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Authors: Julian Stockwin

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Mutiny

BOOK: Mutiny
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Julian Stockwin

 

 

Mutiny

 

 

CORONET BOOKS
Hodder
&
Stoughton

Copyright ©
2003
by Julian Stockwin

First published
in Great Britain in
2003
by Hodder and Stoughton First published in paperback in
2004
by Hoddcr &
Stoughton A division of Hodder Headline

The right of Julian
Stockwin to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in
accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act
1988.

 

A Coronet
paperback

13579
10
8642

All rights
reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval
system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written
permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding
or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar
condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

All characters in
this publication arc fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or
dead, is purely coincidental.

A
CIP catalogue record for this tide is available from the British library

 

ISBN 0 340 79480
1

Typeset in Garamond
by Palimpsest Book Production Limited, Polmont, Stirlingshire

Printed and bound in
Greaf Britain by Clays Ltd, St Ives pic

Hodder
and Stoughton A division of Hoddcr Headline 338 Euston Road London
NWi
3BH

 

 

 

Cockburn
The Articles of War, 1749

 

If any person in the fleet shall
conceal any traitorous or mutinous practice or design, being convicted thereof
by the sentence of a court martial, he shall suffer death
...

 

(Article 20)

 

 

Prologue

 

D’
amme,
but that's six o' them — an' they're thumpers, Sir Edward!' The massive
telescope that the first lieutenant of HMS
Indefatigable
held
swayed in the hard gale, but the grey waste of winter sea made it easy to see
the pallid white sails of line-of-battle ships, even at such a distance.

Captain Pellew growled an indistinct
acknowledgement. If it was the French finally emerging from Brest, it was the
worst timing possible. The main British battle fleet had retired to its winter
retreat at Portsmouth, and there was only a smaller force under Rear Admiral
Colpoys away in the Atlantic, off Ushant to the north, and the two other
frigates of his own inshore squadron keeping a precarious watch — and those an
enemy of such might could contemptuously sweep aside. Heaven only knew when the
grudging reinforcements from the Caribbean would arrive.

'Sir
—'
There was no need for words: more and
more sails were straggling into the expanse of the bay.

CockburnSilently, the officers
continued to watch, the blast of the unusual easterly cold and hostile. The
seas, harried by the wind, advanced towards them in combers, bursting against
their bows and sending icy spindrift aft in stinging volleys.

The light was fading:
the French admiral had timed his move so that by the time his fleet reached the
open sea it could lose itself in the darkness of a stormy night. 'A round dozen
at least. We may in truth say that the French fleet has sailed,' Pellew said
drily.

The lieutenant watched
eagerly, for the French were finally showing after all these months, but Pellew
did not share his jubilation. His secret intelligence was chilling: for weeks
this concentration of force had stored and prepared — with field guns, horses
and fodder — and if reports were to be believed, eighteen thousand troops. If
the entire fleet put to sea, it could have only one purpose .. .

'Desire Phoebe to find
Admiral Colpoys and advise,' he snapped at the signal lieutenant. However,
there was little chance that Colpoys could close on the French before they won
the open sea. In the rapidly dimming daylight the swelling numbers of
men-o'-war were direful.

'Sir! I now make it sixteen — no
seventeen of the line!'

A savage roll made them
all stagger. When they recovered it seemed the whole bay was filling with ships
— at least the same number again of frigates; with transports and others there
were now forty or more vessels breaking out into the Atlantic.

'Amazon is to make all
sail for Portsmouth,' Pellew barked. It would reduce his squadron to a pitiable
remnant, but it was essential to warn England while there was still time.

Yet the enemy sail
advancing on them was not a line of battle, it was a disordered scatter - some
headed south, shying away from the only frigate that lay across their path.
Strings of flags rose from one of the largest of the French battleships,
accompanied by the hollow thump of a gun. The gloom of dusk was fast turning to
a clamping murk, and the signal was indistinct. A red rocket soared suddenly,
and the ghostly blue radiance of a flare showed on her foredeck as she turned
to night signals.

'So they want illuminations — they shall
have them!' Pellew said grimly. Indefatigable plunged ahead, directly into the
widely scattered fleet. From her own deck coloured rockets hissed, tracing
across the windy night sky, while vivid flashes from her guns added to the
confusion. A large two-decker trying to put about struck rocks; she swung into
the wind, and was driven back hard against them. Distress rockets soared from
the doomed ship.

'Can't last,' muttered
Pellew, at the general mayhem. The driving gale from the east would prevent any
return to harbour and the enemy had only to make the broad Atlantic to find
ample sea-room to regain composure.

The mass of enemy ships
passed them by quickly, disdaining to engage, and all too soon had disappeared
into the wild night - but not before it was clear they were shaping course
northward. Towards England.

Cockburn
Chapter 1

 

 

 
'Bear a
fist there, y' scowbunkin' lubbers!' The loud bellow startled the group around
the forebitts who were amiably watching the sailors at the pin-rail swigging
off on the topsail lift. The men moved quickly to obey: this was Thomas Kydd,
the hard-horse master's mate whose hellish open-boat voyage in the Caribbean
eighteen months ago was still talked about in the navy.

Kydd's eyes moved about
the deck. It was his way never to go below at the end of a watch until all was
neatly squared away, ready for those relieving, but there was little to
criticise in these balmy breezes on the foredeck of the 64-gun ship-of-the-line
Achilles as she crossed the broad Atlantic bound for Gibraltar.

Kydd was content
— to be a master's mate after just four years before the mast was a rare
achievement. It entitled him to walk the quarterdeck with the officers, to mess
in the gunroom, and to wear a proper uniform complete with long coat and
breeches. No one could mistake him now for a common sailor.

CockburnRoyal
blue seas, with an occasional tumbling line of white, and towering fluffy
clouds brilliant in southern sunshine: they were to enter the Mediterranean to
join Admiral Jervis. It would be the first time Kydd had seen this fabled sea
and he looked forward to sharing interesting times ashore with his particular
friend, Nicholas Renzi, who was now a master's mate in Glorious.

His gaze shifted to
her, a powerful 74-gun ship-of-the-line off to leeward. She was taking in her
three topsails simultaneously, probably an officer-of-the-watch exercise,
pitting the skills and audacity of one mast against another.

The last day or so they
had been running down the latitude of thirty-six north, and Kydd knew they
should raise Gibraltar that morning. He glanced forward in expectation. To the
east there was a light dun-coloured band of haze lying on the horizon,
obscuring the transition of sea into sky.

The small squadron
began to assume a form of line. Kydd took his position on the quarterdeck,
determined not to miss landfall on such an emblem of history. His glance
flicked up to the fore masthead lookout — but this time the man snapped rigid,
shading his eyes and looking right ahead. An instant later he leaned down and
bawled, 'Laaaand ho!'

The master puffed his
cheeks in pleasure. Kydd knew it was an easy enough approach, but news of the
sighting of land was always a matter of great interest to a ship's company many
weeks at sea, and the decks buzzed with comment.

Kydd waited
impatiently, but soon it became visible from the decks, a delicate light
blue-grey peak, just discernible over the
haze.
It firmed quickly to a hard blue and, as
he watched, it spread. The ships sailed on in the fluky south-easterly, and as
they approached, the aspect of the land changed subtly, the length of it
beginning to foreshorten. The haze thinned and the land took on individuality.

'Gibraltar!' Kydd
breathed. As they neared, the bulking shape grew, reared up far above their
masthead with an effortless immensity. Like a crouching lion, it dominated by
its mere presence, a majestic, never-to-be-forgotten symbol: the uttermost end
of Europe, the finality of a continent.

He looked around; to
the south lay Africa, an irregular blue-grey mass across a glittering sea — there,
so close, was an endless desert and the Barbary pirates, then further south,
jungle, elephants and pygmies.

 

Only two ships. Shielding her eyes
against the glare of the sea, Emily Mulvany searched the horizon but could see
no more. Admiral Jervis, with his fleet, was in Lisbon, giving heart to the
Portuguese, and there were no men-o'-war of significance in Gibraltar. All were
hoping for a substantial naval presence in these dreadful times .
..
but she was a daughter of the army and
knew nothing of sea strategy. Still, they looked lovely, all sails set like
wings on a swan, a long pennant at the masthead of each swirling lazily, a
picture of sea grace and beauty.

 

Flags rose to Glorious's signal
halliards. They both altered course in a broad curve toward the far-off
anonymous cluster of buildings half-way along at the water's edge. As they did
so, the gentle breeze fluttered and died, picked up again, then dropped away to
a whisper. Frustrated, Kydd saw why: even this far out they were in the lee of the
great rock in the easterly; high on its summit a ragged scarf of cloud streamed
out, darkening the bay beneath for a mile or more. He glanced at the master,
who did not appear overly concerned, his arms folded in limitless patience. The
captain disappeared below, leaving the deck to the watch. Sails flapped and
rustled, slackened gear rattled and knocked, and the ship ghosted in at the
pace of a crawling child.

BOOK: Mutiny
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