And the three children each sign the letter their delighted mother will read:
Nessy Heywood, Peter Heywood, James Heywood
‘Love to and from all ten thousand times.’82
It is truly the best of times.
•
But even as Nessy and James Heywood are embracing their brother Peter in London, things are being prepared for a grisly ritual that has been a long time coming.
Atop the foremast of HMS Brunswick, a yellow flag – ‘the signal of death’83 – flutters in the gentle breeze. The ship Captains in Portsmouth Harbour had drawn lots to see on whose ship the execution would take place. Captain Roger Curtis of the Brunswick feels cursed to draw the short straw – it is bad luck to have hangings on your ship.
A signal cannon on the shoreline is suddenly fired, sending a shattering boom rolling out across the waters in all directions. After the Brunswick fires its own cannon in reply, vessels of all sizes start to converge from all points of the compass and the ship is soon the central point of a tight circle of boats, with the decks of each one packed with sailors, obliged to witness what happens to those who have violated the Articles of War.
A shroud of deathly silence descends upon the armada, as all wait for what they know must be coming next.
Down below, in the gunroom of the Brunswick, the three condemned Mutineers – Thomas Ellison, John Millward and Thomas Burkett – are sitting with a clergyman, when they hear the sound of many boots approaching, marching in deadly unison. And here, now, is the Provost Marshal, with a platoon of red-coated Marines behind him. With a face like granite, he mutters an order to one of the Marines, who quickly steps forward and removes the chains of the condemned, before taking them up towards the deck, the solemn procession led by a clergyman and one other man they have chosen to have present for the occasion … Mr Morrison.
Yes, it is none other than James Morrison who the condemned men wish to read the final prayers they will ever hear.84 Arriving on deck – also blinking despite the rather gloomy day – they see the poop deck, at the rear of the ship, crowded with high officers, including Vice-Admiral Hood and many of the Captains who sentenced them, come to see their sentence carried out. Around them is a whole sea of grim red-coats, all with their bayonets attached to their muskets. Just let one of them try to make a run for it, leaping over the side, and they will be struck and stuck like a squealing pig, in seconds. There can be no escape.
In the face of it all, two of the three seem to shrink somewhat. But as John Millward alone rises to the occasion, straightening his shoulders and whispering words unknown to the others, they, too, seem to lift themselves.
Still, for 30 minutes, the doomed men kneel with the clergyman, Mr Morrison by their side, as they say their prayers and beg the Holy Father forgiveness of their sins and trespasses, their misdemeanours and … mutinies.
At length, however, it is time and after they are led to the quarter-deck where the whole thing is to take place – young Thomas Ellison now recovered enough to even wave to a few of the people he recognises in the surrounding craft – the group divides. While Monkey and Millward are to be hanged from the yardarm off the mizzenmast on the larboard side, Burkett will be hanged from the starboard arm. That way, everyone, all around, will be able to have an unimpeded view of at least one of them hanging. As they take their positions, the attention of each man is inevitably drawn to the noose that waits, swinging lightly, exactly – as per regulation – five feet above the deck. At the other end of each of the three ropes – though looped through the block and tackle that hangs exactly a foot below the mizzen yard, a third of the way up the mast – are 20 sailors in column formation, each gripping their section of rope, grimly contemplating what they are about to do.
After a corporal reads out the charges, the condemned men are asked if they have any last words. Both Burkett and Ellison look to Millward, who in turn nods to James Morrison, who hands him a piece of paper, which, in a booming, confident voice, the condemned man now reads from, hoping all of the assembled crews on the gathered ships may hear.
‘Brother Seamen,’ Millward begins, ‘you see before you three lusty young fellows about to suffer a shameful death for the dreadful crime of mutiny and desertion. Take warning by our example never to desert your officers, and should they behave ill to you, remember: it is not their cause, it is the cause of your country you are bound to support.’85
And now the nooses that have swayed before them are placed by Morrison himself around their necks and tightened, under their chins, so that, when the moment comes, it will not slip off their heads. Morrison also places the blue bags over their heads, whispering as he does so. Both Thomas Ellison and Thomas Burkett bow their heads meekly to allow the bag to be so placed. Their arms are now tied tightly behind them, so there can be no possibility of loosening the noose with their hands.
All is in readiness.
With a nod from Vice-Admiral Hood, at 11.26 am, two of the Brunswick’s cannon are fired, belching out simultaneous thunderous roars and a growing plume of smoke. The columns of sailors instantly respond by … hauling on the ropes … as all three convicted Mutineers are hauled off the ground by their necks … For those closest to the men hanging there is a deathly cracking as neck vertebrae break, mixed with an unearthly gurgling as they begin to strangle. The spectators in the boats and on the ships all around squint to see through the haze of smoke, but it is not until some moments later, as the cloud dissipates, that they see three limp bodies dangling from the yardarms above.
Some six yards above the deck, and one yard below the pulleys, the bodies stop rising and swing in the wind, as large stains show up on their trousers now fouled.
It will take another 30 minutes before their legs stop shaking and there are no further signs of life. For the next two hours, the bodies are left swinging there, lightly twisting in the wind, before – in marked contrast to the violence with which they have been raised – their lifeless bodies are lowered with extraordinary gentleness.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
BEFORE THE COURT OF THE PEOPLE
I find that two months after I left Tahiti in the ‘Bounty’, Christian returned in her to the great astonishment of the natives. Doubting that things had gone well with me the first questions they asked were: ‘Where is Bry?’ ‘He is gone,’ he replied, ‘to England’. ‘In what ship?’ asked the natives. ‘In Toote’s ship.’1
Captain Bligh’s Log notes on his return to Tahiti, 9 April 1792
Mid-November 1792, Downing College, Cambridge University, a man of letters
A few days after the three Mutineers are hanged, Edward Christian, the dignified-looking Professor of Law, walks into his dark chambers in Cambridge University to find a letter sitting in the middle of his mahogany desk. Opening it, he reads …
Sir,
I am sorry to say I have been informed you were inclined to judge too harshly of your truly unfortunate brother; and to think of him in such a manner as I am conscious, from the knowledge I had of his most worthy disposition and character, (both public and private) he merits not in the slightest degree: therefore I think it my duty to undeceive you, and to rekindle the flame of brotherly love (or pity now) towards him, which, I fear, the false reports of slander and vile suspicion may have nearly extinguished.
… your brother was not that vile wretch, void of all gratitude, which the world had the unkindness to think him; but on the contrary, a most worthy character, ruined only by having the misfortune (if it can be so called) of being a young man of strict honour and adorned with every virtue and beloved by all (except one, whose ill report is his greatest praise) who had the pleasure of acquaintance.
I am sir, with esteem,
Your most obedient humble servant
P. Heywood2
Peter Heywood’s courage in writing such a letter – attempting to right wrongs, even though he is now free, and is risking his own future career – is to be commended, and Professor Christian is determin
ed to meet him. In careful language, he writes back, arranging it.
•
Faraway, on the other side of the world, William Bligh, still bent on revenge, remains unaware that three of the Mutineers have now received what he had always hoped for them – to swing at the end of a rope, disgraced.
But while Bligh sails on contentedly – a hero of his generation, his bread-fruit-laden ship heading at a rate of knots towards the West Indies – Fletcher Christian still tosses and turns in the night, frequently waking in a pool of sweat, panicky, wondering, questioning … what has he done?
•
Knock, knock.
Professor Edward Christian opens the door and Peter Heywood slips inside, clearly relieved to be away from the public gaze.
They retire to the professor’s study to talk, its walls all but leather-lined as its shelves groan under the weight of hundreds of law books, giving an air of august justice to their discussion. Professor Christian listens, rapt, jotting down notes, as this well-spoken young man unburdens himself of all the horrors of the voyage, all of Bligh’s capricious viciousness, his explosions over trifles, his needless humiliation of all and sundry. And he also talks of the faithful promise he had made Fletcher, back in Tahiti, that in the unlikely event he got back to England, he would do his best to set the record straight on both Captain Bligh and Fletcher Christian. For his part, Professor Christian is most interested in how his brother Fletcher had reacted to Bligh, how he had tried to temper the temper, calm with balm the searing soul, only to slowly come to the conclusion that there was no other way – for manhood alone demanded it – than to rise against the tyrant.
In response to Heywood’s remarkable account, Fletcher’s older brother is convinced that more people need to hear the true story.
And so he convenes an informal court of his own, a gathering of eminent citizens of undoubted integrity who he regularly convenes, to hear the evidence of the men of the Bounty. Yes, it takes a little persuasion to get the Bounty men to speak openly to strangers about what they have only whispered between each other to this point, but all are assured, and come to believe, that their testimony will be treated with the utmost confidence.
Over many evenings, Fryer, Purcell, Lebogue, McIntosh and Heywood make their way to anonymous-looking lodgings, even an inn if necessary, look left, look right, and slip inside, where they are received with enormous warmth. Professor Edward Christian carefully takes down every word.
•
Bligh, meanwhile, is entirely ignorant that this cannon of words against his good name is being loaded, and he continues on his second bread-fruit voyage. And yet, there is little doubt that his current officers are becoming aware of what life was like for Fletcher Christian. Even Lieutenant Frank Bond, Bligh’s nephew, has found that, once aboard the good ship Providence, his formerly kind uncle has become a man transformed, full of scorn, insult and endless criticism – and that is just to a family member.
As Frank writes to his brother, ‘Yes Tom, our relative had the credit of being a tyrant in his last expedition … The very high opinion he has of himself makes him hold every one of our profession with contempt, perhaps envy; nay the Navy is but a sphere for fops and lubbers to swarm in, without one gem to vie in brilliancy with himself …’3
Still, for all Bligh’s flaws of character, young Frank is impressed by both Uncle William’s brilliance as a navigator and, he also can’t help but note, how, ‘In a time of real danger what a change to cordiality and kindness!’ For example, when they are suddenly hit by a howling wind, and thunderous waves, as a storm crashes down upon them, Bligh blames only himself: ‘Oh Frank! What a situation! Into what a danger I have brought you! God grant that we may get safe out of it!’4
For, precisely as Fletcher Christian had observed, the insufferable Bligh does have a good side, and it is never more apparent than when there is a crisis requiring all of his skills and attributes, whereupon, for some strange reason, the humanity that actually nestles somewhere deep in the wings shuffles forward and takes centre stage. It is only when at leisure that he starts to pick and peck at every scab he can find.
And yet, despite all of the storms, all the squalls, both inside and outside the ship, the expedition is a complete success, with 830 bread-fruit plants delivered alive and well to the islands of the West Indies in the early months of January 1793 and a satisfied Bligh and his infinitely relieved crew arrive back at Deptford on the Thames on 7 August 1793.
•
On Pitcairn Island in this September of 1793, all has been relatively calm, if not quite happy, for the last two years. Well, the Mutineers, at least, have been happy. But the Natives … a little less so.
They have been brooding on their lot, and trouble is brewing once more. For the Natives, daily life is an endless round of repetitive chores. Every morning, the most important thing is to catch seabirds to feed their masters, followed by catching more seabirds to feed the hogs of their masters! Their very manhood is insulted. This is not what they were raised to do, and nowhere near what they imagined when they came away on the Bounty. A very few of the Mutineers – most notably Fletcher Christian and Ned Young – treat them decently, almost as if they are equals. But the others – with none worse than McCoy and Quintal – are harsh taskmasters.
Such is the level of unhappiness among the Natives that, just as had happened with the death of Jack Williams’ wife, it does not take much to set things off. And so it goes when the ever-faithful Menalee, who is so close to the white men he is practically a tenth Mutineer, takes it into his head that he has as much right to Billy McCoy’s pig as McCoy has, having done much more than McCoy to look after it for the past four years on Pitcairn.
McCoy takes a different view, as evidenced by those screams you can hear, interspersed with that sickening sound of a whip cutting into flesh. Bound to a post, Menalee is whipped to within an inch of his life by the scarred McCoy, who then rubs salt into every wound for good measure. Menalee’s howls of agony manage to haunt the entire island, chill the white men and enrage the Natives. This is nothing less than a slave being tortured by his Master.
Fletcher Christian is appalled, but powerless to stop it. Their paradise is as long gone as his authority. He is now just one farmer hearing another punish a ‘thief’ who ‘stole’ his hog.
All that Menalee knows is that it causes him more pain than he has ever known in his life, and he bitterly resents it.
When, shortly afterwards, the faithful Timoa is spotted by one of the women taking yams – just as if he were a white man, and had some right to them – Matt Quintal also administers a beating.
Though a sympathetic Ned Young consoles Menalee and Timoa, these are spiritual wounds that won’t heal. The Native men have had enough. Are they proud men, or are they beaten slaves? The choice is theirs, and in secret meetings they come to one inalterable conclusion. The white men must be killed. The slaves must become masters of Pitcairn.
•
All up, Bligh finds things since his return very strange.
The last time he had returned to England – after the Mutiny – he had been the hero of the hour, given an audience with King George III. This time? There has been … nothing. He waits, day after day, week after week, but still he receives no summons.
Even when he goes to the Admiralty and sits there throughout the day, day after day, nothing happens and, with ever-growing embarrassment, the truth slowly comes to Bligh. This is no unfortunate oversight. This is nothing less than a deliberate snub.
Each night, Bligh returns to the Providence – as the mission is not formally complete, and he can only make dashing visits to and from his cherished family – and fumes.
When the Duke of Clarence – who is no less than the son of King George III – calls on the Providence and asks Bligh if Lord Chatham has presented him to the King yet, Bligh is embarrassed to inform him that, as a matter of fact, he has not even been presented to Lord Chatham yet.
Bligh is at least
pleased with the Duke’s obvious shock, as he says in wonder, ‘Here is an officer that has acquitted himself in the highest manner, and the First Lord of the Admiralty will not see him!’5
Oh, but it is to get worse, still.
In late September 1793, nearly two months after arriving in England, Captain Bligh sits fuming in his hated but customary position – waiting unattended in a hallway of the inner sanctum of the Admiralty, desperate to see Lord Chatham – when he looks up to see a familiar figure.
Alas, it is not Lord Chatham.
No, it is Bligh’s junior officer, Lieutenant Nathaniel Portlock – who commanded HMS Assistant, which accompanied the Providence – who has been summoned, as his own Captain and Commander waits! It is unheard of, it is outrageous and it is clearly a calculated insult.
All that Bligh is told by way of reason for this infernal delay is that Lord Chatham simply wishes to have sufficient time to receive a full report from Bligh.
Soon enough the word spreads, and everybody in Bligh’s naval circles realises what is really going on here.
(Privately, Matthew Flinders, the notably brilliant young Midshipman who’d accompanied Bligh to Tahiti on his second voyage, gets word of his current Captain’s standing from his old Captain, Peter Heywood’s uncle. Commander Pasley tells him ‘Your Captain will meet a very hard reception – he has damned himself.’6)
Bligh, the Royal Navy Captain who was the hero of England less than a year ago, is now nothing less than persona non grata, as word has spread in official circles of what had actually happened, courtesy of the influential Professor Edward Christian’s secret gatherings.
For Bligh, it is about to get even worse.
Can you hear it? In the distance, there is that clanking sound, punctuated by regular thumps. That, dear friends, is a printing press pumping out thousands of copies of a document that has one aim – to destroy the reputation of Captain William Bligh.
Mutiny on the Bounty Page 56
