Mutiny (31 page)
'Has it crossed your
mind, there's been petitions from sailors going up to the Admiralty crying out
with grievances in numbers you can't count, and for years now? Yet not once
have we had a reply — not once! Now, I've been on the quarterdeck, I know for a
cast-iron fact these do get carried on to London. But they never get there! How
do I know? Because if they did, then we'd be heard and we'd get redress.'
He let it sink in, then
continued: 'You see, Tom, they're not meant to arrive. There are, up in London,
a parcel of the deepest dyed rogues who have ever been, a secret and furtive
conspiracy who have placemen everywhere, and live by battening on those who
can't fight back - I mean the common seaman, who is away at sea and never
allowed ashore to speak.'
Kydd frowned. There was
nothing he could think of that said this was impossible.
'You doubt? I've
thought long and hard of why it is that wherever we go in the sea service we
always come on those who have a comfortable berth and leech on the poor sailor.
Have you seen them in the dockyards?
Such corruption, and all
unchallenged! The victuallers, sending casks of rotten meat, the merchants
buying up condemned biscuit and selling it back at a price — how can they cheat
so openly? It's because they're protected by this conspiracy, who in return
receive a slice of the proceeds ...' He sat motionless, the intensity of his
expression discomfiting Kydd.
'Now, Tom, whatever you think, this is
the only logical reason for it being everywhere at the same time, and never
being in danger of prosecution. My friend, if you can find another explanation
that fits every fact — any other at all - I'd be thankful to hear it.'
Kydd looked away. It fitted the facts
only too well, and he'd heard rumours of a conspiracy at the top. Was Fox
right, that Pitt himself was as corrupt as any, that ...
'Ah, well, I have t'
say, I've never really thought about it before, er, Dick. Ye'U pardon m'
straight talkin', but c'n you tell me why you want t' be the one to — to—'
Parker stood up abruptly. 'Humanity,
Tom, common humanity. How can I stand by and see my fellow creatures used so
cruelly, to see them in their simple ways oppressed by these blood-suckers,
their dearly won means torn from them, degraded to less than beasts of the
field?' He turned to Kydd, his eyes gleaming. 'I have advantages in education
and experience of the quarterdeck, and they have done me the honour of electing
me their representative — I will not betray their trust.'
Moving like a cat, he
sat down and faced Kydd again with the same intense gaze. 'Those brave men at
Spithead, they gave the example, showed what can be done — we cannot let them
down, Tom! They saw the injustices, and stood bravely against them. How can we
let them stand alone? Are we so craven that we stand aside and take what others
win by peril of their necks?'
'You
ask 'em to go t' the yardarm—'
'No!' Parker said
emphatically. 'I do not! Consider — the fleet at Spithead, Plymouth and now the
Nore - all are now united, resolute. Does the Admiralty hang the whole fleet?
Does it cause the army to march against the navy? Of course not. As long as we
stand united we are untouched, preserved. If we hang back - but we did not, we
kept the faith. And besides . . .' he left the words dangling, relishing the
effect '. .. we now have word from Spithead - we have an offer. And it is for a
full and complete Royal Pardon after we have had our grievances addressed.'
It was incredible: the
mutiny had won — or was winning - an unprecedented concession that recognised
. ..
'Now is the time! It is
the one and only chance we will ever have of achieving anything! If we miss
this chance . . .'
His forehead was beaded
with sweat. 'At Spithead they know only their daily rations and liberty. They
strive for more bread in port instead of flour; more liberty ashore; vegetables
with their meat — this is fine, but we can see further. We know of the rats
gnawing at the vitals of the navy, and we're going to expose them, force them
into the daylight. We have to be sure the whole world sees them for what they
are and howl for their extermination.'
Kydd was excited,
appalled and exhilarated by turns. It all made sense, and here was one who was
prepared to risk his very life for the sake of the men, his shipmates. And,
above all, had the intelligence and resolve to do something about it. 'And if
th' French sail?'
'Ah, you see, they
won't. At Spithead it was voted that, no matter what, if the French moved
against England, then the fleet will instantly return to duty and sail against
the enemy. They know this, so at this moment they lie in their harbours, unmoved.'
Kydd took a deep
breath. 'Then ye're still loyal - t' King 'n' country, I mean.'
'We are, Tom,' Parker
said seriously. 'What could be more loyal than ridding His Majesty of such base
villains - these scum?'
He rose unexpectedly
and crossed to a cabinet. 'I want you to drink a toast with me, Tom.' He busied
himself pouring. 'To success for our brave tars — standing against the whole
world!'
Kydd took the glass suspiciously. 'Don't
worry, this is not the admiral's, it's common grog only,' Parker said, with a
smile.
'Aye. Well, here's t' our brave Jack
Tars!' Kydd drank heartily.
Parker moved to a chair to one side.
'Tom. Let me be straight with you,' he began. 'Your common foremast jack is not
best placed to see the whole of matters. He is brave and honest, but without
guile. His nature makes him the prey of others, he has not the penetration to
see he is being practised upon. What I am saying is that there are many who do
not see the urgency, the dire necessity of our actions at this time, and
hesitate. This is a folly, and puts at great hazard all those who have seen
their duty to their shipmates and acted.'
He
refilled Kydd's glass. 'We need men to declare their devotion to their
shipmates, to end their hesitation, men that are fine and strong, men whom
others look upon to set them a course to steer. Tom, we need you to stand with
us. To give us your—'
'No!' Kydd slammed down his glass,
suddenly icy cold. 'Parker, I believe in what ye're doing, but this, is not th'
way — it can't be!' He turned to go, flinging open the door.
'Kydd!' called Parker
from behind him. 'Just think on this. If you really care about your men, do something,
but otherwise go away — and then try to live with yourself.'
Kydd left, Parker's
words echoing in his ears, again confronting the dank, crowded decks, the
misery in the faces of the men, the air of hopelessness and despair.
Only one thing kept
hammering at his senses: he could no longer walk away.
'You've been aboard Sandwich?
said Cockburn flatly. 'You're not such a fool, Tom, that you don't know the
penalty for treasonous association, consorting with mutineers. Just for the
sake of curiosity, you'd let it be seen . . .' Something in Kydd's face made
Cockburn tail off.
'I know what I did.'
Kydd left the gunroom
and moodily made the upper deck. His mind was in a spin of indecision as he
paced along slowly. Abreast the mainmast he stopped. A young sailor was working
by the side of the immense complexity of ropes belayed to their pins that
girdled the mast. Spread out on a canvas in front of him were blocks and yarns,
fid and knife.
Seeing
Kydd stop he scrambled to his feet. 'Oh, Mr Kydd, I'm ter strap th' spanker
sheet block 'ere fer the cap'n o' the mizzentop.'
'Carry on, younker. But what's this I
see? You mean t' work a common short splice, an' it's t' be seen b' the
quarterdeck?' Kydd hid a grin at the lad's worried look. 'Well, sure enough, we
usually use a short splice, an' for our sheet block we turn the tail to a
selvagee — but this is upon the quarterdeck, an' Achilles is a crack
man-o'-war. No, lad, we doesn't use an ugly short splice. Instead we graft the
rope, make it fine 'n' smooth around the block, then other ships go green 'cos
we've got such a prime crew who know their deep-water seamanship.'
'But,
Mr Kydd, please, I don't know yer grafting.'
'It's easy enough — look, I'll show ye.'
Kydd picked up the strap and shook the strands free, then intertwined and
brought them together, very tightly. 'Now work a stopper each side, if y'
please.' The lad eagerly complied. 'Now we c'n open out Y strands, and make
some knittles — just like as if y' was doin' some pointin'.' Kydd's strong
fingers plying the knife made short work of producing a splay of fine lines
above and below the join. His coat constricted his movements so he took it off
and threw it over the bitts. 'An' now y'r ready to graft. Lay half y' knittles
on the upper part .. .'
It was calming to the
soul, this simple exercise of his sea skills: it helped to bring perspective
and focus to his horizons — and, above all, a deep satisfaction. 'An' mark
well, we snake our turns at the seizing — both ends o' course.' It wasn't such
a bad job, even though it was now a long time since he had last strapped a
block. He watched the lad admiring the smooth continuity of the rope lying in
the score of the block and hid a grin at the thought of the captain of the
mizzentop's reaction when he went to check the young sailor's work.
He put his coat back on and resumed his
pace, but did not get far. A midshipman pulled at his sleeve and beckoned
furtively, motioning him over to a quiet part of the deck. 'What is it, y'
scrub?' he growled.
'Psst - Mr Hawley passes the word, he
wants to see all officers an' warrant officers in the cap'n's cabin,' he
whispered.
'What?.
'Please
don't shout, Mr Kydd. It's to be secret, like.'
'I've called you here for reasons
you no doubt can guess,' Hawley whispered. The sentry had been moved forward
and the quarterdeck above cleared with a ruse; there was litde chance of being
overheard.
'This despicable mutiny has gone on for
long enough. I had hoped the mutineers would by now have turned to fighting
among themselves - they usually do, the blaggardly villains. No, this is too
well organised. We must do something.'
There was a murmur of
noncommittal grunts. Kydd felt his colour rising.
'What
do you suggest?' Binney said carefully.
Hawley took out a lace
handkerchief and sniffed. 'The ship is unharmed - so far,' he said. 'I don't
propose that she be left in the charge of that drunken crew for longer than I
can help.' He leaned forward. 'I'm setting up communication with the shore.
This will enable us to plan a move against the knaves with the aid of the army
garrison—'
'Sir!'
Kydd interrupted, his voice thick with anger. 'You gave your word!'
'I'll thank you, sir,
to keep your voice down, dammit!' Hawley hissed. 'As to my word, do you believe
it counts when pledged to mutineers — felons condemned by their own acts?'
'You gave y'r word not
to move against them while y' had freedom of th' ship,' Kydd repeated dully.
'I choose to ignore the
implication in view of your — background, Mr Kydd. Have a care for your future,
sir.'
Kydd stared at the
deck, cold rage only just under control.
'I shall continue. When
I get word from the shore that the soldiers are prepared, we take steps to
secure their entry to the vessel, probably by night through the stern gallery.
Now, each of you will be given tasks that are designed to distract the—' He
stopped with a frown. 'Good God, Mr Kydd, what is it now?'
Breathing raggedly, Kydd blundered out
of the cabin. He stormed out on to the main deck, feeling the wary eyes of
seamen on him.
A realisation rose in his gorge, choking
and blinding. If he was going to do something that meant anything for his
shipmates - and be able to live with himself later — then it was not going to
be by throwing in his lot with those who wanted to turn the sky black with the
corpses of his friends.
Kydd wheeled and
marched off forward, scattering men in his wake. At the starboard bay, he
stopped before the startled committee, panting with emotion. 'M' friends! I'm
in wi' ye. What d' y' like me t' do?'