Morrison steadies his gaze on the members of the court.
‘My countenance has been compared with that of another employed on the same business. This … court knows that all men do not bear their misfortunes with the same fortitude … and that the face is too often a bad index to the heart. If there were no sorrow marked in my countenance, it was to deceive those whose act I abhorred that I might be at liberty to seize the first opportunity … favourable to the re-taking of the ship.’65
All that remains is for the rest of the accused to make final written submissions, in their own hand – and then wait for the verdict to be handed down.
Of all of the written submissions, it is perhaps the one provided by young Thomas Ellison, ‘Monkey’, which is the most touching …
I hope your honours will take my Inexpearence’d Youth into Consideration, as I never did or ment any harm to anyone, much more to my Commander … Capt. Bligh took great pains with me and spoke too Mr. Samule, his Clark, to teach me Writing and Arithmetick and I believe Would have taught me further had not this hap pend. I must have been very Ingreatfull if I had in any respect assisted in this Unhappy Affair agains my Commander and Benefactor, so I hope, honorable Gentlemen, yo’ll be so Kind as to take my Case into Consideration as I was No more than between Sixteen and Seventeen Years of age when this of done. Honourable Gentlemen, I leave my self at the Clemency and Mercy of this Honourable Court.
I am with great Respect
Hond. Gentlemen Obt. Humble. Sert.
THOMAS ELLISON.66
Court adjourned.
Mid-September 1792, South Pacific, a feeling of déjà vu
For Captain Bligh, it is a strange thing to be passing once more through the islands of the South Pacific, this time on a ship, with plenty of supplies and space – and not fighting for their lives on a tiny Launch. Oh, the memories: scrawling the charts, fighting with Natives and the wretched duo Mssrs Fryer and Purcell, starving, burning up in the sun. It all seems so long ago. What a pleasure it is now – although he has not yet recovered his health – to be sleeping in his own comfortable cabin, dining three times a day, slaking his thirst as he desires, always remaining dry and warm, and able to call on his cannon should ever the soldiers have a problem with the locals!
And, of course, the whole experience is all so much sweeter for knowing that his own conduct has not only been vindicated – he is blameless – but, more than that, he is the toast of London, respected by all men of influence.
18 September 1792, Portsmouth, a decision is made
The president of the court martial, the venerable Vice-Admiral Hood, gazes at the ten Navy men accused of mutiny and asks them in the manner of a deeply disappointed father who cannot quite believe it has come to this: ‘Do you have anything more to offer the court in your defense?’67
No.
And so the end. The courtroom is cleared, allowing the judges to deliberate and reach their verdict in sacred seclusion. At least deliberations do not last long.
For, look there!
Like a puff of white smoke above the Vatican when a decision has been reached on a new Pope, for this occasion, the yellow flag is taken down on the Duke’s foremast to indicate that their honours have reached their verdict.
The prisoners, thus, are retrieved by the Provost Marshal from the brig, still in chains, and obliged to stand in a line before the Admirals and Captains, the audience shuffling in around them, as Vice-Admiral Samuel Hood holds the verdicts in his venerable hands.
He proceeds with little ceremony, voice solemn.
‘The charges have been proved against the said Peter Heywood, James Morrison, Thomas Ellison, Thomas Burkitt [sic], John Millward and William Muspratt, and [this court] does adjudge them and each of them to suffer death by being hanged by the neck …’68
Heywood reels, his breath coming in strangled gasps, his heart beating as if it will burst through his chest. After all that has been done! All the testimony to his good character, to his not bearing arms, to his extreme sorrow on the morning, his willingness to go on the Launch with Bligh, all the work done by dear Nessy and Commander Pasley behind the scenes! After all this, he is to still twist in the wind, lifeless, hanging from a yardarm, not yet 21 years old, while the fleet in the harbour watches?
The other condemned men are having much the same reaction. They slump, as their open grave now yawns before them.
And yet, Vice-Admiral Hood is not finished.
Clearing his throat, he goes on: ‘But the court, in consideration of various circumstances, does humbly and most earnestly recommend the said Peter Heywood and James Morrison to His Majesty’s Royal Mercy.’69
Heywood’s and Morrison’s breaths regulate a little. Their wild terror lessens just a little. At least there is a reasonable chance they will live, depending on the good graces of King George, who will surely be disposed to take the advice of the wise members of the court martial … they hope.
Alas, for some of these men, their brothers of the sea, with whom they have endured so much, their fate is sealed. Theirs has been a short and brutal life, shortly to come to a singularly brutal end, at the end of a rope.
As to the four men singled out by Bligh as innocent, Vice-Admiral Hood duly pronounces: ‘The Court further agrees that the charges have not been proved against the said Charles Norman, Joseph Coleman, Thomas McIntosh and Michael Byrne, and did adjudge them and each of them acquitted.’70
Joyously liberated, those four are now free men once more and, with their manacles removed by the Marines, are soon filing out of the creaking, wooden room with a newfound spring in their step.
•
That night, as Peter Heywood sits slumped on the Hector, grieving for the fate of the condemned around him, living in hope that he will not soon be joining them if the King declines the plea for mercy, his family are at home, none the wiser. For fate has contrived a storm for the ages that now breaks over the Isle of Man, unleashing such towering seas and contrary winds that, for the better part of a week, no ship can arrive or leave, and the family have no choice but to wait it out in agonising suspense.
On the evening of 24 September, Mrs Heywood and her daughters are in their gracious home, sitting down to their evening meal and discussing what they are always discussing, the possible fate of dear Peter, and, as ever, are ‘fondly flattering themselves with everything being most happily concluded’,71 when there is a clatter in the parlour.
Ah. It is the dear little boy from down the street, who has burst unbidden into their home, so important is the news he is to impart. ‘The trial is over!! All the prisoners are to be hanged! Peter is sentenced to be hanged.’72
NO! God no! No, the Lord cannot be so cruel!
As her mother wails the wail of mothers through the ages whose young are torn from their breast and about to be thrown to the wolves, it is Nessy who takes the matter in her hands – literally grabbing the boy by both shoulders and questioning him closely.
How do you know this?
I talked to a sailor down by the docks, who had just arrived from the mainland.
Could you find him again?
Probably.
It takes some doing and yet, while Mrs Heywood continues to weep, within the hour home is the sailor, home from the sea, and the hunter home from the hill,73 as Nessy sits him down in the front parlour.
Is it confirmed? Is Peter to hang?
No. No, it is not confirmed.
The little boy has got it wrong.
The way the sailor remembers it, he thinks, but he cannot be sure, that Heywood and one other, may have been ‘recommended to mercy’.74 He had merely scanned briefly a report in a Liverpool newspaper, just before boarding his ship which was bound for here, the Isle of Man, and he had neglected to bring the said paper with him.
It is doubtful if anything could further compound the family’s agony of not knowing.
Still the contrary winds blow, cutting off all sea traffic again.
5 October
1792, London, a sister’s love is like no other
That elegant young woman with the small bag hurrying with such an evident sense of purpose through the streets of London? It is Nessy Heywood, now making her way to the home of Peter’s lawyer, Aaron Graham. Yes, many have offered their assurances that Peter will be pardoned, but she needs to hear the actual situation, not mere speculation, from Mr Graham himself. No more rumours, no more whispers.
Pounding on the door of Graham’s stylish terrace house in Great Russell Street, Bloomsbury, she is relieved when it is opened by the man himself, and within seconds has received the confirmation she has dreamed of. At least, after a manner …
For, yes!
Peter has been recommended for the King’s mercy, and there is every chance it will be granted! (Quietly, privately, Graham is not as confident as he makes out to Nessy, for there truly also is a good chance that the King could deny clemency for the overall good of the Royal Navy.)
Nessy Heywood’s entire body, her very soul, melts. A good chance that Peter will live, and take his place amongst the family once more!
For his part, Peter Heywood does not allow himself to be so optimistic, soon writing to Nessy:
Alas! It is but a broken stick which I have leaned on, and it has pierced my soul in such a manner that I will never more trust to it, but wait with a contented mind and patience for the final accomplishment of the Divine will … Mrs. Hope is a faithless and ungrateful acquaintance, with whom I have now broken off all connexions, and in her stead have endeavoured to cultivate a more sure friendship with Resignation, in full trust of finding her more constant.75
One convicted Mutineer, Mr Muspratt, needs no mercy or pardon as he has something just as useful to a guilty man, a very clever lawyer. His counsel, Mr Stephen Barney, has lodged an appeal on the grounds that, despite formal request, Muspratt was not allowed to question either Mr Coleman or blind Byrn, as the court incorrectly treated them as Mutineers, though they were not named as such by Captain Bligh. This denial of natural justice is a legal loophole that now leads to Mr Muspratt’s head escaping the loop of the noose. A convicted Mutineer, he walks free. Resignation and Hope may be constants, but so is the fact that the Law is an Ass.
10 October 1792, the Mutineer’s messenger
James Morrison is relying on the Reverend Howell, who is busy circulating copies of Morrison’s narrative among influential naval officers and other men of note.
And so the tales quietly begin to spread.
One copy of his manuscript is even sent to the great Sir Joseph Banks, with the Reverend Howell writing a note to their mutual friend Mr Molesworth Phillips, hoping he will draw Sir Joseph’s attention to it.
It is very natural for Sir Joseph Banks not to think so unfavourably of Bligh as you or I may – there was a time when no one could have a higher opinion of an officer as I had of him – so many circumstances, however, have arisen up against him with such striking marks of veracity that I have been compelled to change that idea of him into one of a very contrary nature.76
The efforts of Reverend Howell achieve marked results as the word carries quickly. In the course of his career, Bligh has managed to anger many in the naval service with his thrusting nature, his temper and his abrasive brilliance, and many have had a sneaking sympathy for the Mutineers from the first. Now, as they read and hear of Morrison’s account, their suspicions quickly crystallise into convictions – there really is another side to the story.
Some of the newspapers are even sympathetic, starting with the inhuman treatment of the men on the Pandora, with the Times of London noting:
The sufferings of the unhappy mutineers of the Bounty were greater than it could be imagined human nature is capable of bearing. They have been upwards of nineteen months in irons, fastened to a bar, five months of which time both legs and hands were secured, when they were entirely without clothing, till the natives of a friendly island procured them such articles as they could part with.77
Mid-October 1792, Coupang, Timor, Bligh arrives once more
As the wheels of justice grind slowly but surely forward in England, Captain William Bligh is in Coupang once more – re-victualling his ship – on his way to Jamaica with 1100 bread-fruit plants on board. The trip from Tahiti thus far has been relatively calm, and certainly an easier one than the last time he had travelled in these parts.
And it is good to be back in Coupang, under better circumstances.
Though in the throes of a nasty fever, Bligh has just received happy and unhappy news from the newly appointed Governor, his old friend, Heer Timotheus Wanjon, who had helped him so on his first arrival at this lonely port in Timor. Happily, Bligh hears Captain Edwards has found and arrested some of the Bounty Mutineers in Tahiti! And even though Edwards had lost his ship off New Holland on the way back, most of them had survived and the captured Mutineers would surely be back in England now facing trial.
Which is to the good.
Alas, Fletcher Christian and much of his band of brigands had not been among those captured, and they are still at large.
Curse, Christian, for the damned, villainous scoundrel that he is!
Where on earth can he be?
•
On this morning of 24 October 1792, the blessed news spreads among the Pasley circle in the Royal Navy. In his divine wisdom – and at the recommendation of the fine Navy officers who presided over the court martial – the King has stamped the Great Seal upon a Royal Pardon to Peter Heywood and James Morrison!
Nessy is at Mr Graham’s home in London when she hears that her prayers have been answered, and that the official order is now en route to Portsmouth. Immediately, she writes to her mother:
Oh, blessed hour! Little did I think, my beloved friends, when I closed my letter this morning, that before night I should be out of my senses with joy! … I cannot speak my happiness; let it be sufficient to say, that … our angel Peter will be FREE! Mr Graham goes this night to Portsmouth, and tomorrow, or next day at farthest, I shall be – oh, heavens! What shall I be? … how shall I bear to clasp him to the bosom of your happy, ah! how very happy and affectionate.78
27 October 1792, Portsmouth, the fateful morning is arrived
It is time.
Bright and early, on this exceedingly sparkling day, Portsmouth’s Provost Marshal, flanked by a tight knot of grim-faced Marines, drops down the companionway of HMS Hector to collect the two potentially pardoned Bounty men, Peter Heywood and James Morrison, from the bowels of the ship that has been their prison these last four months.
Blinking in the sudden light, they are brought up on deck before Captain Sir George Montagu, one of the honourable members of the Mutineers’ Court Martial – in full regalia, like now, he is the human equivalent of a ship of the realm with billowing sails – who now puffs himself up and stands tall, as he executes his duty, to officially read out His Gracious Majesty’s … unconditional Pardon. Weak with relief, the two men, who have grown ever closer through their trials and tribulations, warmly embrace each other.
And now, rising to the occasion, Peter Heywood expresses his gratitude, speaking clearly and looking straight at the good Captain:
‘I receive with gratitude my Sovereign’s mercy, for which, my future life shall be faithfully devoted to His Service.’79
Heywood, solemn, says goodbye to the three condemned Mutineers he must leave behind, and is led into the blessedly bright first rays of sunlight on deck, where Mr Graham and Peter’s brother James – who has been dispatched to Portsmouth for the occasion – await. The brothers embrace, and are soon whisked away to the shore, Peter Heywood stepping on the shores of England as a free man!
There remains, however, a few more formalities to attend to before they can leave for the shining lights of London, and so the two brothers are accommodated by a friend of Mr Graham’s. Still, Mr Graham himself is keenly aware that there is one person who deserves no delay whatsoever, who is even now waiting and agonising, and who it is his duty t
o inform at least the thrust of the wonderful news. And so he writes a letter to her immediately for delivery by the next fast coach.
My Dearest Nessy,
If you expect me to enter into particulars as to how I got him, when I got him, and where I got him, you will be disappointed … suffice it to say, that he is now with me, and well; not on board the Hector, but at the house of a very worthy man …80
He tells her to expect their arrival in two days time. And now Peter wishes to add a note at the end of Mr Graham’s letter: ‘Be patient my dearest Nessy, a few hours and you will embrace your long-lost and most affectionate brother, Peter Heywood.’81
As for skinny, ragged Morrison, though free to go – and yes, he has quietly agreed that, once freed, he will keep the damning narrative that Reverend Howell circulated out of the public realm – he has no well-connected relatives waiting with horse and carriage to whisk him away, and stays in Portsmouth, for there is something he still has to do in these parts.
True to his word, on the morning of 29 October, a horse and carriage pulls up outside Aaron Graham’s London townhouse, at which point the door bursts open and Nessy Heywood rushes forth. Blind with joy at the sight of her youngest brother James escorting her beloved Peter, she falls into his arms, as they embrace for the first time in over four years, weeping – not like there is no tomorrow, but because there is a tomorrow.
Within the hour, again, Nessy writes to her mother:
Great Russell Street, Monday Morning, 29th October, half-past ten o’clock – the brightest moment of my existence!
MY DEAREST MAMMA, – I have seen him, clasped him to my bosom, and my felicity is beyond expression! In person he is almost even now as I could wish; in mind you know him an angel. I can write no more, but to tell you, that the three happiest beings at this moment on earth, are your most dutiful and affectionate children,
Mutiny on the Bounty Page 55