PDF Summary:The Wager, by David Grann

In 1741, the British warship HMS Wager wrecked off the coast of South America, leaving its crew stranded on a desolate island. What followed was a story of survival, competing leadership, and conflicting accounts of mutiny. In The Wager, David Grann examines this maritime disaster within the context of British imperial ambitions and naval authority.

Grann explores how the castaways struggled to survive in harsh conditions, how the ship's social order broke down under pressure, and how British authorities later grappled with determining the truth from contradictory testimonies. The book also considers Britain's imperial expansion, the realities of 18th-century naval life, and the role of the indigenous Kawésqar people who aided the survivors. Ultimately, the story reveals how narratives were shaped to serve imperial power.

(continued)...

(Shortform note: In a 1999 article, Didier Raoult and Véronique Roux explain how typhus spread through pests like lice. When a louse feeds on an infected person, it ingests the bacteria that cause typhus. The bacteria then multiply inside the louse and are excreted in its feces. When people scratch their skin, they create tiny breaks that allow the bacteria to enter their bloodstream. In crowded conditions, like those on the Wager, lice and their infected feces can easily spread through shared clothing and bedding.)

The Judicial Framework: Articles, Courts, and Punishment

Grann explains that the War Articles governed naval conduct and punishment. These 36 regulations controlled the conduct of all men and boys on the ship. Numerous offenses, such as dozing off during watch, carried a death penalty, but the courts could decide on a lighter sentence if deemed appropriate. The term "mutinous" was frequently used for lesser acts of defiance that didn't warrant harsh punishment. However, the allegations against the Wager's crew were overwhelming. They faced accusations of causing naval order to fall apart entirely, affecting everyone from top officers to regular crew members. The judicial process was intended to reduce their stories to raw, objective details.

(Shortform note: The War Articles were a product of their time, reflecting the British Parliament's efforts to transform the Royal Navy from a semi-independent force into a disciplined state institution. In the late 1600s, Parliament tightened the Articles to address issues like mutiny, desertion, and brutality, aiming to bring order to a navy that had previously operated with considerable autonomy. This shift was driven by scandals involving high-ranking officers and a desire to assert civilian control over the military. The Articles' harsh penalties, including death for relatively minor offenses, were intended to enforce strict discipline and prevent the kind of chaos that had plagued the navy in earlier decades.)

Bulkeley and his group seemed to have breached the highest number of rules within the Articles of War, including Article 19, which prohibited "mutinous assemblies upon any pretence whatsoever, upon pain of death"; Article 20, which said that no one "shall conceal any traitorous or mutinous practices, designs, or words"; Article 21, which forbade quarreling or striking a superior officer; and Article 17, which decreed that any seaman who runs away "shall be punished with death."

(Shortform note: In The Wooden World, N. A. M. Rodger explains that the Articles of War were the statutory embodiment of the crown’s ancient martial jurisdiction at sea, reshaped in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries by Parliament and civilian lawyers into a comprehensive code of naval discipline, so that a permanent professional fleet might be governed everywhere in the world by a clear, written law rather than by the unfettered discretion of individual commanders. The Articles thus reflect the early-modern English struggle to reconcile the crown’s expansive war-making authority with the need for a permanent, legally bounded military establishment.)

A harsh prosecutor might add further charges like cowardice for not following Cheap's command to chase their Spanish foes and assist Anson; stealing the transport boats and other resources; and even "disgraceful conduct defaming God's honor, and spoiling good morals." Cheap alleged that Bulkeley's group had committed both a full mutiny and attempted murder, since they deserted him and his crew on the island.

(Shortform note: This bundle of accusations reflects a Protestant-inflected tradition of martial law, which historian N. A. M. Rodger reconstructs in The Wooden World. In this tradition, the ship is a microcosm of a godly commonwealth, and obedience is sacralized. Thus, any grave breach—whether violent, fearful, or merely irreverent—was treated as an assault on a divinely ordered war-making community.)

Cheap encountered the most serious accusation: homicide. Article 28 declared that any deliberate killing of a person on board the ship would result in a death penalty. The trials were brief: all three men were convicted. However, a review of the naval rules found that the offense wasn't punishable by death. Each man found guilty was sentenced to six hundred lashes—a penalty so harsh it had to be given in three-day installments of two hundred lashes each day. Otherwise, it might be fatal.

Naval Discipline and Punishment in the Eighteenth Century

Cheap’s conviction for homicide under Article 28, which resulted in a sentence of six hundred lashes rather than the death penalty, reflects the complex legal and disciplinary environment of the mid-eighteenth-century Royal Navy. During this period, the Navy was grappling with the need to maintain strict discipline while also addressing the practical challenges of manning ships with experienced sailors. The use of flogging as a punishment, even for serious offenses like homicide, was part of a broader trend in which naval courts-martial sought to balance the letter of the law with the practical realities of naval service.

Grann emphasizes that insubordination was a serious crime with severe consequences. The British Navy used public executions to deter sailors from rebelling. The military tribunal was designed to uphold discipline and reinforce the power of the state. The legal system focused on the facts of the case, disregarding the defendants' justifications.

The government was concerned with keeping the public's backing following the numerous war losses. A mutiny was so dangerous to the status quo that it wasn't officially recognized as one. The formal investigation into the Wager incident was shut down indefinitely, and Cheap’s deposition disappeared from the court-martial files. The events that took place on Wager Island were called "the mutiny that didn't happen."

The Wager Mutiny and Archival Silence

The Wager mutiny was never officially recognized, and Cheap’s deposition disappeared from the court-martial files. This is an example of what anthropologist Michel-Rolph Trouillot calls an “archival silence.” In Silencing the Past, he explains that the absence of certain documents in archives can reveal how those in power tried to control what future generations would know. By understanding how the Wager became “the mutiny that didn’t happen,” we can better understand how history is shaped by what’s left out as much as by what’s included.

The Wreck of Order: Mutiny, Survival, and Inconsistent Testimonies

We will now discuss the castaways' breakdown of order while stranded and the Admiralty’s struggle to determine the truth from conflicting accounts.

Competing for the Island: Survival and Fracture

Grann details the breakdown of order and hierarchy faced by the marooned men. Starving and desperate, they had to eat seaweed and celery to survive. They grew irritable and depressed, taking meals from each other. Some even turned to eating each other. They lost faith in Captain Cheap because he couldn’t preserve order or protect their supplies. The crew split into opposing groups, and Bulkeley led a revolt against Cheap.

(Shortform note: The breakdown of social order and hierarchy that Grann describes is common in situations of extreme scarcity and isolation. However, it’s not universal. In A Paradise Built in Hell, Rebecca Solnit argues that in many modern disasters, people form “improvised communities” that maintain or even strengthen social order. She suggests that the difference may lie in the context: Urban disasters often bring people together, while isolated situations like shipwrecks can lead to fragmentation.)

Next, we will discuss the competing authorities there, along with the Kawésqar’s assistance and its limits.

Competing Authorities: Cheap vs. Bulkeley

Grann explains that Cheap and Bulkeley's leadership styles and visions were at odds. Bulkeley was a natural leader who was calm and well-suited to leading the crew through their harrowing conditions. Cheap, in contrast, wanted them to obey him purely because of his position. In a desperate bid to preserve his power, he became fanatical.

(Shortform note: Naval historian N. A. M. Rodger, author of The Wooden World, would likely have a very different perspective on the Cheap–Bulkeley conflict. He argues that the Georgian Royal Navy was a highly hierarchical institution, and that the captain’s authority was absolute. From this perspective, Cheap’s insistence on his authority was proper, and Bulkeley’s attempt to organize an alternative leadership structure was insubordinate.)

Indigenous Intervention and Imperialistic Power Limits

According to Grann, the Kawésqar provided crucial assistance to the stranded crew. They were a seafaring people who lived in the region and were highly accustomed to the harsh climate. They provided the shipwrecked survivors with food, shelter, and companionship, teaching them how to fish, hunt, and build fires. They also helped bury those who died and showed respect for their customs. Although hesitant at first, they eventually agreed to help, and the shipwrecked sailors were deeply grateful.

(Shortform note: In Los nómades del mar, French ethnologist José Emperaire recounts the testimony of Kawésqar elders who, in the 1940s, still remembered the stories of their ancestors who had helped shipwrecked outsiders. According to these elders, the Kawésqar had a moral code that required them to help anyone in need, regardless of their origin. They believed that the sea was a living being that watched over them and that they had to show respect and gratitude to it by sharing their resources and hospitality.)

However, Grann mentions that the Englishmen’s behavior drove the Kawésqar away. The Kawésqar were nomads who navigated by canoe and subsisted on ocean resources. They expertly navigated and knew the coastline well. They seldom remained in one place longer than several days. The Kawésqar were reluctant to approach the Englishmen, likely because they'd learned about the Spanish's violent takeover of northern indigenous communities. The Englishmen attempted to reassure them of their good intentions, offering gifts and persuading them to disembark.

(Shortform note: The Kawésqar’s hesitation to approach the Englishmen likely stemmed from oral accounts of Spanish incursions in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. The Spanish established mission posts in the Chiloé archipelago, where they took canoe-faring families from neighboring indigenous groups to work for them. The Spanish forced these families to live in mission settlements, where they were under constant surveillance. The arrival of European ships in the region likely signaled the potential loss of freedom for the Kawésqar.)

The Kawésqar were courteous, and Captain Cheap was civil in his treatment of them. They left but returned with food for the Englishmen, including sheep they had probably gotten by bartering with a different indigenous group that had ties to the Spanish. They left again but soon returned with their families, seemingly intending to settle among the Englishmen. They frequently went to the sea and came back with food. However, after just a few days, the Englishmen resumed their reckless behavior. They were stealing liquor and weapons from the wreck and attempting to entice the Kawésqar women, which offended the Kawésqar. They also saw the increasing friction among the Englishmen. When Captain Cheap woke up one morning, he realized the Kawésqar had all disappeared. They removed the covering from their shelters and departed by canoe.

Mobility as a Political Weapon

In Les nomades de la mer, French anthropologist José Emperaire describes the canoe-faring people of western Patagonia as making of their mobility a deliberate political and sanitary weapon: whenever cohabitation with outsiders, or even with other indigenous groups, begins to endanger their independence, social order, or bodily well-being, they quietly dismantle their shelters, embark in their canoes, and put space between themselves and the source of constraint, choosing flight and dispersion as a conscious affirmation of autonomy rather than accepting subordination or confrontation. This strategy, he explains, has allowed them to preserve their way of life and avoid the fate of other indigenous groups who were decimated by disease and colonial violence.

Contesting the Narrative: Testimony and Imperial Control

Grann describes how naval authorities struggled to determine the truth from conflicting accounts. They were overwhelmed and delayed the inquiry until Cheap was formally declared dead. After being held for two weeks, Cummins and Bulkeley were let go. However, they were denied compensation for the voyage and were barred from further employment with His Majesty's service. In need of funds, Bulkeley was given a job opportunity to transport a merchant vessel from Plymouth to London. He wrote to the Admiralty requesting permission to take the journey for work.

(Shortform note: The Admiralty could delay the inquiry but still deny Bulkeley and Cummins compensation and bar them from His Majesty’s service because, in the mid-18th century, the Royal Navy operated under a system where wages and future postings were considered privileges granted at the discretion of the Admiralty rather than guaranteed rights. This meant that the Board of Admiralty had the authority to withhold pay and deny future employment without the need for a formal court-martial or completion of an official inquiry. This discretionary power allowed them to take punitive actions against officers and crew members based on their own assessments of conduct and loyalty, even in the absence of conclusive evidence or completed investigations.)

The Admiralty allowed it, but he stayed poor, always terrified that he and the other castaways could be tried and condemned to death. Bulkeley resolved to release his journal to influence public perception and gain popular support. Bulkeley wrote an introduction to preempt critique of his choice. He argued it would be unjust to assume he and Cummins couldn't have created such a precise work, considering their positions. He also rejected any argument that he and Cummins were not entitled to disclose what had happened to them and their crew.

(Shortform note: In The Many-Headed Hydra, Peter Linebaugh and Marcus Rediker argue that the 18th-century Atlantic world was shaped by a “motley crew” of dispossessed laborers, including sailors, who challenged the authority of admirals, merchants, and imperial officials. They note that sailors increasingly used petitions, court depositions, and chapbooks to contest official narratives and assert their own perspectives. This context helps explain Bulkeley’s fear of trial and his decision to publish a journal that defends his and Cummins’s right and capacity to describe what happened.)

He adopted a populist tone to defend the actions of him and Cummins on the island. He said they'd been criticized by many for being "too busy and active for persons in our stations," but only through their actions did anyone return to England. He recognized that those who wrote about sea adventures often wanted to boost their status by inventing fantastic stories. He maintained that Cummins and he "took pains to set themselves apart by sticking closely to the facts." This narrative was a notable contribution to English literature. While not exactly literary, the journal contained a wealth of narrative and personal details compared to a typical logbook, and the story was conveyed in a refreshing new voice—that of a tough seafarer.

(Shortform note: In The Novel and the Sea, Margaret Cohen argues that William Dampier’s A New Voyage Round the World (1697) was a crucial precursor to Bulkeley’s journal. Dampier was a common sailor who wrote in a plain, technical style, and he was the first to make his own experience at sea the center of a first-person narrative. Cohen argues that Dampier’s book was a major influence on 18th-century maritime fiction and travel writing.)