Mutiny (26 page)
He scanned quickly past the wordy
patriotic protestations, snorting at the references to victims of tyranny and
oppression and laws of humanity. It went on to claim the support of Charles Fox
— Kydd's father had a sympathy for the radical, he remembered, but Kydd had
minimal interest in politics: that was a task for the gentlemen of the land,
not him.
He read further — pampered knaves
in power at Westminster, His Majesty ill advised by them ... The substance of
what the mutiny was said to be about was much the same as he had read in The
Times. But what had his eyes returning time and again was one ringing sentence:
'In all humanity is it a wrong to ask for bread and ah honest wage, that it is
a crime that must be paid for at the yardarm?'
He could think of no
easy answer, and fell back weakly on the reply that if it was the law of the
land then that was how it must be.
Carefully he folded the
tract. His head told him to take the poisonous scrap aft immediately, but his
heart urged him to settie things in his own mind first. He hesitated. The rain
had stopped and he stepped out on deck among a general resumption of noisy
quarrelling and laughing humanity. It was hard to think anything through under
conditions like this.
If only Renzi was on hand the whole
question could be logically teased out to its only possible conclusion . .. But
Renzi was part of the past. Now he must make his own judgements.
He roused himself: in
his place what would Renzi have done? Discuss it logically. With whom? Not
Cockburn, he was an officer-in-waiting, and had no way of knowing the strengths
and good sense to be found before the mast -his answer would be short and
implacable. The master? A long-service man of the sea with only a few years
before his well-earned retirement ashore.'Then who?
*
* *
'So nice in you, m' love, to call,
but if you're going t' stay f'r supper, then I must send for some vitdes.' Kydd
setded back in the chair, cradling his china mug of porter — it had on it a
colourful pair of handsome sailors each side of crossed flags and 'Success to
the Formidable, and damnation to the French!' in gold lettering beneath.
She had been pleased to see him, that
was clear; pleasure and guilt in equal measure came to him at her warm embrace.
In an awkward, masculine way he sensed that a woman could accept a situation
for what it was without the need for logical justification.
He drew out the
tract, holding it gingerly. "This'n was found on the mess-decks earlier.'
She took it with a
questioning glance, and read slowly with a frown of concentration, her lips
moving as she spelled out the words. As their import became clear, her brow
lightened. 'Someone is takin' the sailor's part at last,' she said happily. 'I
know about th' vitdes an' such, Ned told me, so I know it's true what they
say.'
'Kitty, m'dear, what
you are holdin' is an incitement t' mutiny an' treasonable — it c'n cost a man
his neck.' She stared at him uncertainly. 'It's m' duty to hale aft any I fin'
with this. An' then it's a court-martial an' the rope . . .'
She looked at him,
incredulous. 'Ye're tellin' me that y'd see a man choked off f'r this?' she
said, shaking the grubby paper at him.
Kydd shifted
uncomfortably. 'It's m' duty, as I said.' He could have mentioned the Articles
of War and their savage view of sedition and treasonable writings, but it
seemed beside the point.
Her
look hardened. 'I don't need t' remind you, Mr Thomas Kydd, what it's like t'
go before th' mast in the navy. So when some gullion says as how it is, where's
y' great crime? Tell me!'
'Don't ask me that, Kitty, it's not f'r
me to say,' Kydd said, in a low voice. 'All I know is, the fleet's in open
mutiny at Spithead, an' if the French sail'
'Then they'll sail 'n'
fight, they've promised that,' she said scornfully.
Kydd looked at her with
a frown. 'Kitty, ye know a lot about this.'
'Aye!' she said
defiantly. 'There's those who think t' make the journey all the way fr'm
Portsmouth t' the Nore just to let their brother Jack Tars know what's
happening.'
'They're
here, now?'
'Cruise along t' the Chequers Inn one
night, and could be ye'd hear somethin' will get you thinking.'
Her face was
uncompromising in its conviction, and in it he saw an unspoken rebuke for his
lack of involvement.
Before he could speak,
she thrust another paper at him, printed as a broadsheet but somewhat smudged.
'It's a petition, asking f'r redress. Sent t' Black Dick Howe three months ago,
an' it was not th' first. Read it!'
Before he had covered the preliminaries
she was on the offensive. 'Provisions at sixteen ounces to th' pound! Common
liberty t' go about y'r pleasures ashore! T' be paid while you're lyin' wounded
in th' service of y' country!' She sniffed loudly. 'Stap me, but doesn't this
sound like what th' meanest grass-comber on the land c'n lay claim to without he
goes t' hazard his life?'
This was not what he
had come to see her for. He longed for the cool, balanced assessment he knew he
would get from Renzi; her passionate sincerity on behalf of his shipmates made
him feel ashamed. Stiffly, he returned the paper. 'I have m' duty, is all’ he
said.
'Duty!' she spat. 'Aye
- I'll tell you about duty!' She faced him like a virago, her eyes afire. 'An'
it's to y'r shipmates — they who share th' hazards o' the sea with ye, who're
there by y'r side when y' face the enemy! Not what some scrovy smell-smock in
th' Admiralty tells ye.'
She held him with her eyes, then her
head fell. When it rose again there was a glitter of tears. 'Please go’ she
said, in a low voice, 'I've some grievin' to do.'
There was no answer he
could find to what she was saying. 'I thank ye for the refreshments.' He picked
up his hat and, without looking at her, made his way to the door.
'Thomas!' she called. 'You're a
good man. But soon it'll be time t' choose.' Her eyes held his with a terrible
intensity. 'Y' can never steer two courses at th' same time. When it's time, I
pray t' God you take the right one.'
The Nore anchorage spread out over
a mile of sea, a breathtaking display of sea-power, but Kydd was not seeing it
as they rounded the point. He couldn't return the bibulous chatting of the
boatswain of Director, and pretended to stare out over the anchorage.
It had to be faced. The terrible
uprising at Spithead had cast its shadow as far as the Nore and soon he would
have to choose. In his heart he knew that he could never condemn a shipmate for
wanting full measures from the purser. The alternative, however, ran against
all he had ever felt for the navy.
On board Achilles there was unaccustomed
quiet. An evening on the foredeck without dancing, grog and laughter was
unsettling. Kydd could see men there, in the usual social groups, but there was
none of the jovial camaraderie or careless noise, they were talking quiedy
together.
Below in the gunroom
there was a pall of foreboding. The gunner and carpenter had left their cabins
forward looking for company and now sat cradling their glasses, gloom etched on
their faces. Kydd pulled down a book, but the light of the rush dips was so bad
he gave up and gazed moodily at Cockburn, who was as usual scratching out a
piece of poetry and oblivious to all else.
'Himself not back
aboard, then,' offered Mr Lane, the gunner. No one was inclined to reply: the
captain's erratic movements in the last several days needed little explanation.
The sharp-nosed
surgeon's mate gave a thin smile. 'We takes any more o' the doxies an' we'll
have the other half o' the crew under Venus's spell.'
'What d' you care,
Snipes? Ye takes y'r silver off 'em either way,' snapped the gunner, many of
whose mates would be owing some of their meagre pay to the surgeon's mate for
venereal treatment.
The smile vanished.
Morice, the carpenter, stirred and looked significantly at the two subdued
midshipmen at the end of the table boning their best shoes.
Without
a word, Kydd reached for a fork and, blank-faced, jammed it into a well-worn
cleft in a deck beam. The midshipmen looked up, and quiedy left.
Morice leaned forward.
'I've heard as how we got Spithead men aboard,' he said quietly.
'Aye.' The gunner would
be more in touch than the carpenter with the main body of sailors and their
concerns. 'Can't stop 'em coming aboard to see their mates in course.'
'I bin in a real 'nough
mutiny once,' Morice muttered. 'Ain't something y' forgets too easy.'
Lane glanced at him
with interest, and Cockburn stopped his scribbling and looked up.
'Yair, Culloden in th'
year ninety-four,' Morice, aware of the attention he was getting, became
animated. 'That's right, Troubridge was our cap'n, an' a right taut hand was
he. A fine seventy-four she was, Slade built an' a fair sailer—'
A polite cough from
Lane steadied him, and he went on, 'Ship lyin' in Spithead, they thinks t' send
us t' sea short on vittles. Ship's company doesn't like this idea, they just in
fr'm a cruise an' all, 'n' starts talkin' wry. Then one o' the quartermaster's
mates - forget 'is tally t' my shame — we calls him Cocoa Jack on account of
him being touched b' the sun, fine, hard-weather kind o' man . . .'
The carpenter's
expression grew troubled at the memory, and his voice changed when he resumed:
'Yeah, fine sort o' seaman. Well, he sees we ain't the stores aboard ‘ll let us
sail, an' gets to speakin' with the men. Right reasonable he was, says Cap'n
Troubridge would see 'em right if they shows firm.' He looked round the table
gravely. 'He says as if they weren't t' take the barky to sea until she was
stored proper, it was only their right. Gets half a dozen of his mates an' goes
about th' ship organisin'. S' next mornin' they all stands fast when it's
"hands t' unmoor ship" — jus' that, willin' t' do any duty but
unmoor, they was.'
'Well,
where did you stand in this?' Kydd asked.
Morice's eyes flicked
once at him, and he continued, 'An' the cap'n listens, calm as y' like. Lets
Cocoa Jack have his say, nods 'n' says, "Fair enough," or some such.
"Yes," he says, when they asks f'r a pardon if they goes back t'
duty.'
'Did
they get one?'
'Sure they did, and
fr'm the cap'n's own mouth in front of the whole company.'
Kydd let out his
breath. 'So all square and a-taunto then,' he said.
'Not quite,' Morice
said, in an odd manner. 'Hands turn to, but quick as a flash, when they wasn't
expectin' it, Troubridge has 'em all clapped in iron garters, an' before they
knows it they're in a court martial in the flagship f'r mutiny.' He paused
significantly. 'They claims pardon - but funny thing, mates, th' court couldn't
find any evidence o' one, no written pardon.' Another pause. 'So five on 'em,
includin' Cocoa Jack, gets taken out 'n' hung on the fore yardarm afore the
whole fleet.'
While he drained his
pot noisily the others exchanged glances. Letting the atmosphere darken, Lane
waited and then growled, 'I was in Windsor Castle previous t' this'n, left
before they has their mut'ny.' He looked for attention. 'Now that was a
downright copper-bottomed, double-barrelled swinger of a mut'ny.
'Remember it's a bigger ship,
ninety-eight she was, a stronger crew, and they has the admiral an' all on
board. An' it's just the same year as yours, mate, but out in th' Med. Can't
swear t' the details, 'cos I'd left b' then, but I heard it all fr'm mates
later. Now, ye'll find this a tough yarn, but it's true enough — in the
flagship an' all, so hear this. They mutinies because they don't like the
admiral, the cap'n, the first 1'tenant an' the bo'sun, and demands they all
gets changed!'
There was a shocked
silence, until Morice chuckled. 'Yeah, heard o' that one,' he said, to the
chagrin of Lane who was clearly winding up to a climax.
'Well,
what's t' do then?' Kydd demanded.