there, thought Christian. A mutineer. And a murderer. The Christian family was a proud and honoured one; only he had chosen a career at sea. The others were barristers and would, he knew, become judges. Was he to besmirch a family whose very vocation was the upholding of English law by committing the most serious crime in the statute book?
‘It’s ridiculous,’ he rejected. ‘I’ll hear no more of this, Mr Young.’
‘He’s turned against you,’ insisted Young. ‘Think on what he was threatening during the row yesterday – that he’d have you and others of us jumping overboard in the Endeavour Straits, rather than remain aboard with him. That wasn’t just an idle expression. He meant it, Mr Christian. He means to pick and nag until he breaks you.’
It was true, thought Christian. Bligh wouldn’t stop. He’d keep on, through every hour of every day. And it could be so long before they reached Portsmouth again. So very long.
A gush of red spurted through the distant volcano cone, brightening the already lightening sky and the sound of the eruption, like far-away thunder, rumbled over the ship. At the stern, Charles Norman leaned over the rail, muttering to the shark. In his cabin below, the ship’s master twisted, trying to find a more comfortable position on top of his chest, and in the cabin opposite, Bligh muttered a jumble of words, one of which sounded like ‘honour’, before settling back to sleep.
‘There won’t be another chance,’ repeated Young, turning back along the deck. ‘Think on it, Mr Christian. By morning, it will be too late. And if the raft is discovered and traced to you, as it must surely be, then you’re lost anyway.’
Young walked away with short, thrusting strides and Christian remained at the rail, looking down into the ship. He closed his eyes again, scurrying thoughts filling his mind like dry leaves in autumn.
A spontaneous uprising could succeed, he knew. Everyone to whom he had confided his determination to abandon the ship had conceded some personal reason for hating Bligh. At the moment they were like driftwood swirling unconnected in a whirlpool. Only a catalyst was needed to bind them together. And he could provide that element of cohesion, Christian knew. To become an outcast, a man denied the possibility of ever returning to his own country. They were thousands of miles from England, certainly. But one day, somehow, the news would arrive there. And his family would be humiliated. He balanced the argument in his mind. A family probably humiliated in several years’ time, compared to the daily, unremitting humiliation for month upon month. And perhaps not even ending with their arrival at Portsmouth. When he came to get another ship, Bligh would damn him in every report and character assessment, Christian knew, haunting him with his vindictiveness for the rest of his life. Thousands of miles away, he thought again. Years before anyone really knew: if ever. Lost at sea would be the official belief. Sadness in the family, certainly. But not disgrace. Pride even: lost at sea, with his ship.
They’d hang him if they did find out. At Spithead, before the jeering fleet. As an example to others. Wouldn’t hurt, though, not like being ripped apart by a shark. Or pounded to death by savages. Just a quick, sharp jerk. And that would be it.
Christian began walking from the quarter-deck, a lightness numbing his body: he felt as if his limbs were moving without his control and that he couldn’t have stopped if he had wanted to. And a part of him wanted to stop. Immediately.
At the mizzen he paused, halted by a thought. If it went wrong, he couldn’t let Bligh arrest him. The torture, until they got home for trial, would be unbearable. Mr Young would be right. He would end up certifiably insane. With his seaman’s knife, Christian cut away a length of line attached to one of the heavy sounding leads with which they established the depth of the water in harbour or in shallows, hefting it in his hands to test its weight. It would do, he thought, pleased with the idea. He looped it around his neck, tightly securing the cord. If too many men opposed him to follow Bligh and it became clear the uprising was to fail, he’d throw himself overboard and the weight of the lead would pull him down. He’d drag the water into his lungs. He had the will-power to do it. It wouldn’t take long