Tales from the Quarterdeck

Tag: Bounty

  • HMS Pandora: Queensland’s earliest recorded shipwreck – 1791

    H.M.S. Pandora in the act of foundering’ . An etching by Lt-Col. Batty after a sketch by Peter Heywood from ‘The Mutiny and Piratical Seizure of H.M.S Bounty’ first edition 1831. Photo courtesy SLQ.

    In August 1791, HMS Pandora was returning to England, having tracked down and captured 14 of the Bounty mutineers in Tahiti. But disaster struck on the night of the 29th, as the Pandora was trying to find a way through the Great Barrier Reef. The ship’s surgeon, George Hamilton, left a nerve-wracking account of the incident in his memoir, “A Voyage Round the World in His Majesty’s Frigate Pandora”, published in 1793 after his return to England.

       Hamilton wrote that on the night of 29 August, a boat sent earlier in the day by the Pandora’s captain, Edward Edwards, to scout for a passage through the maze of reefs had finally returned to the ship. As the crew was hauling it out of the water, the 24-gun frigate unexpectedly struck a submerged coral reef. Captain Edwards immediately ordered the crew to set the sails as he tried to back off the outcrop, hoping to use wind power alone. When that failed to dislodge his ship, he ordered a boat to be made ready to take an anchor out so he might kedge the vessel off. But by the time the anchor was in place and the crew ready to winch, it was already too late.

       The carpenter had examined the hold and found that the Pandora’s hull had sprung a serious leak. In the 20 minutes they had been aground, the water had risen to nine feet (2.7 m). All hands were immediately engaged in efforts to save the ship from sinking. Sailors began bailing at each of the hatchways, and several of the Bounty mutineers were unshackled to help man the bilge pumps.

    Map showing HMS Pandora wreck location (approx).

       “It blew very violently, and she beat so hard upon the rocks, that we expected her, every minute, to go to pieces,” Hamilton recalled. “It was an exceedingly dark, stormy night, and the gloomy horrors of death presented us all around, being everywhere encompassed with rocks, shoals, and broken water. About ten [o’clock] she beat over the reef, and we let go the anchor in fifteen fathoms of water.

       Not yet ready to give up on his ship, Captain Edwards ordered the guns thrown overboard and, at the same time, had some of his men prepared the topsail to be hauled under the ship’s bottom in a vain effort to stem the leak. But before they could get the sheet of canvas over the side, one of the bilge pumps failed, and the water began flowing into the hold faster than it could be bailed out. The topsail was abandoned as every hand was set to work, baling to stop the ship from sinking.

       Soon the Pandora began listing, and the crew experienced their first casualties. A canon broke loose and rolled across the deck, crushing a sailor, while a topmast came crashing down on deck, killing another. The crew laboured at the pumps and bailed with buckets through the night to keep the ship afloat. An ale cask was tapped, and its contents were regularly served out to the men to keep their spirits up.

    Bounty Mutineers accommodation on HMS Pandora. Source: Museum of Tropical Queensland, Townsville.

       Then, about half an hour before dawn, Captain Edwards called his officers together to discuss their next move. It was clear to all that the ship was doomed and that their efforts should shift from saving the ship to preserving the lives of the crew. The Pandora’s four boats had been put over the side earlier in the night, and they were sheltering in the lee of the reef, their coxswains awaiting further orders. Spars, booms, hen-coops and anything else that floated were cut free so that the men might find something to keep themselves from drowning when the ship inevitably sank.

       Hamilton wrote that Captain Edwards ordered that the remaining prisoners be released from their irons. However, it came too late for some of the mutineers who were still shackled in place in their makeshift prison they called “Pandora’s Box.” They went down with the ship.   

    The water began pouring in through the gun ports, causing the frigate to list even further. As the captain and crew scrambled to jump overboard, the Pandora heeled over and sank almost immediately. The boats came to the rescue of the sailors clinging to the wreckage in the water, but for many help came too late. “The cries of the men drowning in the water was at first awful in the extreme,” Hamilton wrote. But as the men disappeared below the surface, the screams faded and then died away entirely.

    Loss of the Pandora on the Great Barrier Reef. Source: Tales of Shipwrecks and Adventures at Sea, 1856.

       As morning heralded a new day, a small sandy cay could be seen about two and a half nautical miles (5 km) to the southeast. Edwards ordered the boats to make for the one tiny speck of land in that vast expanse of sea. The captain took stock of their provisions and ordered a guard to be placed over the remaining surviving mutineers. Fortunately, someone had the forethought to load a barrel of water, a small keg of wine, and some sea biscuits onto one of the boats. To that haul of supplies could be added a few muskets and cartouche boxes of ammunition, along with a hammer and a saw. Not much to preserve life in such remote and hostile waters. Edwards thought their only chance of survival would be to make for the Dutch trading outpost on Timor Island, some 1200 nautical miles (1400 km) away.

       Edwards forbade anyone from drinking on that first day, calculating that they would have only enough water to last 16 days at two small cups per person per diem. They spent two days on the cay preparing the boats for the voyage that lay ahead. Floorboards were torn out and affixed to the sides of the boats, around which canvas was wrapped to increase the freeboard.

       Before leaving, the sailing master, George Passmore, was sent back to the wreck site to see if anything might have floated free in their absence.   He returned two hours later with a small assortment of salvaged materials and a cat that he found clinging to the top-gallant mast-head.

       On the third morning, they set off west towards Torres Strait and beyond to the Dutch settlement of Kupang. Edwards had hoped to refill their water cask at one of the islands dotting Torres Strait before they headed into the expanse of the Arafura Sea. However, an encounter with Islanders, which began friendly enough, inexplicably ended abruptly with a volley of arrows and musket fire being exchanged. They stopped again at Prince of Wales Island (Muralag), where this time they were able to fill their water cask without incident. On 16 September, after an arduous voyage lasting about a fortnight, the four boats pulled into Kupang Harbour. From there, they were taken to Batavia (present-day Jakarta), where Edwards purchased a ship for the return to England.

    Canon recovered from HMS Pandora wrecked on the Great Barrier Reef on display at the Museum of Tropical Queensland, Townsville.

       The shipwreck directly cost the lives of 31 sailors and four mutineers. Another 16 died from disease during or after their stay in Batavia. Of the 134 men who left England on the Pandora, only 78 made it home alive. The ten prisoners who survived the wreck were tried for mutiny. Four were acquitted, two received pardons, one got off on a technicality, and three were hanged. Captain Edwards faced a court-martial to answer for the loss of his ship, but he was found not to have been at fault.   

    The Museum of Tropical Queensland in Townsville has a world-class exhibition of artefacts recovered from the wreck.

    © Copyright C.J. Ison / Tales from the Quarterdeck, 2024.

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  • Bligh’s Epic Open-Boat Voyage

    The Mutineers turning Lieut. Bligh and part of the officers and crew adrift from his Majesty’s Ship the Bounty / painted and engraved by Robert Dodd, 1790 London

    On 28 April 1789, Lt William Bligh was startled awake by his first mate, Fletcher Christian, and several other HMS Bounty sailors threatening his life. He, along with 18 members of his crew who wanted nothing to do with the unfolding mutiny, would soon be unceremoniously herded into a launch and set adrift. So began one of the great open-boat voyages in maritime history.

       To say the launch was overcrowded is an understatement. Measuring 23 feet (7 metres) in length, there was room for just half those on board. But, in addition to Bligh and his men, space had to be made for their provisions.

       The mutineers allowed them 70 kg of sea biscuits, 10 kg of salted pork, seven litres of rum, six bottles of wine, and 130 litres of water. For navigation, they were provided with only a quadrant and a compass. Fletcher Christian would not allow them to take a chronometer or any of the charts. A few clothes were thrown into the launch at the last moment, as well as four cutlasses for personal protection should they be foolish enough to venture onto any of the neighbouring islands. Lastly, the carpenter was allowed to take his toolbox, and the ship’s clerk had collected some of Bligh’s papers and belongings, including the captain’s nautical almanac. With the launch so heavily weighed down, it was in imminent danger of being swamped.

     

    Portrait of William Bligh By Alexander Huey – National Library of Australia, Public

    As the Bounty sailed away, Bligh and the others found themselves adrift in the South Pacific Ocean, a very long way from the nearest European settlements. With no viable alternatives, Bligh convinced his men that they should make for the Dutch settlement of Kupang on Timor Island, some 3,500nm (7,000 km) away. But before they could set off on the long voyage, Blight felt they needed to add to their stores. At first glance, the provisions might seem bountiful, but shared among so many people, they would last little more than a week without strict rationing.

       Bligh made for the nearest land, Tofua Island, about 50 km away, to stock up on fresh produce. Initially, the Islanders seemed friendly and happy to trade. But after a couple of days, the mood inexplicably changed. Bligh and his men suddenly found themselves fleeing for their lives under a hail of hurled rocks. One man was felled on the beach, but the rest managed to get away in the launch.   

    But the assault continued. Rocks still rained down among them, thrown by islanders who pursued them in a canoe. Reprieve only came when the launch finally outdistanced the attackers. Bligh noted in his journal that almost all of them had been injured to some extent from the barrage of stones. But they had escaped, though at the cost of one life. Bligh then set a course west through the South Pacific Islands towards New Holland (Australia). He decided that they would not risk stopping anywhere else along the way.

    A page from William Bligh’s logbook. Courtesy State Library of NSW.

    Sacrifices had to be made if they were ever to make it to Timor. Spare clothes, ropes and anything else not essential were tossed overboard to lighten the load and make more room. Even so, conditions remained so cramped in the boat that no one had room to stretch out their legs. Those not seated on the thwarts had to find room where they could, often on the floor with their backsides in a few inches of water. The carpenter’s chest was emptied of tools so it could be filled with sea biscuits to keep them out of the water sloshing around in the bottom of the boat.

       Bligh organised the men into two watches as they sailed west-north-west towards the Fijian Islands and beyond. Beginning on 4 May, they were battered by a powerful storm with gale-force winds and high seas. Water poured into the boat, forcing the men to bail continuously to keep afloat. The storm raged until the following evening, when the weather eased off for a short while.

       Over the next several days and weeks, they passed through the Fijian Islands and then the islands of Vanuatu as they steadily made their way west. The nights were brutally cold, but there was little let-up in the weather, and they remained soaked to the skin for days on end. The only reprieve from their misery came in the form of a small daily ration of rum.

       Even though Bligh had no chart, he was able to compare his observations, when he could make them, with known landmarks recorded in his almanac. Though they passed close to several islands, there was no appetite to go ashore for food despite their growing hunger. Their experience on Tofua was still fresh in their minds.

    Route sailed by the Bounty’s launch. Courtesy Google Maps.

    They began bearing more westerly as they crossed the Coral Sea and weathered several more powerful squalls. Mountainous seas and torrential rain again kept them bailing as hard as they could to remain afloat.

       Then, on 24 May, they were bathed in full sunshine for the first time in nearly two weeks. Over the following few days, they caught several seabirds. The precious little meat was shared out evenly and eagerly eaten raw. The birds also offered hope of another sort, for they signalled that they were approaching the Australian mainland.

       On 28 May, they reached the outer edge of the Great Barrier Reef, clearly delineated by a line of breaking white surf. Bligh pointed the bow towards a gap in the reef, and everyone hung on as they raced through the narrow passage. Once through the coral jaws, they found themselves in calm water in the vicinity of Cape Melville. Bligh then bore north, remaining close to the inside of the reef in hopes that they might catch some fish to supplement their diet.

       A couple of days later, they stepped ashore on what Bligh would name Restitution Island. After being confined to the boat for so long, they were all barely able to walk. Nonetheless, a fire was started using Bligh’s magnifying glass to focus the sun’s rays, and a stew of sea biscuit and salted pork was augmented by some berries, oysters and other shellfish foraged from their surroundings.

       After several days recuperating, they reboarded the boat and island-hopped north until they reached Torres Strait. They then headed west again across open seas until Bligh estimated they were off the southern coast of Timor Island. On 14 June 1789, they sailed into Kupang Harbour, 47 days after the Bounty mutineers cast them adrift. Bligh noted that they were “nothing but skin and bones; our limbs were full of sores; [and] we were clothed in rags.” But they had survived a voyage few would have thought possible.

       The Dutch authorities tended to the survivors and arranged passage back to England; however, five would never see home, dying in their weakened state, probably from malaria, a disease not well understood at the time.     Bligh arrived back in the United Kingdom in March 1790, not to a hero’s welcome but to face a court-martial to explain the loss of his ship. The Court exonerated him and the incident had no noticeable impact on his career. Bligh eventually rose to the rank of Vice Admiral before retiring. He also served a tumultuous two years as the Governor of New South Wales until officers of the NSW Corps deposed him, but that’s a story for another occasion.

    © Copyright C.J. Ison / Tales from the Quarterdeck, 2023.

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