wrapped in a haze of
blue, till at last the only pronounced characteristic of the island
standing up against the sky and sea was the cap of Point Venus at the
northern extremity--the departure must have seemed to some like that of
Tannhauser from the enchanted mountain, except that the legendary hero
was glad to make his return to the normal world, whereas all of Bligh's
company were not. For them, westward, whither they were bound,

"There gaped the gate
Whereby lost souls back to the cold earth went."

The discipline of ship's life, and the stormings and objurgations of the
commanding officer, chafed like an iron collar. At length a storm burst.

On April 28 the Bounty was sailing towards Tofoa, another of the Society
Islands. Just before sunrise on the following morning Bligh was aroused
from sleep, seized and bound in his cabin by a band of mutineers, led out
by the master's mate, Fletcher Christian, and, with eighteen companions,
dropped into a launch and bidden to depart. The followers of Christian
were three midshipmen and twenty-five petty officers and sailors. They
turned the head of the Bounty back towards their island paradise; and as
they sailed away, the mariners in the tossing little boat heard them
calling "Hurrah for Tahiti!"

The frail craft in which the nineteen loyalists were compelled to attempt
to traverse thousands of miles of ocean, where the navigation is perhaps
the most intricate in the world, was but 23 feet long by 6 feet 9 inches
broad and 2 feet 9 inches deep. Their provisions consisted of 150 pounds
of bread, 16 pieces of pork, each about two pounds in weight, six quarts
of rum, six bottles of wine, and 28 gallons of water. With this scanty
stock of nourishment, in so small a boat, Bligh and his companions
covered 3618 miles, crossing the western Pacific, sailing through Torres
Strait, and ultimately reaching Timor.

That Bligh was somewhat deficient in tact and sympathy in handling men,
cross-grained, harsh, and obstinate, is probably true. His language was
often lurid, he lavished foul epithets upon his crew, and he was not
reluctant to follow terms of abuse by vigorous chastisement. He called
Christian a "damned hound," some of the men "scoundrels, thieves and
rascals," and he met a respectful remonstrance with the retort: "You
damned infernal scoundrels, I'll make you eat grass or anything you can
catch before I have done with you." Naval officers of the period were not
addicted