The Bounty: The True Story of the Mutiny on the Bounty (7 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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In the nearly seven weeks they were detained at Batavia, the majority of the prisoners were allowed on deck only twice, although once again Coleman, Norman and McIntosh enjoyed more freedom. But it may be that the confinement afforded the men some protection from the mosquitoes. “[H]ere we enjoyed our Health,” Morrison stated, noting with satisfaction that “the
Pandora
’s people fell sick and died apace.”
 
Edwards had negotiated an arrangement with the Dutch authorities to divide the
Pandora
’s complement among four ships bound for Holland by way of the Cape, “at no expense to Government further than for the Officers and Prisoners,” as he somewhat nervously informed the Admiralty. A disaster such as the loss of a ship did not allow a captain of His Majesty’s Navy carte blanche in extricating himself from the disaster. All accounts for the £724 8s. 0d. in expenses incurred between Coupang and Batavia would have to be meticulously itemized and justified on return.
 
Edwards also used the sojourn at Batavia to write up his report to the Admiralty relating all that had transpired subsequent to January 6, 1791, the date of his last dispatch from Rio. Edwards’s report, in his own hand, filled thirty-two large, closely written pages and ranged over all his adventures—the capture of the mutineers, the fruitless search for Christian and the
Bounty,
the wreck of the
Pandora,
and the voyage to Timor. The events are narrated in strict chronological order, like a story, with discursive material about the customs and country of the islands visited and anecdotal asides (“I took this opportunity to show the Chief what Execution the Canon and Carronades would do by firing a six pound shot on shore . . .”), so that their lordships of the Admiralty would have had no clue until page twenty-six that the
Pandora
had in fact been lost. Boldly noting that he was enclosing “Latitudes & Longitudes of several Islands, & ca discovered during our Voyage,” with his report, Edwards then offered a tentative conclusion:
 
“Although I have not had the good fortune fully to accomplish the Object of my Voyage,” he ventured, “. . . I hope it will be thought . . . that of my Orders which I have been able to fulfil, with the discoveries that have been made will be some compensation for the disappointment & misfortunes that have attended us”; and, with a last rally of optimism:
 
 
[S]hould their Lordships upon the whole think that the Voyage will be profitable to our Country it will be a great consolation to,
 
Sir,
Your most obedient humble servant,
 
 
Edw. Edwards.
 
 
Also before leaving Batavia, Edwards presented the mutineers’ schooner,
Resolution,
to the governor of Timor as a gift of gratitude for his kindness. Morrison watched this transaction closely. He had been the architect of the plan to build the schooner and although she was the handiwork of many, he had placed the greatest stake in her. Her timbers had been hewn from Tahitian hibiscus, and both her planking and the bark gum used as pitch had come from that versatile and fateful tree, the breadfruit.
 
 
 
On Christmas Day 1791, the Dutch Indiaman
Vreedenburg,
Captain Christiaan, weighed anchor and sailed out of the straits at the harbor’s entrance carrying a cargo of coffee beans, rice and arrack, a liquor distilled from coconut milk. On board as passengers were Captain Edwards, twenty-seven officers and men of the
Pandora,
twenty-six Chinese and the ten mutineers. The remainder of the
Pandora
’s company, including the Botany Bay prisoners, were divided among two other ships. Lieutenant Larkan and a party of twenty had departed a month earlier on the
Zwan.
Edwards had also taken on board a distressed English seaman from the
Supply.
In turn, he had been forced to leave in the deadly hospital one of his own men, who was too ill to be moved. All in all, Edwards lost fifteen men to the Batavian fever, one being young William Oliver, the twenty-year-old master’s mate who had commanded the
Resolution
with such leadership and skill on her unexpected voyage.
 
A few days from the Cape of Good Hope, nearly three months out on what had been a slow passage, the mutineers were released from their irons and allowed to walk the deck. Here, testing the wind, Morrison noted that the men “now found the weather Sharp and Cutting.” The balmy Pacific lay far behind.
 
On March 18, the
Vreedenburg
anchored in Table Bay, at the Cape of Good Hope. Close by the harbor was the fortress that safeguarded the Dutch East India Company stores, and indeed the whole town had been established solely to serve the Company. Here ships could break the long journey between Europe and the East Indies, restock and refit and, if coming from Batavia, offload their sick at the Cape Hospital.
 
The
Vreedenburg
joined other sail at anchor, including to the universal joy of the
Pandora
’s company, a British man-of-war, the
Gorgon,
Captain John Parker. This 44-gun frigate had arrived from Port Jackson in New South Wales, where she had dropped off much anticipated and desperately needed supplies, including livestock and thirty new convicts. Seeing an opportunity to return directly to England, instead of by way of Holland where the Dutch Indiamen were bound, Edwards arranged passages for part of his mixed company on the
Gorgon.
 
Thus, two days after arrival, Edwards added himself, the Botany Bay convicts and the
Bounty
mutineers to the
Gorgon
’s company, joining other passengers that included a detachment of marine privates and their families leaving Port Jackson, and fifteen distressed British seamen picked up at the Cape. Among the mixed cargo, boxes of dispatches for the colonial office were probably the most important. More burdensome were the sixty tubs and boxes of plants destined for the Royal Botanic Gardens at Kew, under the direction of the great naturalist and president of the Royal Society, Sir Joseph Banks. Specimens of New South Wales lumber cramming the main and quarter decks were for the Navy Board, while a dingo was a gift for the Prince of Wales. Similarly, two kangaroos and opossums were also gifts for Joseph Banks, whose tentacles of influence stretched to the remotest corner of all parts of the globe; it was Banks who had been the driving force behind the
Bounty
’s breadfruit venture.
 
The arrival of the mutineers was noted offhandedly in the
Gorgon
’s log, along with the more important additions: “Recd Wine fresh Meat; Bread for Ships Company; also Water. Caulkers Caulking within and without board. Carpenters as necessary. Armourer at his forge; Sent to Sick quarters 1 Supernumerary Marine. Came on board from the Dutch Ship Vreedenburgh 10 Pirates belonging to His Majesty’s Ship Bounty. . . .”
 
At four in the afternoon of April 5, 1792, the
Gorgon
at last set sail for England, exchanging salutes with the fort as she passed. Blessed with fine weather and “a charming Breeze,” as one of the marines, Lieutenant Ralph Clark, noted in his private journal, the
Gorgon
passed the island of St. Helena in under two weeks. Five days later they anchored at Ascension Island, primarily to refresh their food stock with local turtles. Although each passing mile brought the prisoners closer to their day of reckoning, they enjoyed the return to familiar British naval routine. Their confinement had been made less rigorous than under Edwards, and as Morrison noted, they had begun to regain their health and strength.
 
May 1 brought an extraordinary diversion: two sharks were caught and in the belly of one was found a prayer book, “[q]uite fresh,” according to Lieutenant Clark, “not a leaf of it defaced.” The book was inscribed “Francis Carthy, cast for death in the Year 1786 and Repreaved the Same day at four oClock in the afternoon.” The book was subsequently confirmed as having belonged to a convict who had sailed to Botany Bay in 1788 with the first fleet of prisoners consigned to transportation.
 
In the early rainy hours of May 6 died Charlotte Bryant, the child of Mary Bryant, the escaped convict who had sailed so boldly into Coupang before the arrival of the
Pandora.
Amid the mixed humanity that the
Gorgon
carried, it was not the pirates of the
Bounty
who appear to have stood out, but the young widow from Cornwall, age twenty-seven, “height 5’4‘, grey eyes, brown hair, sallow complexion,” as the register of Newgate Prison records, who had been sentenced to transportation for stealing a cloak. By coincidence, Marine Captain Watkin Tench, returning from Botany Bay, had gone out with Mary five years before, and recalled that she and her husband-to-be “had both of them been always distinguished for good behaviour.” Now, he got from her the details of her extraordinary 3,254-mile voyage, coasting the shores of New Holland, harassed by the “Indians” when attempting to land, foraging for food and water—this story, which surely circulated around the ship, was one every sailing man on board would appreciate.
 
On June 19, the
Gorgon
completed her long voyage and on an overcast day anchored at Spithead off Portsmouth alongside three of His Majesty’s ships, the
Duke, Brunswick
and
Edgar,
three frigates and a sloop of war. Captain Parker immediately notified Sir Andrew Snape Hamond, the port’s commander on duty, of his ship’s arrival and awaited further instructions. Meanwhile, his crew busied themselves with the numerous tedious and chaotic duties that awaited the end of a long voyage. The officers and men of the Portsmouth and Plymouth Divisions were disembarked, and water and victuals were brought onboard. The carpenter made his customary report, noting that the ship’s “works in general is very weak from carying large quantities of water and hay & tubs of Plants.”
 
Captain Edwards, a passenger, had nothing to do with these transactions. Most of his men were still behind him, on the other Dutch ships, and the pirates and convicts would now be turned over to the proper authorities. Disembarking early at the Isle of Wight, he was safe in Portsmouth by the time the
Gorgon
came to anchor. At some point in their wanderings, most probably during the sultry, sickly sojourn at Batavia, an anonymous member of the
Pandora
’s crew had immortalized their journey, and their captain, with a long doggerel poem:
 
 
Brave Edwards then with freindly Care
for men and boat began to fear . . .
by hard fatigue Our men were Spent,
the Ship keel’d Over and Down She went
An Equel Chance Our Captain Gave
to All Alike their Lives to Save . . .
 
 
 
Edwards’s last semiofficial duty had been to accompany the captain’s wife, Mary Ann Parker, to shore, a journey that, perhaps predictably, turned into a four-hour ordeal, as she noted, “rowing against the wind.” Once onshore, nothing remained for Edwards but to await his own court-martial; like Bligh, he had returned without his ship.
 
On the day after the
Gorgon
’s arrival, Captain Hamond informed Captain Parker that their lordships of the Admiralty had directed that “the ten Prisoners belonging to the
Bounty
” be sent to the security of one of the port guardships. The following day, a longboat, manned and armed, was sent from the
Hector,
Captain George Montagu, to collect the mutineers. Put over the side of the
Gorgon
in chains into the waiting boat, the prisoners were able to enjoy the sights of the busy, lively anchorage in the course of their short journey. The cloudy weather had briefly cleared and showed breezy and fair—an English summer day. Their arrival on board was mentioned briefly in the
Hector
’s log: “Post-noon received the above Prisoners, Wm Muspratt, James Morrison, Jn Milward, Peter Heywood, Thomas Ellison, Michl Burn, Thos Burkett, Josh Coleman, Thos. McIntosh & Charles Norman . . . and secured them in the Gun Room.” A sergeant’s guard of marines was sent over to provide additional security. For Thomas Burkett, at least, the
Hector
was familiar territory: he had served as an able seaman on this same ship, six years previously.
 
Peter Heywood had brought away a single possession from his long ordeal, a
Book of Common Prayer,
which he had carried in his teeth as he swam from the wreck of the
Pandora.
On the flyleaves, he had made some notations of events and dates important to him: “
Sept. 22 1789, Mya TOOBOOAI mye
;
Mar. 25 1791, We ta Pahee Pandora . . . We tow te Vredenberg tea . . . Pahee HECTOR
”—the most striking thing about Peter’s entries is that he had written them in Tahitian.
 
 
 
Back in Tahiti, the
Bounty
men who had cast their lot in with the islanders were remembered largely with affection. Less than eight months after the
Pandora
left Matavai Bay, Captain George Vancouver arrived with his two ships,
Discovery
and
Chatham.
Through conversations with the Tahitians, he and his men learned a great deal about the mutineers’ lives on the island: they had built a schooner; they had each taken a wife and treated their women well; Stewart and Heywood had laid out gardens that were still in a flourishing state; these two had conformed to Tahitian manners to such an extent that they ceremonially uncovered their upper bodies when in the presence of King Tynah, as was local custom.

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