Hell's Fire

by Brian Freemantle

  Atkins flurried in, nervously jerking his head between the two men. The strength of the traders’ opposition was worrying the Advocate-General, Bligh knew. Now the man regretted the endorsement he had so readily shown to Bligh’s reforms, placing him on what he now thought to be the weaker side.

  ‘We’ve got him,’ declared Bligh, eagerly. ‘We’ve got Macarthur.’

  Atkins frowned, suspiciously. Bligh was too keen on an open clash, he felt.

  ‘Remember the disappearance from the penal colony of Hoare, the murderer?’ demanded Bligh.

  Atkins nodded.

  ‘He escaped on the Parramatta, a Macarthur boat,’ revealed Bligh, triumphantly.

  ‘You sure?’ said Atkins, apprehensively.

  ‘The master and the crew openly depose it,’ said Gore, offering the documents. ‘He’s free, in Tahiti.’

  ‘And Macarthur himself provided the declaration under the terras of the penal code, asserting his ship had been searched before sailing. So he’s responsible for aiding the escape of a wanted man.’

  ‘Technically,’ admitted Atkins, uncomfortably. ‘Nothing more than a technicality.’

  ‘He’s refused to provision the impounded vessel, forcing the crew to break the law by disembarking,’ added Bligh. ‘That’s an offence that carries a jail sentence. Legally we can remove the man from any position of influence in the colony. We’ve won!’

  Atkins nodded, uneasily. Bligh was definitely manoeuvring the confrontation, decided the Advocate-General. Manoeuvring it, without properly considering the implications. Bligh needed something to demonstrate his authority, Atkins agreed. But this wasn’t it. The merchants hated him. And the regiment were as near rebellion as he had ever known because their rum and women trade had been taken from them. Bligh couldn’t possibly win, even if Macarthur were removed.

  ‘It’s not sufficient,’ he cautioned.

  ‘Of course it is,’ rejected Bligh. ‘The law has been broken, by Macarthur. So he’ll be brought to trial.’

  ‘But he won’t accept my jurisdiction,’ warned Atkins. ‘There’s a civil dispute between us, over a trifling debt. It would give him grounds for refusing to accept me as his judge.’

  ‘Rubbish,’ swept aside Bligh, swollen with the conviction of his success.

  Atkins was a coward, decided Bligh. A miserable coward, trying to evade his responsibilities. Governor King had mentioned some money transaction between the two men, he remembered, but his recollection was that it had been settled. Atkins was trying to resurrect an old score as an excuse to avoid involvement and ingratiate himself with the other faction. But it wouldn’t work. He wasn’t going to be denied the opportunity of deposing Macarthur and gaining unchallenged control of the colony.

  ‘Arrest Macarthur,’ Bligh ordered, addressing Gore. ‘In the next few days, we’ll see who’s in command of this damned colony.’

  We will, thought Atkins, worriedly. Why the hell was Bligh so pigheaded?

  ‘It’s a small amount,’ offered Edward Christian, guardedly.

  ‘But it’s a debt,’ insisted Macarthur. ‘And I’ve got a letter against Richard Atkins’s name, attesting that he owes the money.’

  The lawyer stood up in the wealthy man’s second-floor office, gazing out of the window overlooking the brawling dockside. Fletcher had been right, he thought. Bligh would have destroyed himself without any prompting from them. At best, they’d precipitated what was to happen. But it would have certainly occurred. For the remainder of his life, Edward knew, he would be ashamed of what he had done. And deserved to be.

  ‘It’s grounds for refusing to accept him as a judge,’ agreed the lawyer.

  ‘Will you defend me?’ demanded Macarthur, unexpectedly. The Englishman would be a good advocate, he knew.

  Edward shook his head, definitely.

  ‘The brother of the man who mutinied against Bligh!’ said Edward, needlessly. ‘We want to defeat the man, not provide ammunition for him.’

  ‘I know every other member of the court who will sit in judgment upon me,’ said Macarthur, pointedly.

  The lawyer turned, recognising the reason for the remark.

  ‘That would be stupid,’ he warned. ‘Why bother, when you can’t possibly face trial before Atkins anyway.’

  ‘Because I always like to be sure,’ smiled the merchant.

  ‘You can be sure,’ insisted Edward. ‘At the moment, you can’t be tried, not before Atkins. Continue the way you’re thinking and you’ll give Bligh the proper excuse to arraign you, not one he’s had to go out of his way to manufacture out of technicalities.’

  Macarthur shook his head, refusing the advice.

  ‘You can counsel me about the law, Mr Christian,’ he said. ‘But you can’t tell me about the ways of Botany Bay.’

  ‘But it’s so stupid!’ repeated the lawyer, trying to retain something of his integrity.

  ‘That’s for me to decide,’ rejected the merchant leader.

  He needed Johnston’s support, decided Bligh, pacing his study. His declared support. If the reports he was receiving were to be believed, the town was in a dangerous state following the arrest of Macarthur. And he had to believe them, he knew. The details agreed from too many different sources for it to be idle gossip. Macarthur would have inflamed it, of course. No doubt about that. The merchants would not have formed such a cohesive force without the man’s leadership. And the regiment, aware the penalty for rebellion was death, wouldn’t have been so openly defiant if there had not been someone co-ordinating and feeding their anger. He wouldn’t have thought Macarthur clever enough to have orchestrated the opposition so well. It was almost as successful as that in London.

  Bligh stopped at the window, staring out towards the town. They’d come along the main highway, he thought. Wide enough for ten men moving abreast. They’d be difficult to stop, a crowd that big. One or two men, perhaps. It was always easy to dissuade one man. But a crowd was more difficult. He paused at the thought. Fletcher Christian had been one man, he recalled. And they’d talked alone, in his cabin. He hadn’t dissuaded Mr Christian. He shrugged aside the memory. Didn’t apply, he rejected. The circumstances were completely different. How many supporters did he have? Gore was with him, he knew. And perhaps twenty soldiers, immediately assigned to the Governor’s residence. But they wouldn’t fight, he guessed. If they saw the regiment or even the townspeople approaching in force, they’d abandon their posts.

  So Johnston was the key. As he’d always been. The man had supported him once, when he’d announced his reforms, remembered Bligh. But unwillingly, tempered the Governor. Now he saw the tilt of opinion, Johnston might be more difficult to persuade.

  Atkins was still with him, he thought, suddenly. With increasing doubts, perhaps. But still loyal for the moment. If the man performed his function as Advocate-General properly today, then any crisis could be averted. If they could get Macarthur to jail, then the defiance would crumble. Just as the opposition to his reforms would collapse. He looked at his watch: too late to sec Atkins now. He was due in court within the hour.

  Bligh shivered, frightened for the first time. It was bad, he accepted. Very bad. Not his fault, though. Just like the Bounty, all over again. Sent away without any soldiers to enforce his orders. And they were proper orders, quite legal and justifiable. That’s not how it would be seen in London, though. It was clear from what Sir Joseph had written that his enemies were working hard, turning opinion against him again. He looked at his watch for the second time. No way he could speak privately to Atkins before the hearing, he decided, definitely. Damn.

  He rang the bell, urgently, and when the servant came summoned Gore. The Provost Marshal arrived in minutes, flushed and slightly dishevelled. Scared, judged Bligh, regarding the man. Everyone was scared except William Bligh. Not him. Never scared. Beat them yet.

  ‘What do you hear?’ demanded the Governor.

  ‘It’s not good, sir,’ warned the soldier. ‘The people are gathering at all the mai
n places, holding protest meetings. The court building is almost surrounded.’

  ‘And the regiment?’

  ‘In their barracks.’

  ‘Quiet?’

  ‘For the moment,’ reported Gore. ‘But the townsfolk are there, too. There’s much discussion among them.’

  ‘I need Johnston,’ announced Bligh. ‘Send a trooper for him. Tell him I want him here immediately.’

  Gore remained standing in the room.

  ‘Sir?’ he said, apprehensively.

  ‘What is it?’ queried Bligh, irritably. Why the hell was the man wasting time? Didn’t he realise the urgency?

  ‘There’s no way we could oppose an uprising,’ warned Gore. ‘I’ve no more than a handful of men and their loyalty is in the gravest doubt.’

  ‘I know that,’ snapped Bligh, impatiently.

  ‘Isn’t there another way this matter could be resolved?’ asked the Provost Marshal, knowing he was exceeding his position.

  Bligh’s face burst red and his eyes flared. Would no one accept his authority any more? Cowards. Why was he always surrounded by cowards and blackguards?

  ‘Are you saying I should retreat, sir! Are you saying that William Bligh should turn away from a rightful, legal course, just because the weight of opinion is against him?’

  ‘I was suggesting …’ tried Gore, but Bligh talked him down.

  ‘About your business, sir,’ he hissed, twitching in fury. ‘I’ll hear no more of this turn-the-other-cheek nonsense. Macarthur has broken the law and shall be punished for it. I’ve instructed so and my word is law, as soon everyone here shall learn.’

  Bligh stalked about the room after Gore had gone, forced into movement by his irritation.

  Careful, he told himself. Lost control there. Stupid to have done that, to the only man remaining loyal. Apologise later. Mustn’t lose control. Needed calm, wise thinking to resolve this. His last chance, he remembered. Sir Joseph had let him know that, during his appointment meeting in London. Mustn’t fail them. Keep his temper and play a clever game. That was the way. Where the hell was Johnston?

  It was a rigged court, thought the Advocate-General. The realisation came immediately Atkins entered the chamber, flustered and annoyed at having to force his way through the mêlée of people outside. It was jammed inside as well, the public seats abandoned, with people standing on and around them to witness the proceedings.

  A soldier recognised him at last and made a desultory attempt to clear a way and it was then that the impression settled in his mind. He was to sit with six other officers. They were already there, he saw, grouped in a circle on the raised area at the far end of the room, laughing and gesturing among themselves, all the time slightly facing the dock in which Macarthur had already been arraigned.

  Atkins bustled up, nervousness pulling at him.

  ‘Who put the prisoner up before I arrived?’ demanded the Advocate-General, pompously.

  There was a snigger. Atkins was sure somebody had laughed. He looked around the officers, trying to detect it. Every face looked back at him, set and rigid.

  ‘I did,’ said the deputy chairman, Captain Anthony Fenn Kemp. ‘It was far too hot below. And besides, he’s not convicted yet. So why should he be treated as a felon?’

  It was an open challenge to his authority, Atkins recognised immediately. And should be put down.

  ‘You don’t object, do you?’ said Captain Kemp, looking to the other soldiers for approval.

  ‘No,’ said Atkins, wearily. ‘No point in reversing it now. But don’t take such decisions in the future. Always wait upon me.’

  ‘I’ll remember that,’ promised the captain, smiling.

  There had been a laugh, that time. Atkins was sure of it. He jerked along the bench, brow furrowed in distress. Blank-faced, all of them.

  He turned back into the room. There were a lot of officers and soldiers from the regiment as well as civilians, he saw. He identified almost every merchant and trader in Sydney and there were others whom he didn’t know.

  In the line of people nearest the dock, Edward Christian leaned across to his brother.

  ‘It’s a farce,’ anticipated the lawyer. ‘Bligh’s lost.’

  ‘Sure?’ demanded the mutineer.

  ‘Watch. And listen,’ advised the lawyer.

  So Macarthur had ignored his advice and tampered with the court, thought Edward, staring up at the man positioned above him. And he’d known it was to happen. Nowadays shame was an almost constant feeling, thought the lawyer.

  It was several moments before Atkins could bring order into the room and even when he began the proceedings it was over a groundswell of noise. It was a regularised procedure, the oath being administered to the officers by the Advocate-General who then, finally, took it himself.

  Atkins had the Bible in his right hand when Macarthur shouted.

  ‘I object to the Presidency of Richard Atkins,’ he announced, standing. ‘There is personal animosity between us and we are engaged in civil proceedings. Therefore a fair hearing is impossible.’

  It was as if everyone had known in advance of the outburst. From the back of the room, where it was impossible to detect the culprits, cheering broke out.

  ‘Continue with the oath,’ Atkins instructed Kemp.

  ‘I will not accept the jurisdiction of this court,’ insisted Macarthur, loudly. ‘I have a deposition to make before the commencement of this hearing with Richard Atkins as my judge.’

  ‘You will sit down, sir!’ ruled Atkins, turning back to the man.

  ‘I will not,’ rejected Macarthur, to fresh laughter from the well of the court. ‘I will not be tried on what amounts to a technicality by a man who could benefit from my conviction.’

  ‘This court will not begin until I am sworn,’ announced Atkins, from the bench. ‘Anything you have to say in your defence will be considered at the proper time, according to law.’

  ‘No, sir.’

  The challenge came from his right and Atkins turned to Captain Kemp, apprehensively.

  ‘We are sworn,’ said the soldier, indicating the other officers. ‘We will hear the accused’s protests to your Presidency to decide whether they are valid.’

  ‘That is illegal,’ protested Atkins.

  ‘We will decide the legality or otherwise.’

  Atkins remained where he was, standing awkwardly like a child that has wet itself at a birthday party and knows movement will disclose the secret.

  Kemp gazed at him for a moment, considering the impasse, then signalled the other members of the court and they all sat down, leaving Atkins upright and foolish. Hesitantly, looking back as if he expected them to change their minds and recall him, he moved to the end of the dais and perched on a chair. Everyone was laughing openly now, he saw. He’d supported Bligh and been humiliated because of it.

  Macarthur was an excellent performer, thought Edward Christian, looking up again as the man spoke. He could have acquitted himself well in an English court of law. The man gestured with a sheaf of papers, like a flag-carrier showing a banner to be followed. He outlined the debt dispute between himself and Atkins, repeated a fair hearing was impossible and listed in detail the arguments and rancour that existed between them. A justified legal objection, thought Edward Christian, gazing around the court. Why, he wondered despairingly, had the man had to interfere with the other officers? It had been so unnecessary. Atkins had recovered his composure, the lawyer saw. The man had prepared an answer and was moving impatiently to deliver it.

  Captain Kemp moved to speak when Macarthur had finished, but Atkins anticipated him, scurrying back to the centre of the dais.

  ‘Contempt,’ he spluttered, to Macarthur. ‘I am the duly appointed Advocate-General of this colony and what you have just done is contempt. Therefore, with the power invested in me by King George III of England, I commit you, John Macarthur, to jail for contempt of court.’

  Fool, decided Edward Christian, watching the poor man’s attempt to regai
n control. To the lawyer’s left, Macarthur lounged against the dock-rail, grinning broadly.

  ‘Jail, sir!’ said Captain Kemp to Atkins. ‘It is I who will decide the outcome of this matter.’

  ‘This is not a proper court,’ shouted Atkins, his command slipping away as he turned to the room for support. ‘I order the court to be cleared.’

  ‘Stay,’ countermanded Kemp.

  It was becoming a farce, thought Edward Christian. As a lawyer, it offended him. But the real sufferer was William Bligh, he tried to convince himself.

  Edward shook his head, rejecting his attempted reassurance. It wasn’t sufficient any more, he knew. There was no justification for what he had done.

  ‘I will withdraw,’ threatened Atkins, desperately, his face flushed and his voice edged with hysteria. ‘I shall withdraw, taking with me any legal authority for this hearing.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ agreed the captain, bullyingly defiant now. ‘Why don’t you leave?’

  Atkins hurried head down from the room, through a line of laughing, jeering people, lips quivering with emotion.

  ‘Were you right?’ questioned Fletcher Christian, to his brother.

  Edward stared after the Advocate-General.

  ‘There,’ he said, his voice soft, ‘go the hopes of William Bligh.’

  And the last of my self-respect, he added.

  ‘I can’t believe that Bligh has been bested,’ refused Fletcher, shaking his head.

  ‘Won’t come!’ echoed Bligh, outraged.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ apologised Gore, uncomfortably. ‘He says he had an accident disembarking from his carriage last night and is too unwell to leave his bed.’

  Another coward, thought Bligh. Johnston was so scared he was prepared to hide in a nightshirt rather than obey his sworn duty to uphold the law. He’d have him court-martialled. He’d have the man shipped back to England and dismissed his commission. Enemies everywhere. All against him. A conspiracy, nothing less. Obeying the law, that’s all. Why didn’t he get any support in enforcing the law?