for so much hatred to exist between two people, thought Christian, staring back at the man. He jabbed out at Bligh’s exposed buttocks with the point of the sword, snickering when the man skipped aside to avoid being pricked.
‘Get aloft,’ said the mutineer. ‘I want them to laugh at you.’
Christian’s arrival on deck, driving Bligh before him, was like that of an orchestra conductor mounting the rostrum, bringing gradual silence from the players he was about to lead. The hush fell over everyone. They were shadowed and grey in the peculiar twilight preceding the immediate dawn and everyone stopped moving, apprehensively.
There was no laughter at the captain’s appearance, Christian realised, disappointed.
‘There’s the bugger!’
It was a bravado shout, like a small boy trying to create an echo in a dark tunnel to prove he wasn’t afraid of anything hiding there. It came from Churchill, who appeared immediately embarrassed by what he had done, snatching around, grinning, eager for smiles of response.
Ellison smirked and nodded. So did Birkitt. But the sight of Bligh, humiliated and bound, appeared to unsettle the men rather than bind them to him, as Christian had anticipated.
Passing doubt, Christian reassured himself, prodding the captain forward. They’d rally round, soon enough. They’d all be with him in the end. He knew they would.
‘Here. Bring him here.’ said Quintal by the mizzen mast.
Christian hesitated at the command. The stern area was obviously the most secure place to parade the captain and ensure that he couldn’t escape. But who the hell did Quintal imagine he was, giving orders? Didn’t he realise who the new commander was?
‘Aye,’ encouraged Ellison, sensing the uncertainty among those grouped on deck. ‘Bring him here. I’ll stand guard over him. One move and I’ll skewer the dog.’
Bligh’s head was held forward, but he was looking intently around, identifying everyone who spoke. Creating mental lists, decided Christian.
The mizzen was the only place, accepted Christian, moving the captain on. Churchill came alongside, pistol cocked and ready, and Smith and Birkitt positioned themselves behind Bligh, so that the captain stood in a circle of men, with the mast forming a barrier to one side. It would take a concerted attack to free the man, Christian realised, gratefully.
‘Just the slightest cause,’ Birkitt said, pushing Bligh more to sustain his own courage than to instil fear into the captain. ‘And I’ll blow your damned brains out.’
‘Hasn’t got any,’ insisted Churchill and they all sniggered.
Children, worried Christian. Frightened, nervous children, even in the way they were speaking. Bligh would recognise it, he knew. And attempt to capitalise upon it.
He was too encumbered, realised the mutineer. At the moment the crew were bemused by Bligh’s appearance, but it would not take long for them to sneer at the weapons with which he had armed himself. He handed his cutlass to Alexander Smith, who was standing nearby, then unclipped the bayonet from the musket. Just that would be sufficient, he thought. He detected Bligh straining against his bonds and reached out, managing to grab the trailing cord without physically touching him.
Now he’s my dog, thought Christian, happy at the reversal of roles. My dog, at the end of my leash, and he’ll have to perform the tricks that I command. He jerked the rope, to remind Bligh who was the master. Just as childish as Churchill, he recriminated almost immediately, loosening his hand on the rope. Careful. Mustn’t become hysterical. He was in charge now, in positive command. Couldn’t relax, not for a moment.
Heightening the theatricality of what was happening, dawn broke, the sun pulling up on the horizon and washing over the ship, like the lights coming up immediately after the curtains had been raised on a stage. Better able to see the state to which the captain had been reduced, a murmur flickered through the assembled crew, but Christian was unable to discern immediately whether it was sympathy for the man or approval for what had happened to him.
‘Here he is,’ announced Christian, loudly. He was still being the bully, he knew. And enjoying it. ‘Here’s the man who’s cheated and lashed and kept us short of our victuals.’
The murmuring was increasing. It was approval, recognised Christian. The men were with him. The majority anyway. And that’s all he needed, the majority. And weapons.
‘I’ll forget nothing of this, sir,’ said Bligh, speaking very softly and only to Christian. ‘Not one moment of it.’
He was trembling again, fighting against the temper. Bligh was like that volcano, far away to starboard, thought Christian. Always about