Just as the news of Hayward’s return had coincided with Peter’s decision to share his most soulful Tahitian poem with his sister, so the arrival of the fleet coincided with a revealing letter to his mother. That same day, Peter decided the time had come to respond to some earlier, searching questions from Mrs. Heywood.
“The Question my dear Mother in one of your Letters concerning my swimming off to the Pandora is one Falsity among the too many in which I have often thought of undeceiving you & as frequently forgot,” Peter began, as it were clearing his throat. Shackled in his dark prison with the prospect of the trial for his life now imminent, Peter allowed his mind to return to the island he loved, and to those few hours in which the entire balance of his life had been upset. On that fair and breezy morning in March 1791, he had left his house just after first daylight, setting out for the mountains with two Tahitian friends. He had gone about one hundred yards when a man came hastening after them to say that a ship had been spotted. Running to a place of rising ground that made a lookout, Peter had seen “with the utmost Joy” the Pandora laying off Hapiano, “a District two or three Miles to Windward of Matavia where I lived.” Thinking immediately to share “such pleasing News” with his friend Coleman, who lived a mile and a half away, Peter had sent off one of his servants to alert him. On hearing the word, Coleman had at once set out in a canoe for the Pandora; Coleman’s reluctance to remain with the mutineers had never seriously been questioned by anyone. Coleman attempted to intercept the ship as she was tacking into Matavai Bay, but the wind tippled his canoe, he capsized and was picked up by the Pandora. Meanwhile, Peter was onshore with his messmate Stewart, ready to set out with a double canoe, eventually reaching the Pandora as she streamed her anchor buoy.
As for being taken for a native: “being dressed in the country Manner, tanned as brown as themselves & tattowed like them in the most curious Manner, I do not in the least wonder at their taking us for Natives,” wrote Peter, rather breezily and with a just detectable note of pride.
And as for those tattoos: “I was tattowed, not to gratify my own Desire, but their’s,” he wrote defensively. In Tahiti, tattoos brought esteem; the more tattoos a man had, the more he was respected. A man without tattoos was an outcast. Besides, as Peter concluded, “I always made it a Maxim ‘When I was in Rome to act as Rome did.’ . . . ”
For Mrs. Heywood, whose life had been mostly lived within the bounds of Douglas and Cumberland, these images her son conjured so casually—“the Mountains,” “my house,” the lookout point over Matavai Bay, the shore, his tattoos—must have seemed both threateningly vivid and incomprehensibly mysterious. Although, like most Englishwomen from strong, naval traditions, she had personally heard firsthand accounts of the West Indies or the Leeward Islands, North America, India or China, the glimpses Peter offered of an entire, alternate life were confounding. “I was an universal Favorite amongst those Indians,” he declared in this same letter, “& perfectly conversant in their Language. . . . I was the greatest favorite of any Englishman on Shore & treated with respect by every Person on the Island in whose Mouths my Name ever was, as an Object of their Love and Esteem.” Again, that near boastful, almost defiant tone: “perhaps you may think I flatter myself, but I really do not. Adieu my dearest Mother believe me your truly dutiful & most obedient Son,” and Peter had signed off.
If his mother had not yet taken in the fact that the sojourn in Tahiti, during which her son had lived tanned and tattooed like a native, had changed him forever, one must suspect that Peter himself knew. What it cost him to conjure those green, cloud-tinged mountains, the neat and friendly plantations, the rattle of palms over Matavai’s black beach, his home and wife in the gun-room prison is impossible to imagine. As each day closed, and the long bars of light vanished from the gun ports, he was left to contemplate many weighty issues; his approaching trial would bring either death, or life and freedom. And if the latter—then what?
Several days later, Hood departed for the Admiralty in London to give a report of his cruise. Around this time, the Admiralty sent notices in turn to those who were to appear at the court-martial. This included John Fryer, currently superintendent master at Chatham Dockyard; William Cole, now boatswain of the Irresistible at Pasley’s port, Sheerness; the cantankerous William Purcell, now carpenter of the Inspector at Deptford yard; and William Peckover, the gunner on the Ocean at Woolwich. John Hallett was to travel the farthest, from Loch Ryan in Scotland. Captain Edwards seems to have been in London, while other of the Pandora’s men were still quartered on the Vengeance, Pasley’s ship. Robert Tinkler, John Fryer’s young brother-in-law, was not summoned; why he was not is unclear, but in the event this was fortunate for the Heywoods. The fact that young Tinkler had just turned fourteen at the time he joined Bligh and Fryer in the open boat would have been highly inconvenient to Peter’s plea of “youth and inexperience.”
Pasley had already met a number of these “evidences” and had made some encouraging progress; indeed, the commander in chief in the Medway seemed to have been spending a great deal of time away from his station at Sheerness. After meeting with Cole and Fryer, Pasley reported to Peter that he had found “both favourable witnesses”—although it is difficult to imagine how he could possibly have found his meeting with Fryer reassuring. It was Fryer who had, after all, stated to his wife in his letter from Batavia that “the captain & me were surprised by Misters Christian, Stewart, Young & Haywood & the Master at Arms.” But perhaps the embittered master, under the urgent, imposing—and flattering—attention of Commander in Chief Pasley, had begun to recollect events somewhat differently.
“Keep up your spirits,” Fryer now took it upon himself to write to Peter, in the wake of Pasley’s visit. “[F]or I am of opinion no one can say you had an active part in the mutiny; and be assured of my doing you justice when called upon.”
In addition to seeking out the witnesses one by one for close questioning, Pasley had also been to the Admiralty to read the various depositions submitted by Bligh and his officers on the loss of the Bounty, as well as the minutes of Bligh’s own court-martial. Nothing in these, Pasley was reassured to see, had specifically implicated Peter. He also made a personal visit to Captain Edwards—“that Fellow,” as he indignantly called him, whose “inhuman Rigour of Confinement” of the prisoners he would never forget; “even” Edwards had allowed that Peter had voluntarily identified himself as “late of the Bounty” when he had come aboard the Pandora.
But from a legal point of view, the nub of the issue—as Pasley was compelled to remind Nessy—was that “the Man who stands Neuter is equally guilty with him who lifts his arms against his Captain.” It was not enough to prove that Peter had not actively abetted the mutineers; acquittal could be won only if it could be shown he had helped resist them.
Almost from the outset, Peter had been benefiting from the friendly advice of John Delafons. But what Pasley now had in mind was someone who could offer coaching and a proper legal strategy. When the matter was put to Peter’s family, they had instantly declared that only Erskine and Mingay could be trusted to represent their Peter: Lord Erskine and James Mingay were two of the most eminent lawyers of the day, as well as the most fiery and intimidating. Mingay had lost his right hand in an accident and had replaced it with a hook, which he wielded to great effect in the courtroom. However, as Pasley pointed out, a gift for fiery oratory would be to no point since barristers could not “exhibit” at a naval court-martial, which was not run like a civil trial. A naval court would first summon the various evidences for the prosecution, who could in turn be cross-examined both by the court and directly by the individual defendants. In the second part of the proceedings, each prisoner would be allowed to give a statement and to call upon witnesses in his defense. His Majesty’s Navy also had an aversion to lawyers, as it turned out, and so what was required was not a high-flying personality, but a sound adviser working discreetly behind the scenes.
“Any sensible sound Lawyer
to point out the proper Questions . . . & capable of writing a good defense will answer the Purpose,” Pasley advised Peter. But from subsequent correspondence it appears that Pasley did not quite succeed in making his point. Suddenly a notification came from John Beardsworth of Lincoln’s Inn, the lawyer of Peter’s father, that Francis Const had been hired, and not it appears with Pasley’s blessing.
“I am glad Erskine & Mingay are not retained,” he would later confide to Peter, “and am almost sorry Const is.” The jittery Heywood family appears to have jumped the gun.
On the morning of August 23, Lord Hood raised his flag on the Duke, having returned from London the previous night. Pasley received orders to send the Pandora’s men by sea round to Portsmouth when they had all finally arrived from Holland, along with William Cole, the Bounty boatswain, who was to hitch a ride as a passenger. The other evidences were to make their way to Portsmouth by land. Lieutenant Hayward, also under Pasley’s direction, was to make his way to London for a visit to the Admiralty before venturing on to Portsmouth. As Pasley wrote to Peter, “no Trial can take Place without my knowing it.”
Meanwhile, Peter continued to receive a stream of helpful directives. Following Mrs. Bertie’s advice, he ordered a suit for his court appearance and, abetted by her feminine eye for detail, a mourning band of black crepe for the memory of his father. More relatives and well-wishers entered the picture. Attorney John Beardsworth was now also advising. Uncle Colonel James Holwell, writing from his estate near Tunbridge Wells, in Kent, offered the kind of sentimental support that was welcome, but ultimately to no purpose.
“[Y]ou have given of filial duty . . . to the best of parents,” wrote Colonel Holwell; he himself was the son of the heroic Governor Zephaniah Holwell, a director of the East India Company and one of the few survivors of the Black Hole of Calcutta. “[Y]our education has been the best; & from these considerations alone without the very least evidence of your own Testimony, I would as soon believe the Archbishop of Canterbury would set fire to the city of London, as suppose you could directly or indirectly join in such a d——d piece of Business.”
With time running out, Pasley was keenly aware that although much useful background work had been done, Peter was still not prepared specifically to face his day in court. And it was with matters in this irresolute state that a man who was to become one of the most important figures in Peter’s life entered the family picture.
“A Friend of Mine, Mr. Graham who has been Secretary to the different Admirals on the Newfoundland Station for these twelve years, consequently Judge Advocate at Court-Martials all that Time, has offered me to attend you,” wrote Pasley to Peter, the dark clouds that had oppressed him visibly parting. “[H]e has a thorough Knowledge of the Service, uncommon Abilities, & is a very good Lawyer—he conducted Capt. P—’s Court Martial who wou’d have been broke unassisted by him.”
Aaron Graham had first met Pasley in 1771, when at nineteen he had served as clerk on the Sea Horse under Pasley’s command off the coast of Africa. He seems to have impressed Pasley even then, as he was to impress other superiors in his somewhat unorthodox naval career. For it was, as one memorial stated, in civil service—the business art of balancing accounts and numbers and adroit paperwork—not strictly in naval work, that Graham excelled: “At length, in consequence of his abilities, and conciliating manners, he was appointed secretary to a Flag Ship, and in this capacity, attained the friendship and confidence of all the Admirals with whom he sailed, no less by the amiableness of his disposition, than by a strict and scrupulous integrity, that invited investigation, and set suspicion at defiance”—so curious and suggestive is this last sentence that the memorial is worth quoting in full.
Aaron Graham had been born in Gosport, close by Portsmouth Harbour. He had, then, grown up within sight of the glorious comings and goings of His Majesty’s fleets. Graham’s naval service seems to have been clerical rather than nautical from the beginning. After impressing Pasley, he had moved on to other ships before landing on the Newfoundland station. In this bleak and remote outpost of British jurisdiction, Graham officially served as secretary to four successive governors, but his gift for bureaucratic duties ensured that he wore many unofficial hats and essentially ran the station. Quietly, unthreateningly, adroitly, he was the ingratiating subordinate who mastered any task or crisis, and on whom his grateful superiors came to rely. Graham superintended all things afloat; he cheerfully handled all paperwork and all legal issues; he organized theatrical events; he was also an agent for prizes, thereby obtaining a share of all that was captured by the station during the American war. On his return to England in late 1791, he was appointed a police magistrate.
Graham, we are told by his memorial, was “rather under the middle size.” He was neat in dress and person, with unoffensive manners, “insinuating in his address.” He was constantly employed, it would seem, in helping deserving superior officers, with money, with advice, just as he had now stepped forward to offer assistance to Peter Heywood.
But the full range of Graham’s talents can be appreciated only by a glance at what he would go on to accomplish in the years immediately ahead. During the later part of the “great mutiny” of 1797—the politically radicalized sailors’ strike at the Nore—Aaron Graham would serve the Admiralty as a spy. He would also for several seasons be a manager of the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, serving the statesman and playwright Richard Brinsley Sheridan in the same able manner in which he had served the Newfoundland governors.
And it would be in this latter managerial capacity that he would form an important friendship with a young, exceptionally pretty actress of no particular professional standing named Harriet Mellon. When Miss Mellon, who was in her twenties, caught the eye of the banker Thomas Coutts, age seventy, married, and said to be the richest man in England, it was Aaron Graham who was entrusted with their clandestine correspondence.
Graham, then, was not only exceptionally clever; he was also a great student of human character. He was the person whom a certain kind of gentleman—a gentleman in a bit of a pickle—might seek out, and upon whose knowing, discreet, confidential advice and actions he could rely. He was exactly the kind of knowledgeable guide Pasley had been seeking. Francis Const might be a very good barrister, but Aaron Graham knew not only law but what people—especially in naval circles—thought about the law. Const was an aspiring amateur writer, and can be credited with a number of “epilogues” and “prologues” to presumably lost or never published plays and he kept literary company—including that of Richard Sheridan. Aaron Graham managed men like Sheridan, read their weaknesses, knew their finances, and told them what they could and could not safely do.
Graham volunteered his services in late August, and immediately got to work. On the mild, fair evening of September 5, Pasley stumped over to Const’s chambers in the Middle Temple, off Fleet Street, to meet with Const and Graham. Whatever was discussed between the three men at this night session apparently shed new, promising light upon the entire proceedings. “I shall say Nothing of what I expect the Result may be but at present Appearances are favorable,” Pasley wrote to Nessy the following day, in a complete reversal of his earlier cautions against undue optimism. He had now seen Graham’s fabled skills at work, and could not refrain from praising this “intimate & very particular Friend.”
“I have every Reason to think you may look forward with pleasing Hopes,” Pasley wrote to Peter with the same new exuberance. “I refer you to my Friend Mr. Graham for Information.”
Of great significance was the fact that Graham had already met with most of the evidences prior to this important meeting. It is noteworthy that when Graham would do his undercover work during the Nore crisis, he was willing to pay for information. From his wide experience of human nature—with sailors, with the range of questionable types passing through his hands in his capacity as a police magistrate, with gentlemen in straitened circumstances—it is a safe bet that Graham knew how to work the witnesses bett
er than had Commander in Chief Pasley.
Meanwhile, in Portsmouth, Lord Hood had his hands full. The day on which Pasley had held his meeting with Peter’s new counsel had seen a lot of activity around the harbor. The Scourge, a sloop coming to Spithead with a small capture in tow, had sent a boat to shore that had foundered in rough water. Some of the boat’s party were picked up after floating for nearly seven hours; but two midshipmen spotted earlier clinging to wreckage had slipped beneath the water and been lost.
On this same day, Lord Hood began to focus on the practical logistics of the trial. He conferred with the captains and all were in agreement with him that “it will be extremely inconvenient” to assemble anywhere other than Portsmouth Harbour. At the same time, anticipating a larger than average crowd, “as Counsel are to attend from London,” he suggested to the Admiralty that they use one of the three-decked ships in ordinary, or out of commission, laid up near the dockyard. Finally a bar of some kind needed to be erected in the ship for the prisoners.
The Bounty: The True Story of the Mutiny on the Bounty Page 25