To Lareau Web Parlour To Mutiny on the HMS Bounty

"Wake up you bastardly gullion!" That should stiffen their necks thought Lieutenant John Larkin as he banged the hilt of his cutlass against the hatch. He recently noticed how some of the younger midshipmen seemed quite impressed by his boldness.

Inside it was almost totally dark while outside the sun shone hot and white. The prisoners had long since blocked up the holes with splinters and torn clothing in an effort to keep out the heat. At night they removed them and hoped for a fresh breeze. Were it not for the sounds of the sea slapping against the sides of the `Pandora' they would no doubt have heard their co-tenants, two fat brown rats, half-heartedly squabbling over some scrap or other. They did not mind the rats, they were their pets. They had been their companions for three of the four long months they were locked away in their tiny wooden box.

In calm tropical weather, the heat inside was so intense their sweat ran into tiny blocked scuppers and in a very short time produced maggots. Their filthy hammocks were home and breeding stations for all variety of vermin. Some invisible and others ... and after so much time the prisoners were so infested they ignored them preferring to sleep on the hard boards where they lay hard-naked. Of course containers were provided for necessary bodily functions but they were uncovered. Their smell being just another element in the sum that rendered their overall situation totally hellish.

Noise and movement suddenly invaded the fetid calm and snapped the inhabitants to full alert. Larkin's banging was closely followed by the clanking and rattling of rusty steel as bolts were drawn and by squeals of dry protest from salty hinges as the top-hatch was forced. For some prisoners it invented a distant hope that their circumstances were about to change - anything they thought for some fresh cool air.

The shaft of brilliant light the opening produced caught tiny particles spiralling weightlessly as it slanted down illuminating the slimy floor. Gnats, flies and other winged insects rose up from their work while lice and prisoners scuttled off to their shadowy recesses. A stubby step dropped down from the free world and Larkin descended. He was full of his own importance this handsome and ambitious young man. He imagined himself as some faithful redeemer might - a crusader in the midst of unbelieving rabble. He posed in the light, one hand resting on his hip the other on the hilt of his cutlass. Uppermost in his thoughts was a comment made just five minutes past by his captain who, referring to the prisoners, said `they seem to be causing no trouble at all Mr Larkin, good for you John!'

Imperiously he swung his upper body about and bent his gaze into the darkness as if to reassure himself life still existed. He had no fear this interloper - he had more than destroyed the spirit of his victims. "Attend me well you mutinous scum," he sneered as if they had actually done him some personal harm - which of course they had not. "For a life of licentious ease and to breech some virgin's vault you would cast your shipmates to their doom would you - eh?" He expected no reply but peered into the shadows in vain hope of detecting some resistance to be `severely deal with'. "You are all traitors and if it was by my hand you would all be swinging from the yard scragged, bagged and ottomised." There was a shuffling of bodies as the verbal darts struck and the hapless bodies retreated even further. Larkin felt good because at heart he was one of those common individuals who abused underlings in direct proportion to the force of authority applied to them by their own superiors.

"I have decided to notify you as to what pleasantries await you when we reach Portsmouth." he smirked. "You will be transferred to another ship. You will receive no special treatment, no favours, but you will receive protection from the population who will no doubt be there to see you hung." he paused, "so rarely do they have the opportunity to welcome such a notorious band of human flotsam! You will remain in manacles with the addition of leg irons for the actual transfer. You will have no family visits; in truth you will have no visits at all apart from naval officers involved in your prosecution or, God forbid, your defence! nor will you be entitled to receive any goods or food from friends or relatives." He lifted his arrogance with his chin. "And I wish you all similar lingering pain and misfortune to that experienced by your victims."

After these completely unnecessary announcements he turned to remount the steps. He had his fun but somehow he still felt unsatisfied. It was the dissatisfaction of the dedicated hunter who discovers his ammunition is exhausted while his game lies piteously wounded. So, as if to compensate, he pinched his nose between thumb and forefinger and said, "How can you exist in this appalling cesspit?" And he spoke as if the conditions were the sole responsibility of the inhabitants. His hands caressed the ladder as he ascended.

Strange how most torturers are tactile individuals thought ex-boatswain's mate Morrison, himself a man used to wielding the cat but now finding himself in chains. Finally the hatch slammed shut on any hopes of temporary relief the prisoners may have entertained of fresh air and exercise.

A few long seconds passed and all became as it was - only worse in a way thought Midshipman Peter Heywood who turned to see what the boy Tom Ellison thought of it all - but as usual the boy had slept through Larkin's whole performance.

"Aye, and he would sleep through his own execution," muttered an envious old tar who, if nothing else, shared a leg iron with the teenager but would never think of harming him. None of them were under any illusion as to what awaited them at home. That was if they ever got there! With a madman like Edwards running the ship there was always danger.

All around empty sails flapped while groaning planks adjusted as a large ship wallowed in an uncharted ocean. . It was four in the afternoon, the scheduled change of watch, and a bell was struck.

Captain Edwards stood on the quarter deck brushing his coat to remove the invisible stains left by any recent disagreeable encounters with common people. If only I were through these dammed reefs, he thought, I could enjoy myself properly. He sighed and nodded to his corporal for proceedings to commence. Similarly the marine, used to waiting on his captain, nodded to the boatswain.

"The crew will come to order," shouted the boatswain and stepped aside. He also wished the ship the safety of the open sea - but everyone knew Edwards insisted on ritual regardless of the circumstances. A universal murmur faded and the men stiffened as the ship rolled against one of the long silky-green tropical swells that rolled across the Pacific; so beguilingly innocently yet so sinisterly dangerous.

It was the watch the ship's company gathered for prayers, for the captain to give any general orders, for burials, important announcements and to witness the inevitable punishments. It was also a time the lookout should be alert for hidden reefs and not be watching the proceedings below. There being no burials this particular day Captain Edward Edwards sauntered over to the tuff rail and surveyed the bowed heads of an apprehensive crew.

As usual his speeches began quietly and are completely irrelevant, though heaven help anyone caught not paying attention!

"The Admiralty," he began, "has issued special instructions to all Captains to put down mutinous conduct vigorously and without mercy. In times of war men can be hanged; in other circumstances flogged through the fleet. For those young midshipmen and others who have never witnessed this let me explain what happens." He leant forward over the rail his lips slightly parted and his tongue traversing the points of his perfect teeth.

Known derisively as 'Edvard Edvards' because of a speech impediment, he was tall, thin faced and wore an expensive perfumed wig that permitted the odd shaft of prickly hair to peep out from under the edge. The whole thing made his ruddy complexion even redder. Nothing however compensated for his bombastic self-righteous declarations of propriety for what he construed to be his duty. Mutiny being in the forefront of his uncluttered mind he warmed to it. "In a `whip-around' the prisoner is lashed to a grating secured in a ship's boat. The boat is then obliged to visit all the ships anchored in the harbour. Under naval law all crews assemble as their boatswain's mate administers punishment to the miscreant at each stop," he smiled, "a procedure not halted by the untimely demise of the prisoner."

"In the present case however," Edwards sighed regretfully even though he was aware being shorthanded posed great peril, "because we are at sea, our prisoners are spared such an ordeal." When excited his Welsh accent combined with an inability to pronounce certain consonants made Edwards almost impossible to understand and, in the same state, this disagreeable individual also sprayed those nearby with saliva. Finally, if that were not enough, he was also famous for his frequent and loud complaints for what he imagined were his lack of opportunities in the Navy. He was the perfect choice to send after the mutineers. "Voud anyone not spit upon to those mutinous scum vot threaten the whole Navy?" he sprayed forth.

Not wanting any involvement most people averted their eyes. Edwards continued reminding all of their obligations and duties and the fearsome consequences of dissent. He was no stranger to posturing was the Welshman. Three prisoners lined up facing the quarter deck rail.

"Thompson, Mason, Parry step forward," shouted the corporal and he announced the Articles under which the offenders were charged.

Edwards straightened his collar as he prepared to finalise the punishments. He needed no book or notes as he knew all the articles dealing with punishments off by heart - and the maximum penalties. Beside him on the quarterdeck stood his officers while on the main deck, the stage for the floggings, the long suffering crew assembled. Edwards was in sole charge of well over two hundred men and boys. Of these, excepting the officers, midshipmen and holders of the King's Warrant, half the remainder were press-ganged while the others are so called 'voluntary' recruits from His Majesty's prisons. In all they were a crew of motley conscripts with a handful of volunteers - and most of them marines sworn to do their duty. The era was one where the manpower needs of the navy were met by mass kidnapping's of the press-gang and the scouring of the jails. All these 'sons of the waves' were so reluctant to join that they could only be induced to do so by being knocked on the head and carried off bodily. Few graced the decks of Edward's command of their own free will.

As 'Chief-warder' of this floating Newgate Edwards rationalised he was at the mercy of fate, ambitious officers, and a reluctant crew. Strict discipline and instant obedience were essential if his authority was to be maintained. And right he was, but where he differed from other captains was in his methods. To say he enthusiastically over-reacted would be an understatement. He stepped aside, "Mr. Larkin, read out the charges."

Larkin, our fledgling disciple of procedure, reverently opened a leather- bound ledger to a page marked with a silken blood-red bookmark and in his most authoritative voice announced; "The prisoner Thomson refused the order of the boatswain to go on duty during the recent rough whether pleading illness. When pressed he threatened the same officer with violence and made the remark that one day soon, `the tables may be turned, in which event he would not forget the present injustice.' Article nineteen part three clause `A' states; "for disobedience of a direction or an order by a commissioned or warrant officer an offender shall receive no less than three dozen or more than four dozen lashes."

He turned happily to Edwards, "And this was not, according to the records, his first offence Captain. In three years he has been punished twice for similar misconduct?" Even though Edwards treated him imperiously Larkins was obviously a favourite. Edwards assumed what he considered his King Solomon pose. He viewed the prisoner while thoughtfully stroking his chin.

Thompson, a large, strong, brooding man with a quick and ready temper looked up from the deck below. He was the older brother of the late Joseph Thomson who after a long illness and many beatings jumped to his death from the top gallant yard.

"Have you anything to say?" Edwards spoke slowly as if hoping he would. Thomson muttered something under his breath.

"Did he speak corporal? Did he speak!" Edwards started as though a beggar laid a grasping hand on him.

"He said he would like something else taken into account sir." Edwards smiled in the expectation of a further confession. "What?" Thompson looked up. "Is it true sir what the crew said - that you never knew your father and your mother only knew him briefly?"

Edward's jaw dropped, "my blood I will feague you - you scoundrel! Punishment increased to five dozen boatswain!"

"Aye sir, five dozen it is."

"In for a pound - in for a penny," Thompson said to the marine holding his arm.

"Take a note Mr.Larkin add the words continued insurgency. Next!" Edward's malevolent gaze cast itself like a net over the crew. Most faces wore a look of relieved escape. Some downcast to avoid the promised brutal reality and some are afraid of catching the gaze of one of their more ambitious superior officers.

"Manson step forward," ordered the corporal of marines and the next man, a tall battle scarred veteran of at least forty years, stepped out from his messmates. He was charged with drunkenness and theft - actually in reverse for he had first stolen the rum before drinking it.

He admitted the crime and Edwards ordered a dozen lashes. "Have you anything to say?" Edwards asked the pig-tailed seaman. "Nuthin' Capt'n sir," and knowing the sting of the cat he smartly stepped back to wait his turn.

The last prisoner was charged with gross indecency being interrupted two days previously with a midshipman of fourteen years engaged in an unnatural act. The charges were laid by a Lieutenant, of whom it was common knowledge, was the handsome youth's usual companion. A reluctant witness, another midshipman, was left with no alternative but to report the offender. A burly sailmaker's assistant named Parry. When reported the young victim claimed rape and his Lieutenant supported him.

Larkin gleefully read the charge and Edwards, with an wanton look glanced to his handsome Lieutenant and ordered three dozen.

"Continue Mr.Larkin," Larkin nodded to the boatswain who in turn nodded to a marine.

"Strip," he ordered.

Thompson, tore off his shirt and flung it to one of his messmates. Then in a sad, bored tone the marine said, "seize him up."

Two quartermasters, old steely seamen who performed this office as part of their normal duties, advanced to the cathead. They tied soft cloths around Thompson's wrists and ankles to prevent him injuring himself and inserted a wooden peg between his teeth. Short lengths of cord tied his hands and feet to the grating. The boatswain's mate opened the canvas bag and `let the cat out' in preparation for the `rub down.'

The eyes of Thompson became like the eyes of a stale fish, dry and set pale. But, as though responding to the climax of the days' proceedings - but more likely the result of Edwards insisting on the daily punishment ritual instead of attending to his perilous situation - HMS `Pandora' rose high atop one of the long afore-mentioned green silky-swells that swept across the treacherous Endeavour Straits. It seemed longer and higher than usual and some of the older tars glanced around nervously. Their anxious looks were not in vain for, as the one hundred and fifty foot schooner settled, she found herself atop one of the many reefs that marking the entrance to Endeavour Straits.

In one of the most feared environments for sailing ships the world over HMS `Pandora settled fast and leant to starboard. The lookout, caught unawares, plummeted to his death on the quarterdeck - few noticed as they grabbed for support and held their collective breaths. From a distance the ship appeared to rise into the air but it was merely an illusion given by the wave falling away and leaving it stranded. Everyone knew they were settled on something but was it a reef? They hoped not and waited in trepidation for the telltale noises. Would it be the comfortable sounds of creaking settling planks - or ... Soon there was no mystery for they heard the worst, the sound of rupturing as razor like coral intruded into the copper-covered underbelly of their home - the sounds, of splitting, tearing and breaking timber. English oak was so speared by a multitude of tropical knives. The rainbow coloured coral was intent on defending the way against a passage so carelessly made.

How far will she settle? How deep was the water around the reef, how strong the current? How far the closest land? How many ship's boats available and how many of the ship's complement will fill them - and more to the point, how many left over after they are filled? All these questions paled the cheeks and whitened the eyes of the common sailors as they made their silent calculations. Meanwhile most officers calculated how far they were from home. For once Edwards was silent. White-faced, white-knuckled he inwardly cursed his bad luck. Edward Edwards was a fair weather sailor who relied on others to make the life saving decisions.

The great ship shuddered, rolled, stopped, rolled a little more, lurched, balanced and again everyone grabbed for the nearest support - they expected the worst.

In their dark hole the prisoners slid across the slimy floor until the their bolted chains brought them to a painful stop. They were the first to hear the timbers rupture, the joints spring, the coral crunch. In their darkness they cried out. Some began to pray. At last `Pandora' stopped rolling but all knew it was only a reprieve - until the next tide.

"Mr.Cunningham!" The gavel-like voice of the sailing master George Passmore called order to the chaos.

"Sir?" replied the boatswain, a fearless and reliable man.

"Take four men and go below, ascertain the damage and report to me."

"Aye aye sir".

Passmore turned to Edward Edwards in the vain hope of some show of authority but still careful not to offend. "Shall I order the pumps Captain?"

"Yes ... order the pumps Mr.Passmore."

"Shall I order soundings Captain?"

"Yes ... order soundings."

"Shall I order the top-gallant yard down and the masts struck?"

"Yes - yes! Mr.Passmore damn you, order what you like!" Passmore grimly made the orders and men dispatched themselves accordingly. What a fool he thought. He also ordered two of the boats to carry out the anchors and make ready to pull the ship off the reef.

"A quarter less two fathoms on the larboard side and three fathoms on the starboard side." The boatswains mate called from the bows. Damn! thought Passmore so shallow - if the sea gets up she will be torn to pieces.

"Eighteen inches of water and flooding sir ... we should bail out of the hatches as well as the pumps," shouted a carpenter clamouring up from a hatch. All about the ship the activity was furious as, to a man, the whole crew fought to save the ship - and some their lives. Way down below however the water continued to pour in. An hour and a half later the water in the hold had reached the eight feet mark and was still rising.

Ten in the evening and in a frightening tropical blackness the reef finally released the wounded `Pandora'. Passmore ordered crew to let go the small bower anchor and clear away the cable. They dropped the best bower anchor and found fifteen fathoms. Some cannon were thrown in and the ship steadied. A thrummed top-sail was made ready to haul under the keel to try and lessen the leak so the pumps could attempt to free the ship of water.

For the second time in twelve panic stricken hours the hatch slides open in the ceiling of Pandora's Box. The blackness flowing in by-passes the escaping cries of the despairing inhabitants. A `smith' and his tools descended. "Release only Coleman, McIntosh and Norman," yelled Larkin naming only those prisoners thought innocent of the mutiny - but excluding the half-blind Byrne.

"For God's sake Mr.Larkin we can all help man the pumps," begged a voice.

"Aye, aye" echoed the full chorus of despairing men.

Larkin steadfastly ignored the pleas and instead shouted, "Ellis and Keggs, you will do your duty and shoot any prisoner who attempts to escape, now look alive!" He peered into the blackness and sneered, "That revolutionary scum can all be shot - or drown like rats." And nobody will blame me if that is their fate he thought.

So as drowning rats the remaining prisoners and their two pets viewed their fate. The hatch slammed shut and the eleven remaining prisoners preyed and strained at their chains. Even young Ellison, for whom death was but a minor setback in the game of life, felt a panic. The longest night of their lives began, a night of unbelievable terror and waiting. Shackles bit their flesh as they considered the situation and the impossibility of escape. From time to time they cried out for mercy. Three break free and wait under the hatch. Around two o'clock a sentry checked, discovered them, slammed the hatch shut and reported to Larkin. They were re-shacked.

"If any prisoner breaks free shoot him."

Under the pink sky of dawn `Pandora' was almost totally water-logged. Hope of restoration was gone as all realised their home was doomed. Water poured through gun ports, pumps are abandoned and Edwards prepared to abandon ship. He stood on the quarterdeck his over-worked ship's log secure in a chest beside his foot. He was surrounded by his three Lieutenants and a few warrant officers while his mind is totally occupied by this unfortunate setback to his career.

"The boats are all launched sir."

"Good."

"She shall go quickly Captain."

"When?"

"Any time now - shall I order the prisoners released? They are making a fearful row."

"Not yet." Edwards shrugged. Damn them he thought it is probably their fault anyway. If we had not spent so long searching for the arch villain and the rest of the rebels this would not have happened. I must remember to pack an extra wig in case I come across any civilised individuals he muses as he sent a steward darting back below.

It was six thirty in the morning of the twenty ninth.

Later the hold is full and the water surged between decks; it was also pouring out through some upper deck hatches and the ship was on the very point of sinking. Men leaped overboard and drifted to the stern where Edwards watched and a few small boats waited to rescue them. Two fully laden boats were dispatched to a small sandy key about four miles distant.

In their prison the unfortunate prisoners alternately cried, prayed and begged to passes-by to have mercy and to release them. Then, by accident or design, the master at arms climbed over the roof of the prison and let the keys fall through a small scuttle. The effect on the prisoners was instantaneous. One by one they undid their chains and tossed the keys to their adjacent fellow sufferers. Fumbling fingers failed and dropped the precious keys. They scrabbled in the dark, then finding them, renewed their frenzied attempts. Some already free stopped to help, others clawed at the hatch and forced it open. One of their number, Skinner, was in such a panic he jumped into the water forgetting his wrists were still manacled. He sunk in that very instant he realised his error. There was no reprieve. One by one the naked prisoners emerged from Neptune's ready-made coffin.

Then Pandora gave a heel, lurched to port, and head down, stern rising began to slide beneath the surface.

From a boat Passmore watched. Big ships always slid, they never plopped straight down like a stone he thought. He had seen many a man-of-war destroyed in battle.

A shriek, the universal shriek of the dying that will live in the minds of the survivors; a bubbling cry, a convulsive gurgle of someone caught in the jetsam - a good swimmer drowning? A chained man is dragged down by thick rusty links. A deathly calm sweeps in from the edges of the sea and meets over the gurgle that was once the `Pandora'.

Only those few who ever witnessed a ship sink can describe the sudden silence of a still-born sea. Perhaps like the emptiness about the frog upon a gulped fly.

Tom Ellison was the last to free himself. Bubbling to the surface beside a piece of wood he grabbed it and began swimming. Every so often he was able to see his shipmates in their boats as they bobbed above the chop of the sea. A plank broke the surface and the boy, being a poor swimmer, thankfully rolled over and held on to its edge.

Some way off a shark detected a faint trail of blood and with a flick of his muscular tail changed direction.

In a boat, and safe, Captain Edward's thoughts turned to revenge - as does Lieutenant Larkins' sitting by his side ...