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Shortly after daybreak I was awakened by someone shaking me roughly by the shoulder, and at the same time I was aware of loud voices, Mr. Bligh’s among them, and the heavy trampling of feet on deck. Churchill, the master-at-arms, stood by my hammock with a pistol in his hand, and I saw Thompson, holding a musket with the bayonet fixed, stationed by the arms chest which stood on the gratings of the main hatch. At the same time two men, whose names I do not remember, rushed into the berth, and one of them shouted, “We’re with you, Churchill! Give us arms!” They were furnished with muskets by Thompson and hurried on deck again. Stewart, whose hammock was next to mine in the larboard berth, was already up and dressing in great haste. Despite the confused tumult of voices overhead, Young was still asleep.

“Have we been attacked, Churchill?” I asked; for my first thought was that the Bounty must have drifted close to one of the islands thereabout, and that we had been boarded by the savages.

“Put on your clothes and lose no time about it, Mr. Byam,” he replied. “We have taken the ship and Captain Bligh is a prisoner.”

Aroused suddenly from the deepest slumber, I did not even then grasp the meaning of what he said, and for a moment sat gazing stupidly at him.

“They’ve mutinied, Byam!” said Stewart. “Good God. Churchill! Are you mad? Have you any conception of what you’re doing?”

“We know very well what we’re doing,” he replied. “Bligh has brought all this on himself. Now, by God, we’ll make him suffer!”

Thompson shook his musket in menacing fashion. “We’re going to shoot the dog!” he said; “and don’t you try any of your young gentlemen’s tricks on us, or we murder some more of you! Seize ’em up, Churchill! They’re not to be trusted.”

“Hold your tongue and mind the arms chest,” Churchill replied. “Come, Mr. Byam, hurry into your clothes. Quintal, stand fast by the door there! No one’s to come forward without my orders—understand?”

“Aye, aye, sir!”

Turning my head, I saw Matthew Quintal at the rear entrance to the berth. Even as I looked, Samuel appeared behind him, dressed only in his trousers, his thin hair standing awry and his pale face considerably paler than its wont. “Mr. Churchill!” he called.

“Go back, you fat swine, or I run you through the guts!” Quintal shouted.

“Mr. Churchill, sir! Allow me to speak to you,” Samuel called again.

“Drive him back,” Churchill said, and Quintal made so fierce a gesture with his musket that Samuel vanished without waiting to hear more. “Give him a prod in the backside, Quintal,” someone shouted, and, looking up, I saw two more armed men leaning over the hatchway.

Without weapons of any sort, there was nothing that Stewart and I could do but obey Churchill’s orders. Both he and Thompson were powerful men and we should have been no match for them even had they been unarmed. I immediately thought of Christian, a man as quick in action as in decision, but I knew there could be no hope of his still being at liberty. He was the officer of the morning watch and had doubtless been rushed and overwhelmed at the very outset of the mutiny, even before Bligh had been secured. Catching my eye, Stewart shook his head slightly, as much as to say, “It’s useless. There’s nothing to be done.”

We dressed in short order, and Churchill then ordered us to precede him along the passage to the fore ladderway. “Keep the others in the berth, Thompson,” he called back. “Leave ’em to me; I’ll mind ’em!” Thompson replied. There were several armed guards at the fore-hatch, among them Alexander Smith, my hammock man, whose loyalty in whatever situation I should have thought unquestionable. It was a shock to see him in Churchill’s party, but the scene that presented itself as we came on deck made me forget the very existence of Smith.

Captain Bligh, naked except for his shirt, and with his hands tied behind his back, was standing by the mizzenmast. Christian stood before him, holding in one hand the end of the line by which Bligh was bound and in the other a bayonet, and around them were several of the able seamen, fully armed, among whom I recognized John Mills, Isaac Martin, Richard Skinner, and Thomas Burkitt. Churchill then said to us, “Stand by here. We mean no harm to either of you unless you take part against us.” He then left us.

Stewart and I had taken it for granted that Churchill was the ringleader of the mutineers. As already related, after his attempted desertion at Tahiti he had been severely punished by Bligh. I knew how deeply he hated him, and it was conceivable that such a man could goad himself even to the point of mutiny. But that Christian could have done so, no matter what the provocation, was beyond anything I could have dreamed of as possible. Stewart’s only comment was, “Christian! Good God! Then there’s no hope.”

The situation looked hopeless indeed. At this time the only unarmed men I saw on deck were Captain Bligh and ourselves. The ship was entirely in the hands of the mutineers. Evidently we had been brought up to divide the party of midshipmen below, thus preventing any opportunity for our taking concerted action. In the confusion we made our way aft a little way, and as we approached the spot where Bligh was standing, I heard Christian say, “Will you hold your tongue, sir, or shall I force you to hold it? I’m master of this ship now, and, by God, I stand no more of your abuse!” Sweat was pouring down Bligh’s face. He had been making a great outcry, shouting, “Murder! Treason!” at the top of his voice.

“Master of my ship, you mutinous dog!” he yelled. “I’ll see you hung! I’ll have you flogged to ribbons! I’ll....”

“Mamu, sir! Hold your tongue or you are dead this instant!”

Christian placed the point of his bayonet at Bligh’s throat with a look in his eye there was no mistaking. “Slit the dog’s gullet!” someone shouted; and there were cries of “Let him have it, Mr. Christian!” “Throw him overboard!” “Feed the bastard to the sharks!” and the like. It was only then, I think, that Captain Bligh realized his true situation. He stood for a moment breathing hard, looking about him with an expression of incredulity on his face.

“Mr. Christian, allow me to speak!” he begged hoarsely. “Think what you do! Release me—lay aside your arms! Let us be friends again, and I give you my word that nothing more shall be said of this matter.”

“Your word is of no value, sir,” Christian replied. “Had you been a man of honour things would never have come to this pass.”

“What do you mean to do with me?”

“Shoot you, you bloody rogue!” cried Burkitt, shaking his musket at him.

“Shooting’s too good for him! Seize him up at the gratings, Mr. Christian! Give us a chance at him with the cat!”

“That’s it! Seize him up! Give him a taste of his own poison!”

“Flay the hide off him!”

“Silence!” Christian called, sternly; and then, to Bligh: “We’ll give you justice, sir, which is more than you have ever given us. We’ll take you in irons to England....”

A dozen protesting voices interrupted him.

“To England? Never! We won’t have it, Mr. Christian!”

Immediately the deck was again in an uproar, all the mutineers clamouring against Christian’s proposal. Never was the situation with respect to Bligh so critical as at that moment, and it was to his credit that he showed no sign of flinching. The men were in a savage mood, and it was touch and go as to whether he would be shot where he stood; but he glared at each of them in turn as though challenging them to do so. Luckily a diversion was created when Ellison came dashing up flourishing a bayonet. There was no real harm in this lad, but he loved mischief better than his dinner, and, being thoughtless and high-spirited, he could be counted upon to get himself into trouble whenever the opportunity presented itself. Evidently he considered joining in a mutiny nothing more than a fine lark, and he now came dancing up to Bligh with such a comical expression upon his face that the tension was relieved at once. The men broke into cheers. “Hooray, Tommy! Are you with us, lad?”

“Let me guard him, Mr. Christian!” he cried. “I’ll watch him like a cat!” He skipped up and down in front of Bligh, brandishing his weapon. “Oh, you rogue! You old villain! You’d flog us, would you? You’d stop our grog, would you? You’d make us eat grass, would you?”

The men cheered him wildly. “Lay on, lad!” they shouted. “We back you! Give him a jab in the guts!”

“You and your Mr. Samuel! A pair of swindlers, that’s what you are! Cheating us out of our food! You’ve made a pretty penny between you! You old thief! You should be a bumboat man. I lay you’d make your fortune in no time!”

It was a bitter experience for Bligh to be baited thus by the least of his seamen, but as a matter of fact nothing more fortunate for him could have happened. His life at that moment hung in the balance, and Ellison, in giving vent to his feelings, relieved the pent-up emotions of men who were not glib of speech and could express their hatred of Bligh only in action. Christian realized this, I think, and permitted Ellison to speak his mind, but he soon cut him short and put him in his place.

“Clear the cutter!” he called. “Mr. Churchill!”

“Aye, aye, sir!”

“Fetch up Mr. Fryer and Mr. Purcell! Burkitt!”

“Here, sir!”

“You and Sumner and Mills and Martin—stand guard here over Mr. Bligh!”

Burkitt took the end of the line in one of his huge hairy fists.

“We’ll mind him, sir! I’ll lay to that!”

“What’s your plan, Mr. Christian? We’ve a right to know,” said Sumner. Christian turned quickly and looked at him. “Mind what you’re about, Sumner!” he said quietly. “I’m master of this ship! Lively, men, with the cutter.”

Several men climbed into the boat to clear out the yams, sweet potatoes, and other ship’s stores which were kept there, while others unlashed it and got ready the tackle for hoisting it over the side. Burkitt stood directly in front of Captain Bligh, holding the point of a bayonet within an inch of his breast. Sumner stood behind him with his musket at ready, and the other men on either side. Thompson excepted, they were the hardest characters among the sailors, and Bligh wisely said nothing to arouse them further. Others of the mutineers were stationed about the decks, and there were three at each of the ladderways. I wondered how the affair had been so well and secretly planned. I searched my memory, but could recall no incident of a character in the least suspicious.

I had been so intent in watching the scene of which Bligh was the centre that I had forgotten Stewart. We had become separated, and while I was searching for him Christian saw me for the first time. He came at once to where I was standing. His voice was calm, but I could see that he was labouring under great excitement.

“Byam, this is my affair,” he said. “Not a man shall be hurt, but if any take part against us it will be at the peril of the entire ship’s company. Act as you think best.”

“What do you mean to do?” I asked.

“I would have carried Bligh to England as a prisoner. That is impossible; the men won’t have it. He shall have the cutter to go where he chooses. Mr. Fryer, Hayward, Hallet, and Samuel shall go with him.”

There was no time for further talk. Churchill came up with the master and Purcell. The carpenter, as usual, was surly and taciturn. Both he and Fryer were horror-stricken at what had happened, but they were entirely self-possessed. Christian well knew that these two men would seize the first opportunity, if one presented itself, for retaking the ship, and he had them well guarded.

“Mr. Byam, surely you are not concerned in this?” Fryer asked.

“No more than yourself, sir,” I replied.

“Mr. Byam has nothing to do with it,” said Christian. “Mr. Purcell....”

Fryer interrupted him.

“In God’s name, Mr. Christian! What is it you do? Do you realize that this means the ruin of everything? Give up this madness, and I promise that we shall all make your interest our own. Only let us reach England....”

“It is too late, Mr. Fryer,” he replied, coldly. “I have been in hell for weeks past, and I mean to stand it no longer.”

“Your difficulties with Captain Bligh give you no right to bring ruin upon the rest of us.”

“Hold your tongue, sir,” said Christian. “Mr. Purcell, have your men fetch up the thwarts, knees, and gear bolts for the large cutter. Churchill, let the carpenter go below to see to this. Send a guard with him.”

Purcell and Churchill went down the forward ladderway.

“Do you mean to set us adrift?” Fryer asked.

“We are no more than nine leagues from the land here,” Christian replied. “In so calm a sea Mr. Bligh will have no difficulty in making it.”

“I will stay with the ship.”

“No, Mr. Fryer; you will go with Captain Bligh. Williams! Take the master to his cabin while he collects his clothes. He is to be kept there until I send word.”

Fryer requested earnestly to be allowed to remain with the vessel, but Christian well knew his reason for desiring this and would not hear to the proposal. He put an end to the matter by sending the master below.

Purcell now returned, followed by Norman and McIntosh, his mates, carrying the gear for the cutter. Purcell came up to me at once.

“Mr. Byam, I know that you have no hand in this business. But you are, or have been, a friend to Mr. Christian. Beg him to give Captain Bligh the launch. The cutter is rotten and will never swim to the land.”

This, I knew, was the case. The cutter was riddled with worms and leaked so badly as to be almost useless. The carpenters were to have started repairing her that same morning. Purcell would not come with me to speak of the matter, giving as a reason Christian’s dislike of him. “He would not care to grant any request of mine,” he said. “If the cutter is hoisted out, it will be almost certain death for Captain Bligh and all who are permitted to go with him.”

I wasted no time, but went to Christian at once. Several of the mutineers gathered round to hear what I had to say. Christian agreed at once. “He shall have the launch,” he said. “Tell the carpenter to have his men fit her.” He then called, “Leave off with the cutter, my lads! Clear the launch.”

There were immediate protests, led by Churchill, against this new arrangement.

“The launch, Mr. Christian?”

“Don’t let him have it, sir! The old fox’ll get home in her!”

“She’s too bloody good for him!”

There was an argument over the matter, but Christian forced his will upon the others. In fact, they made no determined stand. All were eager to be rid of the captain, and they had little reason to fear that he would ever see England again.

The mutineers were in such complete control of the situation that Christian now gave orders for the rest of those who were not of his party to be brought on deck. Samuel, Bligh’s clerk, was among the first to appear. He was anything but a favourite with the ship’s company, and was greeted with jeers and threats by his particular enemies. I had supposed that he would make a poor showing in such a situation. On the contrary, he acted with spirit and determination. Disregarding the insults of the sailors, he went directly to Captain Bligh to receive his orders. He was permitted to go to Bligh’s cabin with John Smith, the captain’s servant, to fetch up his clothes. They helped him on with his boots and trousers and laid his coat over his shoulders.

I saw Hayward and Hallet standing aft by the rail. Hallet was crying, and both of them were in a state of great alarm. Someone touched my shoulder and I found Mr. Nelson standing beside me.

“Well, Byam, I’m afraid that we’re even farther from home than we thought. Do you know what they plan to do with us?”

I told him the little I knew. He smiled ruefully, glancing toward the island of Tofoa, now a faint blur on the horizon.

“I suppose that Captain Bligh will take us there,” he said. “I don’t much relish the prospect of meeting any more Friendly Islanders. Their friendliness is of a kind that we can well dispense with.”

The carpenter appeared at the ladderway, followed by Robert Lamb, the butcher, who was helping to bring up his tool chest.

“Mr. Nelson,” he said, “we know whom we have to thank for this.”

“Yes, Mr. Purcell, our unlucky stars,” Nelson replied.

“No, sir! We have Captain Bligh to thank for it, and him alone! He has brought it upon us all by his damnable behaviour!”

Purcell had the deepest hatred for Bligh, which was returned with interest. The two men had not spoken for months save when absolutely necessary. Nevertheless, when Mr. Nelson suggested that he might be permitted to stay with the ship if he chose, the carpenter was horrified.

“Stop aboard? With rogues and pirates? Never, sir! I shall follow my commander.”

At this moment Churchill, who was everywhere about the decks, caught sight of us.

“What are you about there, Purcell? Damn your blood! You’d steal our tools, would you?”

“Your tools, you scoundrel? They’re mine, and they go where I go!”

“You shan’t take a nail from the ship if I have my way,” Churchill replied. He then called out to Christian, and there was another argument, not only with respect to the tool chest, but as to the carpenter himself. Christian was partly in the mind to keep him on the vessel, knowing his value as a craftsman, but all the others urged against it. Purcell had a violent temper and was regarded by the men as a tyrant second only to Bligh.

“He’s a damned old villain, sir!”

“Keep the carpenter’s mates, Mr. Christian. They’re the men for us.”

“Make him go in the boat!”

“Make me go, you pirates?” he cried. “I’d like to see the man who’ll stop me!”

Unfortunately, Purcell was as thick-headed as he was fearless, and he now so far forgot the interests of Bligh’s party as to boast of what we would do as soon as we should be clear of the mutineers.

“Mark my word, you rogues! We’ll bring every man of you to justice! We’ll build a vessel to carry us home....”

“So he will, Mr. Christian, if we give him his tools,” several men shouted.

“The old fox could build a ship with a clasp knife!”

Purcell realized too late what he had done. I believe that Christian would have given him many of his tools, of which there were duplicates on board, but having been reminded of what he might do with them, he now ordered the tool chest to be examined, and Purcell was permitted to have nothing but a hand saw, a small axe, a hammer, and a bag of nails. Bligh, who had overhead all that was said, could contain himself no longer. “You infernal idiot!” he roared at Purcell, and was prevented from saying more by Burkitt, who placed a bayonet at his throat.

The decks were now filled with people, but Christian took good care that those not of his party should be prevented from coming together in any numbers. As soon as the launch had been cleared, he ordered the boatswain to swing her out. “And mind yourself, Mr. Cole! If you spring a yard or carry anything away it will go hard with you!” Fifteen or more of us were ordered to assist him, for the mutineers were too canny to lay aside their arms and bear a hand.

“Foresail and mainsail there! All ready?”

“Aye, aye, sir!”

“Let go sheets and tacks!”

“All clear, sir!”

“Clew garnets—up with the clews!”

The breeze was still so light as barely to fill the sails, and the clews of the mainsail and foresail went smoothly up to the quarters of the yards. The yards were now squared and the braces made fast, and with half a dozen men holding the launch inboard she was hoisted, swung out over the bulwarks, and lowered away.

One of the first men ordered into her was Samuel. Hayward and Hallet followed next. Both were shedding tears and crying for mercy, and they were half carried to the gangway. Hayward turned to Christian, clasping his hands imploringly.

“Mr. Christian, what have I ever done that you should treat me so?” he exclaimed. “In God’s name, permit me to stay with the ship!”

“We can dispense with your services here,” Christian replied, grimly. “Into the boat, the pair of you!”

Purcell went next. He required no urging. I think he would have died rather than remain in the ship now that she had been seized by mutineers. His few tools were handed down to him by the boatswain, who followed. Christian ordered Bligh to be brought to the gangway, and his hands were freed.

“Now, Mr. Bligh, there is your boat, and you are fortunate to have the launch and not the cutter. Go into her at once, sir!”

“Mr. Christian,” said Bligh, “for the last time I beg you to reflect! I’ll pawn my honour—I pledge you my word never to think of this again if you will desist. Consider my wife and family!”

“No, Mr. Bligh. You should have thought of your family long before this, and we well know what your honour is worth. Go into the boat, sir!”

Seeing that all pleading was useless, Bligh obeyed, and was followed by Mr. Peckover and Norton, the quartermaster. Christian then handed down a sextant and a book of nautical tables.

“You have your compass, sir. This book is sufficient for every purpose, and the sextant is my own. You know it to be a good one.”

With his hands freed and once more in command, though only of his ship’s launch, Bligh became his old self again.

“I know you to be a bloody scoundrel!” he shouted, shaking his fist in Christian’s direction. “But I’ll have vengeance! Mind that, you ungrateful villain! I’ll see you swinging at a yardarm before two years have passed! And every traitor with you!”

Fortunately for Bligh, Christian’s attention was engaged elsewhere, but several of the mutineers at the bulwarks replied to him in language as forceful as the captain’s, and it was a near thing that he was not fired upon.

In the confusion I had lost sight of Stewart. We had been hauling together at one of the braces when the launch was hoisted out, but now I could find him nowhere. It soon became clear that many were to be allowed to go with Bligh, and Mr. Nelson and I, who had been standing together by the bulwarks, were hastening toward the after ladderway when we were stopped by Christian.

“Mr. Nelson, you and Mr. Byam may stay with the ship if you choose,” he said.

“I have sympathy with you for the wrongs you have suffered, Mr. Christian,” Nelson replied, “but none whatever with this action to redress them.”

“And when have I asked you for sympathy, sir? Mr. Byam, what is your decision?”

“I shall go with Captain Bligh.”

“Then make haste, both of you.”

“Have we permission to fetch our clothes?” Nelson asked.

“Yes, but look sharp!”

Nelson’s cabin was on the orlop deck directly below that of Fryer. Two guards stood by the ladderway on the lower deck. We parted there and I went to the midshipmen’s berth, where Thompson was still on guard over the arms chest. I had seen nothing of Tinkler and Elphinstone, and was about to look into the starboard berth to see if they were still there. Thompson prevented me.

“Never you mind the starboard berth,” he said. “Get your clothes and clear out!”

The berth was screened off from the main hatchway by a canvas-covered framework. To my surprise, I found Young still asleep in his hammock. He had been on watch from twelve to four, and this was his customary time for rest, but it was strange that he could have slept through such a turmoil. I tried to rouse him, but he was a notoriously heavy sleeper. Finding the matter hopeless, I left off and began to ransack my chest for things I should most need. Stacked in the corner of the berth were several Friendly Island war clubs that we had obtained from the savages of Namuka. They had been carved from the toa, or ironwood tree, which well deserved its name, for in weight and texture the wood was indeed like iron. At the sight of them the thought flashed into my mind, “Could I strike Thompson down with one of these?” I glanced quickly out the doorway. Thompson was now seated on the arms chest with his musket between his knees, facing the passageway leading aft. But he saw me thrust out my head and, with an oath, ordered me to “look sharp and clear out of there.”

At this moment Morrison came along the passageway, and as luck would have it Thompson’s attention was attracted by someone calling him from above. I beckoned Morrison into the berth, and he dodged in without having been seen. There was no need for words. I handed him one of the war clubs and took another for myself; then, together, we made a last effort to waken Young. Not daring to speak, we nearly shook him out of his hammock, but we might have spared ourselves the trouble. I heard Thompson call out, “He’s getting his clothes, sir. I’ll have him up at once.” Morrison drew back by the door and raised his club, and I stood at ready on the other side, for we both expected Thompson to come in for me. Instead of that he shouted, “Out of there, Byam, and be quick about it!”

“I’m coming,” I called, and again looked out of the doorway. My heart sank as I saw Burkitt and McCoy coming along from the fore hatchway. They stopped by the arms chest to speak to Thompson. Both had muskets, of course. Our chance to get at Thompson and the arms chest was lost unless they should pass on. Fortune was against us. We waited for at least two minutes longer and the men remained where they were. I heard Nelson’s voice calling down the hatchway: “Byam! Lively there, lad, or you’ll be left behind!” And Tinkler’s: “For God’s sake, hasten, Byam!”

It was a bitter moment for Morrison and me. The opportunity had been a poor one at best, but had there been time something might have come of it. We quickly put the war clubs aside and rushed out, colliding with Thompson, who was coming to see what I was about.

“Damn your blood, Morrison! What are you doing here?”

We didn’t wait to explain, but ran along the passage to the ladderway. Morrison preceded me, and in my haste to reach the deck, cumbered as I was with my bag of clothes, I slipped and fell halfway down the ladder, giving my shoulder a wrench as I struck the gratings. I clambered up again and was rushing toward the gangway when Churchill seized me. “You’re too late, Byam,” he said. “You can’t go.” “Can’t go? By God, I will!” I exclaimed, giving him a shove which loosened his hold and all but toppled him over. I was frantic, for I saw the launch being veered astern, one of the mutineers carrying the painter aft. Burkitt and Quintal were holding Coleman, the armourer, who was begging to go into the boat, and Morrison was struggling with several men who were keeping him back from the gangway. We were, in fact, too late; the launch was loaded almost to the point of foundering, and I heard Bligh shouting: “I can take no more of you, lads! I’ll do you justice if ever we reach England!”

When the launch had drifted astern, the man holding the painter took a turn with it around the rail and threw the free end to someone in the boat. Those left in the ship now crowded along the rail, and I had difficulty in finding a place where I could look over the side. I was sick at heart, and appalled at the realization that I was, indeed, to be left behind among the mutineers. Norton was in the bow of the launch holding the end of the painter. Bligh was standing on a thwart, astern. Of the others, some were seated and some were standing, and the boat was so heavily loaded as to have no more than seven or eight inches of freeboard. There was a great deal of shouting back and forth, and Bligh was contributing his full share to the tumult by bellowing out orders to those in the boat, and curses and imprecations against Christian and his men.

Some of the mutineers looked on silently and thoughtfully, but others were jeering at Bligh, and I heard one of them shout: “Go and see if you can live on half a pound of yams a day, you bloody villain!” Fryer called out, “In God’s name, Mr. Christian, give us arms and ammunition! Think where we go! Let us have a chance to defend our lives!” Others, the boatswain among them, joined earnestly in this plea.

“Arms be damned!” someone shouted back.

“You don’t need ’em.”

“Old Bligh loves the savages. He’ll take care of you!”

“Use your rattan on ’em, boatswain!”

Coleman and I sought out Christian, who was standing by one of the cabin gratings, out of sight of the launch. We begged him to let Bligh have some muskets and ammunition.

“Never!” he said. “They shall have no firearms.”

“Then give them some cutlasses at least, Mr. Christian,” Coleman urged, “unless you wish them to be murdered the moment they set foot on shore. Think of our experience at Namuka!”

Christian consented to this. He ordered Churchill to fetch some cutlasses from the arms chest, and a moment later he returned with four, which were handed into the boat. Meanwhile, Morrison had taken advantage of this opportunity to run below for some additional provisions for the launch. He and John Millward brought up a mess kid filled with pieces of salt pork, several calabashes of water, and some additional bottles of wine and spirits, which they lowered into the boat.

“You cowards!” Purcell shouted, as the cutlasses were handed in. “Will you give us nothing but these?”

“Shall we lower the arms chest, carpenter?” Isaac Martin asked, jeeringly. McCoy threatened him with his musket. “You’ll get a bellyful of lead in a minute,” he shouted.

“Bear off and turn one of the swivels on ’em!” someone else called. “Give ’em a whiff of grape!”

Burkitt now raised his musket and pointed it at Bligh. Alexander Smith, who was standing beside him, seized the barrel of the musket and thrust it up. I am convinced that Burkitt meant to shoot Bligh, but Christian, observing this, ordered him to be dragged back, deprived of his arms, and placed under guard. He made a terrific struggle, and it required four men to disarm him.

Meanwhile, Fryer and others were urging Bligh to cast off lest they should all be murdered. This Bligh now ordered to be done, and the launch dropped slowly astern. The oars were gotten out, and the boat, so low in the water that she seemed on the point of foundering, was headed toward the island of Tofoa, which bore northeast, about ten leagues distant. Twelve men made a good load for the launch. She now carried nineteen, to say nothing of the food and water and the gear of the men.

“Thank God we were too late to go with her, Byam!”

Morrison was standing beside me.

“Do you mean that?” I asked.

He was silent for a moment, as though considering the matter carefully. Then he said, “No, I don’t. I would willingly have taken my chance in her—but it’s a slim chance indeed. They’ll never see England again.”

Tinkler was sitting on a thwart. Mr. Nelson, and Peckover, Norton, Elphinstone, the master’s mate, Ledward, the acting surgeon—all were as good as dead, more than a thousand miles from any port where they might expect help. About them were islands filled with the cruellest of savages, who could be held at bay only by men well armed. Granted that some might escape death at the hands of the Indians, what chance had so tiny a boat, so appallingly loaded, to reach any civilized port? The possibility was so remote as to be not worth considering.

Sick at heart, I turned away from the sight of the frail craft, looking so small, so helpless, on that great waste of waters. There had been a cheer from some of the mutineers: “Huzza for Tahiti!” as Christian had ordered, “Get sail on her!” Ellison, McCoy, and Williams had run aloft to loose the fore-topgallant sail. Afterward a silence had fallen over the ship, and the men stood by the bulwarks, gazing at the launch growing smaller and smaller as we drew away from her. Christian, too, was watching, standing where I had last seen him, by the cabin grating. What his thoughts were at this time it would be impossible to say. His sense of the wrongs he had suffered at Bligh’s hands was so deep and overpowering as to dominate, I believe, every other feeling. In the course of a long life I have met no others of his kind. I knew him, I suppose, as well as anyone could be said to know him, and yet I never felt that I truly understood the workings of his mind and heart. Men of such passionate nature, when goaded by injustice into action, lose all sense of anything save their own misery. They neither know nor care, until it is too late, what ruin they make of the lives of others.

It was getting on toward eight o’clock when the launch had been cast off. Shortly afterward the breeze, from the northeast, freshened, and the Bounty gathered way quietly, slipping through the water with a slight hiss of foam. The launch became a mere speck, seen momentarily as she rose to the swell or as the sunlight flashed from her oars. Within half an hour she had vanished as though swallowed up by the sea. Our course was west-northwest.