Hell's Fire

by Brian Freemantle

  ‘No, sir,’ said Fryer, positively. ‘I mean he always shouted and cursed … without a moment’s pause …’

  ‘Mr Fryer,’ reminded Snape Hammond, annoyed his joke had soured. ‘We are talking of the King’s navy, not a finishing school for English gentlewomen. Are you seriously asking this court to accept that men were driven to the point of mutiny and murder because their captain shouted and swore at them?’

  It did sound ridiculous, realised Fryer. No one would ever know unless they had sailed with the damned man. He hoped they wouldn’t probe into the open boat business, thought Fryer. They must know of the enquiry in Timor.

  ‘I mean, sir,’ replied the master, ‘that the captain’s criticism of everything and everyone was like water pouring constantly upon a stone, until it destroyed the strongest resistance. No one was ever right, except Captain Bligh.’

  Hood sighed, better pleased. They were getting there, he thought. It was a laborious process, but gradually the evidence was coming out. The President decided upon an experiment. The prisoner Morrison, who had decided to defend himself, had actually remained on the Bounty and might know more than most. Not only that, he would not have the apparent reluctance of Fryer to speak about it. And the lawyer Bunyan, entrusted with saving young Heywood, was sitting flushed at his table, as if bursting with questions to ask. He would allow the defence to interrogate Fryer, Hood decided. The court could always re-examine upon fresh evidence obtained.

  He muttered briefly to the officers alongside him, then nodded to Bunyan. The young lawyer started up immediately, grating the chair over the decking in his eagerness. Fryer faced him warily, conscious the man would be better briefed than the court martial officers had been.

  ‘Mr Fryer,’ lured Bunyan, gently. ‘Will you tell the court if, at any time, you saw my client, midshipman Peter Heywood, actively participating in the uprising upon the Bounty?’

  ‘No, sir,’ replied Fryer, relieved at the first question, ‘I did not.’

  ‘Did you at any time sec him under arms?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Do you recall seeing him at all?’

  Fryer considered the question.

  ‘No,’ he admitted, at last. ‘I do not remember seeing him.’

  ‘Why would that be, do you suppose?’

  Fryer shrugged. This was an easier examination, he decided, relaxing again. The man’s only concern was to prove the innocence of his client and about that Fryer had little doubt. He had never understood why Heywood had been arraigned.

  ‘I would imagine because he was detained below.’

  ‘Against his will?’ pressed the lawyer.

  ‘That would be my assumption.’

  ‘That was possible, was it?’ asked Bunyan.

  ‘Sir?’ said Fryer.

  ‘It was possible for the mutineers to detain those unwilling to participate in the insurrection?’

  Fryer smiled at the stupidity of the question.

  ‘Of course, sir,’ he said. ‘They were armed, after all.’

  ‘Yes, Mr Fryer,’ seized Bunyan. ‘They were armed. And how could that have been, when according to regulations the keys to the arms chests should have been in your possession?’

  Fryer felt the attention of the officers to his left and bit at the inside of his cheek. He’d been trapped, he thought, annoyed.

  ‘The keys were not in my possession, sir,’ he admitted.

  ‘Oh, Mr Fryer?’ said Bunyan, apparently surprised. ‘Why not?’

  ‘I had entrusted them to the armourer, Mr Coleman.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘The habit had arisen, early in the voyage, for the men to shoot at birds and fish. It got so bad I couldn’t get a fair night’s sleep … so I gave Coleman the keys, so he could deal with the constant demands.’

  What sort of man had Bligh been, wondered Hood, slumped back in his chair and happy at his decision to turn the questioning over to the defence, who could rant constantly about discipline until his men mutinied and yet be careless of how weapons were controlled on a ship unguarded by marines?

  ‘Is it usual for seamen to shoot fish and birds?’ probed Bunyan.

  Fryer was cautious now, considering every question before replying.

  ‘Not uncommon,’ he said.

  ‘To the point where it becomes impossible for the custodian of the keys to sleep properly?’

  The lawyer was very clever, decided Fryer. And very determined. Yet he seemed to have taken his questioning beyond that necessary to protect his client, Peter Heywood. Fryer wondered why. The same thought was occurring to Hood. So Bunyan was the unannounced representative of the Christian family, guessed the admiral. It meant the young man had been instructed by one of the best legal brains in the country. And that, coupled with the financial resources of the Heywood family, there had been unlimited money available to prepare for the examination.

  ‘Perhaps there was more of it on this voyage than others upon which I’ve sailed,’ conceded Fryer.

  Bunyan was nodding, as if the answers were conforming to those he expected.

  ‘Why would that be, do you suppose, Mr Fryer?’

  The master shifted uncomfortably. There appeared no way, he thought resentfully, that he could avoid harming his career prospects.

  ‘There was an abundance of birds and sharks,’ he tried. ‘And the men had time in which to hunt them.’

  ‘What did they do with them?’ demanded Bunyan, suddenly harsh.

  ‘What?’ floundered Fryer.

  ‘The birds and fish the men killed. What did they do with them?’

  ‘Ate them,’ confessed Fryer, simply.

  Bunyan was smiling happily, he saw.

  ‘To a question from Sir Andrew Snape Hammond,’ reminded Bunyan, ‘not one hour ago, you agreed that Captain Bligh’s victualling was satisfactory. Now you tell the court that the crew’s pursuit of additional food was such it prevented you getting a good night’s sleep.’

  ‘A seaman can always find room for more food,’ attempted Fryer, hopefully. No one smiled, as he had thought they might.

  Bunyan spread his hands towards the court, as if the master’s answer had confirmed a point he wanted to make.

  ‘You told my Lord Hood that until the men entered your cabin at gunpoint, you had no hint of mutiny?’ embarked Bunyan, at a new tangent.

  ‘That’s right, sir.’

  ‘Not a whisper?’

  ‘I knew it was a discontented ship, no more.’

  ‘Hadn’t there been any discussion upon it?’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Isn’t it the practice for the senior officers, the captain and the master and the senior people, to eat together? And during these meals, aren’t the problems of the vessel discussed?’

  Fryer nodded, reluctantly. ‘It is usually the practice to mess together,’ he conceded.

  ‘Usually?’ picked up Bunyan.

  ‘I did not eat with Captain Bligh,’ blurted Fryer, in sudden admission.

  Bunyan was definitely a Christian man, determined the President, head shifting back and forth at the exchange between the two men. It had been an excellent idea to conduct the enquiry this way.

  ‘Why, sir?’ encouraged Bunyan, softly.

  Fryer did not reply immediately. He stood, head bowed, trying to arrange the words in his mind so that the answer would not bring a fresh onslaught.

  ‘The captain and I disagreed,’ he said at last, inadequately.

  ‘About what?’ demanded Bunyan.

  About what? mused Fryer. One didn’t disagree about one particular thing with Captain Bligh. You disagreed with everything: his arrogance and his conceit and his parsimony and his greed and his bullying. Particularly his unremitting bullying.

  ‘There had been numerous disagreements between us,’ said Fryer. ‘As I tried to explain earlier, it was often difficult to understand the captain. He would issue instructions one day and when one attempted to obey them in slightly different but still applicable circumsta
nces the following day, it would be judged wrong.’

  ‘Are you saying he was unstable?’ jabbed Bunyan, hopefully.

  ‘I am saying he was unpredictable,’ refused Fryer.

  Hood waited, expecting the cross-examination to continue about Bligh’s stability, but abruptly Bunyan switched direction again.

  ‘So Captain Bligh ate all alone?’ he suggested.

  ‘No,’ contradicted the master.

  ‘Ah,’ said Bunyan, apparently correcting himself. ‘Of course, I had overlooked the ship’s surgeon.’

  ‘Before his death, Mr Huggan, like me, had refused to sup with the captain,’ said Fryer, miserably.

  ‘Mr Huggan, too,’ pursued Bunyan. ‘Now why would that be?’

  ‘Mr Huggan drank a great deal,’ explained Fryer. ‘The captain objected.’

  ‘Is that all?’ demanded Bunyan.

  There seemed few secrets about the ship that the man didn’t already know, decided Fryer, staring at Bunyan.

  ‘Mr Huggan objected to the captain’s conviction that he knew better on matters concerning the health of the crew,’ said Fryer.

  ‘So who was the rare man able to share the captain’s table without the apparent distaste of every other officer?’ pressed Bunyan.

  ‘Mr Christian,’ replied Fryer, softly.

  The admission stirred through the court and several officers appeared to note it on pads before them.

  ‘Mr Christian!’ echoed Bunyan. ‘Mr Christian, whom we are told led the mutiny, was the only man able to tolerate Captain Bligh?’

  Fryer’s head was almost sunken upon his chest now and sometimes it was difficult to hear the man’s replies to Bunyan’s persistence.

  ‘The two men had been friends for a long time,’ said Fryer.

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘It was very clear on the early stages of the voyage, when we sailed from Portsmouth for our first stop at Tenerife.’

  ‘Do you know Captain Bligh’s opinion of Mr Christian?’

  Fryer nodded. ‘There were indications enough,’ he said.

  ‘What were they?’

  ‘He thought Mr Christian a fine seaman’, said Fryer. ‘He promoted him second-in-command after Tenerife and showed him great attention.’

  ‘What do you mean by “great attention”?’ asked Bunyan. ‘Do you mean in matters of seamanship?’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Fryer, doubtfully.

  ‘And?’ prompted Bunyan.

  ‘In matters of personal friendship.’

  ‘Give the court an illustration of what you mean, Mr Fryer,’ insisted the lawyer.

  Fryer hesitated. Then he said: ‘It was no secret that the captain gave Mr Christian the key to his personal liquor cabinet, so that he could help himself whenever he saw fit. Mr Christian boasted of the favour sometimes.’

  ‘This was on the outward voyage?’ qualified Bunyan.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘During which time you and the late Mr Huggan became so irritated by Captain Bligh’s behaviour that you refused to sit at his table?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Why didn’t Mr Christian share your irritation, do you suppose?’ asked Bunyan, ingenuously.

  ‘He was normally spared the captain’s temper,’ replied Fryer, as if suddenly annoyed.

  Once again the lawyer surprised Hood by abandoning what appeared to be productive questioning.

  ‘The captain was a strict disciplinarian?’ asked Bunyan.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Fryer.

  ‘And remained so in Tahiti, while the plants were being cultivated for transplanting?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Fryer, doubtful again.

  ‘Perhaps you’d like to qualify that answer,’ invited Bunyan, sensing the man’s attitude.

  ‘As I’ve said, he was a difficult man to satisfy. He had men flogged for infraction of regulations, yet permitted them to keep aboard any women they liked.’

  That was not unusual, thought Hood. A common way of keeping seamen from deserting was to dispatch marines to fetch whores aboard.

  ‘For how long?’

  ‘Months, in some cases,’ enlarged Fryer.

  Hood frowned. That was a stupid relaxation, decided the President. And there had been that disgusting tattooing, he remembered.

  ‘So the men were happy?’

  ‘Happy, yes, sir,’ agreed Fryer. ‘But they were often confused by the captain.’

  ‘And Mr Christian was still Captain Bligh’s only friend?’ demanded the lawyer.

  Fryer hesitated and Bunyan waited, not hurrying the man.

  ‘It was different in Tahiti,’ he said at last.

  ‘What does that mean, Mr Fryer?’

  ‘They saw much less of each other. Mr Christian was appointed shore commander. He spent nearly the whole time living under canvas on the plantation established by the botanist, Mr Nelson.’

  Bunyan nodded, as if the explanation had satisfied a number of doubts in his mind.

  ‘But they were still friends?’ he insisted.

  Again Fryer hesitated and this time the lawyer pressed him.

  ‘But they were still friends?’ he repeated.

  ‘Less so,’ said Fryer.

  ‘Why was that?’ demanded Bunyan.

  ‘I don’t know,’ admitted Fryer. ‘In Tahiti, something happened.’

  ‘What?’ intruded the President, frightened that Bunyan, whom he considered had missed questions before, might ignore this one.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Fryer again, unhelpfully. ‘Mr Christian appeared to annoy Captain Bligh a great deal.’

  ‘Which was unusual?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And how did Captain Bligh manifest that annoyance?’

  ‘He was very savage to Mr Christian.’

  ‘And what was Mr Christian’s reaction?’

  ‘He just suffered it,’ said Fryer.

  ‘Knowing that you had fallen out with the captain, didn’t Mr Christian discuss the matter with you?’

  ‘No,’ insisted the master. ‘He did not.’

  ‘So you do not know his feelings at this apparent change in the captain’s behaviour towards him?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Fryer. ‘That was easy to see.’

  ‘And it was?’

  ‘Deep hurt. And distress. Captain Bligh was constantly undermining Mr Christian’s authority.’

  ‘So it was a very different ship that left Tahiti than that which arrived?’

  The master nodded agreement.

  ‘Was the captain’s attention to detail the same?’ asked Bunyan. He had been speaking for almost three hours and his voice was creaking with hoarseness. He glanced down at his clerk and saw one notebook was already full. Edward Christian, waiting patiently at the inn, should be very grateful, he decided. He was establishing a picture of the Bounty far different from that which the enquiry had known when the hearing began that day.

  ‘Perhaps worse,’ conceded Fryer. ‘Some sails which should have been checked had been ignored and were found to be rotten. And insufficient care had been taken to protect the ship’s boats from worm; the bottom of the cutter was found to be almost eaten through. That’s why the captain wasn’t cast adrift in that boat, during the mutiny.’

  ‘Whose responsibility would that have been?’ came in the President again, sure of the answer.

  He was lost, thought Fryer. After today’s hearing, he’d be lucky to get a berth as a common seaman in a merchant fleet.

  ‘I had given explicit instructions several times during our stay in Tahiti that they should be examined,’ insisted Fryer, desperately.

  ‘But not checked to your own satisfaction that the orders had been carried out?’ defeated the President.

  ‘No, sir,’ admitted Fryer.

  ‘So again you were at odds with the captain?’ came back Bunyan.

  ‘Not as much as I had expected,’ admitted Fryer.

  ‘Why was that?’

  ‘Captain Bligh seemed to vent his annoyance mo
re upon Mr Christian.’

  ‘Really!’ probed Bunyan. ‘Yet the failure had not been his?’

  ‘No,’ agreed the master. ‘But for the first few days after we sailed from Tahiti, Captain Bligh seemed only to criticise Mr Christian.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Everything,’ generalised the witness. ‘Finally it was a row about coconuts. Mr Christian was reduced to tears.’

  ‘Coconuts!’ echoed Bunyan, incredulously.

  Fryer smiled, in nervous embarrassment.

  ‘Everyone had traded just before we left Tahiti,’ explained Fryer. ‘The islanders have no knowledge of iron and regard a nail as a pauper regards a guinea. The ship was packed with every provision available, bought with a few nails. And every man had his own supply of coconuts, even Captain Bligh. A day or two before the mutiny, he decided one had been stolen. So he mustered the whole crew and demanded the culprit own up, otherwise the rum would be stopped and the rations reduced by half.’

  ‘For a coconut!’ pressed Bunyan. ‘He made this threat because of the loss of one coconut?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Fryer. ‘Mr Christian admitted to it. He said he’d been thirsty and had taken one for its milk, intending to replace it.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘The captain went into a tremendous rage. He insisted that not one coconut but half his supply had been stolen and cut the officer’s rum ration by half.’

  ‘He imposed that penalty upon a man to whom he’d willingly provided the key for his own liquor cabinet on the outward voyage?’ asked Bunyan, curiously.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Fryer.

  ‘And Mr Christian was deeply affected?’

  ‘Mr Christian was a much pressured man,’ expanded Fryer. ‘Captain Bligh had told him he would only need him to help get the vessel through the dangers of Endeavour Straits and then he would make his life such hell that he would jump overboard to his death rather than face it.’

  ‘So Mr Christian carefully planned the overthrow of Captain Bligh?’

  ‘No, sir,’ disagreed Fryer.

  ‘What?’ demanded the President.

  ‘I mean it wasn’t carefully planned, sir,’ qualified Fryer. ‘It has always been my thinking that it was a spontaneous thing. Captain Bligh felt otherwise.’