The Fortunate Adversities of William Bligh

INTRODUCTION

Expressing an interest in villains is embarrassing, but they can be so much more interesting than heroes. How else can anyone explain all that has been produced about William Bligh? Only the fictional Captain Queeg has ever challenged him as the symbol of a tyrannical ship’s captain. Aside from Shakespeare’s Richard III, few other historical villains are so well known to the English speaking world. What adds to the fascination about Bligh is that he was not an especially significant figure in any area of endeavor. Captain Cook, Bligh’s mentor, was a far more important explorer, and Admiral Nelson, Bligh superior at the Battle of Copenhagen, was a much superior fighting sailor. Had it not been for the mutiny on the Bounty, it is very likely that this now famous tyrant of the seas would have rated scarcely a footnote in the studies of the period. Yet the mutiny did occur, and from his own day, his reputation suffered for it. Even so, the fact remains he died an admiral.

To explain this seemingly unwarranted success, a variety of authors have tried to demonstrate that William Bligh was not nearly as terrible as his subsequent reputation. Not long after Bligh died, Lord Byron published The Island, in which the commander of the Bounty appeared to be a good deal more sympathetic character than the legendary naval autocrat. As early as 1817, the year of Bligh’s death, the German author, E. T. A. Hoffman, wrote a satire on scientific investigation called Haimatochare in which Bligh was anything but an object of ridicule. Beginning about half a century ago there was another wave of favorable books most notably by the Australian author, George Mackaness. As recently as 1989, Gavin Kennedy has continued writing in this tradition. These works, impressive and well written as many of them are, have made very little impact on the public’s identification of Bligh with villainy on the high seas.

Although Bligh did publish his version of the mutiny on the Bounty in 1791, the negative appraisals began the next year and made a much more effective impact on public opinion. They started with various newspaper articles that were printed in the autumn of 1792 when a group of the surviving Bounty mutineers were tried for their crimes. However, the first genuinely impressive anti-Bligh work did not appear until 1794 when Fletcher Christian’s brother, Edward, issued his so-called Appendix to a published version of the mutineers’ court-martial. Although this work was created to gain sympathy for Fletcher, in the process Bligh was characterized as a foul-mouthed, insensitive brute who clearly did not behave the way an eighteenth century gentleman should. Although there was some variation on that theme in the future, it provided the basis for most of the subsequent writers who condemned Bligh. For the twentieth century audience, this view will never be forgotten because of Charles Laughton’s portrayal of Bligh in the motion picture, Mutiny on the Bounty. That screen image of Captain Bligh did for him and his reputation what Shakespeare’s play did for Richard III—utterly damned it.

Any examination of Bligh’s career will show that he was in major trouble with someone periodically throughout the sixty-three years of his life. Granted not all of it was of his own devising. The murder of Captain Cook by the Hawaiian natives not only deprived Britain of a great explorer, it deprived Bligh of an influential patron who held a high opinion of his work. Yet though Bligh had his share of simple bad luck, the fact remains that most of his problems hinged on his mistakes, especially when it came to dealing with other people. Throughout his career, whether as naval officer or governor of New South Wales, Bligh found himself in serious difficulties because human beings were more mysterious to him than uncharted reefs. Yet the fact remains, when he died in 1817, he was William Bligh, esquire, Fellow of the Royal Society and Vice-Admiral of the White. He did not inherit these positions; others chose him. The object of this book is to explain how a man who was so consistently in serious difficulty could achieve such remarkable advancement.

Even Bligh’s admirers are forced to confess that he was not a man with whom it was easy to deal. When he was angered, a not infrequent event in his life, he exploded in rage, using offensive language and often physical threats such as shaking his fist in his tormentor’s face or shoving or grabbing him. He exercised no discretion about where or when he administered this treatment, and he was perfectly capable of verbally abusing a fellow officer in front of crew members. Although Bligh took great pride in his reluctance to administer physical punishment, nevertheless he did use it in some instances with great ferocity. On one occasion he ordered the thief of a few trifling items to receive one hundred lashes severely given, and then coolly watched the cat-of-nine-tails do its work, remarking only that the man’s back swelled a great deal, but the skin remained unbroken until the last stroke. Along the same lines, when Bligh’s opponents threatened his power, his most frequent response was an attempt to have the individuals executed. Even offending his dignity could produce a drastic reaction. He kept a lieutenant confined to a ship for over a year because the young man had sailed off without proper authorization in a ship that flew Bligh’s personal flag of authority. Perhaps his cruelest act was the delight he took in telling the mother of a missing Bounty mutineer that she would be much better off if she never saw her son again.

If these deeds constituted the beginning and end of William Bligh’s character, then his rise to the rank of admiral would have been miraculous as opposed to merely remarkable. They do not. He had undeniable skills and talents that are worthy of admiration, and he was capable of kindness as well as insensitivity. His navigational abilities were of the highest caliber. He had both an eye for detail and an innate sense of speed and time that enabled him to do things with a ship or a boat that few other people could have done. After the Bounty mutiny, he took a small craft loaded with eighteen other people across over 3500 miles of open water, lost only one man, and found a port he had never before visited. He undertook this voyage with little more than a sextant to guide him. When it came to the natives he encountered on his Pacific voyages, his record of treating them with kindness and understanding is among the best of his age. As for the seamen on his ships, especially the sailmakers and other such artisans, provided they were competent, no one defended them more tenaciously than Bligh, even if he had to disagree with his superiors to do so. Bligh’s own family inspired similar devotion from him. Clearly he was not a comic strip bad man. He was a complex mixture of vile and admirable qualities, and it was impossible to predict which ones would predominate at a particular moment in his life.

Part of the biographer’s task is to attempt an explanation of the subject’s behavior. In doing so it is necessary to understand the limitations involved. When dealing with historical medicine or psychology, the problem is that the evidence can be a good deal more tenuous than when dealing with finances or battles. Even so, while keeping in mind that there are no certainties, some medical and psychological explanations might account for Bligh’s behavior.

One of the more intriguing aspects of Bligh’s rages is that he often seemed to have no memory of what he said. One explanation could be a condition known as Intermittent Explosive Disorder or explosive personality. This abnormality is characterized by violent and unexpected outbursts of anger and then a temporary blackout. The sufferers are likely to be hyperactive during an attack and may be accident prone as well. Taken all together, that is a fair description of William Bligh. The condition can be linked to minor brain damage that was caused by a blow to the head, particularly one received at an early age. In the navy of Bligh’s period such accidents were a common occurrence. Even the largest of ships had little headroom. One of the naval doctors of the era went so far as to claim that the frequency with which sailors hit their heads was the main reason for their high rate of insanity when compared to the general population. Since Bligh had begun his naval career by the time he was eight, he certainly had the opportunity to do himself some damage. The only slim evidence that might link Bligh to this disorder was his periodic complaints about blinding headaches. He always presumed they were induced by a bout with an unnamed fever that attacked him in the East Indies after his escape from the Bounty mutineers, but no trained physician ever questioned him closely about their onset. As one might expect, the record does indicate that when Bligh was struck by these headaches, his temper was especially explosive.

Although about two-thirds of the people who are diagnosed as having Intermittent Explosive Disorder exhibit no other psychological problems, the remaining third have some additional difficulties. Bligh could fall into this minority group because many of this actions fit what is known as a paranoid personality disorder. Besides a generally suspicious nature, people suffering from this problem are likely to argue and exaggerate any problem. They cannot relax. Criticism generally produces a counterattack to the point of filing a legal action. Other features of this personality disorder seem to fit Bligh equally as well. The people afflicted with it are often aggressive, unbending and defensive: they will not compromise. Others are afraid of them, and they in turn are fearful of losing control over events. They need to demonstrate independence and to highlight their self-importance. They are very aware of the power structure, who takes orders and who gives them. It all sounds like Bligh, but he was an eighteenth century man, and applying twentieth century psychological classifications to him may do him an injustice.

One other topic bridges the medical and psychological areas and that is the question of Bligh’s height. Contemporaries perceived him as a short man. In his society the average height for a man was evidently around 5′4″, so Bligh was probably under five feet tall. His short stature could undercut the theory about his striking his head in a ship (though there were many other ways the hypothetical damage could have occurred, including an accident at birth), but it must have shaped the way others perceived him and therefore his reactions to them. Modem research has tended to indicate that short, heavy-set people (endomorphs) are seen by others as lonely, unathletic and in need of friends. They are also viewed as unaggressive and lacking political leadership capabilities. If Bligh’s contemporaries shared this perspective, his aggressiveness must have come as something of a shock to them, and his position as captain of a ship or governor of a colony may have lacked initial credibility. Since no one asked eighteenth century Englishmen how they felt on the subject of short people, there is no way of knowing if they shared twentieth century attitudes. It is possible to say, however, that throughout his career Bligh was very conscious of the necessity of draping himself in the symbols of power, be they uniforms, flags or plumed hats. That is not the reaction of a person who had confidence in his ability to automatically command the respect of others.

Besides the trappings of power that are meant to overwhelm visually, there is also what might be called the voice of command. Here, too, Bligh seemed to go for overkill. Witness upon witness has testified not only to the offensive nature of his language, but also to the vehemence with which he delivered it. In 1805 Bligh was actually convicted at a court-martial for using foul language to one of his lieutenants. Even given the latitude sailors are granted by the rest of society, Bligh still crossed the line of what was permissible. To the modem ear much of what Bligh said seems innocuous enough, even laughable. Although all of the words that today we characterize as obscene were then in use, it was rare for someone of Bligh’s class in society to use them, especially towards another gentleman. They were more inclined to utter expressions such as Damn my blood, Hell and the devil confound me, God’s fury or Odds fish (that is God’s fish). What has happened over the past two centuries is a process called amelioration by which a highly offensive term either loses its impact or alters its meaning. It is thus necessary to keep in mind that however quaint Bligh’s abusive language may seem now, at the time it was spoken, it was capable of inflicting a major wound on its recipient.

In examining the various words and deeds of William Bligh, it is vital to place him in the context of his time. In so many ways he was a typical man of his era, especially when compared with other British naval officers. They were predominantly gentlemen, that is they came from families that owned landed estates of some description. The officers themselves, however, were often from cadet branches of the family or were younger sons of the senior branch. Many of these upper-class sailors had relatives in the navy when they entered most often a father or an uncle. Although some of these gentlemen were undoubtedly drawn to the sea because it fascinated them, the vast majority came to the navy seeking status, money, glory or power, though not necessarily it that order.

As was true of most other areas in their society, the ambitions of its members exceeded the number of prestigious places available. Another complicating factor in the navy was that officers did need at least a modicum of skill in order to command the ships. Such a remark sounds strange in a modem context, but in the eighteenth century, as a rule gentlemen were not expected to have much technical knowledge, or if they had it, they were no prone to exhibit it. Among army officers, skilled underlings carried out the tedious tasks and advised their superiors on the more technical matters. It the navy that would not do. At sea problems arose too quickly for anyone other than the responsible officer to make a decision. If he made the wrong one, the government would have to replace a very expensive ship and its crew.

There was no avoiding the fact that talent as well as birth mattered in the eighteenth century navy, even though that fact nettled some gentlemen. As they saw it, the danger was that capable men of the lower social orders would rise through the ranks and take already scarce positions away from their betters. In the process these upstarts would undermine the whole hierarchical nature of British society, based as it was upon the social and political superiority of a few select families. The French Revolution tended to reinforce these gentlemanly prejudices. Yet, despite some exceptions such as Captain Cook, the officer class of the British navy remained beyond the reach of most members of the lower orders of society. Bligh’s emphasis on performance, as opposed to the gentlemanly gesture, led some of his contemporaries to mistakenly conclude he was one of these underlings who had slipped through the net. In fact he and the Earl of Darnley, whom he chose as an executor of his will, shared common ancestors as well as the family name of Bligh.

Why anyone, whether upper or lower class, would choose to serve on the warships of this period challenges modem comprehension. Aside from the captains of the larger vessels, no one had much living space and virtually no privacy existed. Though efforts were made to observe sensible sanitary conditions, the temptations to do otherwise were often more than the crew could bear on a cat-black, roaring night (with the head located in the violently pitching bow of the ship). As a result, many of the vessels stank and were a breeding ground for disease. On the largest of the three-decked line of battle ships ventilation was a problem under the best of circumstances. The conditions that must have developed on the West Indian or even the Mediterranean stations with nearly a thousand men aboard defy imagination.

It was not just that the ships reeked and bred disease. The very nature of their service—away from land for great stretches of time—made them unhealthy places in which to live. The statement does not even take into consideration the potential for battle casualties. Until the 1780s, scurvy was the major problem. It is a vitamin C deficiency disease that if left untreated is often fatal. Both prevention and cure are achieved by eating fresh fruits or vegetables, or by drinking citric fruit juices, especially lemon and lime juice. It all seems very simple now, but in the eighteenth century medical practice was not much advanced beyond the habits of the medieval practitioners. Under these circumstances, it is amazing that contemporary medical investigators hit upon an accurate answer to scurvy.

Even after the cure was discovered, the food served on the typical naval vessel was still monotonous at best and inedible at worst: salted beef, hard bread or biscuit and a meat-based broth known as portable soup were the staples, with beer and grog—an uncertain mixture of rum and water—as the liquids. The fruits and vegetables were very much an after-thought. Diet was an area that fascinated Bligh, and he was one of the most advanced naval officers of his period in terms of his concern for his men’s health. He was also, sensibly enough, no great fan of naval doctors.

It would be surprising if these living conditions on the men of war did not produce psychological effects on other people besides Bligh. As already mentioned, the doctors of the period noted that the insanity rate among both the officers and men was higher than the population as a whole. They were only taking into account the most extreme and obvious cases. No notice was taken of people who were having problems, but still managed to carry out assigned tasks, nor was there any examination of the alcoholics whose numbers were legion amongst all classes of men serving in the navy. A tendency has existed in many of the less than flattering studies of Bligh to see him as an unstable man who drove basically sane people to distraction. He may, indeed, have been suffering from one or more of the personality defects outlined earlier, but in any ship on which he served there were other people whose psychological problems were at least as great as his. It was with these unfortunates that he most often clashed.

Given all the uncertainties with running the British navy in Bligh’s era, it was amazingly well administered. There were two committees that supervised naval operations. The less prestigious of them was called the Navy Board. It was responsible for the maintenance and supply of the vessels and for the supply and payment of the men. It also certified warrant officers as qualified to undertake their tasks. Although men with naval experience might serve on the board, it was a civilian operation. Naval officers needed to petition the board for supply and repair of their ships, but its operations had little effect on their careers as officers.

Promotions were controlled by the Admiralty. Its members gave direction to the Navy Board and to all other naval personnel. The Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty, as they were called, determined the assignments of both ships and men, including the officers, from midshipmen through admirals. Naval officers served on the Admiralty board, but the First Lord of the Admiralty was its most influential member. They were all political appointees, and the first lord frequently was not a professional sailor. The other quietly powerful civilians who served the Admiralty were its two secretaries. They knew more of the day to day operations of the navy than virtually anyone else. As a result, they were often in a position to make well-received suggestions to their superiors.

It is a mark of how well this whole operation functioned that, in the whole of Bligh’s quarter century service in the navy, it was rare for him to wait longer than a week for a reply to his letters. Most frequently the response went out on the day of receipt. This level of performance was achieved despite the fact that, even in peace time, there were several thousand officers in the British navy, many of whom felt they needed to correspond with the Admiralty. It is a standard of efficiency any age would have reason to admire.

Any strategy for moving up the naval hierarchy had to involve attracting the favorable attention of the Admiralty. The system was designed so that there were certain points on the promotion ladder through which an aspiring naval officer could not pass without at least the theoretical scrutiny of the Admiralty. The first was the easiest, that of midshipman. Given a recommendation from an even modestly respectable source and a little patience for an opening to appear, most interested young gentlemen could find a midshipman’s berth. The next step was more difficult. A midshipman had to pass an examination to become a lieutenant; before taking the exam, he had to serve on a naval ship for at least six years, and after he passed, he had to find a captain who was willing to take him with Admiralty approval. Especially in peace time, this step could require considerable political