Hell's Fire

by Brian Freemantle

  Macarthur had been very quick to realise his strength, thought Bligh, warily.

  ‘And you, sir,’ demanded Bligh, sidestepping the confrontation and addressing Johnston. ‘What are your feelings on the matter?’

  Bligh was purposely manoeuvring him into a corner, knowing his greatest danger lay in a rebellious militia, Johnston realised. He held away from looking at his companion. Macarthur had been too confident, he thought. Like he always was. Now, realised Johnston, he had to commit himself. And there was only one commitment he could make. To talk of defiance, indicating his involvement in the illegality of the colony, would be treason. To say anything, in fact, indicating the participation of himself or his men in the corruption would be grounds for his immediate arrest and court martial. But the men wouldn’t like it, decided Johnston. They wouldn’t like it at all. He’d warned Macarthur Bligh might be different from the other Governors: why hadn’t the confounded man listened?

  Bligh was studying the man, impatient for his reply. He might have been better advised, decided Bligh in rare personal criticism, had he thought more deeply about today’s confrontation. Perhaps Johnston should have been seen separately, as Governor King had recommended. Johnston and his militia held the key: he wondered if the man realised it.

  ‘Well, sir?’ he bullied.

  ‘The business community of the town will not like it,’ said Johnston, at last, choosing an easy path.

  ‘But if it becomes a law, as I can make it, then it will be the duty of yourself and your regiment to enforce it,’ pressed the Governor.

  The look that passed between Johnston and Macarthur was almost imperceptible. But there had been an exchange between them, Bligh knew.

  ‘Of course, Your Excellency,’ capitulated the soldier.

  ‘And it will be your job to adjudicate, within the defined limits of the law, upon anyone who defies or attempts to avoid the new regulations,’ said Bligh, moving to Atkins.

  ‘Oh yes,’ agreed the Advocate-General, hurriedly. ‘Of course, sir. Of course.’

  Macarthur and Johnston were looking at the third man in open contempt, thought Bligh.

  ‘I shall promulgate the order in tomorrow’s Gazette,’ said Bligh, satisfied with his conduct of the meeting. ‘Already handbills have been printed and are being circulated to all the settlers, informing them of the new system. And tomorrow I begin a tour, to meet and explain to them personally …’

  ‘You mean you’ve already made the Order … that today’s meeting wasn’t for advice and consultation?’ blurted Macarthur.

  In his surprise, Macarthur was unable to keep the incredulity from his voice. It was the first time for many years, Bligh realised, gratified, that anyone had had the courage to disregard the man so openly.

  ‘Of course,’ said Bligh, emphasising his arrogance, aware of the annoyance it would cause the other man. ‘I need no counsel or permission to act as I have done. I asked you to attend here today as a matter of courtesy, to inform you ahead of the official announcement, nothing more. There is no way my decision will be reversed. By now half the settlers will have been told. The rest I shall acquaint personally.’

  Macarthur was shaking his head, in refusal.

  ‘I am afraid, sir,’ he said, ‘that you have created for yourself a turbulent situation.’

  ‘My life has been a turbulent one,’ responded Bligh. ‘It’s a condition I’m well used to.’

  ‘I’m afraid this one, sir, might well be beyond your expectation.’

  ‘What, sir!’ challenged Bligh, immediately affronted. ‘You dare question my wisdom!’

  ‘No, Governor, I do not question you. I merely give you due warning that other Governors have tried to do as you are doing. And been unfortunate in their endeavour,’ said Macarthur.

  Bligh positioned himself purposely only feet from Macarthur. What transpired in his study today would be gossiped around Sydney within the hour, he knew. So every word was important.

  ‘Let us understand the way of things, Mr Macarthur,’ he said, his voice very even. ‘For too long, affairs of this colony have been overlooked by the government of King George. But that is now over. The King wants a dutiful, obedient colony and by God, sir, I’m minded that he shall have one. The person who opposes me in my ambition will be the person who suffers.’

  Macarthur stared back at him, unafraid.

  ‘I fear, Your Excellency, that you are in for a stormy passage.’

  ‘That concerns me little,’ returned Bligh, suppressing his temper at another defiant reference to the Bounty. To show the other man his rejection of the sneer, he added: ‘It’s always others who are undone in battles with William Bligh, sir. For some it’s a lesson hard learned.’

  Johnston and Atkins were sitting stilled with embarrassment, Bligh realised. It was right the colours had been broken out so early. The quicker the confrontation, the sooner his success. Bligh prolonged the silence, knowing they could not quit his presence without permission and determined to show them, by every action, his awareness of his power.

  At last he conceded. ‘I feel that we have said today all that need pass between us.’

  ‘Aye, sir. That’s true,’ admitted Macarthur.

  ‘I trust, sir, that I shall have your support, as the leading man of commerce in this colony?’ Bligh pressured.

  ‘Doubtless we shall see much of each other,’ avoided Macarthur. ‘I foresee our futures much intertwined.’

  ‘Much intertwined,’ agreed Bligh, happy at the feeling he was able to impart by echoing Macarthur’s words.

  Still he refused them permission to leave his presence.

  ‘No doubt,’ he said, ‘there will be discussion among the townsfolk and the traders about the orders to be issued. I shall not take it amiss, gentlemen, if upon being questioned about it, you let them know from our meeting here today my determination about the matter.’

  ‘We will let your attitude be known, rest assured,’ guaranteed Macarthur, pointedly.

  ‘Let us meet again, gentlemen,’ said Bligh, finally releasing them. ‘I look to you for support in my endeavours.’

  Within minutes of their departure, William Gore, whom Bligh had appointed Provost Marshal upon his arrival, entered the room.

  Bligh smiled at the man. He was, decided Bligh, the nearest he had to a confidant.

  ‘Squally,’ announced Bligh, cheerfully. ‘They didn’t like the pronouncement at all.’

  ‘I knew they wouldn’t,’ said Gore.

  ‘I have decided,’ said Bligh, hands contentedly across his stomach, ‘that I am going to like being a Governor. Like it very much indeed.’

  ‘Do nothing?’

  Macarthur halted, wine glass half to his mouth, staring across the dinner table at Edward Christian.

  ‘Yes,’ advised the lawyer. ‘Do nothing, sir.’

  The landowner looked from Edward to the other Englishman. They were uncommonly alike, thought Macarthur. Yet the lawyer had introduced the other man as his legal assistant. A man didn’t obtain a complexion like that as a legal assistant locked inside an office, decided the merchant. It didn’t matter: the lawyer seemed determined to help him defeat Bligh and that was the only consideration. He could surround himself with whatever men he wanted, providing they did not interfere with that object.

  ‘But I can’t ignore it,’ Macarthur protested. ‘I lead the merchants and the traders here. How can they exist, without custom?’

  Edward looked down at his plate, toying with his food.

  ‘It is a fact, Mr Macarthur,’ he said, ‘that there has been introduced into the colony a harsh system of monopoly.’

  ‘Sound business protection,’ defended Macarthur, defiantly. ‘This is an unpredictable climate. Twice, in successive years, floods have washed away crops. If the men I represent didn’t protect themselves during the good times, they’d go out of business during the bad.’

  ‘A monopoly,’ refused Edward. ‘If this meeting is to be of use to either of us, let’s
not play with semantics, Mr Macarthur.’

  ‘Why should I do nothing, in face of what Bligh has proposed?’ hurried on Macarthur. The other man had a fine brain, he judged.

  ‘Because Bligh has right on his side. And the law,’ said the lawyer. ‘Fight Bligh with his weaknesses, not his strengths.’

  ‘And the man is his own weakness,’ added Fletcher.

  Macarthur looked at the second man. An educated voice, certainly. But he was no lawyer, Macarthur decided.

  ‘I know Bligh well,’ continued Fletcher. ‘He’s a man who will always overstep himself. To play the waiting game is good advice.’

  Macarthur frowned at Fletcher Christian, curiously. No, he dismissed, after consideration. It couldn’t be. Every official account had the man dead.

  ‘But create a traders’ association,’ suggested Edward, concerned at the attention that the other man was paying his brother. ‘Dissent will disappear like mist unless there is some forum where it can be expressed. But don’t allow yourself to be chairman or president. Nothing you do must be construed as a direct challenge to the Governor.’

  ‘Never directly challenge him,’ counselled Fletcher Christian, distantly. ‘Openly defied, the man becomes insane.’

  Perfect, decided Hoare, from the protection of the deep shadows of the wharf. Three people, each unknown to the other in the grog-shop, had insisted the Parramatta was lifting on the morning tide. A Macarthur boat, to boot. Which would mean the legally prescribed search for escapees, if made at all, would be so brief as to be a joke. He waited patiently until well after midnight, when the dockside was deadened by either alcohol or sleep. He shinned nimbly up the after mooring rope and within minutes was safely concealed in the wood locker.

  The King was furious, Sir Joseph Banks saw. His face was purple with emotion and he kept gasping to a halt, his exasperation robbing him of the words necessary to express himself. Everyone in the court was frightened of another mental collapse, Sir Joseph knew. And if it happened now, he would be blamed for it. He and Bligh.

  ‘Outrageous,’ the King managed at last. ‘Disgraceful. What? What?’

  ‘I will accept it was very unfortunate, sir,’ apologised Sir Joseph. Had it not been for the King’s anger, the habitual demand for a reply would have sounded amusing, thought Banks. No wonder the pamphleteers had seized upon the mannerism.

  ‘You told me you’d instructed the damned man as unequivocably as possible that he was to be a diplomat.’

  ‘I did so instruct him, sir,’ insisted Bligh’s patron. Both Lord Grenville and the Duke of Portland were moving apprehensively towards them, alarmed at the King’s outburst.

  ‘Then what, sir, is this?’ demanded the King, hurling the papers screwed up in his hand across the chamber at the other man.

  ‘… a trivial quarrel over who’s the superior officer,’ persisted the monarch. ‘And your protégé sees fit to incarcerate someone who dared question him upon a 12,000-mile voyage, with a destitute wife and six children, during the worst season of the year. It’s little wonder the poor woman and one of the children died. Now the court martial not only finds no case to answer, but honourably acquits the wretched man. Is that your idea of the diplomat needed to solve the problems in New South Wales? Is it? What? What?’

  ‘I agree, sir, it was a gross error of judgment,’ conceded Sir Joseph, miserably.

  ‘An error of judgment!’ echoed the King. ‘And what sort of judgment was shown, pray tell me, sir, when the man sat in the comfort of the Governor’s mansion while Short was on his way to ruin and apportioned himself something approaching 1,500 acres of land. I thought Mr Bligh had been sent to Australia to suppress corruption, not actively participate in it!’

  ‘It was not a corrupt action, sir,’ defended Sir Joseph, emptily. There was no other subject of discussion in London, Sir Joseph knew. Even the cabinet and the Privy Council had officially debated it, after the pamphlets had begun to circulate and then the details of the land deals had been confirmed, quite openly, in a dispatch from Bligh himself.

  ‘I know it’s not criminal!’ accepted the King, irritably. ‘But is it really the action you expected from a man specifically sent, by me upon your recommendation, to curtail the sharp practices in others?’

  ‘No, sir,’ accepted Sir Joseph.

  The King gestured, calling the Admiralty Lords nearer.

  ‘I want the man Short well treated,’ he ordered. ‘I want lucrative employment found for him. And as the land grant was denied him by someone holding my warrant of appointment, then I’ll have him compensated. See to it …’

  He waved them away, impatiently, coming back to Sir Joseph.

  ‘And you, sir,’ he threatened, ‘see to it, as well. Write to the man in whom you place such trust. Write to him and advise him that he’s coming dangerously close to incurring not only your wrath, but the displeasure of his sovereign. I’ll not tolerate any more stupidity, d’you understand?’

  ‘I’ll tell him, sir,’ undertook Sir Joseph, sincerely. ‘I’ll leave him in no doubt of our feelings.’

  Damn Bligh, thought Sir Joseph, as his carriage moved away from St James’s Palace. Couldn’t the confounded man ever learn? He looked up, halted by a sudden thought. Had he been wrong about Bligh, for all these years? Had he misplaced his trust, when all the time he should have been listening to the critics, not dismissing the rumours as malicious gossip?

  Edward Christian finished reading aloud the letters he had received that morning from the barrister who had defended Captain Short and then the longer, more detailed account of that and other developments from his clerk. The lawyer was hoarse from speaking and gratefully drank the tea that Fletcher poured for him.

  The house into which they had moved was far more comfortable than their initial lodgings, decided the barrister, gazing upon the imposing view of the harbour. He sighed at a thought. Thank God his practice was so profitable now. And that he had been able to take such a leave of absence. His impetuous, emotional agreement to Fletcher’s wish to see Bligh’s downfall was proving damned expensive. Edward was still uncertain of Macarthur’s discretion. Just one word, thought Edward in familiar fear, and he would be ruined.

  He smiled across the room at his brother. What did the money count, or his career, for that matter, compared to the almost complete recovery he could now see in the other man?

  Every trace of the hardship Fletcher had suffered had gone, he saw. Fletcher’s face had filled again and he no longer held himself in the cramped, protective way of a man expecting to be kicked at any moment. And the other indications had vanished, too. Fletcher had actually returned the last amount of money he’d stolen, Edward recalled. For weeks now he’d left his purse lying carelessly around the rooms, testing the man. Always the carefully counted coins had remained intact.

  ‘That was wise advice of yours,’ praised Fletcher, reading again the message from Edward’s clerk.

  The lawyer nodded agreement.

  ‘Every one of Macarthur’s captains has spread discredit on Bligh’s name in London,’ he said.

  ‘It was hardly necessary, was it?’ demanded Fletcher.

  ‘Necessary?’

  ‘Our coming here,’ expanded Fletcher. ‘We’ve exacerbated and utilised every error that Bligh has made. But it’s the man himself who’s making the mistakes.’

  ‘We’ve properly brought them to public attention,’ reminded Edward. ‘That wouldn’t have happened if we had stayed in England.’

  ‘I couldn’t have killed him, you know,’ confessed Fletcher, disjointedly.

  ‘What?’ queried Edward, confused.

  ‘In your chambers, that first night,’ recalled Fletcher. ‘When I produced the knife and said I was going to kill Bligh. I had intended to … wanted to, desperately. I’d actually gone to his house, before coming to you. It would have been so easy. At one point he was no more than ten feet away, quite alone and unguarded. But I couldn’t do it.’

  Yet the man had murdered, ba
lanced Edward. He stood unmoving by the window, waiting.

  When Fletcher looked up at him, his eyes were wet, the barrister saw.

  ‘I’m frightened of him, Edward,’ moaned the younger man, despairingly. ‘After all these years and all the misery for which he’s been responsible, I’m still terrified of him.’

  An atmosphere crowded into the room, embarrassing both of them.

  ‘I would have so much liked you to meet Isabella,’ said Fletcher, suddenly. He was staring at the ground between his feet, lost in memories, Edward saw.

  ‘She was so very beautiful,’ he said, softly. ‘So very good and so very lovely …’

  His shoulders began to shake. He would cry soon, Edward knew. Usually he managed to prevent the tears until the privacy of his own bedroom.

  Bligh had listened with mounting excitement to the Provost Marshal and sat waiting now for the arrival of Atkins. It would provide an example, decided the Governor. He’d bring Macarthur down and show those doubters in London, who found it so easy to criticise from a safe distance of 12,000 miles. The King might be displeased, thought Bligh, recalling Sir Joseph’s letter. But he wouldn’t remain so once the corruption in the colony was smashed.

  And it would be destroyed, by the move he could now make against Macarthur. It was exactly what he needed, an incident in which he would triumph. And he would triumph, he determined.

  He picked up Sir Joseph’s letter from his desk, idly rubbing his finger along the edge. Even Sir Joseph was turning against him, he decided, worriedly. That was very obvious from the tone of the letter. And the whispers had started against him again in London, he knew, turning to Betsy’s correspondence that had arrived in the same vessel from England. But he’d show them. William Bligh wasn’t beaten yet. Far from beaten.