The Bounty: The True Story of the Mutiny on the Bounty

On 4 February, two nights after the second part of the deserters’ punishment was meted out under cover of heavy rain, the cable of the Bounty’s bower anchor was cut, an act that could have brought the ship to disaster by allowing it to drift upon the reef. No explanation for what Bligh termed ‘this Malicious act’ could be made; indeed, the mystery would be cleared up only much later, when the mutineers returned to Tahiti and learned that the agent had been the taio of Midshipman Hayward. His object had been to wreck the ship so as to ensure that his friend never left Tahiti. More alarming, he declared that he had watched as the deserters were flogged and vowed that if a lash were laid on Hayward, he would kill Bligh for it. But now, perplexed and affronted, Bligh threatened ‘instant revenge’ unless the perpetrator was produced. To underscore his displeasure, Bligh held aloof from Tynah and Iddeeah for two days, approaching them only to reiterate his anger. But for all his efforts, the unhappy chief was unable to produce the villain, and at length burst into tears.

‘I could no longer keep these people under an Idea that I mistrusted them,’ Bligh wrote, already repentant ‘Our reconciliation therefore took place, and they came on board with me at Noon to dine.’

February and March, the last two months the Bounty was to be in Tahiti, were spent readying the ship for departure. Under the great lowering cloud banks that filled the sky with violent colour and claimed the island heights, the Bounty’s men worked through the daily fits of rain that ranged from light to torrential. Their very visible activities – caulking, repairing sails, mending iron fittings, stowing provisions and all the bustle preparatory to a long voyage – caused consternation among the Tahitians, now faced with the imminent certainty of losing their friends. Tynah began an unsuccessful bid to persuade Bligh to carry himself and Iddeeah to England. This period also saw an increase in the number of thefts, as many Tahitians saw their last chance for a little profit fading. As Bligh wrote, ‘it is to be expected when a ship is near the time of Sailing,’ adding that he attached no blame to the Tahitians, because he was ‘perfectly certain that had the Ship been lying in the River Thames, a hundred times as much would have been Stolen.’ Nonetheless, when, thanks to Tynah’s efforts, the thief of the azimuth compass was found, Bligh felt the time had come to deter all such future acts with a demonstration of Pretanee’s might

‘Kill him,’ said Tynah, committed to demonstrating his unwavering good faith. Bligh was not inclined to do so, but instead administered the most severe punishment of his voyage: one hundred lashes to the thief, who was then confined in irons until the departure of the ship.

‘His back became very much swelled,’ Bligh recorded with a kind of wonderment, ‘but only the last stroke broke the Skin.’ The incident is also recorded by Morrison, who administered the flogging and makes no adverse comments on it, only remarking that Bligh had gone ‘in a passion’ to Tynah when the theft was first discovered.

Still the rains continued, and on the dawn watch of a day and night that had seen ‘much Rain’, the mate of the watch heard a splash over the side of the ship, which on investigation turned out to be the sound of the confined thief diving overboard to his freedom. The thief’s escape – according to Morrison, he had picked his lock – elicited a last strenuous outburst from Bligh.

‘I have such a neglectfull set about me,’ he wrote, after castigating the mate of the watch, whom, exceptionally, he named as George Stewart (it is worth noting he had not come to Bligh through a patron), ‘that I beleive nothing but condign punishment can alter their conduct’ – this was the second occasion Bligh had adverted to the possibility of ‘condign’ punishment of his officers. ‘Verbal orders in the course of a Month were so forgot that they would impudently assert no such thing or directions were given, and I have been at last under the necessity to trouble myself with writing what by decent Young Officers would be complied with as the common Rules of Service.’

As preparations for departure continued, it is likely that at least some of the Bounty’s men looked up from their work on the ship, through the rain and its steaming aftermath, across the water to the rustling skirt of palms and the dense canopies of fragrant trees they now knew so well…and dreaded the day of departure. Not just a life of ease, but friends, lovers, common-law wives, in some cases their future children would be left behind. William Bligh, on the other hand, for all the praise he showered on the island and for all his ease and professed friendships with his hosts, had always had his eye on the homeward run. His outbursts at his officers significantly increased in the final months of the Tahitian sojourn. Whether this was simply because Bligh had reached the limit of tolerance for their irresponsible behaviour, or because he responded to the increased pressures of the approaching departure by lashing out at those next in pecking order, is impossible to know. Certainly Bligh had much to think about even without the worry over unreliable officers. His ship and everything in her had to be overhauled and provisioned for the long voyage still ahead; he had to take final surveys of the coast and harbour, which would be submitted to the Admiralty for the use of future navigators; he had to rerate the ship’s timekeeper, and keep a clear head for the Endeavour Straits. Relationships with Tynah and all local dignitaries had to be massaged until the last moment, so that future British vessels would receive as much goodwill as had the Bounty. And he had to nurse the 1015 breadfruit and other miscellaneous plants through the vicissitudes of a twelve-thousand-mile voyage home.

‘One day, or even one hours negligence may at any period be the means of destroying all the Trees and Plants which may have been collected,’ Banks had written in his final orders to Nelson with characteristic directness, noting earlier, ‘You will take care to remind Lieutenant Bligh of that circumstance.’

On 27 March, Bligh ordered all cats and the two dogs disembarked in preparation for bringing the plants on board, an operation that he characterized as ‘tedious’. Now firmly rooted in boxes, tubs and pots, they had all to be sorted by size and arranged in their appropriate holdings.

‘Thus far I have accomplished the Object of my Voyage,’ Bligh wrote, days later, when the operation was finished. Complacently surveying his flourishing plants neatly arrayed in the great cabin, he noted he had managed to stow 309 additional breadfruit to what had originally been planned; he was, then, safely covered for any losses.

With the ship crammed – ‘lumbered’, to borrow Morrison’s term – with gifts of coconuts, yams and plantains, the men made their goodbyes. Tynah and Iddeeah wept bitterly, begging Bligh to spend one last night in Matavai, but this he gently declined. He had grave misgivings about leaving his friends, knowing, as did they, that once the protection of the Bounty

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