’

  He shook his head quickly and turned to look in the same direction as I. ‘You are looking towards the island,’ he said, in a more friendly tone now than before. ‘You are faced towards Otaheite.’

  ‘So I a
m,’ I replied. ‘I hadn’t thought of it.’

  ‘Hadn’t you? You don’t think there’s a part of you that brought you here to look longingly in that direction?’

  I laughed a little, but his stony face urged me to stop. ‘What good are longings, sir?’ I asked. ‘I shall never look on that beach again.’

  ‘No, perhaps not. There was a girl there for you, was there not?’

  ‘You know there was, sir.’

  ‘Did you love her?’

  I stared at him; this manner of conversation between two men on board was most unusual. For it to be taking place between Mr Christian and me was downright surprising. ‘Yes, sir,’ I replied. ‘Sometimes three times a day.’

  He laughed and shook his head. ‘I believe I had something of a reputation on that island myself,’ he observed.

  ‘Did you, sir?’ I replied, unwilling to flatter him by feigning the knowledge. ‘I hadn’t heard of it.’

  ‘It was all false anyway,’ he said. ‘Yes, I took my pleasures where I could find them, what natural man would not, but there was one woman . . . one in particular. Different from the rest.’

  ‘Did you love her, sir?’

  ‘Sometimes four times a day,’ he replied with a smile and I confess that I laughed at the comment. He was not my type of fellow, that was for sure, we had never got along. I despised him for the pomade in his hair and the mirror by his bunk and the cleanliness of his nails and the fact that he and Mr Heywood had proved little more than scourges to me during my time on board the Bounty, but there are moments between all men, friends and enemies alike, when defences are dropped and something approaching candour can be the result. I looked away and, foolish me, I allowed my natural guard to drop.

  What happened next came about so suddenly that I barely knew it was happening until it was already over. Without warning he had me by the throat and was leaning over the railings.

  ‘You heard it all, didn’t you, bastard?’ he hissed at me. ‘You were eavesdropping.’