Mutiny (22 page)

_{'Damn,' muttered
Binney; the boat had touched sand. Poynter poled off with the boathook. The
wind localised, becoming fluky and light; the sails were doused and oars
shipped. Later the sand turned to flecked silt and then to dark mud, and it was
at this point that Binney put the tiller over and brought their inland voyage
to an end.}

_{'Yarnink Nowle,' Binney
announced, coming up to a decaying timber landing place. It took Kydd some
moments to realise that the words meant the place, not an order. It was a quiet
wood down to the water's edge; a rough path headed steeply up out of sight into
it. 'Kydd, with me, you men stay with the boat.'}

_{Kydd climbed over the gunwale and for
the first time since Gibraltar had the good earth under his feet. They trudged
up the steep, sinuous path, Binney leading and dressed in nondescript coat and
breeches, while Kydd followed in as non-sea rig as he had been able to find.}

_{They left the wood to
cross deep green fields with curious sheep, and Kydd looked at Binney, worried.
'The crew'll hear of th' mutiny fr'm the folks hereabouts.'}

_{Binney flashed a grin. 'Not
here they won't. They know the navy and the press-gang in this part o' the
world — they'll keep well away.' Kydd thought of the hard-faced Poynter, and
grinned back.}

_{They crossed another
field, ignoring a gaping milkmaid, and arrived at the back of a thatched-roof
farmhouse. A dog barked once, then approached to nuzzle at Binney; a
leather-gaitered yeoman appeared at the noise and stopped in surprise at seeing
Binney. 'Well, whot be doing yer, Maister Binney?'}

_{Binney smiled. 'Is Jarge going for the post
this morning?'}

_{'Eys,
'ee be saddlin' up thikky donkey.'}

_{Binney glanced
triumphandy at Kydd. 'Nothing changes in the country - we'll be riding to
Ivybridge.'}

_{Sitting on the end of the farm trap with
legs dangling as it ground bumpily over the country track, Binney was
youthfully spirited, nervous tension working with pleasure at the unexpected
return to his roots.}

_{It was not far to Ivybridge. They
passed two tiny villages on the well-worn road to the north and suddenly
reached a crossroads. They dropped to the road from the trap, dusting down, and
let the mystified farmer continue on his way.}

_{Binney took a deep
breath. 'The London Inn — over by the river. The Exeter mail should be along by
ten.' A soft whispering on the morning breeze strengthened until they reached
its cause, the Erme river, a crystal clear boisterous rushing over moss-green
rocks.}

_{The beauty and settled
loveliness of the tiny hamlet reached out to Kydd; it seemed to belong to
another world, one without blood and war, without the unthinkable threat of a
fleet mutiny. His mind shied at the very notion — could it be, perhaps, just
one of those endless wartime rumours?}

_{They tramped up the
road beside the river towards a remarkably pretty humped bridge, set among a
profusion of oaks and chestnuts and dappled with sunlight. On the left were
some well-kept and dignified mansions; he glimpsed the name 'Corinthia' on one
and wondered who could have had the fortune to live there in such a place of
peace and beauty.}

_{They reached the London
Inn on the other side of the dusty Plymouth turnpike; a smithy was already in
industrious activity beside it, and osders readied horses in the post stables.}

_{'Mr Kydd, I'd be
obliged should you wait for me here,' Binney said, his tone low and serious.
'If I do not return before evening, you are to return to Achilles and tell the
captain.'}

_{'Aye aye, sir,' Kydd acknowledged.
Without his naval officer's uniform Binney looked absurdly young for such a
risky enterprise and all traces of his earlier animation were now gone. They
remained standing awkwardly together under the gaudy inn-sign, the occasional
passer-by curious at the presence of such a pair so out of keeping with
Ivybridge.}

_{The coach finally came
wheeling down the turnpike, and stopped with a brave crashing of hoofs and
jingling of harness; snorting, sweaty horses were led out of their traces and
fresh ones backed in, the horsy smell pungent in Kydd's nostrils.}

_{Binney climbed inside the coach,
his grave face gazing out of the window. With hoarse bellows from the driver,
the whip was laid on and the coach jerked into motion. Kydd had an urge to
wave, but at the last instant made a sketchy naval salute. The coach clattered
over the bridge and was gone.}

_{Kydd stood irresolute: it was hard to
remain idle while others faced perils — it was not the navy way. He let the
morning sun warm him, then sat on the bench outside the inn and felt the
tensions seep away as he listened, with eyes closed, to the cheep and trill of
country birds, the rustling of breezes in the hayfield close by, myriad
imperceptible rustic sounds.}

_{His thoughts tumbled
along: only hours before he had been at sea, now in longed-for England — but in
such circumstances! Where was Renzi? Should he do something? Restless, he
opened his eyes and got to his feet. It was getting towards noon and he was
hungry. Perhaps he should take a meal.}

_{In the dark interior of
the inn, all glinting brass and pewter, there was only one other, reading a
newspaper in the corner. Kydd left him to it and settled in a high-backed
bench, relishing the rich sickliness of ale on sawdust.}

_{'Bliddy
blackguards!'}

_{As there was no one
else in the room, Kydd leaned round. 'I beg y'r pardon?' he said mildly.}

_{'Thikky mut'neers, o'
course,' the red-faced man said, shaking the newspaper for emphasis. His
appearance suggested landed folk. Kydd caught the 'mutineers' through the round
Devon accent and tensed. There was now no question of rumour, it was actuality.
'They'm maakin' fresh demands, tiz maize.'}

_'Demands?'

_{'Eys zertainly,
where've 'ee bin th' last couple o' weeks?' the man said suspiciously.}

_{'Out o' the country,'
Kydd said quickly. 'C'n I take a quick look, friend?'}

_{The man paused, then
passed the paper across. 'Leave it yer when you be vanished, I'll zee 'ee
dreckly avter.'}

_{Kydd snatched up
the paper, The Times of London. The front page was all advertisements — 'A
patent Oeconomic machine ...' and 'Marylebone Cricket Club, Anniversary Dinner
. . .' Impatiently he turned the page. He wanted to see with his own eyes words
that would tell him the navy was in revolution.}

_{'... the Jacobin papers
have turned all their speculations ... to the meeting at Portsmouth .. .'}

_{'.. . notwithstanding
all the idle and ignorant reports detailed in the Morning Papers of the day of
the discontents at Portsmouth having been rapidly adjusted, we are sorry to
say that no such good news has been received .. .'}

_{Kydd
could hardly believe his eyes.}

_{'. .. the conduct of the seamen ... is
reprehensible in the extreme . . .'}

_{'... Is any man
sanguine as to think that Mr Fox could retrieve the general anarchy that
threatens us?'}

_{He stared at the
report. This was worse than he had feared, almost beyond credibility. Kydd sat
back in dismay.}

_{A farmer entered,
looking in Kydd's direction with a friendly grin, but Kydd could not talk: he
turned his back on the man and read on. '. .. correspondence between the Board
of Admiralty and Deputation of Seamen ...'}

_{The Admiralty reduced to treating
with mutineers - it was unbelievable.}

_{He rose, feeling an
urgent need to get outside into the bright sunlight. He found the bench, all
thoughts of a meal dispelled, and read the report again.}

_{There was a deal of
breathless comment on the audacity of the sailors, their conduct and a
sinister, 'The success of the enemy in corrupting our brave Tars is truly
formidable. What have we to expect, if we are not true to ourselves at this
dreadful moment, when we are betrayed on every side?'}

_{He turned to the next page. It was in
tiny print, and began: 'The Petition, or rather Remonstrance, of the sailors of
Lord BRIDPORT'S fleet, is now before the Public, and we most sincerely wish
that it was not our duty to publish it.' Underneath was column after column of
the verbatim demands of the mutineers, apparendy printed under duress by The
Times. Reluctantly, he continued to read.}

THE HUMBLE PETITION- of the SEAMEN and MARINES on
Board His Majesty's Ships, in Behalf of Themselves. Humbly sheweth —

That the Petitioners, relying on the candour and
justice of jour Honourable House, make bold to lay their grievances before you,
hoping that when you reflect on them, you will please to give redress, as far
as your wisdom will deem necessary ...

_{Kydd scanned ahead. A central issue
emerged: a number of grievances specified not as a demand but a careful laying
before their Lordships with a hope of redress'.}

_{Slowly he folded the
newspaper. This was no sudden rising of seamen, this must be organised, deadly.
Who or what was at the bottom of it all?}

_{'Sir, it is as we feared. Plymouth
is now in the hands of the mutineers, and the ships have gone over, every one.'
Binney was tired and distracted, but respectful before his captain, Kydd at his
side. He had returned close-mouthed and abrupt, leaving Poynter and the seaman
wondering.}

_{'Mr Binney, did you make your duty to
the admiral's office?' Dwyer snapped. It was a crucial matter for him: his own
conduct in the immediate future could well be examined later, but if there were
orders . . .}

_{'I was unable, sir, but I do have this.'
Binney fumbled inside his coat and handed over a document.}

_{Dwyer took it quickly.
'Ah, this is the admiral's seal. Well done, Mr Binney.' He tore open the paper
and scanned the few words in haste. 'Thank God - here we have conclusive proof
and assurance that the North Sea fleet and the Nore did not join the mutiny,
and these are our orders to proceed there with all despatch.'}

_{Achilles leaned to the wind and,
through a strangely deserted Channel, beat eastward. The Start, Portland Race
and a distant Isle of Wight passed abeam, all treasured sights for a deep-sea
mariner inward bound; Beachy Head loomed up, and past it was the anchorage of
the Downs, protected to seaward by the Goodwin sands.}

_{Home - after such
adventures as most could only dream of.}

_{At the North Foreland
they tacked about and ran in to the estuary of the Thames, the sea highway to
London, the keys to the kingdom.}

_{And
the Nore. Soon after the low-lying marshy island of Sheppey spread across their
course they came upon the unmistakable sight of a forest of black masts: the
fleet anchorage of the Great Nore.}

_{Kydd saw them — it was
not the first time for it was here those years ago, at the outset of the war,
that he had first stepped on the deck of a man-o'-war. With a stab, he
remembered that he had been a pressed man then, miserable, homesick and bitter,
but now ... A reluctant smile acknowledged the thought that he had indeed
returned home — to his original starting point.}

_{But the Nore was not a
home to one of England's great battle fleets, it was a base for shelter,
storing and repair, and an assembling point for the Baltic convoys, a
working-up area for new vessels from the Chatham and Deptford shipyards and a
receiving and exchange point for the continuous flow of unfortunates from the
press-gang tenders and quota transports. It was a place of coming and going, of
transience and waiting.}

_{In winter a northerly could bring a
biting, raw wind for weeks on end, the only solace ashore the drab, isolated
garrison town of Sheemess, a bleak place at the northerly tip of Sheppey. The
town's sole reason for existence was the dockyard and garrison fort. The rest
of the island was a place of marshes, decaying cliffs and scattered sheep
pasture, an effective quarantine from England proper.}