by Nordhoff
Ellison was the last to be heard. He had written his own defense, and Captain Bentham let it stand as it was, believing that the naive boyish way in which Ellison had explained his actions would make the only appeal for clemency the poor lad could hope for. I well remember the conclusion of his plea: "I hope, honourable gentlemen, you'll be so kind as to take my case under consideration, as I was only a boy at the time, and I leave myself to the clemency and mercy of this Honourable Court."
By this time it was nearly 4 P.M. The Court adjourned, and we were taken back to the Hector to await its verdict.
CHAPTER XXIV.—CONDEMNED
Tuesday, the eighteenth of September, 1792, was a typically English autumn day, with a grey sea and a grey sky. It had rained during the early morning, but by the time the gun was fired from the Duke , assembling the court-martial, the downpour had changed to a light drizzle through which the many ships of war at anchor could be seen dimly. At length the sky lightened perceptibly, and the sun shone wanly through. The Duke's quarter-deck was thronged with people awaiting the opening of the Court. Sir Joseph and Dr. Hamilton were there. On the other side of the deck were the Bounty witnesses and the officers of the Pandora .
Throughout the court-martial no relatives or friends of the prisoners had been permitted to attend the hearings. Even had such permission been granted, now that my mother was dead, I had no relatives who might have come. This was a consolation to me. Whatever my fate, it was good to be certain that none of my kin was waiting that morning for the verdict that would either clear me or condemn me to death.
But as my glance went over the crowd my pulse quickened at seeing Mr. Erskine, my father's solicitor and the old friend of both of my parents. He was then well into his seventies. He had stopped with us at Withycombe many a time, and the great treats of my life, as a youngster, had been my rare visits to London with my father, when I had seen much of Mr. Erskine. He had often taken me to view the sights of London, and his kindnesses upon these occasions made them among the happiest of my boyhood recollections. For the first time since the beginning of the court-martial I was deeply stirred, and I could see that Mr. Erskine controlled his own emotion with difficulty. His association with my parents and Withycombe was so close that he seemed like a near and deeply loved relative.
Presently the door of the great cabin was opened and the spectators filed in to their places. The prisoners followed, and we stood waiting while the members of the Court took their seats. The master-at-arms called, "Roger Byam!"
I stood in my place.
The President asked, "Have you anything further to say in your defense?"
"No, my lord."
The same question was put to each of us. The spectators were then asked to leave the room, the prisoners were marched out, and the door of the great cabin closed behind us. We were taken into the waist, by the foremast. The spectators stood in groups about the quarter-deck, or walked up and down, talking together. We could hear nothing they said; indeed, a silence seemed to have fallen over the ship. There were seamen going about routine duties, but they performed them in a subdued, soundless manner as though they were officiating at church.
Mr. Graham had visited me on the previous evening. He had told me how I might know, the moment I entered the room to learn my fate, what that fate was to be. A midshipman's dirk would be lying on the table before the President. If the dirk were placed at right angles to me, I should know that I had been acquitted. If it lay with the point toward the foot of the table where I was to stand, I should know that I had been condemned.
I felt strangely indifferent as to which it might be. Presently I fell into a kind of stupor, a waking dream, in which blurred images passed over the surface of consciousness, stirring it but little more than the ghost of a breeze disturbs the surface of a calm sea.
It must have been at about half-past nine that the Court had been cleared. When I roused myself from my reverie, an immeasurable period of time seemed to have elapsed; and indeed, the sun had passed the meridian. I heard the ship's bells strike one o'clock. The clouds had vanished, the sky was pale blue, and the sunlight had that golden quality which beautifies whatever it touches, giving a kind of splendour to familiar, common objects. The Duke's great guns looked magical in that light, and the throng on the quarter-deck, in their varicoloured uniforms, with sudden gleams of light flashing from epaulettes or sword hilts, seemed like figures out of some romantic tale rather than officers of His Majesty's Navy.
The door of the great cabin reopened at last. The master-at-arms appeared, announcing that audience was admitted; then I heard my name called. The sound of the syllables seemed strange to me; it was as though I had never heard them before.
I was accompanied by a lieutenant with a drawn sword and a guard of four men with muskets and bayonets fixed. I found myself standing at the end of the long table, facing the President. The midshipman's dirk was lying on the table before him. Its point was toward me.
The entire Court rose. Lord Hood regarded me in silence for a moment.
"Roger Byam: having heard the evidence produced in support of the charges made against you; and having heard what you have alleged in your own defense; and having maturely and deliberately weighed the whole of the evidence, this Court is of the opinion that the charges have been proved against you. It doth, therefore, judge that you shall suffer death by being hanged by the neck on board such of His Majesty's ships of war, and at such a time and such a place as the Commissioners for executing the office of Lord High Admiral of Great Britain and Ireland, or any three of them for the time being, shall, in writing, under their hands, direct."
I waited, expecting to hear more, knowing at the same time that there was nothing more to be said. Then a voice—whose, I do not know—said, "The prisoner may retire." I turned about and was marched out of the great cabin, back to where the others were waiting.
I felt little emotion; only a sense of relief that the long ordeal was over. A true conception of all the horror and ignominy of this end was to come later. At the time sentence was pronounced I was merely stunned and dazed by the finality of it. Evidently the expression on my face told the others nothing, for Morrison asked, "What is it, Byam?"
"I'm to be hung," I said, and I shall never forget the look of horror on Morrison's face. He had no time to reply, for he was called next. We watched as the door of the cabin closed behind him. Coleman, Norman, McIntosh, and Byrne stood in a group, waiting their turns, and I remember how the others drew closer to me, as though for mutual protection and comfort. Ellison touched my arm and smiled, without speaking. Burkitt stood clasping and unclasping his huge hairy hands.
The door opened again and Morrison was marched back to us. His face was pale, but he had himself well under control. He turned to me with a bitter smile. "We must enjoy life while we can, Byam." A moment later he added, "I wish to God my mother were dead."
I felt a welcome surge of anger. Morrison had, unquestionably, been convicted upon the evidence of two men, Hayward and Hallet. They alone of the witnesses had testified to having seen him under arms. Having heard the evidence of the other witnesses, I had never for a moment doubted that Morrison's name would be cleared; nor, I think, had he himself doubted. I could find nothing to say to comfort him.
Coleman followed. When he came out of the courtroom again, the guard stood to one side and Coleman walked, a free man, to one side of the quarter-deck. Norman, McIntosh, and Byrne were escorted in in turn, and as they came out the guard stood aside in each case, and they joined Coleman. Byrne was sobbing with joy and relief. The poor chap was almost blind, and groped his way to the others, his hands outstretched and the tears streaming down his face. Although their acquittal had been all but certain, now that they were actually at liberty their dazed manner and their bewilderment as to what to do with themselves would have touched any man's heart.
Burkitt, Ellison, Millward, and Muspratt were called in quick succession. All were found guilty and condemned to death. Im
mediately after sentence had been pronounced upon Muspratt, the spectators came out into the sunshine of the quarter-deck. We expected to see the members of the Court follow, but when the room had been cleared the door was closed again. Something, evidently, was to follow. The strain of waiting during the next half-hour was hardly to be borne.
Audience was again admitted, and the master-at-arms appeared at the door.
"James Morrison!"
Again Morrison was marched in. When he returned, he came as near to giving way to his emotion as I had ever seen him do. He had been recommended to His Majesty's mercy. This meant, almost certainly, that the recommendation of the Court would be followed and Morrison pardoned. A moment later Lord Hood came out, followed by the captains who had sat with him. The court-martial was at an end.
Muspratt looked at me in such a desolate manner that my heart went out to him. I put my hand on his shoulder, but there was nothing to be said. In the silence of the ship, I could hear the faint hum of conversation from the quarter-deck. I saw Sir Joseph, Mr. Erskine, and Dr. Hamilton standing together by the larboard bulwarks. They were not permitted to come to us at that time, a circumstance for which I was deeply grateful.
Mercifully, we were not compelled to wait long on the Duke . The guard was drawn up; we were escorted to the gangway and clambered down the side into the longboat waiting to convey us back to the Hector . Another boat was lying alongside. There were no marines in her—only six seamen at the oars. Directly we had pushed off, we saw the freed men descending the side to be taken ashore. We had no opportunity to bid them good-bye and Godspeed, and when their boat put off from the side of the Duke , ours had almost reached the Hector . Ellison stood and waved his hat, and they waved back as they passed around the Duke and turned toward the shore. A moment later they were cut off from view. I never saw any man of them again.
During the whole time of our confinement on board the Hector we had been treated with great kindness by Captain Montague. We were, of course, carefully guarded, with marines stationed in the gun room as well as outside the door, but aside from that there had been little to remind us of the fact that we were prisoners. Now that we had been condemned and were awaiting execution of sentence, Captain Montague did all he could to make our situation endurable. He granted me the privilege of being confined in a cabin belonging to one of his lieutenants who was absent on leave. After eighteen months of imprisonment, during which time I had had not a moment of privacy, I was able to appreciate this courtesy at its full value. Twice daily I was permitted to go to the gun room for the purpose of exercise and to see the others.
Sir Joseph Banks, the most considerate of men, did not come to see me until the second day after we had been condemned, so that when he did come, late in the afternoon, I was prepared to meet him. I was then most eager to see him, and when I opened the door of my cabin to find him standing there, my heart leaped with pleasure.
He gripped my hand in both of his, then turned to take a bulky parcel from the seaman who had brought him to the cabin.
"Sit down, Byam," he said. He laid the parcel on the small table and proceeded to remove the wrappings.
"I've brought you an old companion and friend. Do you recognize it?" he added, as he laid aside the last of the wrappings. It was the manuscript of my Tahitian dictionary and grammar.
"Allow me to say this," he went on. "I have gone over your manuscripts with great interest, and I know enough of the Tahitian language to appreciate the quality of the work you've done. It is excellent, Byam; precisely what is needed. This book, when it is published, will be of great value, not only practically but philosophically. Now tell me this: how much time would you require to put it into final shape, ready for the printers?"
"Do you mean that I may work on it here?"
"Would you care to do so?"
I was in need, heaven knows, of something to occupy my mind. Sir Joseph's thoughtfulness touched me deeply.
"Nothing would please me more, sir," I replied. "I am under no illusions as to the importance of this work..."
"But it is important, my dear fellow," he interrupted. "Make no mistake about that. I've brought your manuscripts not merely out of consideration for you. This task must be completed. The Royal Society is greatly interested, and it has been suggested to me that an introductory essay accompany the volume, in which the Tahitian language shall be discussed generally, and its points of difference to any of our European tongues pointed out. Such an essay is quite beyond me. I had only a superficial knowledge of the Tahitian speech, acquired during my sojourn on the island with Captain Cook, and I have forgotten most of what I learned at that time. Only you can write this essay."
"I shall be glad to attempt it," I replied, "if there is sufficient time..."
"Could you complete it in a month?"
"I think so."
"Then a clear month you shall have. I have enough influence at the Admiralty to be able to promise you that."
"I shall make the most of it, sir."
"Do you prefer not to talk of the events of the...of the past week?" he asked, after a brief silence.
"It doesn't matter, sir. If there is something you wish to say..."
"Only this, Byam. It is needless to tell you what my feelings are. There has never been a more tragic miscarriage of justice in the history of His Majesty's Navy. I know how embittered you must be. You understand why. you have been condemned?"
"I believe I do, sir."
"There was no alternative, Byam. None. All the palliating circumstances—the fact that no man had seen you under arms, the testimony as to the excellent character you bore, and all the rest—mere not sufficient to offset Bligh's damning statement as to your complicity with Christian in planning the mutiny. That statement stood unchallenged, except by yourself, throughout the court-martial. Only your friend Tinkler could have challenged and disproved it. Lacking his evidence..."
"I understand, sir," I replied. "Let us say no more about it. What seems to me not only a tragic but a needless miscarriage of justice applies to poor Muspratt. There is no more loyal-hearted seaman afloat than Muspratt, and he is to be hung solely upon the evidence of one man—Hayward. Muspratt's testimony as to why he took arms is strictly true. It was for the purpose of helping Fryer in case he was able to form a party for retaking the ship. The instant he saw that the party could not be formed, he put down the musket."
"I agree with you, and you will be glad to know that there is still hope for Muspratt. Say nothing, of course, to the poor fellow about this, but I have it upon good authority that he may yet be reprieved."
That same afternoon, when I saw Muspratt in the gun room, I was tempted, for the first time in my life, to betray a matter entrusted to me in confidence. It would be impossible to say how badly I wanted to give Muspratt a glimmer of hope, the merest hint of what might happen in his case. I refrained, however.
Those September days were as beautiful as any that I remember. A transparent film of vapour hung high in the air, diffusing the light of the sun, so that the very atmosphere seemed to be composed of a golden dust transforming every object it fell upon. So it was, day after day, without change. The Hector was moored, bow and stern, and the view from my cabin was always the same, but I never tired of it. I had a prospect of the harbour looking toward the Channel and the Isle of Wight, with a great first-rate and three seventy-fours anchored not far distant. I saw boats passing back and forth, their oars dipped in gold, and the men in them seemed transfigured in the pale light. Knowing how brief a time remained to me, I found nothing unworthy of interest and attention. Even the common objects in my small cabin,—the locker, the table, and the inkwell before me,—seen in various lights at different hours of the day, I found beautiful and wondered that I had failed to notice such things before.
I was not wholly wretched at this time. A man who knows that he is to die, that his fate is fixed and irrevocable, seems to be endowed, as a recompense, with the faculty of benumbed acquiescence. The
thing is there, slowly or swiftly approaching, but for the most part he is mercifully spared the full realization that it must and will come. There are moments, however, when he is not spared. Now and then, particularly at night, I would be gripped by a sense of horror that struck me to the heart. I would feel the rope about my throat, and see the faces of the brawny seamen who were waiting the order to hoist me to the yardarm; and I would hear the last words that would ever strike my ear: "And may God have mercy upon you." At such times I would pray silently for the courage to meet that moment when it should come.
Of the other condemned men, Ellison best endured the cruel waiting. He had lost his old gaiety of manner, but it was replaced by a quiet courage to face the facts that was beyond praise. Burkitt became more and more like a wild beast at bay. Every time that I was taken to the gun room for exercise I would find him pacing up and down, turning his head from side to side with the same expression of dazed incredulity on his face. He had the mighty chest of a Viking and his limbs would have made those of three ordinary men. He had never known an ache or a pain in his life save those inflicted by some boatswain's mate with a cat-o'-nine-tails. To men with such a power of life in them, death has no reality until it is at hand. Even now, I could see that Burkitt had not entirely given up hope. There was always the possibility of escape. He was narrowly watched by the guards; the eyes of one or another of them were upon him constantly.
Millward and Muspratt were sunk in moods of hopeless apathy, and rarely spoke to anyone. No one knew on what day the execution would be carried out. Not even the captain of the Hector would know until the Admiralty order had been received. Meanwhile, Morrison was kept in a state of what would have been, for me, the most harrowing anxiety. Although recommended to the King's clemency, there was always the possibility that mercy would be refused. The days passed and no pardon came, but Morrison was his usual calm self, and he discussed my work on the dictionary as though he had no other interest in the world. Had he been condemned to die with the rest of us, Morrison would have awaited the ordeal with the same fortitude.
