On the 13th, they saw the island of Timor, and the next morning landed and got some water, and a few small fish from the natives; and on the night of the 15th, anchored opposite the fort of Coupang.  Nothing could exceed the kindness and hospitality of the governor and other Dutch officers of this settlement, in affording every possible assistance and relief in their distressed condition.  Having remained here three weeks, they embarked on the 6th October, on board the Rembang Dutch Indiaman, and on the 30th, anchored at Samarang, where they were agreeably surprised to find their little Tender, which they had so long given up for lost.  On the 7th November they arrived at Batavia, where Captain Edwards agreed with the Dutch East India Company, to divide the whole of the ship’s company and prisoners among four of their ships proceeding to Europe.  The latter the captain took with him in the Vreedenburgh; but finding his Majesty’s ship Gorgon at the Cape, he transhipped himself and prisoners, and proceeded in her to Spithead, where he arrived on the 19th June, 1792.

Captain Edwards, in his meagre narrative, takes no more notice of his prisoners with regard to the mode in which they were disposed of at Coupang and Batavia, than he does when the Pandora went down.  In fact, he suppresses all information respecting them, from the day in which they were consigned to ‘Pandora’s Box.’  From this total indifference towards these unfortunate men, and their almost unparalleled sufferings, Captain Edwards must be set down as a man, whose only feeling was to stick to the letter of his instructions, and rigidly to adhere to what he considered the strict line of his duty; that he was a man of a cold phlegmatic disposition, whom no distress could move, and whose feelings were not easily disturbed by the sufferings of his fellow-creatures.  He appears to have been one of those mortals, who might say, with Manfred—­

My spirit walk’d not with the souls of men;

* * * * *

My joys, my griefs, my passions, and my powers,
Made me a stranger; though I wore the form,
I had no sympathy with breathing flesh!

There seems to have been a general feeling at and before the court-martial, that Captain Edwards had exercised a harsh, unnecessary, and undue degree of severity on his prisoners.  It is the custom, sanctioned no doubt by long usage, to place in irons all such as may have been guilty of mutiny in a ship of war, and the necessity of so doing is obvious enough—­to prevent, in the most effectual manner, communication with the rest of the ship’s company, who might be contaminated by their intercourse with such mischievous and designing men; men whose crime is of that dye, that, if found guilty, they have little hope to escape the punishment of death, to which a mutineer must, by the naval articles of war, be sentenced; no alternative being left to a court-martial, in such a case, but to pronounce a sentence of acquittal or of death.