The Bounty: The True Story of the Mutiny on the Bounty

by Caroline Alexander

  “The great Misfortune attending this unhappy Business,” Muspratt now ventured, in an audacious summing up, “is that no one ever Attempted to rescue the Ship, it might have been done—Thompson was the only Centinel upon the Arm Chest.” This last expression had the vehemence of authentic conviction. But stunned and passive, waiting for someone else to make the first, all-important move, each potential loyalist had dithered as the minutes raced by—and then it was too late.

  Thomas Burkett, able seaman, was called next, and one can imagine the faces of the watching judges darkening as he was summoned. There was almost no point in his expending energy to tell his story. He was one of the men specifically named by Bligh who had entered his cabin and forcibly seized him. Every witness who had been on deck recalled seeing Burkett escort Bligh from his cabin at musket point. He was not only a mutineer in the general sense of being of Christian’s “party,” but had been one of the handful of aggressively active agents.

  And yet, as if to belie the fact that his cause was lost, or perhaps as a symptom of his desperation, Burkett was to deliver one of the longest, most detailed and most vivid defenses. Thomas Burkett was now thirty years old. Tall—five foot nine—and slender, with his face “much pitted” from smallpox, he was “very much tatowed.” He was also undoubtedly scarred from the wound he had received in the bloody skirmish between mutineers and islanders on Tubuai. There are Burketts found on the Isle of Man, and Burketts in Cumbria, but Burkett of the Bounty was from a “liberty,” or parish, of Bath in Somersetshire. No further evidence of his family or origins can be found. He had been in naval service for at least two years before joining the Bounty, having been a seaman in 1785 on the Hector, the same ship on which he was now prisoner.

  As if to deflect attention from his actions at the critical moments of the actual mutiny, Burkett drew a detailed picture of what had happened in the preceding two hours. At four in the morning, he had gone on deck “to keep my Watch with Mr. Christian.” There was the business with the shark, which had so absorbed Hayward and Hallett.

  Hallett then approached Burkett and, although some eleven years the sailor’s junior, had told him, “Burkett, it is my catering week and you must draw those three Fowls for me which are hanging to the Main Stay”; such was the prerogative of young gentlemen. Muttering that he did not know how to draw a fowl, Burkett nonetheless retreated to the windlass and set about the work. As he was busy with the birds, he heard Christian say to Coleman, “[G]ive me a Musquet to shoot a Shark with.” Behind him, he heard Hayward asking, “What are you about, are you going to Exercise already?,” referring to the exercise of arms.

  Suddenly there was a lot of activity on deck.

  “Hayward is gone to tell the Captain,” Churchill said. This in itself, if true, was significant: it was the first suggestion that the midshipmen had caught wind that something was amiss. Turning, Burkett saw Hayward and Hallett disappear aft, and Churchill and others, muskets and bayonets in hand, run down the aft hatchway. McCoy came fore and struck the coamings with the butt end of his musket, while John Williams did the same on the fo’c’sle.

  “[T]hen came up Mr. Christian with a Musquet and fix’d bayonet and a Cartouch box in his left hand and a pistol and Cutlass in his right with Fury in his looks, he said, ‘Here Burkett lay hold of this,’ holding out the Musquet; I ask’d him what I must do with it in a refusing Manner, when he presented his pistol at me, saying, ‘Damn your blood lay hold of it and go aft.’ ”

  Going aft on the starboard side, Christian ran into Hayward, and “shaking the Cutlass at Mr. Hayward said, ‘Damn your blood, Hayward, Mamoo,’ ” which the court by now knew was Tahitian for “shut up.”

  Christian continued down the aft hatchway, and Burkett heard the sound of a door being broken and Mr. Christian say, “Bligh you are my Prisoner.” There was the noise of broken glass, and Fryer and Nelson were ordered to stay below, while Hayward and Hallett were standing between the two guns on the quarterdeck, “[s]eemingly much Confused.” Churchill called out for seizing, or cord, to bind the captain, and when no one responded called again, “[Y]ou Infernal buggers, hand down a seizing or I’ll Come up and play hell with you all.”

  Shortly after, Bligh was led up, in his nightshirt, with his hands bound behind him. “I was then at the Gangway,” Burkett told the court, “and seeing the Captain without Breeches and with his shirt tail tyed up with the seizing that secured his hands I laid down the Musquet by the dripstone.”

  “What are you going to do?” Christian demanded.

  “Let down the Captains shirt,” Burkett replied, and did so, “hauling it out of the lashing.” Where did this detail come from? Did Burkett really have the audacity, let alone imagination, to invent such an extraordinary scene? And if his account was true—what did this act imply?

  “Take up your Arms,” Christian ordered him.

  “I took no Notice but went to the Companion and said to Jn. Sumner, ‘Hand me up the Captain’s Cloaths.’ In the meantime Jn. Smith, the Captain’s Servant, Came aft and I said to him, ‘Jack go fetch the Captain’s Cloaths it is a Shame to see him stand naked.’ ”

  “Why don’t you take up your Arms Burkett,” Christian repeated and, drawing his pocket pistol, added, “I would have you take care.”

  Hayward and Hallett were ordered into the boat, “at which they seem’d verry much surprized.”

  “What harm did ever I do you, Mr. Christian?” Hayward implored.

  “I hope you will not insist upon it, Mr. Christian,” Hallett beseeched, with tears in his eyes. But Mr. Christian did insist, telling them curtly to “[g]o into the Boat.” On his orders, rum was now served to those under arms, while Norman, from the leaky cutter, called up that the boat was sinking.

  “Consider what you are about Mr. Christian,” Bligh begged as the larger launch was being prepared. “[F]or God’s sake drop it and there shall be no more come of It.”

  “ ’Tis too late Captain Bligh,” Christian replied.

  “No, Mr. Christian, it is not too late yet, I’ll forfeit my Honour if ever I speak of it, I’ll give you my bond that there shall never be any more come of It.”

  “You know Captain Bligh,” said Christian, “you have treated me like a dog all the voyage. I have been In Hell this fortnight past and I am determin’d to suffer it no longer.”

  Bligh was joined by Cole and Purcell who also begged Christian to “drop it.”

  “You know Mr. Cole how I have been Used,” replied Christian.

  “I know it verry well Mr. Christian, we all know it, but drop it, for God’s sake.”

  “Consider, Mr. Christian What a dangerous Step you have taken,” put in Hayward, who was supposed to be getting in the boat.

  “Can there be no other Method taken?” asked Bligh; the question was pragmatic more than a plea.

  “No,” interjected Churchill, who was standing by, “this is the best and only Method.”

  During this extraordinary exchange, Burkett sought to stay out of Christian’s line of sight, retreating by the water cask, behind the wheel. Michael Byrn was “groping about for something in the Fore Rigging” and upon being given a piece of rope, he had groped his way down into the leaky and forsaken cutter.

  “I have seen you shifting about, but I have my Eye on you,” Churchill said, approaching Burkett in “a surly Manner.”

  Fryer was let on deck and spoke with Millward and Morrison, who were by the launch, but Burkett could not hear what was said. Suddenly Matthew Quintal ran up carrying a pistol and grabbed Fryer by the collar to take him back down below. Millward then approached Burkett and asked whether he “had a hand in the Affair.”

  “[N]o more than I was forced to have,” Burkett replied, at which Millward told him that Fryer intended to retake the ship.

  “I then took up my Arms with a good heart,” Burkett now told his judges, “to be ready to Assist in recovering the Ship if any Attempt was Made.” The launch was got out, and still there was no such attempt
. Christian was talking to all those under arms, but, as Burkett declared, he “did not come to me.” Cole was busy trying to remove the compass from the binnacle when he was stopped by Quintal, who asked what need he had of a compass “when land was in Sight.”

  “Take it,” Burkett said, stepping in. Cole removed the compass.

  “Damn my Eyes,” exclaimed Quintal, “we may as well give him the Ship.” The boat was being filled, and the officers were now all on deck. “I look’d for some attempt to be made but, to my utter surprize and astonishment saw None.”

  Christian gave orders for Coleman, Norman and McIntosh to be detained, but for the others to get into the boat.

  “You had better let me stay, Mr. Christian,” Fryer said, “for you’ll not Know what to do with the Ship.” To this unwise rebuke Christian replied, “We can do verry well without you, Mr. Fryer.”

  After Fryer was led into the launch, Bligh was untied and led to the gangway.

  “Never fear my lads I’ll do you Justice if ever I reach England,” he called back to those detained on his ship.

  Afraid to call to his captain, Burkett instead called to the officers, asking, quaintly, if there was anything he could get them. Peckover replied that he would like some clothes and his pocket book—to this exchange Peckover had indeed already attested. Shortly after, the boat was cast off and Christian called to Burkett with the order to trim the sails.

  “I could do no more but give them my hearty blessing and my prayers to God for their welfare,” Burkett now claimed, “and bid them farewell.”

  The narration they had just heard, Burkett now informed the court, had been written shortly after he had left the Bounty, when he had “got clear of Christian and his Party—foreseeing, that either, sooner or later, myself, as well as every other person on board, would be obliged to render an account of our Conduct.” The vivid specificity of the incidents recalled, especially the conversations which accorded well with other accounts, might well have substantiated this claim—but how, on the other hand, had the narrative survived the wreck of the Pandora?

  But Thomas Burkett was far from finished. Before summoning his witnesses, the seaman summed up for the court all points in his favor. He obtained the compass for the boat, indicative of “Compassion for the distress of my fellow Creatures” (“I knew that Quintal objected to let the Compass go,” Cole had testified in his evidence for the prosecution, “but I do not remember that Burkitt said anything, but he was standing up there. I do not remember what passed; the Confusion was so great that it was impossible that I could take notice of every thing particularly”). There was also Burkett’s acquisition of Mr. Peckover’s possessions. Even the fact that Christian had chosen him, Burkett now argued, was “greatly in favour of my general good, and peaceable character.” He had committed no outrages, but “was simply armed with a Musquet, which I have endeavoured to prove how I came into possession of.”

  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.”