At last, toward the end of June, Peter’s own long-awaited voice reached his family. The letter that arrived from him to the frantic Douglas household had not been written on arrival at Spithead, but was addressed and dated “Batavia, November 20th 1791,” written while he and the other captured men had been confined off Java’s pestilential shore. Now came the flood of words, the description of the fateful and confused day, the capture by Edwards, the loss of the
Pandora,
the brutal captivity. But above all else the letter carried the voice of Peter’s misunderstood innocence, and the first declaration of his version of that day’s events.
“[W]hat has since happen’d to me,” Peter wrote, had “been grossly misrepresented to you by Lieut. Bligh, who by not knowing the real Cause of my remaining on board, naturally suspected me, unhappily for me, to be a Coadjutor in the Mutiny.” On that dreadful morning, Peter said, he had awoken at daylight and, leaning out of his hammock, seen a shipmate sitting with drawn cutlass on the arms chest. He was told that Christian had taken the ship and was going to take Bligh home as prisoner, “to have him tried by a Court Martial for his long tyrannical & oppressive Behaviour to his People!—I was quite thunderstruck. . . .”
Once on deck, Peter discovered a different story. Bligh was being threatened with cutlass and pistol by Christian, and the launch was being lowered. All who did not wish to remain with Christian were given a choice: they could get into the launch “or be taken in Irons as Prisoners to ’Taheite & be left there.” The launch meant certain death, whereas at Tahiti he could wait for the arrival of another ship. As he assisted in clearing the launch of the yams stored in her, Thomas Hayward had asked him what he intended to do, and Peter had replied that he would remain in the ship.
“[N]ow this Answer I imagine he has told Mr. Bligh I made to him, from which together with my not speaking to him that Morning his Suspicions of me have arose, construing my Conduct into what is foreign to my Nature—Thus my dearest Mother ’twas all owing
to my Youth & unadvised Inexperience.
”
Peter urged his mother to convey his innocence to Richard Betham, Bligh’s father-in-law, who had been responsible for getting him on the
Bounty;
“perhaps his Assistance in interceding with his son in Law Mr. Bligh in my Behalf might undeceive him in his groundless ill Opinion of me, & prevent his proceeding to great Lengths against me at my approaching Trial.” Although he could not know it, Betham had died in 1789. Peter, his mind already racing ahead, had other practical requests: “If you should likewise apply to my Uncle Pasley & Mr. Heywood of Plymouth, their timely Aid & friendly Advice might be the Means of rescuing me from an ignominious Lot!”
The effect of this letter on the Heywood household was electrifying. Two other letters were next received in rapid succession, along with, in the best family tradition, a poem from Peter, which sent Nessy into raptures:
Oh! Hope—thou firm Support against Despair,
Assist me now stern adverse Fate to bear . . .
On June 29, Nessy and her mother replied warmly to Peter in separate letters. Nessy, predictably, was effusive: “My dearest & most beloved Brother . . . Your fond, anxious, & till now, miserable Nessy is at last permitted to address the Object of her tenderest Affection in England!—Oh! my admirable, my heroic Boy—what have we felt on your Account. . . . Surely my beloved Boy, you could not for a Moment imagine we ever supposed you guilty of the Crime of Mutiny. . . .”
Nessy was by now intent on going to the mainland, as she told Peter, “to fly into your Arms”; Uncle Pasley’s solemn reckoning that “you have no chance of seeing him” had already been forgotten.
Peter, as he had told his mother, had been forced to write his long Batavian letter “by stealth,” but on the
Hector
he suffered no such restriction. By a happy quirk of fate, as Pasley reassured his niece, “Captain Montague of the
Hector
is my particular Friend.”
George Montagu was from a distinguished naval family. He had entered the Royal Naval Academy, gone to sea at thirteen and as a young lieutenant accompanied his father to the North American station in the early 1770s. During the American Revolutionary War, he had been active in the reduction of New York. Now forty-two years old, Montagu had been in command of the
Hector
since 1790, following an eight-year stretch of unemployment—the usual naval casualty of peace.
Under Montagu’s care, the
Bounty
prisoners were being kept in the gun room at the stern of the lower deck. Lit only by its gun ports, it was a dark and airless cavern, although in a rated ship of the line this traditionally served as living quarters and schoolroom for the captain’s servants and midshipmen, or junior young gentlemen in training. Canvas-walled cubicles along each side provided sleeping berths, while small arms, such as cutlasses and pistols, were stored aft.
Although kept shackled in leg irons, the prisoners were otherwise treated well and made no complaints about the conditions on board the
Hector.
As Pasley told Nessy, “every attention & Indulgence possible is granted to him.” Friendly interest from another quarter made Peter’s circumstances yet more comfortable. As luck would have it, Captain Albemarle Bertie of the
Edgar,
already at moorings when the
Gorgon
arrived, was also a relative, his wife, Emma, being the daughter of the helpful James Modyford Heywood. In fact, after moving down the harbor, the
Hector
was now moored beside the
Edgar,
making it extremely convenient for the Berties to keep an eye on young Peter. Soon Mrs. Bertie was writing to Mrs. Heywood the kind of letters calculated to calm a mother’s fears: “I think it will be a great satisfaction to you to know, that he has a Friend and Relation on the spot,” Mrs. Bertie reassured her. Many emissaries were soon crowding the
Hector
’s deck on Peter’s behalf; officers from the
Edgar
(Lieutenant Bayne was a friend of Uncle Holwell), messengers from Mrs. Bertie daily delivering baskets of fresh vegetables and other tokens of kindness, other friends of her father’s. Days after arrival, Peter wrote to his mother for money so “that I may be enabled to cloath myself with that decency which is a requisite,” and shortly afterward a package of new linen was duly delivered. Less tactfully, Peter also wrote to Mrs. Bligh asking for the return of certain attire he had left to be laundered before departing with her husband on the
Bounty.
Peter was keenly aware that as the only officer among the prisoners he was sure to draw the most interest and also might be held to a higher standard of behavior. How his shipmates regarded the shower of special attention the young midshipman received is not known. Most probably they were encouraged and gratified, as it could only be useful to their common cause to have one of their number viewed with such evident favoritism.
On the other hand, as was swiftly becoming evident, the interest shown in Peter’s case amounted to more than just better living conditions. Captain Pasley’s pronouncements on the bleakness of Peter’s case notwithstanding, his efforts on his nephew’s behalf had been tireless; he already acquired a legal adviser, John Delafons, who was a senior purser with the reputation for being an authority on naval courts-martial. Under Delafons’s friendly direction, Peter had promptly sent a petition to the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty requesting the favor of a speedy trial. As Peter told Nessy, this had been done so as to “have the desired effect of speedily making my guilt or Innocence known to the world”; all parties had been strictly advised, as they repeatedly reminded one another, that Peter’s correspondence, ingoing and outgoing, would be closely read by outside parties. Nonetheless, even without matters spelled out, Nessy was quick to perceive that a speedy trial had advantages to Peter other than allowing him to clear his name. As she herself discreetly wrote, “Mr. Bligh is gone to the South Sea—but we must hope for the best.” The best was obviously that the trial would take place before Bligh returned.
On July 10, amid a haze of early morning rain, Captain Sir Andrew Snape Hamond and Captain John Colpoys hoisted their pennants on their respective ships, the
Bedford
and the
Hannibal.
Colpoys was one of the hardest-serving captains around, having been at sea in active service for an unbroken period of thirty-seven years, even though he had just turned fifty. Before being appointed to the
Hannibal
in 1790, he had served in the East and West Indies, the North American station, the Channel and the Mediterranean.
Sir Andrew Snape Hamond was a protégé of the great Lord Howe—Richard “Black Dick” Howe, the former First Lord of the Admiralty, commander of the Channel fleet, and the recently appointed Vice Admiral of England. Hamond, a fearless and brilliant tactician, had proved himself worthy of such a mentor, as he pulled off a number of audacious feats during the American war. Handsome and aristocratic, Hamond exuded an air of dashing impetuosity. Now in his midfifties, he had been captain of the third-rate
Bedford
for just under a year; he too, as Pasley reassured Peter, was another “particular friend.”
The
Hannibal
and
Bedford
got under way to join the rest of Lord Hood’s fleet on patrol. Since Hood’s presence was absolutely required to convene the court-martial, the movements of the fleet were followed with close attention. Although the interested parties were still in dreadful suspense, it was possible to forecast a trial sometime within the next few months.
Nessy Heywood’s desire to fly to her brother had been thwarted by the concerned advice of all her male relatives, Peter included, who were concerned that the sight of her brother in leg irons would send her into shock. In any case, “no female relations would be permitted,” as Peter told her; and Nessy at length was forced to concede, as Mr. Heywood had advised her, that it was best for Peter to remain “cool & composed,” a state of mind that seems to have been tacitly and universally acknowledged as impossible to maintain with Nessy present. A vague plan to send out Peter’s brother James was also scotched, on the grounds of his well-known “Warmth of Temper”; as Nessy told Peter, even the appearance of “the least Imprudence or want of Caution” was to be dreaded while he was in his present precarious situation.
Instead, Peter and Nessy attempted to catch up with each other’s lives through their now faithful correspondence. While his first, lengthy letter had given the outline of his many tumultuous adventures, even on the quiet home front there was news to report. Peter would find his family in a new house, Nessy told her brother, one with a fine view of the sea. As for the family parlor, it was now chiefly decorated with Nessy’s organ, “upon which I practice with unceasing assiduity that I may entertain my loved Peter; & which while sorrowing for his mournful & tedious absence was my chief amusement & consolation. . . .” Grandfather Spedding had died but not left an expected bequest; Henry, Peter’s thirteen-year-old brother, was in Jamaica, after a fearful, tempestuous passage; old Birket, the family servant, was still alive, God bless her; an uncle had had the good fortune to win £15,000 in the lottery; Peter’s drawing of Nader Shah was now hung over the mantelpiece—just why this young teenager should have chosen to immortalize the sacker of Delhi and plunderer of the Peacock Throne is not addressed.
It was probably around this time that Peter received the last letter his father had written to him, at the end of 1788. While recounting local and national news, such as the death and health of various Manx neighbors and the crisis caused by the insanity that had recently gripped the King, the letter was mostly a painful exercise in desperate pride as Peter John Heywood attempted to provide his son with a believable if wholly false explanation of why the Duke of Atholl had fired him. Enclosed with the letter were twelve tiny woodcock wing feathers to be used as delicate brushes for Peter’s miniaturist paintings. These appear to have been the only legacy his father left Peter. The letter closed with a request to give his “respectful Compliments to Captain Bligh.”
For his part, Peter sent to his family skillful sketches of the wreck of the
Pandora
and the camp established on the white-hot key, all those months and miles ago in the Pacific. In answer to Nessy’s request, he also attempted a portrait of himself wearing one of the straw hats he had woven to pass the time in Batavia.
“I had no Looking Glass, therefore drew it from Recollection; & ’tis now one year at least since I saw my own Face,” he told her. Nessy did not recognize the thin, pale face of this miniature and was shocked at the news that her brother stood only five foot seven and one half inches in his stocking feet.
“I am surpized you are not taller,” exclaimed Nessy, who was perhaps handicapped by a conventional sense of what a young hero should look like. “I fully expected you wou’d have been 5 Feet 10 at least.” The brother who had left with the
Bounty
was a well-proportioned young man, with a fair complexion and light brown hair.