“. . . I expected after all my distresses that I was finally to close my Carreer of life in this sad place Batavia,” he wrote on the very day after arrival. In all the long and debilitating days at sea he had never confessed to fear for his own life. Now, on dry land, with nothing much more to concern him, the prospect of early death by pestilence or fever seemed to haunt him like a specter. Having arranged with the Dutch authorities for his men to be sent out with the first ships on which space could be found, Bligh delegated John Fryer to take responsibility for them.
“You want a taste of being commanding officer?” one can imagine Bligh thinking. “Here! You manage everything from now on!”
In his last days in Batavia, Bligh busied himself with settling all accounts and arranging for his men’s care and passage, and in writing letters to Banks, Duncan Campbell and the Admiralty. He had by now also written a list and description of all the mutineers, which was translated into Dutch and disseminated to all ports, including Port Jackson and the Dutch East India Company posts, at which the
Bounty
might conceivably make call.
“Thus happily ended through the assistance of Divine Providence without accident a Voyage of the most extraordinary Nature that ever happened in the World,” Bligh summed up in his log and letters, both private and official, regaining the tone of indomitable complacency that had characterized his early log, back when he had had a ship; “let it be taken in its extent, duration and so much want of the Necessaries of Life.” This extravagant claim would, in fact, be unchallenged for the next 127 years.
On October 16, 1789, Bligh gathered up what few effects remained to him and with his small and threadbare entourage embarked on the Dutch East Indiaman
Vlijt,
bound for the Cape and then on to Holland. The men with whom he had endured the defining ordeal of his career he left behind him, so it seems, without a backward glance.
The captain of the
Vlijt
had received special dispensation from the Batavian authorities to drop Bligh off in British waters, en route to Holland, and on Saturday afternoon, March 13, Bligh was landed at the Isle of Wight. Days later, he was presented to King George, and “laid his journal of the voyage to the South Seas before his Majesty.”
In London, the news of Bligh’s ordeal, followed by the success of his
Narrative,
quickly inspired an anonymous and titillating sequel advertised as an account of the mutiny “To which are added, Secret Anecdotes of the Otaheitean Women, whose charms, it is thought, influenced the Pirates in the commission of the daring conspiracy.” The ingredients of beautiful, uninhibited island women, English sailors, mutiny and valor at sea, all set against the “paradise of the world,” made the story of the loss of the
Bounty
a great hit from the very outset. Even before Bligh’s publication, popular fascination with the romantic tale had been quickly exploited. By early May, London newspapers had begun advertising a new production at the Royalty Theatre entitled
The Pirates; Or, The Calamities of Capt. Bligh.
The elaborate catalogue of the new play’s offerings illustrated what would be the
Bounty
story’s enduring highlights: Otaheitean dances, and “the Attachment of the Otaheitan Women to, and their Distress at parting from, the British Sailors”; an “exact Representation” of Bligh’s capture in his cabin. There would be songs by the Dutch captain (“To relieve a fellow-creature”) while Miss Daniel would sing “Loose ev’ry sail”; the “whole to conclude with a correct view of that superb monument of British benevolence Greenwich Hospital,” the royal naval hospital for seamen. Ralph Wewitzer, a veteran of the London stage, would play Captain Bligh. Moreover, the production, so it was claimed, had been “rehearsed under the immediate Instruction of a Person who was on board the Bounty. . . .” It is impossible to know if this last claim held any truth.
The fate of the
Bounty
was also discussed in more sober circles. In early May, Fanny Burney, the novelist and diarist and, at this period, a lady-in-waiting to Queen Charlotte, was on her way to the House of Lords to attend the greatest entertainment in London at the time, the impeachment trial of Warren Hastings, governor general of India, for alleged mismanagement of the East India Company’s affairs. Accompanied by her brother, James Burney, an erudite and well-connected captain who had sailed with both Cook and Bligh, she was accosted by William Windham, a member of Parliament active in Hastings’s impeachment.
“But what officers you are!” Windham cried to Captain Burney. “
[Y]ou men of Captain Cook;
you rise upon us in every trial! This Captain Bligh,—what feats, what wonders he has performed! What difficulties got through! What dangers defied! And with such cool, manly skill!”
James Burney had just come from breakfast with Sir Joseph Banks at his Soho Square residence. Banks, of course, had been one of the first to learn of the
Bounty
’s fate. There was no person or entity—not the lords of the Admiralty, not the West India merchants, not His Majesty’s government—to whom Bligh felt so accountable and apologetic as to Banks; especially grievous was the death of David Nelson, Banks’s handpicked emissary. Many others, too, felt for Banks (and, to a lesser extent, for Nelson) and a flurry of commiserative letters arrived at Soho Square from far-flung colleagues—from naturalists who hinted, discreetly, that it was hoped Banks would try a second breadfruit venture; from a German colleague who had been promised a Tahitian skull for his cranial studies; and of course from the West Indies: “[T]o have all these pleasing Prospects blasted by a set of Miscreants raises such Resentment in my Mind, that the only consolation I can receive on the occasion, is to hear that those Villains have been all taken, and made to expiate their crime on the Gallows,” one planter raged in a letter from Jamaica.
“The escape of poor Bligh by his companions is a miracle that has not been equalled these 1700 years,” wrote James Matra, the former midshipman who had been with Banks on the
Endeavour.
“Inglefield may now burn his old Blanket,” he added facetiously; Captain John Inglefield had been widely admired for an open-boat journey in the North Atlantic, following the loss of his ship in 1782, in which he had improvised a sail from an old blanket. There was no question but that Bligh was the hero of the
Bounty
saga. Fletcher Christian received scant public attention, being singled out only by one syndicated story, which had reported that the leader of the mutineers was “a man of respectable family and connections, and a good seaman.”
A formal court-martial on the loss of the ship could not be held until all the
Bounty
’s men arrived from Batavia. In all, of the nineteen men who had left the
Bounty,
as Bligh later recorded, “[i]t has pleased God that twelve should surmount the difficulties and dangers of the voyage, and live to re-visit their native country.” Besides Bligh himself, those who survived to return were John Samuel, his quietly courageous clerk; John Smith, his loyal servant; Thomas Hayward and John Hallett, the two somewhat lacking midshipmen; William Peckover, the gunner and veteran, now, of four Pacific voyages; Lawrence Lebogue, the Nova Scotian sailmaker; George Simpson, quartermaster’s mate; William Cole, the boatswain; William Purcell, the cantankerous carpenter; John Fryer, Bligh’s querulous master, and his young brother-in-law, Robert Tinkler. The whereabouts of Thomas Denman Ledward, the surgeon, remained unknown. The ship he had embarked on in Batavia had been lost at sea and it was presumed he had gone down with her.
In the meantime, while recovering with his now large family, Bligh was also in contact with the shocked and horror-stricken families of the men still with the
Bounty.
Privately, Bligh met with Captain Hugh Cloberry Christian (a relation of the Cumberland Christians); with Fletcher’s brother Edward; with Captain John Taubman, who had married one of Fletcher’s cousins and first recommended that Fletcher apply to Bligh for a position; and with Fletcher’s first cousin John Christian Curwen, now married to one of the wealthiest heiresses in northern England and a well-connected and reform-minded member of Parliament—Curwen was a future patron of Samuel Taylor Coleridge. To some of these men, Bligh had unfolded his theory that Christian’s mishandling of the
Bounty
in the storm off Whytootackee had been deliberate; that Christian had intended “to cripple the ship, that they might be obliged to return to Otaheite to repair.” Evidently, Bligh had mulled over all the events leading to the mutiny in the course of the long boat voyage; he would never believe that the mutiny had not been planned well in advance. Whether Bligh’s theory was correct or not, it is illuminating, as it indicates that Christian’s actions at the time had been so wildly uncharacteristic as to have, in retrospect, raised suspicion—this was the period, of course, when he had been “in hell.”
Still, despite many long months of speculation, no rational explanation for the mutiny could be given. Fletcher’s brother Charles had written an agonized letter to Bligh’s father-in-law, Richard Betham, prophesying that “it would be found that there had been some Cause not then known that had driven Fletcher to this desperate Step.” The Christians and Bethams, along with the Heywoods, could expect to bump into one another on the Isle of Man.
“Fletcher when a Boy was slow to be moved,” Charles recalled agonizing over the events, but drawing on his memories of the
Middlesex,
acknowledged that “when Men are cooped up for a long Time in the Interior of a Ship, there oft prevails such jarring Discordancy of Tempers and Conduct that it is enough on many Occasions by repeated Acts of Irritation and Offence to change the Disposition of a Lamb into that of an Animal fierce and resentful.”
To Captain Taubman, who had asked straight out “what could possibly have been the Cause” of Christian’s actions, Bligh had replied simply, “Insanity.”
Although the newspapers had not made great play of the Christian family’s involvement, the mutiny could only be perceived as a blight upon the family reputation; nor does it appear that the Christians put up any public resistance to Bligh’s report, bowing their heads as it were, and quietly submitting to the unwelcome notoriety. Charles Christian’s feelings “were so harrowed up with this unlooked for and unhappy Intelligence,” he had written to Richard Betham, that he would have him believe that “instead of Ink, it was my Heart’s Blood I wrote with.”
No family, however, responded with more visible anguish than the Heywoods. When the news of the mutiny had reached Peter’s recently widowed mother on the Isle of Man, she “in a State of Mind little short of Distraction,” according to a Heywood family report, had written an imploring letter of inquiry to Bligh, who responded with characteristic, unmitigated directness:
Madam,
I received your Letter this Day & feel for you very much, being perfectly sensible of the extreme Distress you must suffer from the Conduct of your Son Peter. His Baseness is beyond all Description but I hope you will endeavour to prevent the Loss of him, heavy as the Misfortune is, from afflicting you too severely. I imagine he is with the rest of the Mutineers returned to Otaheite.
To a similarly anxious letter from Colonel James Holwell, one of Peter’s several concerned uncles, Bligh replied in much the same tone:
SIR,
I have just this Instant received your Letter; with much Concern I inform you that your Nephew, Peter Heywood is among the Mutineers: his Ingratitude to me is of the blackest Dye for I was a Father to him in every Respect & he never once had an angry Word from me thro’ the whole Course of the Voyage, as his conduct always gave me much Pleasure & Satisfaction. I very much regret that so much Baseness formed the Character of a Young Man I had a real regard for & it will give me much Pleasure to hear his Friends can bear the Loss of him without much concern.
I am Sir, your Obt. servant . . .
Such reports threw the Heywoods into a state of bewildered despair. They were under an enormous obligation to Bligh who, as they were keenly aware, had taken on young Peter out of compassion for his family’s fallen circumstances. Bligh and his wife had cared for Peter in their own home while the
Bounty
was being readied. And if Bligh himself had been taken aback by Peter’s actions in the fraught and fateful hours of mutiny, having previously, by his own admission, had only pleasure in the young man’s conduct—how much greater was the wounded incredulity of Peter’s doting family. Uncles, family friends, naval colleagues were all approached with anguished entreaties to find out something, anything, that would ameliorate the charges, that would, in short, allow them to continue to believe in Peter’s character and “honour.”
Around this time, Bligh met personally with James Modyford Heywood, a fourth cousin of Peter’s father, who had earlier interested himself in young Peter. Mr. Heywood’s written report of the meeting was not made to Peter’s mother, who was by now too despairing to absorb anything more to do with the lamentable affair, but to Peter’s older sister, Hester, or “Nessy” as she was known to the family; Nessy had also approached Thomas Hayward for news, but the young midshipman, questioning the propriety of answering any question before the court-martial on the loss of the
Bounty
had taken place, had his father return a private letter in his stead.