‘We can survive on nothing if we are murdered into the bargain,’ replied the captain. ‘You think they are amicable, do you?’
‘I think they would not bring such treats to the shore for us if they were not a hospitable people.’
‘Then, the sun has gone to your head, sir,’ said Mr Bligh. ‘For if you cannot spot a trap when you see one, you are not in possession of half the wit for which I had you pegged. They are luring us, Mr Purcell, can you not see that? We sail over there, eat their food, partake of their vittles, and within an hour we will have our heads caved in and never see home.’
My mind turned at this to thoughts of what Robert Lamb had told me two days earlier, about the Feejee Islands, and I began to wonder whether filling my belly was a reasonable payment for the loss of my life. And such was my hunger and thirst that at that moment I half believed I would offer the trade.
‘Turn us, Mr Fryer,’ said the captain to a great cry of pain from the crew. ‘Turn us, I say!’ he repeated, louder, looking at none of us and sounding more like the man who had commanded the Bounty for more than a year without having his authority called into question.
‘Rowers,’ said Mr Fryer, with a note of disappointment in his voice too, although I dare say he could see the sense in what the captain had said, ‘nor’ by nor’east again.’
A low murmuring went up among the men and I sat back, defeated and disappointed, but there was a sense to it. The savages on the shoreline gave up a great cry when they saw that we had nobbled their ruse and some splashed into the water to follow us, revealing short spears which they aimed in our direction, but we were too far away from them either to be a potential target or for us to have any fear of their intentions.
‘We will find a safe harbour, men,’ said the captain after a suitable amount of time had gone by. ‘I know you are all hungry and in need of water, but we cannot accept these things at risk to our lives. We have already survived this long. Let us make it home.’
‘But how, Captain?’ asked John Samuel, the clerk, a note of utter desperation creeping into his voice. ‘How shall we with little food and less water? What’s to become of us?’
The captain stared at him for a moment, shook his head and turned away, and at that moment his face changed slightly. I saw him stare into the water and what came next was a great triumph. We had all tried at different times to capture a fish on a spear but had been unsuccessful. It was thought that it would be a tremendous feather to whoever did so first. And right then, surprising us all, giving some a start it all happened so quickly, the captain lifted one of the spears from the floor of the keel, stabbed it quickly and smartly into the waves, and when it emerged it held a great fish, some twelve pounds’ worth, I would say, taken directly through the centre, and threw it on the deck, where it flapped around for a few moments before lying still, its glassy eye staring out at us with as much shock and surprise as we felt ourselves.
‘We shall survive,’ repeated the captain, looking out at all of us, who were, to a man, too amazed and hungry to do anything but wait for it to be divided among us all.
50
Day 10: 7 May
THE CAPTAIN ORGANIZED US INTO two shifts, whereby half of our crew would sit round the edges of the tub while the other half tried to find a place to lie as horizontal as possible along the floor. It was almost impossible to do so and, as it was a sodden mess down there, sleep was hindered by the constant pain of soaking. Our bones were already creaking with it. It was a miserable existence.
As the captain slept I found my way closer to Mr Fryer and discovered him lost in thought as he stared out to sea. I was forced to say his name on three occasions before he turned to look at me and even then he stared at me for a moment as if he had not the slightest idea who I was.
‘Ah, Turnstile,’ he said finally, rubbing his eyes as if he had just woken up. ‘You’re here. Were you addressing me?’
‘I was, sir. You seemed to be in a different world entirely.’
‘Well, there’s something captivating about it, don’t you think?’ he asked, looking out towards the vast expanse of blue that surrounded us. ‘A man could get lost just looking.’
I nodded. It occurred to me how some of the lines between captain, officers, men and servant-boys were getting blurred as day followed day. We were speaking to one another with much more familiarity than we ever had on board the Bounty and the captain treated us all as near-equals, although perhaps this had something to do with the fact that we were a crew of loyalists and he was naturally well disposed towards us.
‘Yes, sir,’ I said. ‘Mr Fryer, sir, might I ask you a question?’
‘Of course,’ he replied, turning to look at me.
‘It’s just . . .’ I thought about it, hopeful that I might phrase it correctly. ‘Our course, sir,’ I said. ‘You do know the course that we have set?’
‘The captain sets the course, my boy, you know that. Don’t you have faith in Mr Bligh?’
‘Oh, yes, sir,’ I replied quickly. ‘Of course I do. He’s a fine gentleman, as fine as ever lived. I only ask because, like the other men, sir, I’m getting fierce hungry and thirsty and weak in my legs and I wonder sometimes whether we will ever spy land again.’
Mr Fryer smiled a little and nodded. ‘It’s natural that you should be worried,’ he said. ‘My father was a sailor too, you know. He went to sea when he was around your age. Younger even.’
‘Did he, sir?’ asked I, wondering whether the combination of sea and sun had taken to his head, as I had not asked about his family circumstances.
‘Yes, he did,’ he confirmed. ‘And when he was not much older than you are now he was involved in a shipwreck off the coast of Africa. He was nowhere near as far away from home as we are, of course, but he and his fellows – there were seven of them – managed to make it to the southernmost tip of Spain in a tub a quarter the size of this one. They had no captain and only one officer among their number. But they survived. And he became a great man, my father.’
My eyes widened. I had never known anything of Mr Fryer’s family before and thought it terrible decent of him to tell me of them.
‘Is he a wealthy man, sir?’ I asked.
‘Wealthy is as wealthy does, Turnstile,’ he replied, a phrase that meant nothing to me. ‘It is not for his riches that I remember him. Yes, I see you frown: he died several years ago. Of the typhoid.’
‘I’m sorry to hear it, sir.’
‘We all were. He lived a life filled with adventure. It was he who sent me to sea in the first place. And I’ve never regretted it. Not even though I leave my wife and young ‘uns at home for months at a time and miss them growing up. But I don’t regret it. I tell you this, Turnstile, if he could have seen the actions of Fletcher Christian on board the Bounty on that last night . . . why, he would have taken a cutlass to him without a second’s thought.’
‘Was he a violent man, sir?’ I asked, recalling my younger days at Mr Lewis’s establishment. ‘Did he take a switch to you when you were a lad?’
‘You’re missing the point, Turnstile,’ he said irritably. ‘I mean that he would have never allowed the mutiny to take place. He would have found a way to stop it. And Christian would have swung for his misdeeds. I wonder whether he was watching us all that night and lamenting the fact that I did nothing to prevent it.’
‘You, sir?’ I asked. ‘But what could you do? There were so many of them!’
‘And I was the ship’s master. They might have listened to me had I spoken up. But I didn’t. Oh, I remained loyal, that’s the truth. And do you know why?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Because of the captain, Turnstile. Because of my regard for him.’
I narrowed my eyes and considered this. It was a fine thing that a man of his stature was deigning to talk to me at all, but an even more curious thing that he was speaking so candidly. I half wondered whether he realized my station, as he would never have sounded so emotional had he been of his full se
nses.
‘I know what you must think,’ he continued with a smile. ‘That the captain and I never got along. And it’s true that he was unusually . . . severe with me. But he’s a younger man than I, Turnstile, and a captain in His Majesty’s navy. Or as good as, anyway. And the career he’s had so far . . . I admire him so much, that’s why I sought this position. His map-making skills are perhaps the finest since da Vinci’s – did you know that, Turnstile?’
‘I knew he held a pretty pen,’ I said. ‘But I didn’t know that—’
‘A pretty pen, you say?’ he replied with a laugh. ‘You don’t know the half of it. The maps he drew when he was with Captain Cook, why, they have proved indispensable for the last decade to all of us. It is as if he can see the world from a great distance and reproduce it. Only a great man can have such talents. No, if I could go back to that night I would unsheath my sword and have at the mutineers myself.’
‘And you would be cut down for it, sir,’ said a deep voice from my right. I swung round to see the captain, maintaining the position in which he had been sleeping, but with his eyes open now.
‘Captain,’ said Mr Fryer, flushing slightly, embarrassed by his generous words.
‘Turnstile, perhaps you shall leave us alone for a few minutes,’ said the captain. ‘Down the boat with you.’
‘Aye, sir,’ said I, fierce reluctant to go, as I was interested to know how the captain would take this vote of appreciation from the man he had put down on so many occasions, but an order is an order and so I stepped away and took my place beside Robert Tinkler, who was one of those on watch.
‘What was that all about?’ asked Tinkler. ‘You and Mr Fryer?’
‘I don’t know,’ I replied. ‘I merely asked about the course we were taking and the conversation took an unexpected turn.’
‘Officers,’ he said with a snort. ‘They can never give you a straight answer.’
I watched for only a few more moments as Mr Bligh and Mr Fryer engaged in a quiet conversation. I wondered what it was about; I wondered whether the captain was telling Mr Fryer how much he respected him too and thanked him for his loyalty, but they were out of earshot and there was no way to tell. I wonder about it still.
51
Day 11: 8 May
LAND APPEARED BEFORE US ONCE again today and as usual we all felt a great start of joy at the possibility of leaving the tub and enjoying rest and sustenance. All four rowers automatically began to turn their oars in the direction of the island, but immediately sensing the turn the captain gave a great holler and told them in no uncertain terms to maintain their course.
‘But, Captain,’ said William Cole in exasperation, pointing eastwards in the direction of the land. ‘Haven’t you seen the island?’
‘Of course I’ve seen it, Mr Cole,’ snapped the captain. ‘I have two eyes in my head and I haven’t gone blind, you know. But we must be wary. Let us take a tour around the coastline first before venturing further in.’
Our spirits sank a little, but Mr Bligh had to be obeyed, so the rowers turned again and set about circling the island, which lay a good distance from us yet.
‘Where are we, Mr Bligh?’ asked George Simpson. ‘Have you visited here before?’
‘I believe these are the Feejee Islands,’ he proclaimed. ‘And, yes, I was here once before with the captain.’ His reference was to Captain Cook, of course, as all such references were. ‘But we must take care. There are friendly natives of Feejee and some not so friendly ones. Cannibals and the like.’
My heart gave a jump at the sound of that word and it put me in mind of what Mr Lamb had told me before about the ways of the people at this area of the world. I had travelled a long way from Portsmouth and been through many adventures in sixteen months and I was damned if I was going to end up as a luncheon feast for a group of savages. As much as I wanted to lie on the beach and exercise my limbs once again, I started to wonder whether we were not much safer staying in our little craft.
‘Captain,’ said Mr Elphinstone, ‘look yonder.’
We each of us looked in the direction that he had indicated and what did we see, only a group of natives taking canoes to the shoreline, pushing them into the water and setting out in our direction.
‘Ah,’ said the captain, frowning. ‘I was afraid of this.’
‘What’s happening, Mr Bligh?’ I shouted. ‘Are they a welcoming party?’
‘None that we would like to meet, I would warrant,’ he replied. ‘Oarsmen, turn again, we continue on our travels.’
A great cry went up among those men who were willing to risk their lives for a chance to land the boat. I looked back at the shore and two canoes were rowing towards us, each filled with four men, a lesser number than our cargo.
‘There’s only nine of them, sir,’ said I. ‘We are eighteen.’
‘There’s eight of them, Turnip, you young fool,’ said Mr Elphinstone. ‘Don’t you know your two times tables?’
‘Eight, then,’ I said, irritated by his pedantry, for after all it only made my point more valid. ‘Less than a third of our number!’
‘Less than a third!’ snapped Mr Elphinstone again and was about to say more, only he was interrupted by the captain.
‘Where there are eight there will be eighty more,’ he said. ‘Row fast, men. We continue on our voyage. They will stop giving chase soon enough.’
He was right on that, for within a very few minutes the two canoes slowed down until they were simply bobbing along in the water and four of the men, the central parties on either canoe, stood up and waved spears at us, spears that might have been intended to hold us on a skewer over an open fire.
‘Don’t look so downhearted, men,’ said the captain. ‘We shall find somewhere safe. We have done well so far, have we not?’
‘But when, sir?’ asked Surgeon Ledward, a great strain entering his voice now, as if he was a child who had been denied his rattle. ‘Do we even know the direction we are heading? We have no maps, after all.’
‘Our maps are up here, Surgeon,’ replied the captain, tapping his bonce. ‘My memory is all we need. You forget to whom you are speaking.’
‘I forget nothing, sir, and I meant no disrespect. I only say that we cannot sail like this indefinitely.’
A low murmur went up among the crew and the captain peered round at all of us with a certain look of displeasure on his face. It wasn’t that he was fearing another mutiny – after all there was no way to mutiny now, short of throwing him overboard, and that would hardly be helpful to our cause – but that he knew low spirits were the greatest enemy we could have. Savages, cannibals, murderers, they were one thing. A lack of belief that we would survive was something else entirely.
‘We continue westward,’ said the captain. ‘And on to the New Hebrides islands. I can picture them in my mind, men. They are there before us. I know they are. And from there we aim for the Endeavour Strait at the tip of Northern Australia. An isolated place, yes, but we can regroup there before making the final sailing to Timor. We will find friends in Timor and a safe passage home. I can picture the waters as clear as I can picture the face of my wife and children, men. And the thought of seeing them again is what spurs me on. But I need you with me, sailors. Are you with me?’
‘Aye, Captain,’ we all cried halfheartedly.
‘I said are you with me, men?’
‘Aye!’ we roared, more happily, and to our delight the heavens opened at that moment and a great rain fell that allowed us to refill our flagons and open our mouths to the heavens until we were hydrated once again. It felt for a moment as if the Saviour himself was on our side.
52
Day 12: 9 May
IF WE HAD BEEN HAPPY about the rainfall the evening before, we woke in a state of chaos, as the men who had managed a few hours’ sleep could barely move with stiffness. This, the captain assured us, would be a common complaint as the days passed. If we slept in damp clothes, then we would wake with the water having seeped through t
o our bones. I dreaded to think what difficulties this might present us with as our lives progressed. For my part I could barely move my head at all and any attempt to turn either left or right would result in such untold agony that I resolved to maintain my place for the entire day and attempt nothing more than slow movements of the arms and legs until all circulation was restored.
‘Ledward, Peckover, Purcell and Turnip, assume the oars,’ cried Mr Fryer just after our so-called breakfast, a thimbleful of water and a husk of coconut. I shrank in my seat and attempted to appear inconspicuous, which is a difficult feat in a tub measuring no more than twenty-three feet in length. I watched as the previous four rowers lay their oars down and my three fellows shuffled over to their seats, but I remained still for now. ‘Turnip!’ yelled Mr Fryer. ‘Did you hear me?’
‘I am indisposed,’ I called back. ‘I send my apologies.’
‘Indisposed?’ he said, staring around with a look of amazement on his face. ‘Did that lad say he was indisposed?’ I knew not who he was addressing but answer came there none. ‘Indisposed doing what?’ he asked.
‘It’s a terrible thing, sir,’ said I. ‘But I awoke with a crick in my neck and an ache in my body that shows no signs of disappearing. I fear that if I was to attempt to sail the tub, then I would only succeed in steering us round and round in circles.’
‘Not with me to watch over you, you won’t,’ he pronounced. ‘Now, get your lazy arse over here and pick up your oar before I give you a thrashing you won’t forget.’
I grumbled and groaned and grunted, but it was of no use, the die had been cast. Lowering myself into position beside William Purcell, I attempted a half-smile of resignation, but the carpenter took it as a sign of insolence and threw me back a filthy look.
‘We all have to do it,’ he said. ‘You’re not the captain’s servant-boy any more, you know.’