‘Who shall have this?’ asked the captain a few moments later, holding the second-to-final piece in his hand.
‘You shall, Captain,’ said Mr Fryer.
The captain nodded, turned back to face his crew and handed him the final piece, which was of almost identical shape and size to his own and both of which were clearly the two smallest portions of the bird that had been there from the start, a fact that was lost on none of our admiring eyes. ‘Then you shall have this,’ said the captain to Mr Fryer and the two men lowered their heads to eat.
‘Three cheers for Captain Bligh,’ cried John Hallett in a surge of emotion. ‘Hip, hip . . .’
‘Hooray!’ we replied, and again and again, for we were in a great state of excitement after the drama of the division and the joy of the eating.
‘And three cheers for Mr Fryer,’ I added, for he had been a part of it too and suffered the smaller share on account of it. ‘Hip, hip . . .’ I cried.
‘Hooray!’ the men shouted, even more forcibly, and both the captain and the master grinned, a little embarrassed, but delighted by the turn of events.
‘Perhaps we’ll catch another,’ said the captain, looking up at the skies, which had cleared of birds now but darkened considerably as our happy moments were inevitably to be followed by hurricanes and rain.
The men nodded, hoping the same thing but not counting on it. In the meantime, however, before the heavens opened, I swear that we were happy. Every man jack of us.
69
Day 29: 26 May
THERE WAS HEAVY RAIN OVERNIGHT, but we had suffered worse days, and it cleared a little in the brightness of the day. More birds were spotted overhead and we tried hard to catch one, but they were not as ignorant as the one the previous day and neither landed in our tub nor flew so close overhead that we could catch one by hand. We were not made despondent by this, however, for the general agreement was that the increase in the number of birds meant that we were reaching closer to land.
The only drama of note came when John Samuel passed out in a faint, like a molly would on a hot day on the streets of London. He was quickly revived when we threw sea water on his face, he taking care to keep his lips locked so that he would swallow none of it, and it was generally agreed that he was a nance for the trauma, particularly considering how well we had eaten the day before and how positive our spirits were. He sought sympathy for a matter of an hour or so, it was declined on all quarters, and he retired to a corner of the tub to nurse his pride.
I found myself a victim of self-pity, however, a little later in the afternoon when I ran a hand across my head to cure an itch and flowery flakes of I-knew-not-what appeared to descend from my hair and phizzy to the deck. I stared at them, wondering whether my skin was falling off me, touched my head once more and the powdery rain continued. I kept my own counsel on it for some time, afeared that I had caught some virulent pestilence that would see me thrown overboard before it could spread, but finally, so terrified that I might be about to die, I consulted Surgeon Ledward on the matter.
He took a look and shook his head contemptuously. ‘You have the scurvy, that is all,’ he said. ‘Most every man on board has it. There’s a lack of iron and protein in our diets, lad, that causes it.’
‘It’s the lack of a diet in our diet,’ I suggested.
‘Quiet, lad, you ate yesterday,’ he replied sharply, and I considered taking him to task for it, for he was not my master; that was the captain.
‘I’ll live, then?’ I asked.
‘Of course you’ll live,’ he said. ‘Assuming we all live. Now get back to your place, Turnip. You have a stench off you that would send a cat a-scampering.’
I went back to my seat with a sigh, taking a sniff at myself for good measure, and sure enough I was not a clean lad by any means, but I don’t think any of us were. I took a look around me and all I could see was skin-and-bone men, their faces covered in rough beards, their eyes hollow and dark, some searching the horizon for signs of life, some watching the skies for birds, some rowing, some sleeping, some lost in thought, some with blank faces.
70
Day 30: 27 May
LATE IN THE AFTERNOON MORE birds appeared overhead; one was caught and killed and the captain played ‘Who Shall Have This?’ again and we were happy to dine on our catch. We were even happier, however, to catch sight of the occasional piece of driftwood passing by our small tub, for we took this as a sign that it should be only a matter of hours before we arrived at the Great Reefs of the Endeavour Strait, still a sizeable distance from our destination but nevertheless a place where we might be able to reach a shore and rest after so much time at sea.
I noted that I was becoming a little more light-headed in the bright sunlight than I had been previously and that it was becoming more and more difficult for me to stay awake. I did not regret sleeping so much, for it passed the time when I was not rowing, but it was not a solid sleep and never resulted in recuperation as much as more exhaustion, but I said nothing on it for now and kept my counsel.
The captain mentioned that he had visited here with Captain Cook when they were on the Resolution. ‘We hoped to replenish our stocks there,’ he explained to a few of us who were seated near by, ‘but there was precious little to be found. The captain named the inlet through which we sailed Thirsty Bay on account of it,’ he added with a smile. ‘Aye, it were rightly christened, as I recall.’
‘Something to look forward to, then,’ said William Peckover in a saucy tone, and Mr Fryer shot him a dirty look in reply to it.
‘It may have changed,’ suggested the captain. ‘But if we can rest, then that at least will be something, don’t you agree?’
Mr Peckover nodded his head and looked away, and I hope he was ashamed on account of his insolence.
‘There was a story you were to tell me, sir, if you recall,’ I suggested after a little more time had passed.
‘A story?’ said the captain, turning to look at me with a raised eyebrow.
‘About Captain Cook,’ I reminded him. ‘Of how you were with him at the end. When he died.’
‘When he was murdered, you mean,’ he said quickly, correcting me.
‘Aye, sir. When he was murdered.’
Captain Bligh sighed a little and shook his head. ‘I shall tell you it, Turnstile,’ he said. ‘Do not convince yourself that we are close to the end of our travels yet. We have many more nights to while away before the end. I shall tell you, worry not.’
‘But, sir—’
‘Not today, lad,’ he said, silencing me by placing a hand on my thin shoulder. ‘Today we seek the Reefs. That is what is important.’
I sat back and frowned. I would have that story yet before I was done.
71
Day 31: 28 May
THE DAY WAS SPENT IN A flux between anticipation and disappointment, for we had hoped to make our way through the reefs and onwards to the tip of New Holland for rest and sustenance, but, damn and blast those waters, for they would offer us no entry. After several hours of attempts we began to notice breaker waves stirring around us and, afeared that we should lose our tub to the rocks they implied beneath us, the captain ordered that the launch be turned round and that we should sail forth and attempt access further along.
‘Captain, please, sir,’ implored one of the men from the rear of the tub, I forget who. ‘We shall take a care with the rowing if you let us.’
‘You may take all the care you want, sir,’ came the stubborn reply. ‘If the boat cracks up we’re left here to die – you know that as well as I do.’
There were muttered complaints but he was right, of course. It was not something that we could risk. And so we turned back to the water and away from the Reef for now. It was a disheartening afternoon and the capture of a boobie from the sky and its dispersal between us eighteen unlucky fools served as cold comfort.
72
Day 32: 29 May
ON THIS DAY WE FINALLY managed to steer our small craft t
hrough the reefs and arrive safely at a shore, which the captain suggested was off the tip of New Holland. The excitement that led us there was tempered only by Mr Bligh’s constant reminder that we should keep our wits about us, for it had been only a few short weeks since we had nearly all lost our lives to the natives of the Friendly Islands, although to my mind it felt as if it had been many months longer than that.
As our tub settled on the sand we scrambled out of it at a pace and were delighted to find our feet making touch at last with solid ground. We did not run and dance, extending our limbs and acting like a bunch of Bedlamites as we had once before; we were too weak for that, our heads too dizzy, our stomachs too empty, our spirits too low. Instead we lay down for a time – the sun was upon us for once – stripped our clothes off to dry and stretched our limbs, without fear for once of kicking another fellow in the face or punching him in the eye. As I lay there, I swore that this would be the contentment of the grave, but then I pushed the idea far from my mind, aware how close I was to that very place and how far I would have to travel yet to escape it.
When some time had passed and we felt our energies a little restored, the captain split us into two groups, one to search for food and water – anything that might sustain us – and the other to begin some necessary repairs to our boat.
‘The island looks deserted, lads,’ he warned us – I was one of the selected foragers, and happy to be so – ‘but take care and keep your wits about you. The savages might be in hiding if they saw us coming, and if they are you can believe that they will outnumber every one of us tenfold.’
‘Aye, sir,’ we said as we walked off through the trees to see what we might find. Our party was six or seven, I think; I can recall that Thomas Hall was with me, and Surgeon Ledward, and the gunner William Peckover, but if there were others I cannot remember for sure who they were. The experience of walking was a delight to me. To my surprise, I found myself both tired as I stepped along, despite the fact that I had spent so many weeks sitting in the cramped environment of the tub, and energized. I thought that to increase my pace would see me either collapse in a fit of exhaustion or break into a run that might never end. It was a curious sensation and one that I could not comprehend.
‘Over here, lads,’ said Peckover, and his call coincided with my ears picking up the most glorious sound known to man – the splash of water running in a stream. We made our way through more thickets and, sure enough, here was a place, no more than a dozen feet in square, but enough to satisfy us. The water was cold and invigorating and we fell to it like dogs lapping at a puddle. I found my own head dipping low into it and enjoyed the sensation of the non-salted water as it engulfed me. When we were sated – and I know not how long that took – we looked at one another and laughed helplessly.
‘We shall be heroes,’ said Surgeon Ledward, shaking his head as he glanced around. ‘An endless supply for every man.’
One sentence was enough to provide a break and we fell to drinking again; this time I swore that I could feel the water making its way through my gut and into my belly and I wondered for a moment whether I might drink so much that I would pop that suffering organ, but I cared not and drank my fill.
‘Lads, take a look,’ said Thomas Hall, standing up a little uncertainly as he nodded towards the stretch of rocks that sprang from the ground and seemed to be dotted with shells about their surface. ‘Could it be what I think?’ The rest of us knew not what he thought, but it wasn’t long before he reached for one – the half of the shell that was attached to the rock held its place and he pulled the other forward – and ripped it open, revealing a shiny pale oyster inside. ‘Oh my stars,’ he said with a sigh of delight, a sigh that sounded like the one I had heard myself make on every occasion when I did the unspeakables with Kaikala, a sigh of utter satisfaction and contentment. He pulled the mollusc from its cave, popped it into his mouth and closed his eyes with delirium at the taste of it. Within a very few moments we were all at it, grasping and opening and pulling and eating. Looking around, I saw there were thousands of the creatures and could not wait to return to the beach to tell the men.
Even better, on our return we stumbled across some wild thickets filled with red and black berries – tens of thousands, I should have said – and we set about them like a pack of animals, caring little for how the thorns pricked at our fingers. We ate until our bellies were full and our tongues discoloured and our mouths and lips misshapen by the acidity of the fruit. And every bite was like deliverance.
When we finally returned to the beach to tell the others of our find, I was starting to feel ill inside and a throbbing had begun behind my eyes that threatened to pop my head open and send my brain falling to the beach in a mush. I clutched my stomach, groaning, and wondered whether it might have been a sensible idea not to eat so much so quickly after such a long period of starvation. I pictured the oysters and the berries mingling within myself and, as I reached the captain and he stared at my black- and red-seared lips, it was all I could do to maintain my stance.
‘Turnstile,’ he said, staring at me with surprise in his eyes as he tried to make sense of my appearance. From the side of my eyes I could see that he had managed to start a small fire with wood and kindling, the crafty fellow. ‘What the devil did you find out there?’
I opened my mouth to tell him, but before I could utter a word I saw that there was little need, for the contents of my dinner spewed forth from my stomach, rejected like a eunuch at a brothel, and on to the sand between the captain – who danced nimbly out of the way – and myself, whereupon I stared at the colourful mess before blinking my eyes as if in a drunken stupor and collapsing backwards to pass out.
It was a fine afternoon. One of the best I can recall from that whole cursed voyage.
73
Day 33: 30 May
IMUST NOW RECOUNT SOMETHING THAT sounds like a vulgarity but might, I believe, be of interest to those who should ever find themselves in a similar position. For several hours of this morning I found myself enduring the most uncommon case of the squits that I have ever known. It felt as if every oyster and every berry I had eaten the day before was in revolt against their temporary tenancy of my digestive system and seeking immediate egress. And in the war that they waged against my bowels, they were most definitely the winners. I could barely walk, I was in so much pain, and no sooner had I completed a movement that suggested I was done with the nasty business for a while than the great heaves came on me again and I was to be discovered in a thicket, bent over double and straining to relieve myself.
It gave me some satisfaction that many of the other men were in a similar condition that day and it was obvious to all this was so whenever one of our party made a dash from the shore to the trees in seek of a little privacy. Some, including Mr Fryer, were quite pale at the continuation of it and others seemed hardly to suffer at all. The captain himself, who had suffered a similar misery on Otaheite, which had inflamed his temper something terrible, seemed entirely impervious to the effects of this food and, indeed, he took humour in it, passing several remarks that I for one found to be both out of character for him and in questionable taste.
We had established that this island was of no great size but had proved uncommon generous in the spoils that it offered. There were no savages there to bang their stones together and threaten to do the same to our heads either, and that was a clear advantage. In truth, I think many of our number would have cheerfully stayed there, in this place the captain named Restoration Island on account of our arrival there coinciding with the date of the Restoration of King Charles II to the Throne, but the captain was having none of it. He was a terrible man for insisting on getting us home.
And so we spent this day filling our stomachs again – even those of us for whom the dining was a sure route to the bushes – and collecting as many oysters and berries as we could find to store in the captain’s crate for the next part of our journey. We took all the flagons and coconut shells we could lay ha
nds on and filled them with fresh water from the spring; indeed, by the time we were ready to depart, our provisions appeared to our eyes to be of healthy proportions, although in retrospect I realize that in truth they were scarcely enough to feed a couple of men for a couple of days, let alone eighteen men for who-knew-what length of time. It was simply the fact that the crate was full again that excited us. We little thought that on the morrow we would be down to our daily morsels and thimblefuls of water if we were to make any attempt at survival.
‘Get a good sleep tonight, lads,’ said the captain as we settled down on the beach for a decent rest. ‘We need your energies restored to their natural levels if we are to make Timor. Or as near to them as we can muster.’
I fell asleep that night watching the sun descend to the horizon and I stretched out a yawn, sure that the next part of our voyage would be successful and healthy. We had made it this far, after all, against all the odds and with the loss of only one life. Surely we could not fail now.
74
Day 34: 31 May
THE CAPTAIN LED US IN prayers before we set sail this day and I was fierce surprised of it, for it had never been a regular part of our daily rituals. He offered up some thanks to the Saviour for allowing us to get this far unharmed – tell that to John Norton, I couldn’t help but think – and beseeched Him to take pity on our troublesome tub and allow us to reach our destination safely and quickly. Every man jack of us uttered ‘Amen’ at the end but, in truth, I do not think that we were a spiritual lot. Sailors, I have found, rarely are. They care more for superstitions and ideas of magic.
We set sail in early afternoon when the sun was high and we did it with a heavy heart, for we knew not when we would set foot on land again. However, to our surprise – although apparently not to Captain Bligh’s – we found ourselves passing a number of islands along the way and, as evening fell and we had reached no further towards open seas, the captain determined that it would be a sensible thing for us to beach at one of them, which he said he thought might be an island called Fair Cape, and rest again for the night. We did so and there was a sense of anticlimax about it, for we did not attack the shore with our usual delight and mania, nor did we instantly go in search of food and water, although the captain allowed us to eat our fill as long as we committed to refilling our crate the following morning before departing again.