Captain Bligh,’ lectured Christian. ‘One of the worst captains ever to sail under the English flag, perhaps. And a thief and a cheat, to boot. But not a fool. So don’t appear surprised at the worth your men set upon your promises.’
Bligh’s face was tight, Christian saw. He was trying hard to control the outburst, the feeling shaking at his body.
‘Take care, sir,’ grated Bligh, through clamped lips. ‘Were my hands not tied, then upon my honour …’
‘I know well enough what you’d do,’ broke off Christian. ‘There’s been hardly a day when we haven’t suffered the ways of your demented mind.’
He might not be able to inculcate fear into the other man, realised Christian. But he could reduce him to an impotent anger and for Bligh to be unable to vent that annoyance in some punishment or beating would probably hurt him as much. It was very important to make Bligh suffer, decided Christian.
‘There could be another course open to us, rather than setting you adrift,’ he began, gently.
Bligh stared at him, head cocked to one side.
‘We could return you to England in irons, for a court martial. King’s Regulations permit a trial for tyranny on the accusation of a junior officer,’ said Christian.
Why was he playing with the man? wondered Christian. He had no intention of taking him prisoner.
‘And pray, sir, how would you work the ship for a voyage of 12,000 miles, with every other officer under guard?’ challenged Bligh. ‘I haven’t forgotten what Quintal said. Your only support is the scum of the lower deck.’
He was a clever man, admitted Christian. He wouldn’t be deflected, he decided. He’d ridicule Bligh, one way or another.
‘A court martial would be a good way to discover what happened to the ship’s rations,’ he continued. ‘And of learning how much money was really spent in victualling.’
Bligh’s face was puce and a vein throbbed in his forehead. He’d touched the nerve, Christian knew. As a merchant captain, commanding the Britannia for Duncan Campbell, Bligh had earned £500 a year. Coming back into the King’s service, yet not promoted to full post captain, had meant his salary had dropped to £70 a year.
There wasn’t a man aboard who didn’t know how Bligh had made up that deficiency. Or who hadn’t suffered because of the man’s determination to line his own pocket.
‘I made not a penny piece at the expense of the crew,’ hissed Bligh.
‘Balderdash, sir,’ said Christian. ‘What you supplied as beef on the outward voyage and no doubt listed full charge for was donkey, without a doubt. No one could nor would eat it. The whole lot went overboard.’
Bligh straightened, listening intently to the disclosure. He was sure the men had taken it.
‘And there was no reason, apart from not wanting to resupply, for cutting down the bread ration either,’ insisted Christian. ‘Replacing the loss with extra rum would, I’d wager, be seen by a court martial for the device it was, a sop to avert any protest from the men.’
‘It was necessary to preserve our supplies,’ seized Bligh, defensively. ‘We were beaten back from Cape Horn. The voyage took months longer than expected.’
‘There was bread enough, even with the rerouting. It was obvious we would refit in Capetown, if we failed to round the Horn. So there was never any danger to supplies,’ countered Christian.’
It was his own private trial, decided Christian, enjoying himself. Bligh was an arrogant bugger, always convinced he could succeed in everything. It was good to show him nobody had been deceived by his cheating.
‘And John Williams would be a good witness at any enquiry into your honesty,’ said Christian.
‘Do you think the Admiralty would take the word of an illiterate, common seaman against a commissioned captain?’ sneered Bligh.
It was working, thought Christian, triumphantly. Bligh was confused and uncertain. That he remembered immediately the incident involving Williams indicated his guilt.
‘Supported by the word of the cooper, who would swear that the cheese barrel had already been broached when he examined it, I imagine they’d accept the word of Williams that upon your specific instructions he took the cheeses to your lodgings at Portsmouth, for the use of you and your family.’
‘Lies,’ declared Bligh, desperately.
‘As you insisted during the outward voyage,’ recalled Christian. ‘Not a man believed you then and neither do they now.’
Bligh shifted and Christian saw his hands were whitening, so tight had Churchill secured them. He must be in great pain, thought the mutineer.