Mutiny: A Novel of the Bounty Page 4

  ‘Another moment and he’d have had you,’ said the bailiff in a casual voice, as if he couldn’t have cared less what happened to any of us and was perfectly prepared to stand by and watch the assault take place.

  ‘Out with you, blue, and let me finish the job, then,’ said Mr Wilber-force. ‘He issued a slander against my wife and I’ll take my satisfaction or be damned.’

  ‘Be damned, then,’ said the bailiff, stepping forward and pushing him out of the way; the hand of my attacker was loosened from my neck and I tumbled to the ground, and not for the first time that day either. My fingers ran to my voice box, wondering whether my pipes were still intact and I would ever sing again. The thought went through my head that my body, underneath my clothes, must have been a rainbow of blacks and blues with the indignities I had suffered over the previous few hours.

  ‘On your feet, lad,’ said the bailiff, nodding towards me, and I dragged myself up slowly.

  ‘I can’t stand,’ I replied in a weakened voice. ‘I am beaten.’

  ‘On your feet,’ he repeated, but this time more severely, and he took a step towards me with such venom that I found my balance again and placed myself in the vertical.

  ‘Are we for the gaol already?’ I asked him, because although I did not relish the idea of any more time spent there with my violent companion, I was even less enamoured with the concept of my lengthy incarceration. ‘Are there no more trials that can be heard first before we go? Is Spithead cleansed of sinners?’

  ‘You’re to come with me,’ said the bailiff, taking me by the arm and pulling me out of the cell. ‘And you stay where you are for now,’ he added to Mr Wilberforce. ‘I’ll be along for you presently when the carriage is here.’

  ‘You’re never letting him go?’ cried my erstwhile chum, seeing me being taken unexpectedly away from his grasp. ‘That lad’s a menace to society, I swear he is. If there’s only room for one of us in the gaol, then by rights it should be him as he has a twelvemonth to pay and I have no more than a quarter of that.’

  ‘Rest your tongue,’ said the bailiff, pulling the door shut. ‘He’ll be paying for his crime all right, I promise you that.’

  ‘I’ll remember you to the missus,’ I shouted back at him as the door of the cell closed and a moment later I could hear Mr Wilberforce running against it and pounding the frame with his fists.

  ‘What’s next for me then, blue?’ I asked as he turned and started marching down the corridor and I chased along behind; he was the first fellow today who hadn’t felt the need to drag me behind him like a dog on a leash.

  ‘Just follow me, lad, and less of your questions,’ he said. ‘Mr Henderson desires an audience.’

  My heart sank when he said that. I wondered whether the old man had consulted further with the Portsmouth constabulary and decided that I was a bad ‘un through and through and a twelvemonth was not sentence enough. Perhaps I would be sent there for longer, or receive a flogging first.

  ‘What’s it about, though?’ I asked, desperate to know so that I could prepare my argument on the journey.

  ‘The Lord above knows,’ he answered with a shrug. ‘Do you think he confides in the likes of me?’

  ‘No,’ I admitted. ‘You’re not high enough.’

  He stopped and glared at me, but then shook his head and continued along. I got the impression he was not as quick to anger as some around there. ‘Just come along, lad,’ he told me. ‘And no dawdling, if you know what’s good for you.’

  I did know what was good for me and would have liked to tell him so. What was good for me would have been my immediate release on to the streets of Spithead with naught but a telling-off and a promise on my part to devote my life henceforth to aiding the poor and crippled and never more to rest my eyes on those things that were not my own. But I said nothing. Instead I did his bidding and followed him until we reached a large oak door. He knocked soundly upon it and it crossed my mind that behind those doors lay either my salvation or my condemnation. I breathed deeply and prepared for the worst.

  ‘Enter!’ came a cry from within and the bailiff opened the door and stepped out of my way so that I might go inside. No surprise that the magistrate’s room was a shoddy sight nicer than any of the other rooms that I’d seen so far in the courthouse. A fire was burning in the hearth and a tray of meats were laid out on the table beside a bowl of soup for the old scut’s dinner. Mr Henderson was sitting behind the table, a bib tucked into his collar, and he was making short work of the food. Seeing it, my stomach awakened and asserted its rights; I recalled that I hadn’t eaten since morning time and had suffered enormously since.

  ‘The very boy,’ said Mr Henderson, looking up at me. ‘Come in, come in, you knave, and stand tall when I talk to you. Thank you, Bailiff,’ he added, in a louder voice, looking across at the blue. ‘That will be all for now. You may close the door.’

  He did as he was bid and the magistrate took another long slurp of soup before wiping his mouth with the bib and removing it from his collar. He sat back then and narrowed his eyes, making a steeple of his fingertips, and stared at me, licking his lips. I wondered whether I was to be next on his menu.

  ‘John Jacob Turnstile,’ he said after a long pause, sounding out every syllable as if my own name was a piece of poetry. ‘What a rascal you are.’

  I was about to answer the allegation with a steadfast denial, but a chill descended on my body such as you feel when a ghost hovers in the room or your grave has been trod upon, and I sensed another presence nearby. Quick as a flash I turned my head and who did I see sitting in an armchair behind me, quite out of sight from me when I had first entered the room, but the French gentleman, him as I had the timepiece off earlier in the day. Surprised to see him there, I uttered an oath and he smiled and shook his head, but Mr Henderson was having none of that kind of language in his private chambers.

  ‘You’ll keep a civil tongue in your head, lad,’ he shouted, and I turned back to him and let my gaze drop to the floor.

  ‘I heartily apologize, Your Holiness,’ said I. ‘I meant no disrespect; the words were out of my mouth before I could shake off the bad ones.’

  ‘This is a place of law,’ he said then. ‘The king’s law. And I won’t have it sullied by the filthy tongue of one such as you.’

  I nodded but said nothing. The room was silent again and I wondered whether the French gentleman would speak, but he said nothing for the time being and it was left to Mr Henderson to initiate the conversation.

  ‘Master Turnstile,’ he said to me eventually. ‘You are familiar with the gentleman seated behind you?’

  I turned to look at him again, to make sure that my eyes had not deceived me, and then looked back at the magistrate, nodding my head in shame. ‘To my eternal dishonour, I am,’ I told him. ‘He is the very fine gentleman before whom I disgraced myself this very morning. I stand before you an infamous fellow.’

  ‘Infamy is too small a word for it, Master Turnstile,’ said the magistrate. ‘Too small a word indeed. You behaved like a monster, a rascally knave, no better than a pickpocket of the lower orders.’

  It went through my head that I should point out that that was exactly what I was, that it was the world in which I had been reared, having never known the succour of either mother or father, but sense asserted its virtues and I buttoned my lip, knowing that these were not the words he wanted to hear.

  ‘I am most apologetic for my actions,’ I said instead and then, turning to the French gentleman, I spoke with something approaching honesty. ‘You were kind to me earlier, sir,’ I told him. ‘And spoke to me in a way that made me feel like more than I am. I apologize for letting you down. If I could amend my actions, I would.’

  The gentleman nodded his head and I thought that my words had touched him and, to my surprise, I found that I had meant them too. He had been thoughtful to me when our conversation had begun. And he had spoken to me as if there was more than just a mash of cobwebs between my ears, which was a r
are treat for me.

  ‘What say you, Mr Zulu,’ said the magistrate then, looking at the Frenchman. ‘Is he a likely lad?’

  ‘It’s Zéla,’ said the gentleman in a tired voice, and I guessed that he had corrected the mispronunciation on more than one occasion since coming into the room before me. ‘I am not of African descent, Mr Henderson. My birthplace was Paris.’

  ‘I do apologize, sir,’ said the magistrate.

  I could tell by his tone that he couldn’t care any less and simply wanted this interview to reach a happy conclusion as swiftly as possible. I looked at the gentleman and wondered who he could be to hold such sway over a rabid dog like Mr Henderson.

  ‘He seems just the ticket, though,’ said Mr Zéla then. ‘How tall are you, boy?’ he asked me.

  ‘A little over five feet, sir,’ I told him, my face flushing slightly, for there are those who said that I was on the small side and it was a burden that I had borne my whole life.

  ‘And your age, it is fourteen years, am I correct?’

  ‘Fourteen years precisely,’ said I. ‘And two days,’ I added.

  ‘A perfect age,’ he said, standing up now and stepping towards me. He was a fine figure of a man, I’ll give him that. Tall and thin, with an elegant look to him but a touch of generosity about the eyes, as if he wasn’t the type to make a fellow’s life troublesome. ‘I wonder, would you mind opening your mouth for me?’ he asked.

  ‘Would he mind?’ roared Mr Henderson with a laugh. ‘Does it matter whether he minds or not? Open your mouth, boy, and do as the gentleman bids you!’

  I ignored the screeching from my left and decided to focus my attention on the French gentleman instead. He can help me, I thought. He wants to help me. I opened my mouth and he cupped my jaw with one hand – it held it entirely – and peered inside at my teeth. I felt like a horse.

  ‘Very healthy,’ he pronounced after a moment. ‘How does a lad like you keep his dentals in such a fine state?’

  ‘I eat apples,’ I announced in a confident voice. ‘As many as I can find. They’re uncommon good for the gnashers, or so I’ve always been told.’

  ‘Well, they’ve done the trick, that’s for sure,’ he said, smiling a little at me. ‘Hold out your arms, boy.’

  I stretched them out before me and he pressed his hands to my sides and then to my chest, but he did it in the way that a doctor might and not to give himself the motions. He didn’t seem that type at all.

  ‘You’re a healthy lad, I think,’ he said. ‘Well positioned, with good bones. A little on the short side but that’s no harm.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ I told him, choosing to ignore the last remark. ‘Very generous of you to say so.’

  Mr Zéla gave a nod and looked towards Mr Henderson. ‘I think he might do,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I think he might do very well.’

  Do for what? For immediate release? I looked from man to man and wondered what lay in store.

  ‘Then you’re a lucky lad,’ said Mr Henderson, picking up a bone from his plate now and sucking on it in such a fashion that it gave me the revulsions. ‘How would you care to avoid a twelvemonth in the gaol, then, eh?’

  ‘I should like it very much,’ I told him. ‘I have repented of my sins, I swear I have.’

  ‘It’s neither one thing nor the other whether you have or you haven’t,’ he said, selecting another cut and examining it for the choicer parts first. ‘Mr Zéla, would you care to let the lad know what lies in store for him?’

  The French gentleman returned to his seat and looked me up and down for a moment, appeared to be considering something, and then nodded his head as if his mind was fully made up. ‘Yes, I am decided,’ he said, more to himself than anyone else. ‘Have you ever been to sea, lad?’ he asked me.

  ‘Sea?’ I said with a laugh. ‘Not I.’

  ‘And would you care for it, do you think?’

  I considered the idea for a moment. ‘I might care for it, sir,’ I told him carefully. ‘In what capacity exactly?’

  ‘There’s a ship anchored not far from here,’ he told me then. ‘A ship with a most particular mission of great importance to His Majesty.’

  ‘Do you know the king, sir?’ I asked, my eyes opening wide to be in the presence of one who might have been in the presence of royalty.

  ‘I have had the very great pleasure,’ he replied quietly, but not in a way that made you think he wanted you to think him a fine fellow for it.

  I uttered an oath in astonishment and Mr Henderson banged the table and offered one of his own in reply.

  ‘This ship,’ continued Mr Zéla, ignoring us both, ‘is due to set off on its mission today and a small problem has presented itself, but one that we think you, Master Turnstile, can be of assistance to us with.’

  I nodded and tried to rush his story along in my brain in order to understand what might be required of me.

  ‘A young lad,’ he continued, ‘a lad your age, as it goes, who had a place on board the ship as the captain’s servant, was making his way down the gangway yesterday afternoon at a pace not commensurate with wet and slimy woodwork and the long and the short of it is that he has cracked his legs and will not be fit for walking, let along for sailing. There is a suggestion that he had taken drink, but that’s neither here nor there for the purposes of our conversation. A replacement needs to be found, but quick-smart, as the ship has been delayed by the weather long enough and must set forth today. What say you, Master Turnstile: are you prepared for an adventure?’

  I thought about it. A ship. A captain’s servant. I should say I was.

  ‘And the gaol?’ I asked. ‘Shall I be excused it?’

  ‘If you give a good account of yourself on board,’ said Mr Henderson, the ignorant old elephant. ‘If not, you shall serve your sentence on your return, threefold.’

  I frowned. That was a carve-up if ever I had heard one. ‘And the voyage,’ I asked Mr Zéla. ‘Might I ask how long it is to be?’

  ‘Two years, I should think,’ he replied with a shrug, as if such time was a pittance to him. ‘You have heard of Otaheite?’ he asked me. I thought about it and shook my head. ‘Tahiti, then?’ he continued. ‘It is often known by that name.’ Again, I shook my head. ‘Well, never mind. Your ignorance will soon enough be rectified. The ship’s destination is Otaheite,’ he told me. ‘For a most particular mission. And when that mission is over, the ship will return to England. You shall receive wages on your return of six shillings for every week that you were away and be absolved of your crime in addition to this. How does that sound, my fine fellow? Are we of a mind?’

  I tried out the numbers in my head in order to discover how much six shillings every week for two years might be but I hadn’t the wit for it; I only knew that I should be rich. I could have embraced the French gentleman, despite his heritage.

  ‘I should be very grateful,’ I told him, the words stumbling out of my mouth quickly, so anxious was I for the offer not to be withdrawn. ‘I should be very grateful to accept the offer you put to me, and I assure you that my service will be of the very highest standard at all times.’

  ‘Then it’s settled,’ said he with a smile, standing up and placing a hand on my shoulder. ‘But I’m afraid there’s no time to waste. The ship sets sail at four o’clock.’ He reached into his pocket and withdrew his watch but frowned when his eyes landed on the smashed glass and broken hands. He glanced at me for a moment before returning it to its home without comment. ‘Mr Henderson?’ he asked then. ‘Do you have the o’clock?’

  ‘A quarter after three,’ replied the magistrate, who had grown bored of both of us now and was concentrating solely on his victuals.

  ‘Then, we must make haste,’ said Mr Zéla. ‘I may take the lad, sir?’

  ‘Take him, take him,’ came the reply. ‘And make sure I don’t see you before me again, you young rascal, do you hear? Or you’ll be the worse for it.’

  ‘Of course, Your Excellency. And thank you for your generosity,’ I
added, following Mr Zéla through the door and forward out to my new life. Naturally, he made his way through the corridors with as much speed as every one else did and I was forced to run along behind him. Finally, though, we were outside, where his carriage awaited. I climbed in after him and my heart danced to breathe freedom and fresh air again. I was to leave England and have an adventure. If there had ever been a luckier boy alive, I knew not his name nor his circumstances.

  ‘Begging your pardon, sir,’ I said as we drove off, ‘but might I enquire after the name of the ship and the captain, him as I am to serve, that is?’

  ‘Did I not mention it?’ he asked, sounding surprised. ‘The ship is His Majesty’s frigate the Bounty and it is being led by a most able fellow and a particular friend of mine, Lieutenant William Bligh.’

  I nodded and recorded the names on my memory; they did, as he had suggested, mean nothing to me then. We turned a corner and headed towards the sea front and I never glanced back once, never looked round to have a final memory of the streets I knew so well, never took a moment to stare once more at the cobbles where I had robbed and thieved for a decade or more, didn’t even give a thought to the establishment in which I had been reared and where my innocence had been stolen from me on a hundred occasions. Instead I looked to the future and the thrills and the escapades that awaited me.

  Oh, foolish lad; what little I knew then of what lay ahead.

  Part II

  The Voyage