The Bounty: The True Story of the Mutiny on the Bounty (47 page)

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Authors: Caroline Alexander

Tags: #History, #Europe, #Great Britain, #Military, #Naval

BOOK: The Bounty: The True Story of the Mutiny on the Bounty
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Lieutenant Hayward, it was true, had stated that he had seen Burkett come up the fore hatchway with others under arms, and although “far from desiring to invalidate the testimony of any Witness,” it was necessary to point out that this had been a time of great confusion and “the personal fear that might influence the mind on such an occasion, might magnify objects.” On the other hand, Hayward had verified that Burkett had voluntarily come down from the mountains in Tahiti, “which” stated Burkett, “certainly argues a consciousness on my part, if not of perfect innocence”—here Burkett was wise enough not to ignore the fact that he had fled to the mountains to avoid capture—“yet innocence in such a degree—as not totaly to exclude every hope of acquittal and forgiveness.”
 
Finally, he begged the court to reflect on the state of mind he had suffered since being on the
Pandora,
“the Hopes and Fears, Doubt, and Anxiety” with which he had been afflicted. Forgiveness, he reminded the court, was “the noblest attribute of the Divinity.”
 
Herewith, Burkett submitted a testimonial of character, from an earlier captain he had served, and summoned his numerous witnesses. Fryer, Cole, Peckover and Hallett variously allowed that they could not “positively swear” that Burkett had not been armed “in Consequence of the fear of immediate Death with which [he] was threatened by Christian.” Peckover reiterated that when he was in the boat, Burkett had tossed possessions down to him from the ship. Hallett confirmed, of all things, that yes, indeed, he had asked Burkett to “pick a fowl” before the mutiny. All gave the seaman a good “character” previous to the mutiny.
 
With all ammunition spent—defense, point-by-point summation, character references, vaguely favorable evidences and a direct, unqualified plea for mercy—Burkett at last surrendered the prisoner’s bar. Whether his considerable ingenuity had successfully obscured the single damning image of his emerging from his captain’s own cabin under arms, he would have to wait to discover.
 
 
 
There now remained one last defendant. John Millward, another of the
Bounty
’s able seamen and sailmaker, dark-skinned, dark-haired, short and “Strong made,” was now twenty-five years old. On his return to Tahiti, Millward had lived with Morrison and his
taio,
the chief. He had been born in Stoke Damerel, the still undeveloped outskirts of Plymouth Dock, site of the most recently developed of the Royal Dockyards of the kingdom. His father was also a “mariner,” recently serving on His Majesty’s ship
Ocean,
when he had married a young widow in a private ceremony in the Dock Chapel. With only one brother and one sister, John Millward had come from a small family, and although his parents were illiterate, he had learned to read and write. Stoke Damerel had numerous free schools, a number run by dissenters such as Baptists and Methodists, and it may be that the mariner’s son had benefited from these charitable institutions. Millward was not a local name, and in other parts of England Millwards were active Methodists.
 
With Churchill and Muspratt, John Millward had deserted from the
Bounty
on the dark night of January 5, 1789, when heavy rain had obscured his midnight sentry watch. Cole had already testified that Millward had made reference to this “foolish” affair when the mutiny broke: “he said he had a hand in the foolish Piece of Busines before, and that he was afraid they would make him have a Hand in that also.” John Fryer had very clearly seen him under arms, although, as he told the court, he had felt Millward “seemed friendly” (“Millward, your Piece is cocked, you had better uncock it as you may shoot some Person”).
 
In addition to the attempt to desert, Millward bore other clear evidence of having taken to the ways of Tahiti. He was, Bligh had written, “[v]ery much Tatowed in Different parts,” and bore under the pit of his stomach an elaborate “Taoomy,” or tattooed breastplate.
 
He had been awoken, Millward now told the court through the usual agency of a written deposition, in his berth on the larboard side of the foremast by Cole and Purcell, who told him the ship was taken, adding “they hoped that none of us were Concerned in the Mutiny.” Going up to the fo’c’sle, he ran into Charles Churchill, who told him he could either go in the boat or stay with the ship; “to which I answered, ‘No Charles, you brought me into one predicament already and I’ll take Care you don’t bring me into another,’ ” meaning the desertion.
 
“As you like it,” Churchill said, and Millward continued on deck, where, abaft the windlass, Cole told him to lend a hand with the cutter. As the cutter and then the launch were being prepared, he spoke with Fryer and Morrison, pledging to help them retake the ship. Shortly after, he told the same first to Burkett and then to Muspratt, both of whom promised to assist.
 
While working with the boat, Alexander Smith approached him carrying a cutlass and said, “Take hold of this, Millward.”
 
“I asked him what I was to do with it, to which he reply’d, ‘Never you mind, lay hold of it.’ ” Millward complied, but as soon as Smith’s back was turned, he went “aft and stuck it in the lashing of the Dripstone.” But later, as the launch was swung out, he was ordered to take arms again, and this time when he refused, Christian had intervened: “I was affraid to deny and accordingly Obey’d his orders.”
 
Going below once again, he met Fryer and confirmed that the pistols in his hands were those Fryer had been accustomed to keep, supposedly loaded, in his cabin. On asking Fryer if he knew them to be loaded now, Fryer replied that “they only Contained loose powder.”
 
“Then, Sir, said I, ‘I won’t trust to them.’ ” A quarter of an hour later, the officers were ordered on deck and into the boat. Fryer, Hayward and Hallett all pleaded to remain, to no avail. As the reluctant officers went over the side, Bligh implored them not to overload the boat, and then turned to address Christian.
 
“Consider my Wife and family,” he had implored; to which Christian had replied, “It is too late, now Captain Bligh you should have thought of them before this time.”
 
Millward recounted, “[W]hen the Boat was Ordered to be Cast off I pull’d my Jacket off and threw it in to George Simpson, who was my Messmate, and with my prayers for their protection.” Since he was closely watched, this was all that he could do.
 
Having cited so many witnesses to his good intentions—Cole, Fryer, Burkett, Muspratt—Millward now called upon only Cole, asking the boatswain whether he recollected how Millward had told him of Fryer’s intention to retake the ship. To this forlorn hope, Cole now replied, “I don’t remember anything of it at all.”
 
Thus, at last, was the defense of the
Bounty
mutineers concluded. It was late in a long, emotionally exhausting day, and court was adjourned until nine the following morning. Accordingly, on Tuesday, September 18, the ten prisoners were carried one last time back to the
Duke
amid intermittent showers. Admitted to the court, they were asked if they “had anything more to offer to the Court in their Defences.” Only Peter Heywood responded, handing over no less than three attestations that his birth had indeed occurred on June 5, 1772, “between the hours of six and seven o’Clock in the Evening,” thereby confirming his claim at least of “youth” at the time of the mutiny. None of the other prisoners, it seems, offered a further word. The preceding night had apparently afforded no sober second thoughts—or perhaps no further hope.
 
The court was cleared, and the twelve post-captains remained to deliberate. Guilt or innocence had to be determined in the case of each and every one of the men before they would pronounce a judgment. The deliberations appear to have taken several hours, for it was not until half past one in the afternoon that the
Duke
hauled down the court-martial signal. By then the prisoners had been reconvened in the great cabin to receive their sentences. Humbly arrayed before their judges, the ten men heard Lord Hood pronounce their fates.
 
The Court, Lord Hood declared, had found “the Charges had been proved” against Peter Heywood, James Morrison, Thomas Ellison, Thomas Burkett, John Millward and William Muspratt, “and did adjudge them and each of them to suffer Death by being hanged by the Neck, on board such of His Majesty’s Ship or Ships of War, at such Time or Times and at such Place or Places” as should be directed.
 
But, “in Consideration of various Circumstances,” the Court did also “humbly and most earnestly recommend the said Peter Heywood and James Morrison to His Majesty’s Royal Mercy.”
 
The charges against Norman, Coleman, McIntosh and Byrn were found not proved, and the court “did adjudge them and each of them to be acquitted.” And with this, the condemned prisoners were conveyed one last time to the
Hector.
 
SENTENCE
 
The news of Peter’s sentencing reached the Isle of Man six days later, on September 24. For a full week contrary weather had held the regular packets at Whitehaven and Liverpool, preventing all communication between the mainland and the island. The news was broken to the Heywood household on the Monday evening “by the son of one of their particular Friends,” who ran into the house and abruptly announced “that the Trial was over & all the prisoners condemned—but Peter recommended to Mercy.” The boy had heard the news from another man, who had just arrived from Liverpool by fishing boat, and who was at once summoned by the startled and frightened family. On arriving, the man reported that he read the news in a Liverpool newspaper—unfortunately, he had not thought to bring the paper with him.
 
Three more agonizing days passed before the anguished household received any further information, and this, when it at last came, amounted to a grim confirmation of their earlier intelligence. A letter arrived from James Heywood, the twenty-six-year-old brother of Nessy and Peter, sent from Liverpool along with a copy of the damning article; this account of the
Bounty
verdict had in fact been syndicated in newspapers across the country.
 
James, like Peter and their younger brother, Henry, had also commenced a naval career of sorts, although he does not appear to have pursued it with any particular energy. He was in Liverpool with Henry, who was just returned from the West Indies, and shortly due to sail again. James wrote Nessy that as she would undoubtedly wish to come to Portsmouth, he would await her arrival in Liverpool, so that they might travel down together.
 
“Our Friends will not let me go from hence,” Nessy wrote back despairingly. Unwilling to pin their faith on a single news item, friends and family were awaiting official word from the expected mail packet.
 
“We are in an Agony of Suspense—I can scarcely support my own misery, much less keep up poor Mama’s dejected spirits,” Nessy confided. All at home were in agreement “that there was not the smallest Danger,” Nessy reported, briefly rallying. Nonetheless, if there was the least apprehension for Peter’s life, she told her brother in a rush of terror, he should “go, for Heaven’s sake, to Portsmouth, without waiting for me.”
 
At midnight of the same day, the long awaited packet arrived across now calm seas with a backlog of mainland mail. Amid this flurry of correspondence were letters confirming the newspaper report; the trial was indeed over, the verdict was guilty, and Peter had been recommended to His Majesty’s mercy. And yet, bewilderingly, in the very same breath, the letter writers closest to the events all offered unfeigned, unqualified congratulations.
 
“I have the Happiness of telling you that the Court Martial is this Moment over, & that I think your Son’s Life is more safe now, than it was before his Trial,” wrote Mrs. Bertie to Peter’s mother on the very day the verdict was reached. “[A]s there was not sufficient proof of his Innocence, the Court cou’d not avoid condemning him: but he is so
strongly recommended
to Mercy, that I am desired to assure you, by those who are Judges, that his Life is
safe.
” Such judges would include obviously her own husband, Captain Albemarle Bertie. Mrs. Bertie was on her way, as she wrote, to see her father, the well-connected James Modyford Heywood.
 
The good news was even more unqualified in the letter from Aaron Graham, written “about half an hour” after the conclusion of the trial. Graham, discreet as always, had not presumed to write directly to Peter’s family, but had entrusted his letter to Dr. Patrick Scott, a Douglas physician and loyal friend of the Heywoods.
 
“Before I tell you what is the sentence I must inform you that his
Life
is
safe,
—notwithstanding it is at present at the Mercy of the King,” Graham began. “That any unnecessary Fears may not be productive of Misery to the Family I must add that the King’s Attorney Gen[era]l, who with Judge Ashurst attended the Trial, desired me to make myself perfectly easy, for that my Friend was as safe as if he had not been condemned.” Graham was writing to Scott, he said, so that the news would not be “improperly communicated to Mrs. or the Miss Heywoods whose Distresses first engaged me in the Business.”
 
The unfortunate sentence, for what it was worth, had been the result of “a Combination of Circumstances, Ill-Nature, & mistaken Friendship,” but “everybody who attended the Trial is perfectly satisfied in his own Mind, that he was
hardly guilty in Appearance in Intention he was perfectly Innocent.
”

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