The Bounty: The True Story of the Mutiny on the Bounty (66 page)
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Authors: Caroline Alexander
Tags: #History, #Europe, #Great Britain, #Military, #Naval
BOOK: The Bounty: The True Story of the Mutiny on the Bounty
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Her fever and inflammation, “effusion of blood,” pain in the groin and bladder, scalding sensation when passing water, offensive discharge—all would be aired before the public when Diana was eventually induced to petition, unsuccessfully, for divorce, and her personal correspondence relating to her marriage was published. She would return to her husband once again, and again suffer the same results.
“As long as life endures,” Belcher wrote to his wife, responding to the suggestion of their separation, “by this title, and no other, I address you; you are my wife. . . . Hear the decision of your husband, whose very existence is wrapped up in yours:—No power on earth that can be available, shall be left unmoved until you are restored to me.”
Before he died, Heywood was clear-sighted enough to make provisions for Diana to receive an income free and clear of her husband’s interference. This amounted, in its way, to his confession of having grievously erred.
“Captain Heywood was fond of the navy, and had a justly high opinion of Captain Belcher’s abilities,” wrote a close friend of Diana’s, after her death and by way of explanation of Heywood’s role in this act of astounding bad judgment. “[T]hat officer having visited Pitcairn in the
Blossom,
gave them a ground of common interest.” But the visit to Pitcairn had furnished Belcher with something more than common ground. While his captain had nattered on with Adams about the early days of the settlement, Belcher alone, of all the visitors to the island, left evidence of having raised hard, specific questions while he had Adams in the gun room.
Blossom,
gave them a ground of common interest.” But the visit to Pitcairn had furnished Belcher with something more than common ground. While his captain had nattered on with Adams about the early days of the settlement, Belcher alone, of all the visitors to the island, left evidence of having raised hard, specific questions while he had Adams in the gun room.
“Those who wished to go were now sent into the boat excepting the Carpenters Mate & Armourer whom Mr. Christian detained as they might be of service,” Lieutenant Belcher had written in his log of the
Blossom,
taking dictation from Adams about the last moments of the mutiny. One can imagine him sitting, one arm flung lazily over the back of a chair, listening as the garrulous old mutineer spilled his secrets. “No one else was detained. Mr. Heywood was on the Gangway and might have gone if he pleased. All the party being in the boat, the Captain was put into her. . . .”
Blossom,
taking dictation from Adams about the last moments of the mutiny. One can imagine him sitting, one arm flung lazily over the back of a chair, listening as the garrulous old mutineer spilled his secrets. “No one else was detained. Mr. Heywood was on the Gangway and might have gone if he pleased. All the party being in the boat, the Captain was put into her. . . .”
That Peter had perjured himself at his court-martial undoubtedly formed part of the burden of penance he seemed to have voluntarily assumed in his post-
Bounty
life. On the day of the mutiny, then a tattooed boy of sixteen, he had watched from the gangway as Bligh was led toward the boat. He had, of course, not been “kept below,” as he had represented, and as his uncle and Aaron Graham had bribed the boatswain to swear. On balance and in its roundabout way, in his case, justice could be said to have been fairly served; he had been found guilty, but had been pardoned to redeem himself—which he had done with, it would seem, penitence and humility. But others had been hanged—and there was the rub.
Bounty
life. On the day of the mutiny, then a tattooed boy of sixteen, he had watched from the gangway as Bligh was led toward the boat. He had, of course, not been “kept below,” as he had represented, and as his uncle and Aaron Graham had bribed the boatswain to swear. On balance and in its roundabout way, in his case, justice could be said to have been fairly served; he had been found guilty, but had been pardoned to redeem himself—which he had done with, it would seem, penitence and humility. But others had been hanged—and there was the rub.
With his marriage, the ambitious Captain Belcher gained valuable connections with a still powerful family. Belcher’s greatest and most useful patron, as it would turn out, was to be Francis Beaufort, since 1829 the Admiralty hydrographer—and one of Peter’s very closest friends; indeed, Beaufort owed his post to Heywood, who had been offered it himself, but who had declined for personal reasons in favor of his good friend.
Years back, in 1816, at the conclusion of Heywood’s final voyage after so many years’ service, there had occurred an event that had deeply stirred him. As commander of the
Montagu,
Heywood was informed that there were two Tahitian men on board one of the ships in his convoy. Summoning them, the English captain greeted them in his cabin: “Mă n
ō
w, wa, Eh
ō
, m
ā
a?”—Welcome, my friends! Their names were
and
Heywood later reported to the Admiralty, the precision of his spelling and inflection suggesting the relish he may have found in speaking what had briefly been the language of his youth. The Tahitians had been kidnapped and taken to Lima by an English vessel, thence made their way to Cádiz, eventually ending up on the
Calypso,
where Heywood had found them. Heartsick and homesick, they wanted badly to return to their native land. To this cause Heywood gave considerable effort, finding and paying for their passage and personally attending to the necessary paperwork. A merchant ship going to New South Wales would carry them to Port Jackson, whence they could get passage to Tahiti, or nearby Eimeo.
Montagu,
Heywood was informed that there were two Tahitian men on board one of the ships in his convoy. Summoning them, the English captain greeted them in his cabin: “Mă n
ō
w, wa, Eh
ō
, m
ā
a?”—Welcome, my friends! Their names were
andHeywood later reported to the Admiralty, the precision of his spelling and inflection suggesting the relish he may have found in speaking what had briefly been the language of his youth. The Tahitians had been kidnapped and taken to Lima by an English vessel, thence made their way to Cádiz, eventually ending up on theCalypso,
where Heywood had found them. Heartsick and homesick, they wanted badly to return to their native land. To this cause Heywood gave considerable effort, finding and paying for their passage and personally attending to the necessary paperwork. A merchant ship going to New South Wales would carry them to Port Jackson, whence they could get passage to Tahiti, or nearby Eimeo.
How easy it now was to voyage to Otaheite! For Peter Heywood, freshly retired from his unbroken and penitential service, the departure of the youths stirred up long and carefully suppressed emotion. “And after all that is said and done among us great and wise people of the earth, pray what do we all toil for, late take rest, and eat the bread of carefulness, but to reach, at last, the very state to which they are born,” he wrote to a close friend, dropping his habitual guard, “—ease of circumstances, and the option of being idle or busy as we please?” There had been his cottage close by the mountains, the hill with its view over the sea; his neat garden; black beaches under the rattling palms; his wife and children. . . .
“But,” he continued, as if shaking off the sudden spell that had briefly claimed him, “if I go on this way you will say I am a
savage,
and so I believe I am, and ever shall be in
some
points; but let that pass.”
savage,
and so I believe I am, and ever shall be in
some
points; but let that pass.”
Toward the end of 1830, the year of his daughter’s marriage, Heywood’s shaky health took a sudden, alarming turn for the worse. His shortness of breath became painful, and he found even speaking difficult. From his bed, he watched the sun and wind that blew over the fields of gorse beyond his house, commenting to Diana when she drew the curtains that it was a fine wind to beat out of the Channel, where her husband was then bound. He died on February 10, 1831, at fifty-eight, and was buried in the vault of Highgate churchyard; the worldlier part of London claimed him at the last. Three years later, another body would be laid in the same vault—that of Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Thus the poet of the “Ancient Mariner” and the midshipman who had shared the voyage that had partially inspired him were brought together.
Reserved as he had been, Peter had also proven a zealous and watchful guardian of the
Bounty
saga; his complicity with Belcher apart, he left compromising fingerprints all over the later story. In his lifetime, he had cooperated with a historian in preparing an account of his own career for a series of naval biographies, and to this historian he had made available James Morrison’s “Journal.” In fact, Morrison was placed front and center of this work, as indicated on its title page: “This narrative is from the private journal of the late Mr. James Morrison, Gunner of H.M.S. Blenheim, who had the misfortune to witness all he has related.” Joseph Banks was dead, and there was now no other check to having it published.
Bounty
saga; his complicity with Belcher apart, he left compromising fingerprints all over the later story. In his lifetime, he had cooperated with a historian in preparing an account of his own career for a series of naval biographies, and to this historian he had made available James Morrison’s “Journal.” In fact, Morrison was placed front and center of this work, as indicated on its title page: “This narrative is from the private journal of the late Mr. James Morrison, Gunner of H.M.S. Blenheim, who had the misfortune to witness all he has related.” Joseph Banks was dead, and there was now no other check to having it published.
This, the “Biography of Peter Heywood, Esq.,” published in 1825, quickly got down to its business. Regarding the voyage of the
Bounty,
the author stated on the first page, “it would be folly” to look to her commander’s
Narrative
“for any statement having a tendency to implicate his own conduct.” Instead, “a private journal, long in our possession, the publication of which was only prevented by the death of its original owner, the late Mr. James Morrison . . . enables us at length to withdraw the veil by which the world has been so long blinded.”
Bounty,
the author stated on the first page, “it would be folly” to look to her commander’s
Narrative
“for any statement having a tendency to implicate his own conduct.” Instead, “a private journal, long in our possession, the publication of which was only prevented by the death of its original owner, the late Mr. James Morrison . . . enables us at length to withdraw the veil by which the world has been so long blinded.”
There then follows a paraphrase of all Morrison’s charges against Bligh. The paraphrase itself, laced with its editorial commentary—“To this grievance another quickly succeeded”; “To this imperious menace they bowed in silence”—tended to confer additional authority. The manuscript of Morrison’s “Journal” that is known to have survived—whether or not other copies, or versions once existed or now exist—shows that a second hand made amendments to the text. Some of these are merely stylistic; others are of more import, such as the consistent obliteration of George Stewart’s name. The revelation that Stewart had played a central role in the mutiny had, at all costs, to be obscured in view of Heywood’s own repeated reference to their close friendship.
In 1831, following Heywood’s death, there appeared the first comprehensive account of the several dramas making up the story of the mutiny on the
Bounty
. Sir John Barrow was second secretary of the Admiralty when he published, at first anonymously,
The Eventful History of the Mutiny and Piratical Seizure of H.M.S. Bounty: its Causes and Consequences
. That the Heywood family was complicit in this is evident from Barrow’s access to Morrison’s manuscript, which was by now in Diana Belcher’s hands. Barrow himself knew Heywood well and was also close to Edward Belcher, the latter from their involvement in the Admiralty’s ongoing polar expeditions. It was undoubtedly for the sake of the Heywoods that Barrow included in his book the text of a letter Peter had written to Captain Beechey regarding the “confusion” over George Stewart’s role. That Fletcher Christian was recommended to take the ship by George Stewart was “entirely at variance with the whole character and conduct of the latter,” Heywood had written heatedly. A gentleman’s word being quite enough, that ended the matter.
Bounty
. Sir John Barrow was second secretary of the Admiralty when he published, at first anonymously,
The Eventful History of the Mutiny and Piratical Seizure of H.M.S. Bounty: its Causes and Consequences
. That the Heywood family was complicit in this is evident from Barrow’s access to Morrison’s manuscript, which was by now in Diana Belcher’s hands. Barrow himself knew Heywood well and was also close to Edward Belcher, the latter from their involvement in the Admiralty’s ongoing polar expeditions. It was undoubtedly for the sake of the Heywoods that Barrow included in his book the text of a letter Peter had written to Captain Beechey regarding the “confusion” over George Stewart’s role. That Fletcher Christian was recommended to take the ship by George Stewart was “entirely at variance with the whole character and conduct of the latter,” Heywood had written heatedly. A gentleman’s word being quite enough, that ended the matter.
Barrow’s classic book was the beginning of the
Bounty
book industry. Following it was an account that further sentimentalized Heywood’s role, written by Diana, now Lady Belcher—Edward, the most violent and despised officer in the service, had been knighted. The piety of the Pitcairn Island community formed the greater part of Lady Belcher’s book, which pointed out, as had Barrow’s, that Peter’s Tahitian vocabulary, drawn up to while away the hours of imprisonment on the
Hector,
had “proved of great value to the missionaries” who were first sent to Otaheite.
Bounty
book industry. Following it was an account that further sentimentalized Heywood’s role, written by Diana, now Lady Belcher—Edward, the most violent and despised officer in the service, had been knighted. The piety of the Pitcairn Island community formed the greater part of Lady Belcher’s book, which pointed out, as had Barrow’s, that Peter’s Tahitian vocabulary, drawn up to while away the hours of imprisonment on the
Hector,
had “proved of great value to the missionaries” who were first sent to Otaheite.
Published in 1870, over eighty years after the events, Lady Belcher’s book,
The Mutineers of the Bounty and their Descendants
. . . , together with Barrow’s, cemented the many falsehoods that had insinuated their way into the narrative up to this point: Bligh met the Heywoods at their ancestral home, “the Nunnery” (in fact, sold for debts in the year of Peter’s birth), and wrote to “Deemster Heywood” to offer his son a position on the
Bounty;
Hayward and Hallett, the loyalists, were asleep on their watch and so the
passive
cause of the mutiny; Bligh knew that Heywood had been “kept below” from joining him in the boat, and by omitting this fact from his own narrative deliberately jeopardized the boy’s life; the reason Heywood, with Stewart, had been kept below was that the mutineers had thought that if they were allowed to leave “there would be no one capable of navigating the ship in the event of any thing happening to Christian.” Christian had spent the last hours before the
Bounty
’s final departure from Tahiti in soulful conversation with Peter and George Stewart “at the house of a worthy chief”; as “the day began to dawn,” Christian prepared for departure and Peter and Stewart accompanied him to the beach. “You are both innocent,” the mutineer told the young men as the sun rose over the sand, “no harm can come to you, for you took no part in the mutiny,” and he confided to Peter a secret message for Christian’s family that would “extenuate” his crime. In reality, of course, as Edward Christian’s inquiry had determined, Christian had never come ashore during the
Bounty
’s last, fleeting visit, but had secretly cut the ship’s cable and left in the night. One detail alone allegedly conveyed by Christian might well have been true. On the night before the mutiny, he had gone to bed “about half-past three in the morning, feeling very unwell,” and when Stewart woke him half an hour later for his watch, “his brain seemed on fire.” This was consistent with the report that he had been drinking.
The Mutineers of the Bounty and their Descendants
. . . , together with Barrow’s, cemented the many falsehoods that had insinuated their way into the narrative up to this point: Bligh met the Heywoods at their ancestral home, “the Nunnery” (in fact, sold for debts in the year of Peter’s birth), and wrote to “Deemster Heywood” to offer his son a position on the
Bounty;
Hayward and Hallett, the loyalists, were asleep on their watch and so the
passive
cause of the mutiny; Bligh knew that Heywood had been “kept below” from joining him in the boat, and by omitting this fact from his own narrative deliberately jeopardized the boy’s life; the reason Heywood, with Stewart, had been kept below was that the mutineers had thought that if they were allowed to leave “there would be no one capable of navigating the ship in the event of any thing happening to Christian.” Christian had spent the last hours before the
Bounty
’s final departure from Tahiti in soulful conversation with Peter and George Stewart “at the house of a worthy chief”; as “the day began to dawn,” Christian prepared for departure and Peter and Stewart accompanied him to the beach. “You are both innocent,” the mutineer told the young men as the sun rose over the sand, “no harm can come to you, for you took no part in the mutiny,” and he confided to Peter a secret message for Christian’s family that would “extenuate” his crime. In reality, of course, as Edward Christian’s inquiry had determined, Christian had never come ashore during the
Bounty
’s last, fleeting visit, but had secretly cut the ship’s cable and left in the night. One detail alone allegedly conveyed by Christian might well have been true. On the night before the mutiny, he had gone to bed “about half-past three in the morning, feeling very unwell,” and when Stewart woke him half an hour later for his watch, “his brain seemed on fire.” This was consistent with the report that he had been drinking.
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