then kicked out at the foot of the young midshipman.
‘Up, Mr Hallett. Up,’ he said, head close to the boy. He wanted no one but Hallett roused. ‘You’re an hour late on the watch; you could be on report for this, sir.’
The boy jerked awake, bewildered. He pulled up, mouthing for words.
‘Up, sir! About your duties.’
Hallett, mind still fogged with sleep, stumbled into a half crouch, moving instinctively towards the hatchway, oblivious to both Thompson and Quintal.
Quintal moved swiftly, the key already in his hand.
Now the positive commitment to crime, realised Christian, as Quintal swung the lid up off the chest. Fletcher Christian, proud son of an even prouder family, second-in-command of a ship engaged upon an expedition that had the interest of King George III himself, assured before he was fifty of an admiral’s flag, had become a mutineer. For the briefest moment, his resolve wavered. A mutineer, he thought again. And made so because of a man who slept not fifty feet away and had driven him to the point of despair.
The other two men were standing back, waiting for his lead, Christian saw. He gazed down at the weapons neatly arranged before him. If it still went wrong, he would need to fight people off, until he could get to the rail to cast himself over. Abruptly he moved, reaching into the chest. He clipped a bayonet on to a musket, then looped his arm through the canvas webbing. Into his belt he thrust a pistol and then took up a box of shot. He paused, then snatched at a cutlass. He’d prick Bligh with it, he decided. He’d make the bugger cringe.
‘Stand guard on the chest,’ Christian ordered Thompson. ‘Only those supporting us are to have guns; if any try to rush you, put a ball over their heads. But over their heads, remember. I’ll have no one dead.’
‘There’s the other chest,’ warned Quintal. ‘If they seize that, they could stand us off.’
‘Aye,’ said Christian. ‘But we’re armed now. We can shift Hayward.’
Christian emerged cautiously from the hatchway. Until this moment the tiny gathering of men could only have aroused passing curiosity. But now he was festooned with weapons, like a make-believe pirate at those country fairs he’d once enjoyed in Cumberland. No one who saw him would have any doubt what he was about.
Keeping in the shadow of the booms, he moved with Quintal towards the second chest, nodding to those mutineers he passed to go to where Thompson stood and arm themselves.
‘He’s gone,’ he said, needlessly, when he got to the chest. He gazed around, suddenly alert. If Hayward had discovered what was happening and gone to awaken Bligh, the uprising would collapse now.
‘There,’ pointed Quintal.
Christian looked towards the poop. The second midshipman was engrossed with the soft-minded Norman, gazing down at the great fish swimming sentinel behind them.
There was movement from the left and Christian turned to sec Mickoy approaching. The seaman gestured over his shoulder.
‘Tom has thrown in his lot with us,’ he reported.
Thomas Birkitt, fair and solid-bodied, his face holed with pockmarks, nodded and smiled nervously. There was still the rest of his watch, remembered Christian. Ellison would be with him. And Mills, when he saw the growing size of the mutineers. And the doubtful Isaac Martin had seized a musket, he saw.
For’ard came the sound of chopping as Muspratt started again on the breakfast kindling.
‘See if he’ll commit himself,’ ordered Christian, to Quintal.
From the direction of the poop Hayward, bored with Norman’s shark, moved forward, then stopped at the sight of the mutineers.
‘What in the name of God …?’ he demanded, his voice trailing away in disbelief.
‘Quiet, sir!’ silenced Christian. He’d shouted, he realised; an over-reaction to the first challenge. He’d have to control it. Nervousness was contagious.
‘Have you given mind to what you’re doing, Mr Christian?’ pressed Hayward, immediately aware of what was happening.
‘I ordered you quiet.’
‘It’s a hanging crime, sir.’
‘Too much has passed to be vexed about that,’ said Christian, emptily.
He detected movement in the shadows near Hayward and swung the musket towards it. Hallett, blinking rapidly from the combination of fear and the effect of sleep, moved into the light. He looked first to Christian, then to Hayward for guidance. When none came, he moved closer to Hayward, seeking protection from the older unarmed midshipman.
Christian jerked his head at Martin, then indicated the two young officers.
‘Guard them,’ he instructed. ‘They’re to stay where they are.’
‘What now?’ asked the attentive Quintal, at Christian’s side.
‘Bligh,’ responded Christian, shortly. ‘We