Mutiny: A Novel of the Bounty Read online

23 DECEMBER 1787 – 26 OCTOBER 1788

  5

  NO SOONER HAD I SET foot on the deck of the Bounty than the weather took a turn for the worse and the rain started; it was almost as if the Saviour himself had taken one look at the ship in the harbour and the souls on board, decided he didn’t much care for any man-jack of us, and thought it would be fine sport to torment us all from the start, the donkey.

  Mr Zéla had bid me goodbye on shore and I don’t mind admitting that I felt a rush of the nerves inside me as I looked up at what was to be my home for the next eighteen months, perhaps even two years, of my life. The thought of this alone was enough to give me the squits.

  ‘Are you not sailing too?’ I asked hopefully, for I had grown to think of him as something of a benefactor and even a friend during our short acquaintance as he had helped me already on three separate occasions that day.

  ‘Me?’ he asked, laughing a little and shaking his head. ‘No, no, my boy. I’m afraid I have more than my share of responsibilities to take care of here in England at the moment. Attractive though the idea of life as an adventurer seems to me, I’m afraid I must defer the pleasure of this particular voyage and wish you adieu and bonne chance.’

  I don’t know why he had to talk like that. Had that barrel of fruity chatter sprung from anyone else’s lips it would have given me the revulsions, but it seemed as if simpler phrases lived in a different country than he did. I tried to think of something equally clever to say in reply, but he was off again with his prattle before my brain could catch up with my lips. Gentlemen like him usually are. They take silence to be a call from the audience for another song.

  ‘She’s not the grandest ship I’ve ever seen,’ he said doubtfully, stroking his whiskers and frowning a little. ‘But she’s keen, I’ll say that for her. And she’ll get you there safely. Sir Joseph has seen to her sturdiness, I can promise you that.’

  ‘As long as she don’t sink, that’s all I’m concerned for,’ I told him, neither knowing nor caring who this Sir Joseph was that he spoke of.

  At this he fixed me a beady stare and shook his head quickly. ‘My boy, you mustn’t speak like that on board,’ he said in a serious tone. ‘Sailors are a curious breed. They have more superstitions than the ancients in Rome and Greece combined and I dare say you’ll see the innards of more than a few fallen albatrosses as they’re examined for a weather forecast during your voyage. A comment such as that might make strange enemies of your new fellows. Think on it and be wise.’

  I nodded but could only consider what a rum lot they must be if they couldn’t hear a lad speak his mind without thinking the whole shoddy world was coming to an end. Still, I was smart enough to realize that Mr Zéla knew a damn sight more about the ways of the world than I did, so I took note of what he said and resolved to have a care with my language during the voyage ahead.

  We stood there for a few more moments and my gaze became fixed upon the end of the stretch of wood that acted as a gangway and the groups of men who were marching quickly about the deck as if their arses were on fire, pulling at ropes and tightening I-knew-not-what, and wondered for a moment whether or not I should make a run for it right there and then, simply slip out of the French gentleman’s grasp and aim for one of the side streets where I was sure to lose him should he give chase (which I doubted anyway). I looked to the left and to the right, saw my opportunity and was about to make a sprint of it, when – almost as if he could read my mind – Mr Zéla’s hand was pinched on the bone of my shoulder and he began to steer me in the direction of my destiny.

  ‘Time to board, Master Turnstile,’ said he and that great booming voice of his cut through my plans like a scaldy-knife through butter. ‘The ship will depart soon; it’s already been delayed for several days. You see that chap standing at the top of the steps, waving at us?’

  I looked in the direction he had indicated and, sure enough, standing on the deck without an ounce of shame was an abominable-looking creature with the face of a weasel – all points and angles and sucked-in cheeks – flapping his arms in the air as if he had just found escape from a home for the bewildered. ‘Aye,’ said I. ‘I see him. A pitiful sight, that’s for sure.’

  ‘That’s Mr Samuel,’ he told me then. ‘The captain’s clerk. He’s expecting you and will direct you to your duties. A sound man,’ he added after a moment, but I didn’t believe a word of it from the tone of him; it sounded as if he was just saying that to make me feel more comfortable . I turned my head and looked behind me once more to where freedom lay but dismissed the thought of it and shook my head. For here I was, fourteen years of age, a master at some things – picking pockets, knavery of a sort – and an innocent at others. Certainly, I could make my way to the capital, I had the wit to do it, and with a little luck on my side I would doubtless make a living there, but here in front of me was something different. A chance for adventure and money-making. Unlike the sailors on board, I wasn’t one to waste breath or thought on superstition, but nonetheless I couldn’t help but wonder whether fate had brought me to this moment and to this ship for a reason.

  And there was something else I did not want to consider. Mr Lewis. Him as what brought me up. The life I would be leaving behind. The lengths he might go to recapture me. I shivered at the thought of it and looked towards the ship again.

  ‘Right,’ said I, nodding my head. ‘I’ll say fare thee well and thank you once again for saving me.’ I extended my hand and shook his vigorously; he seemed amused by the gesture, the donkey. ‘You’ve done me a great service and perhaps someday I will be able to repay you.’

  ‘Repay me by making a fine captain’s servant,’ he told me, placing a hand on my shoulder as if I was his own lad and not just some scamp he’d collected off the streets. ‘Be honest and loyal, John Jacob Turnstile, and I will know that I did not make a mistake in choosing you today and sparing you from the gaol.’

  ‘I will,’ said I, before bidding him farewell once again and heading up the gangway towards the bedlamite, slowly at first and then a little faster, as if my confidence was growing with every step.

  ‘You’re the servant-lad?’ asked the weasel at the top in a voice that would have made glass crack. It sounded like his words were bypassing his vocal chords entirely and making their utterances through his nasal cavities instead.

  ‘John Jacob Turnstile,’ said I, extending a hand to him in the hope that we might get our acquaintance off to a happy start. ‘Pleased to meet you, I’m sure.’

  He stared down at my hand as if I had just offered him the rotting carcass of a maggot-infested house-cat and invited him to make kiss with it. ‘I’m Mr Samuel, the captain’s clerk,’ he said, looking at me as though I had just crawled out from under the boat to stand in front of him now, covered in barnacles and sea-slime, stinking of the putrid waters beneath us. ‘And I’m above you.’

  I nodded. I knew little of sea life, other than what I had heard from the sailors arriving and departing from my own small world in Portsmouth, but I was canny enough to know that every man on board the Bounty knew his place entirely in the chain of things and that there was a strong possibility that I lay at the very bottom of that sequence.

  ‘Then, I shall take great pleasure in looking up at you from my vantage point beneath and glorying in your magnificence,’ I told him as he started to lead me away.

  He stopped then and looked back at me with a glare that would have frightened a Chinaman. ‘What’s that?’ he asked, his face contorting even more now, and I regretted saying the words because the longer we stood there the more wet we were both becoming, what with the blasted weather getting worse by the moment. ‘What’s that you say, boy?’

  ‘I said I hope to learn from you,’ I replied in a more innocent tone. ‘I wasn’t supposed to be here, you know. Another lad had the place but he lost it.’

  ‘I know all about that,’ said he with a scowl. ‘I know more of it than you do too, so don’t pretend otherwise or you’ll be caught out. And you’re
not to believe what you hear from any other on account of there’s no truth in anything the men say here. Young Smith, the servant as was, fell by his own mischance and I had ne’er a hand in it.’

  I said nothing in reply to this but made a note in my mind to steady my feet on deck whenever Mr Samuel was near me. Perhaps clerks and servants did not have a natural affection for each other; for all I knew, that was the way of things at sea. But I had little enough time to think of this now, for away we were, halfway along the deck, and him with his head plunged down as he burrowed his way through the ranks of men who stared at me as I passed but made no comments. They were older than me, almost every one, a range from fifteen to forty, I should have said, but I didn’t slow down. I could make my introductions later. Truth to tell, I felt nervous of them; they were bigger than me, every one, and looked me up and down in the way that Mr Lewis did whenever he had the motions, and that was a class of behaviour I wanted no more of now that I was an independent fellow, reliant on none but myself.

  ‘Lift your feet and walk, lad,’ shouted Mr Samuel at me, despite the fact that I was keeping pace with him. ‘I haven’t the time to be wasting on you. You’re late as it is.’

  Before I could form an answer and point out that my timekeeping that day had been entirely in the hands of others, he lifted up a hatch in the floor to reveal a staircase running beneath us to the deck below, and down he went in a moment without so much as a word to me; my own feet took longer to grow accustomed to the unfamiliar steps and I descended slowly, gripping the sides carefully with nervous hands.

  ‘Hurry up, lad,’ screeched the weasel and I started to run so that the tips of my toes were almost touching the heels of his feet as I followed him along a corridor to the end of the boat, whereupon he threw open a door to reveal a large room, surrounded by windows on either side, narrowing together as the ship tapered to a point. It was a glorious space, bright and airy and dry, and I wondered for a moment whether it might be mine. I had slept in a lot worse places, that was for sure. It was curiously empty of furniture, however, and lined up along the walls on either side were many dozens of long crates and – more mysterious to my eyes – hundreds upon hundreds of green earthenware pots, empty then, every one of them, and neatly slotted into each other so they stood, some thirty or forty tall, along each of the walls. The crates had circular holes cut in their bases, some twenty by half a dozen in width, and slats cut into the sides whereby they might stand atop each other while giving breath to whatever was stored within and below.

  ‘In the name of buggery, what are all the pots for?’ I asked in surprise, making the mistake of assuming that a civilized conversation between two members of His Majesty’s navy would not be too much to hope for, but this foolishness was quashed when the weasel spun round and wagged a finger in my face like the old washerwoman he was.

  ‘None of your questions, lad,’ he screeched at me, his spittle flecking left and right and him not a bit ashamed of his behaviour at all. ‘You’re not brought here to be a question-master, do you hear me? You’re brought here to be a servant boy. Let the matter start and end there.’

  ‘Beggin’ your most humble apology, sir,’ said I, bowing low to him then, bending right over so that my arse was fairly in the air behind me. ‘I withdraw the question without rancour. How dare I presume to have asked such a thing?’

  ‘Mind your manners, that’s my advice to you,’ said he, walking through another door now and bringing us into a smaller area, a corridor with two doors on either side and a cloth curtain pulled fast at the end.

  ‘That door there,’ said he, pointing his gnarly finger towards one of them. ‘That belongs to Mr Fryer, the master.’

  ‘The door does?’ I asked, all innocence.

  ‘The cabin behind the door, you damned ignoramus,’ he shouted then. ‘Second only to the captain is Mr Fryer. You’ll listen to what he says and obey him at all times or know the consequences.’

  ‘I will, sir,’ said I. ‘Do what I’m told, I mean.’

  ‘And behind that curtain there are the officers’ berths. Young Mr Hallett and Mr Heywood. Then there’s Mr Stewart and Mr Tinkler and Mr Young. They’re the midshipmen and they’re above you. And then there’s the master’s mates, Mr Elphinstone and Mr Christian.’

  ‘Am I above them?’ I asked.

  ‘They’re very far above you,’ he snapped at me like an old crocodile about to take the head off a lesser creature. ‘Very far above you indeed. You’re not to have much to do with them, though. Your responsibilities are towards the captain, so remember that. His cabin is through here.’ He stepped over towards the other door and tapped on it quickly, a noisy rat-tat-tat that would have woken the dead, before placing his ear against the frame. No answer was heard and he opened it then and stepped aside so that I might look around me. I felt as if I was on a sightseeing turn and he would tell me not to touch anything in case I sullied the surfaces with my grubby paws.

  ‘The captain’s quarters,’ he told me then. ‘Smaller than standard, of course, but that’s on account of the ship needing so much space in there for the plants.’ He nodded in the direction of the larger area through which we had just walked, the one that housed the pots and crates.

  ‘Plants?’ I asked, frowning at the thought of it. ‘Is that what the pots are for, then?’

  ‘No questions, I told you!’ he shouted, looming over me like an animal about to pounce. ‘Just do as you’re told, that’s all, and you’ll come to no harm.’

  As he said this, the officers’ door opened and a man stepped out, hesitating for a moment as he saw us standing there. Tall, he was, and red of face, and not a pick of meat on him. A nose you’d notice too. Mr Samuel fell quiet immediately and took his cap off, bowing his head several times, as if the Emperor of Japan had just appeared before him demanding his supper.

  ‘So much noise out here,’ said the officer, and he was wearing the bright blue uniform with gilt buttons that I’d seen around Portsmouth on many’s the occasion. ‘And just as we’re about to set sail too.’ He had a strange tone about him, as if he was pretending that it didn’t matter really, that he was only making conversation, but that if the noise continued he’d have our hides nonetheless.

  ‘I do apologize, Mr Fryer,’ said Mr Samuel. ‘The lad here will make me shout but he’ll learn yet. He’s only young and he’ll learn, I’ll see to that.’

  ‘Who is the lad anyway?’ asked the officer, looking at me with a frown, as if surprised to see a stranger on the ship at all, and I stepped forward all bravado, a hand outstretched once again, and he stared at it with a look of amusement on his face, as if he didn’t understand the gesture, before smiling a little and taking it like a gentleman.

  ‘John Jacob Turnstile,’ said I. ‘Newly employed.’

  ‘Newly employed where?’ he asked me. ‘Here? On the Bounty?’

  ‘If it pleases you, Mr Fryer,’ said Mr Samuel, squeezing in between us and blocking our sight of each other so much that I was forced to bend my body to the right a little to spy Mr Fryer once again, whereupon I gave him one of my special grins, all teeth and lips. ‘Master Smith took a tumble and cracked his legs. A replacement servant for the captain was needed.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Mr Fryer, nodding his head. ‘I see. And you, Master Turnstile, are – I assume – he.’

  ‘I am,’ said I.

  ‘Excellent,’ said he. ‘Well, you are very welcome, then. You’ll find the captain and officers to be a fair lot if you give good service.’

  ‘Which is my aim,’ I told him, for it occurred to me then that there might be larks in this yet and why not try to do the job as befitted me and have Mr Zéla know that I hadn’t let him down?

  ‘Good enough,’ he said, stepping away. ‘For what more could any of us ask of you than that?’ And with that he was away up the ladder and gone.

  Mr Samuel turned to me then and his face was on fire; he didn’t like the fact that Mr Fryer was friendly towards me at all. ‘You scut,’
he said. ‘Playing up to him like a nance.’

  ‘I was mannerly, that’s all,’ I protested. ‘Ain’t that what I’m supposed to be?’

  ‘You’ll not last long here with that attitude, I promise you,’ he told me, before pointing to a bunk slung low in the corner just outside the captain’s cabin. ‘And this here is where you’ll sleep,’ he said, and I stared at the place in amazement, for it was naught but a corner where anyone might pass me by, day or night, and tread on my head.

  ‘There?’ I asked. ‘Don’t I get a cabin of my own?’

  He laughed out loud then, the donkey, and shook his head, before gripping me by the arm and leading me back to the captain’s cabin, pulling me along the way they all do. ‘You see those cases?’ he asked me, directing my gaze to four solid oak boxes scattered around the floor, each one a little smaller than the one next to it.

  ‘I do,’ said I.

  ‘The captain’s clothes and belongings,’ he told me. ‘They want emptying, every one of them. Their contents placed in the wardrobes and shelves. Neatly, mind. And then the boxes stored within the next one up and put out of his way. Can you follow those instructions, lad, or are you too soft in the head to understand me?’

  ‘I believe I can,’ I replied with a roll of the eyes. ‘Complicated as they are.’

  ‘Then, carry on with it, and don’t let me see you back on deck until the job is done.’

  I looked at the boxes and noted that each one was locked, so I turned back to ask the weasel whether he was in possession of the keys, but he was already gone. I heard him scurrying away outside and now that I was alone and without other distractions I couldn’t help but notice the rocking of the ship back and forth, from left to right, and I recalled the stories I had heard of fellows who were ill at sea until they became accustomed to its movements. Weak fools, I had always assumed, for my stomach was solid. I stepped back into the cabin and closed the door behind me.

  I didn’t need any key to let me into the cases; Mr Lewis had trained me far better than that. The captain had any number of items already laid out on his desk that I could use as a lock-pick and I selected a fine feather quill with a pointed tip and inserted it gently into the mechanism, listening at the clasp for the sound of the spring and then giving it that familiar jolt to trip the lock and open the case.