The Bounty: The True Story of the Mutiny on the Bounty (13 page)

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Authors: Caroline Alexander

Tags: #History, #Europe, #Great Britain, #Military, #Naval

BOOK: The Bounty: The True Story of the Mutiny on the Bounty
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Yet another young gentleman, George Stewart from the Orkney Islands, joined the
Bounty
as a midshipman, but was rerated AB before the ship sailed (the ship’s fixed allotment of two midshipman positions required judicious management on Bligh’s part). Bligh had met Stewart seven years earlier, when the
Resolution
had called at Stromness at the end of her long and harrowing voyage. In their home, the Whitehouse, overlooking the harbor and the bustling town with its inns and taverns, Alexander and Margaret Stewart, George’s parents, had entertained Bligh.
 
Like so many of the
Bounty
’s young gentlemen, George Stewart could trace an old and distinguished lineage. His father’s family could be traced back to King Robert II, in the thirteenth century; his mother could trace her descent back to Danes who had settled the Orkneys in the ninth century. Alexander Stewart had been born and lived on Ronaldsay in the Orkneys, but had moved to Stromness for his children’s schooling; he and his wife had eight children, of whom George was the eldest. Apparently, when word of the
Bounty
’s voyage reached them, the Stew-arts had reminded Bligh of their former acquaintance; surely the stories the young master had told the Stewart family seven years earlier, upon his return from the Pacific had made George’s interest in this particular voyage especially keen.
 
When he came down to Deptford to join the
Bounty,
George Stewart was twenty-one years old and “five feet seven inches high,” according to Bligh, who continued with an unprepossessing description: “High, good Complexion, Dark Hair, Slender Made, Narrow chested, and long Neck, Small Face and Black Eyes.”
 
The last of the
Bounty
’s young gentlemen was fifteen-year-old John Hallett from London, the son of John Hallett, an architect, and his wife, Hannah. He had four younger brothers, all of whom would later be employed by the East India Company, and one half sister, the “natural child” of Mr. Hallett. Midshipman Hallett’s father was a wealthy man, with a residence in Manchester Buildings, a gentlemen’s row of private houses situated just off the Thames, almost opposite Westminster Bridge and in strolling distance of St. James’s Park. The Halletts, like the Haywards, belonged to the energetic, gentlemanly professional class possessed of actual skills—doctors and architects as opposed to seneschals or bankrupt country lawyers.
 
Hallett Senior moved in a distinguished circle of artists, including members of the Royal Academy. His niece had married into a prosperous family of merchants and shipbuilders, with a home in fashionable Tunbridge, where Mr. Hallett was often found. From diarist Joseph Farington, who recorded a number of dinners and other social occasions at which Mr. Hallett was present, we are given a glimpse of the
Bounty
midshipman’s circle: “Mr. Hallett spoke of several persons who from a low beginning had made great fortunes,” Farington noted after a London dinner, going on to describe a leather breeches maker now established on Bond Street and said to be worth £150,000. War with Russia would only ruin Russia’s trade, as England could do without her goods. A neighbor recently died having “expended £50,000 it was not well known how”—all good solid, middle-class, mercantile discussion.
 
Young John Hallett was already well on the road to a naval career when he joined the
Bounty.
He had been entered on the books as a lieutenant’s servant in 1777, at the age of five, and on the books of four subsequent ships as a captain’s servant. Prior to joining the
Bounty,
he had been on the
Alarm,
which had paid off in Port Royal, Jamaica, when the ship was taken out of commission. This had occurred four years previously, and one assumes young Hallett, at age eleven, was getting his schooling during the interim. John Hallett Sr. appears to have been acquainted with Banks, and wrote to him thanking him for getting his son’s position. While the
Bounty
was swarming with young gentlemen—officers in training, midshipmen in waiting—the only two to hold the coveted midshipmen’s slots were Thomas Hayward and John Hallett, both protégés of Banks.
 
 
 
In early October, Bligh prepared the
Bounty
to leave the Thames for Spithead, Portsmouth, where he was to await official orders to sail. The ship, now copper sheathed, had been completely refitted and was stuffed with supplies—not just the food stores, clothing or “slops,” fuel, water, rum and bulk necessities, but all the miscellaneous minutiae of the gardener’s trade, as inventoried on a list supplied by Banks: paper, pens, ink, India ink, “Colours of all kinds,” spade, pins, wire, fly traps, an insect box, bottles, knives, “Journal Books & other usefull Books,” guns and gunpowder, shot and flints, and “Trinkets for the Natives,” which included mirrors and eighty pounds of white, blue and red glass beads. Bligh had also been given sixty-one ducats and forty-five Spanish dollars for the purchase of plants. Eight hundred variously sized pots for the breadfruit plants had been stowed, but as David Nelson reported to Banks plaintively, “as I have only room for 600, the remainder may possibly be broken.” The pots had been made extra deep for drainage by “Mr. Dalton, potter,” near Deptford Creek.
 
Every British naval seaman brought certain expectations to each ship he joined. He expected to endure hard labor in raw conditions, and was ever mindful that he was vulnerable to harsh and often arbitrary punishment at the hands of his officers. He expected to eat very specifically measured amounts of rank food, and to drink much liquor. Above all, he expected to exist for the duration of his service in stifling, unhygienic squalor. There would be no privacy. As the official naval allotment of fourteen inches sleeping space for each man suggests, space was always at a premium—but nowhere more so than on the little
Bounty,
now crammed with supplies for eighteen months’ voyaging and trade. Her fo’c’sle, an unventilated, windowless area of 22 by 36 feet, was shared by thirty-three men, while the maximum height between decks amidships was 5 feet 7 inches—the average height of the men she carried. The master’s mates, Fletcher Christian and William Elphinstone (another protégé of Banks’s), the midshipmen and young gentlemen Hayward and Hallett, Peter Heywood, George Stewart, Edward Young and Robert Tinkler—were all quartered directly behind Bligh’s little pantry, separated, it is suggested, merely by canvas walls.
 
On deck, amid the piles of stores, were the
Bounty
’s three boats. The Navy Board had placed an order for these as early as June, but the usual supplier, swamped with other work, had been forced to beg off. The Board then turned to a private contractor to build a launch of 20 feet in length with copper fastenings, and to the Deal boatyard for a cutter and a jolly boat of 18 and 16 feet, respectively. For reasons known only to himself, Bligh requested of the Navy Board that the launch and cutter, which had already been supplied, be replaced with larger models. The Board complied, and thus was acquired one of the most historic craft in maritime history, the
Bounty
’s 23-foot-long, 2-foot-9-inch-deep launch.
 
On October 9, 1787, a drear, dull day, the pilot arrived to take the
Bounty
out of the Thames on the first leg of her voyage. In the Long Reach she received her gunner’s stores. Officially designated as an “Armed Vessel,” she was equipped with “four short four-pounder carriage guns and ten half-pounder swivel guns,” to quote the Admiralty’s directive—a laughably meager firepower. Additionally, there were small arms, muskets, powder and bayonets, all locked in the arms chest, supposedly at all times under the key of the ship’s master, John Fryer.
 
The
Bounty
herself was in her glory—newly fitted out to the tune of thousands of pounds, sails set, piled with stores, guns gleaming and swarming with her men, the midshipmen in their smart blue coats, Bligh in his blue-and-white-piped lieutenant’s uniform with its bright gilt buttons, and the seamen in their long, baggy trousers and boxy jackets: Charles Churchill, with his disfigured hand showing “the Marks of a Severe Scald”; German-speaking Henry Hilbrant, strong and sandy-haired, but with “His Left Arm Shorter than the other having been broke; Alexander Smith, “Very much pitted” with smallpox, and bearing an axe scar on his right foot; John Sumner, slender, fair and with a “Scar upon the left Cheek”; William McCoy, scarred by a stab wound in the belly; William Brown, the gardener, also fair and slender, but bearing a “remarkable Scar on one of his Cheeks Which contracts the Eye Lid and runs down to his throat.” With the knowledge of hindsight, they are a piratical-looking crew.
 
The
Bounty
lingered at Long Reach for nearly a week before receiving orders to proceed to Spithead, the naval anchorage outside Portsmouth Harbour. But “the winds and weather were so unfavorable,” in Bligh’s words, that the short journey down the Thames and around the coast took nearly three weeks to complete.
 
“I have been very anxious to acquaint you of my arrival here, which I have now accomplished with some risk,” Bligh wrote Banks on November 5 from Spithead. “I anchored here last night, after being drove on the coast of France in a very heavy gale.” His plan, as he now related, was to make as swiftly as possible for Cape Horn in order to squeak through a diminishing window of opportunity for rounding the tempestuous Cape so late in the season; as he observed to Banks, “if I get the least slant round the Cape I must make the most of it.” Bligh was awaiting not only a break in the weather, but also his sailing orders, without which he could not sail. He did not, however, anticipate any difficulties, noting that “the Commissioner promises me every assistance, and I have no doubt but the trifles I have to do here will be soon accomplished.”
 
The days passed and the weather broke, and still Bligh’s sailing orders did not arrive. As the delay lengthened, his wife, Betsy, broke off nursing their youngest daughter, who was stricken with smallpox, and came down from their home in Wapping to take lodgings in Portsmouth. With impotent exasperation, Bligh watched other ships weigh anchor and slip serenely down the Channel, in the fair, fine weather. Each day that passed, as he knew, reduced the odds of a good passage around the Horn.
 
There had already been warning signs that the
Bounty
’s voyage, so beloved to Joseph Banks, did not stand quite so high in Admiralty eyes. Back in September, Bligh had received a distinguished visitor at the Deptford docks. Lord Selkirk, a Scottish earl, ostensibly came down to use his interest to find a position for his son’s tutor, William Lockhead, who was “an enthusiast in regard to Natural History” and “most anxious to go round the World with Mr. Bligh”; Selkirk’s son, the Honorable Dunbar Douglas, was already set to join the
Bounty
as yet another gentleman “able seaman.” With his own son destined to sail with her, Selkirk took a closer look than most at the
Bounty;
alarmed at what he had seen, he wrote a frank and urgent report to Banks, drawing attention to ominous deficiencies.
 
The rating of Bligh’s vessel as a cutter, and not a sloop of war, was “highly improper for so long a voyage,” Selkirk wrote on September 14, pointing out that the ship’s establishment did not include “a Lieutenant, or any Marines.” Marines essentially served the role of the commander’s security force, and Cook had never sailed on his Pacific voyages with fewer than twelve.
 
But perhaps most troubling to Lord Selkirk was the issue of Bligh’s own status: “I was sorry to find . . . Mr. Bligh himself is but very indifferently used, or rather I think realy ill used,” Selkirk had written with some force. “It would have been scrimply Justice to him to have made him Master & Commander before sailing: nay considering that he was, I believe, the only person that was not in some way or other prefer’d at their return of all who went last out with Capt. Cook, it would be no unreasonable thing to make him Post Captain now.” Cook, on his very first Pacific voyage, had also sailed as a lieutenant—but the prestige of that voyage had never been in question.
 
Although Selkirk did not disclose the fact, he was an old friend of Bligh’s father-in-law, Richard Betham, and it is probable that he had been leaned upon to communicate family concerns to Banks. These concerns were openly expressed in the farewell letter Betham himself wrote to Bligh a week later, offering his good wishes for the long voyage ahead: “I own I have a different Idea of [the voyage] from what I had conceived before I was acquainted with the Circumstances of the Vessel, & the manner in which it is fitted out,” he told his son-in-law. “Government I think have gone too frugally to work: Both the Ship and the Complement of Men are too small in my opinion for such a voyage. Lord Howe may understand Navy matters very well, but I suppose mercantile Projects are treated by him with Contempt.”
 
“Contempt” is perhaps too strong a word; but the accumulation of troubling details—the miserably small ship, the determinedly lower rating, Bligh’s own status and the apparent lack of urgency in getting sailing orders—tend to suggest that collecting breadfruit in Tahiti was not at the top of the Admiralty’s list. Among other things, England seemed poised for yet another war, this time with Holland.
 
“Every thing here wears the appearance of War being at hand,” Duncan Campbell had written to a Jamaican colleague on September 29. “Seaman’s Wages & every naval Store have of course risen to War prices.” To an Admiralty intent on mobilizing ships and men, the
Bounty
’s breadfruit run to the Pacific was only a distraction. Three weeks would pass before Bligh received his sailing orders, by which time the fair conditions had changed.

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