His musing was interrupted by the approach of a duty midshipman. 'Mr Kydd, ol’ Heavie Hawley wants to see you now.'
Kydd's heart gave a jump. With the captain ashore, the first lieutenant was in command, and for some reason wanted his presence immediately. He stalled: 'An' I don't understan' y'r message, y' swab - say again.'
'First l'tenant asks that you attend him in his cabin, should you be at liberty to do so at this time.'
'I shall be happy t' attend shortly,' Kydd replied guardedly, and the reefer scuttled off.
It could be anything, but with increasing apprehension he remembered his talk with Boddy. If anyone had overheard, or had seen that it had not been followed by instant action to take the matter aft, he was in serious trouble.
Removing his worn round hat, he hurried down to the wardroom and the officers' cabins. The polished dark red of the first lieutenant's cabin door looked ominous. He knocked.
'Come in.' Hawley's aristocratic tones were uncompromising, whoever he addressed. He was at his desk, writing. He looked up, then carefully replaced his quill in the holder and swivelled round. 'Ah, Mr Kydd.' His eyes narrowed. 'I've asked you here on a matter of some seriousness.'
'Er, aye, sir.'
'Some in the service would regard it more lightly than I, but I would not have it in question, sir, other than that I would rather put my duty, as asked of me, ahead of anything I hold dear in this world. Is that clear?' 'Aye aye, sir.'
He picked up a paper. 'This is duty! It is from the King himself.' He paused as if struck by sudden doubt, then recovered. 'Shall I read it to you?'
'If y' please, sir.' It was probably his commission: Kydd had never seen an officer's commission, the instrument that made them, under the King's Majesty, of almost sacred power aboard a man-o'-war. He had heard that it contained the most aweful strictures regarding allegiance and duty, and he was probably going to read them to Kydd before striking his blow.
'Very well.' His lips moved soundlessly as he scanned down to the right spot:
'"The Queen's House, the 10th day of May, 1797.
'"The Earl of Spencer, to avoid any delay in my waiting . .." er, and so forth ". .. that a fitting reception for the newly wed Princess Royal and His Serene Highness the Prince of Wurttemburg be made ready preparatory to their embarkation in San Fiorenzo for their honeymoon. Also attending will be Colonel Gwynn, Lord Cathcart and the Clerk of the Green Cloth and two others. I desire orders be given ..." more detail "... by return rider."
'There! What did you think of that? From His Majesty, Mr Kydd.'
'I — er, I don' know what t' think, sir. Er, the honour!'
Clearly pleased with the effect, Hawley unbent a little. 'Means we are required to mount an assembly of sorts for the Princess Royal and party prior to their boarding San Fiorenzo. I've spoken to Lieutenant Binney, who will be involved in the entertainments, and Mr Eastman will be looking into the refreshments. Of course, Captain Dwyer will have returned from the court martial by then.'
Fighting the tide of relief, Kydd tried to make sense of it. To be meeting royalty was not to be taken calmly and it would be something to bring up casually at mess for years to come. 'Sir, what—'
'In the nature of these things, it is possible that the party may be delayed or San Fiorenzo is obliged to take an earlier tide, in which case the whole occasion will have to be abandoned.'
'What is my duty, if y' please?'
'Ah, yes. You will understand that a royal retinue is accustomed to an order of civilised conduct above that normally to be found in a ship of war. Your, er, origins make you uniquely qualified for this duty.'
'Sir?'
'You will ensure that the ship's company as far as possible is kept out of sight, away from the gaze of this party, that those unavoidably on duty are strictly enjoined to abjure curses, froward behaviour and unseemly displays, and that silence is kept below. You may employ any expression of discipline you sec fit.'
Despite his relief, Kydd felt a dull resentment. What were his men, that they must be herded away from the gaze of others, they with whom he had shared so many dangers by sea and malice of the enemy? 'Aye aye, sir,' he said softly.
'So we—' Hawley broke off with a frown. From the deck above sounded the thump of many feet, ending suddenly, just as if the cry of 'all hands on deck' had sounded.
He stared at Kydd. 'Did you—' Distantly there came the unmistakable clamour of cheers, a crescendo of sound that echoed, then was taken up and multiplied from all around them.
'Good heavens! You don't suppose—' Seizing his cocked hat, Hawley strode out on deck, closely followed by Kydd. It seemed the entire ship's company of Achilles was cheering in the lower rigging, a deafening noise.
Around the anchorage in the other ships it was the same. In the flagship Sandwich the rigging was black with frantically waving seamen, the urgent tan-tara of a trumpet sounding above the disorder, the crack of a signal gun on her fo'c'sle adding point to the moment.
'You, sir,' Hawley shouted, at a bemused midshipman. 'What the devil is going on?'
Before he could answer, a crowd of seamen moved purposefully towards him on the quarterdeck, ignoring the others in the shrouds cheering hoarsely. Kydd's stomach tightened. He knew what was afoot
They didn't hesitate. Kydd saw Farnall conspicuously in front, Boddy and Jewell, some of his own forward gun-crews, others, all with the same expression of grim resolution. They were not armed: they didn't need to be.
'Sir,' said Eli Coxall gravely to the first lieutenant. 'I'll trouble ye for the keys t' the magazine.'
Shocked, Hawley stared at him. The cheering in the rigging stopped, and men dropped to the deck, coming aft to watch. Kydd stood paralysed: a mutiny was now taking place.
'Now, sir, if you please!' Farnall's voice held a ring of authority, a quota man turned mutineer, and it goaded Kydd into anger. He clenched his fists and pushed towards him. 'Do ye know what ye've done, man?' he blazed. 'All y'r shipmates, headin' for a yardarm—'
The big bulk of Nelms, a seaman Kydd knew more for his strength than judgement, shoved beside Farnall. 'Now, yer can't talk ter Mr Farnall like that, Mr Kydd.'
Kydd sensed the presence of others behind him, and looked unbelieving at Coxall, Boddy and others he knew. They stared back at him gravely.
'This is open mutiny, you men,' Hawley began nervously, 'but should you return to your duty, then—'
'We have charge o' the ship,' Coxall said firmly. It was a well-organised coup that was all but over.
Binney's voice came from behind. 'Sir, do you—'
Hawley recovered. 'No, Mr Binney, I do not believe hasty actions will answer. These scoundrels are out of their wits at the moment, but they do have the ship.' He turned to Coxall. 'Very well. You shall have the keys. What is it you plan to do with the vessel? Turn it over to the French?'
'Oh, no, sir.' Only Farnall showed an expression of triumph; Coxall's voice continued level and controlled. 'We're with our brethren in Spithead, sir, in their just actions. I'd be obliged were ye to conform t' our directions.'
Kydd held his breath. It was as if the heavens had collapsed on them all, and he dreaded what was to come.
'And these are?' Hawley hissed.
'Well, sir, we has the good conduct o' the fleet well at heart, so if we gets y'r word you'll not move against us, why, y' has the freedom o' the ship, you an' y' officers. We're not goin't' sail, we're stayin' at moorin's till we've bin a-righted.' Kydd was struck by Coxall's dignity in the appalling danger he stood in: he was now undeniably marked out, in public, as a ringleader. 'My word?'
'Aye, sir, the word of a king's officer.'
Hawley was clearly troubled. It was deadly certain that the gravest consequences would follow, whatever happened, and his every act - or omission — would be mercilessly scrutinised. What was not at question was that if word was given, it would be kept.
The crowd grew quiet, all eyes on the first lieutenant.
'I, er, give my w
ord.'
There was a rustle of feeling, muttered words and feet shuffling.
'Thank ye, sir,' Coxall said. 'Then ye also have the word o' the delegates at the Nore that y' shan't be touched.' Hawley began to speak, but Coxall cut him off. 'Sir, the business o' the ship goes on, but we do not stir one inch t' sea.'
'Very well.' Hawley had little choice — in barely three minutes he had gone from command of a ship-of-the-line to an irrelevancy.
A scuffle of movement and raised voices came from the fore-hatchway. A knot of men appeared, propelling the boatswain aft, his hands roughly tied.
'We gives 'im medicine as’ll cure his gripin'!' crowed Cantlie, dancing from foot to foot in front of the detested Welby. 'Go reeve a yard rope, mates!'
From the main hatch the boatswain jerked into view, hatless and with blood trickling from his nose, a jeering crowd of seamen frogmarching him aft. 'Here's one t' do a littie dance fer us!'
It was met by a willing roar, but Coxall cut in forcefully: 'Hold hard, y' clinkin' fools! Remember, we got rules, we worked it out.'
'Rules be buggered!' an older fo'c'sle hand slurred. 'I gotta argyment wi' first luff needs settlin' now!' Hawley, pale-faced, tensed.
Coxall spoke quietly, over his shoulder: 'Podger?' Nelms's beefy arm caught the troublemaker across the face, throwing him to the deck. 'I said, mates, we got rules,' Coxall said heavily. He turned to Boddy. 'Will, these two are t' be turned out o' the ship now. C'n yer clear away the larb'd cutter?'
A seaman with drawn cutlass came on deck and reported to him. It seemed that the marines were powerless, their arms under control and all resistance impossible.
Coxall raised his voice to a practised roar and addressed the confused and silent mass of men. 'Committee meets in the st'b'd bay now. Anyone wants t' lay a complaint agin an officer c'n do it there.' He glanced around briefly, then led his party out of sight below.
Chapter 7
Mutiny! A word to chill the bowels. Achilles was now in the hands of mutineers, every one of whom would probably swing for it, condemned by their own actions. Kydd paced forward cautiously; men gave way to him as a master's mate just as they had before. There were sailors in the waist at work clearing the waterways at the ship's side, others sat on the main hatch, picking oakum. Forward a group was seeing to the loosing and drying of headsails. A few stood about forlornly, confused, rudderless.
It was hardly credible: here was a great ship in open insurrection and shipboard routines went on largely as they did every day. Binney paced by on the opposite side of the deck; seamen touched their hats and continued, neither abashed nor aggressive.
Impulsively Kydd clattered down the hatchway to the main deck and made his way to the ship's bay, the clear area in the bluff bow forward of the riding bitts. There was a canvas screen rigged across, with one corner laced up, a seaman wearing a cutlass at ease there, on watch. 'I have a question f'r the delegates,' Kydd told the man.
He smiled briefly. 'Aye, an' I'm sure ye have,' he said, and peered inside. He straightened and held back the corner flap. 'Ask yer questions, then,' he said, looking directly at Kydd.
Farnall sat at a table, Boddy on his right. Others were on benches and sea-chests, about a dozen in all. They were discussing something in low, urgent tones, while Farnall shuffled a clutch of papers. Boddy wore a frown and looked uneasy.
'What cheer, Tom?' This came from Jewell, who was standing to one side. Boddy looked up and nodded. Others stopped their talk and looked at him.
'Nunky, Will,' Kydd acknowledged.
'And to what do we owe this honour?' Farnall said.
Kydd folded his arms. 'I came t' see if there's anyone c'n explain t' me this ragabash caper.'
There were growls from some, but one called, 'Tell 'im, Mr Farnall.'
Farnall rose to his feet. Gripping the lapels of his waistcoat he turned to Kydd, but before he could speak, Kydd interrupted forcefully: 'No, I want t' hear it from a reg'lar-built sailorman, not a land-toggie who doesn't know his arse from his elbow about sailoring.'
Farnall's face grew tight, but he sat down. Boddy stood up and hurried over to Kydd, taking him by the elbow and leaving the bay. 'Tom, it'll do yez no good to get up Farnall's nose. He's a delegate now, an' he's got friends.'
They emerged together on deck - the spring sunshine out of keeping with the dire events taking place. Kydd glanced up wistfully at the innocent blue sky. 'What has you planned f'r Achilles, Will?' he said.
Boddy paused. Ter an answer, ye needs ter know what's happened altogether, like.' He pursed his lips. 'We feels they has a right steer on things in Spithead, Tom. They's standin' f'r hard things that should've bin done an age back. What we're doin' is giving 'em our backin', 'cos they need it. What we done is, we have two delegates f'r each ship, an' a committee o' twelve. We decides things b' votes an' that, Farnall knows all about this. An' we hold wi' discipline, Tom. We won't have any as is half slued around the decks, not when we're so close t' the wind like this'n.'
'Who's y'r delegates?' Kydd asked.
'Coxall 'n' Farnall, but we got some good men in th' committee. We already have rules o' conduct: no liquor aboard wi'out it's declared, respects to officers, ship is kept ready f'r sea — an' this is because we swear 'ut if the Mongseers sail on England, we're ready ter do our dooty.'
Kydd looked squarely at Boddy. 'Will, who's it behind this all — who organised it?' If there was the barest whiff of French treachery he would have all his doubts resolved, his duty clear.
'Why, we're follering Spithead, is all, nothin' more.'
'No Frenchies at the bottom of it, a-tall?'
'No, mate. If they noo that the whole navy of Great Britain was hook down an' goin' nowhere, they'd soon be crowdin' sail for England. They ain't, so there's no plot. They don't even know.'
'But there's someone takin' charge?'
'O' course — someone has ter. Sandwich, she's the Parlyment ship, the committee o' the fleet meets there. We has a president o' the delegates, name o' Dick Parker. We'll see 'im soon, wouldn't wonder.' Boddy looked shrewdly at Kydd. 'Look, Tom, it's started, cuffin, an' mark my words, we're goin' to stand fast. Now why doesn't ye come in wi' us? There's many a soul looks up ter you, would take—'
Kydd's harsh reply stilled Boddy's words, but the latter's eyes held reproach, sadness, which- touched Kydd. Boddy glanced at him once, then turned and went below.
Kydd paced restlessly. If the likes of Will Boddy had seen it necessary to hazard their lives to stand for what they believed needed righting . . .
It had to be admitted, the mutiny had been conducted on the strictest lines. The committee was even preparing articles of conduct for preserving good order and naval discipline in the face of the absence of authority, an amazing thing, given the circumstances.
But most astonishing was the mere fact that the complexity of daily life — the taking aboard of stores to meet the needs of seven hundred men, the deployment of skilled hands to maintain the miles of cordage and sea-racked timbers, the scaling of cannon bores — was continued as before.
The noon meal was a cheerless affair in the gunroom; the midshipmen were subdued, the senior hands edgy, Cockburn introspective. It was made more so by the waves of jollity gusting from the sailors on the gundeck relishing being in relaxed discipline.
Glad to return on deck and get away from Cockburn's moodiness, Kydd kept out of the way of the sailors at the gangway waiting to board the boats to take them ashore. Liberty tickets were being issued on a generous scale. These were of the usual form to protect them from the press-gang and prove them not deserters, but they were signed by a delegate, not an officer.
A shout from the waist caught Kydd's attention. Someone called out, 'An' if I'm not wrong that longboat comin' under our stern now is 'imself come t' visit.'
Men ran to the ship's side to catch a glimpse of the president. The boat curved widely, the men at the oars pulling lustily in a play of enthusiasm. In the sternsheets was a dark-featur
ed man sitting bolt upright, looking neither to left nor right; he did not acknowledge the surging cheers.
The boat hooked on, and the passenger, wearing a stylish beaver hat and a blue coat with half-boots, came down the boat. He clambered up the side, and there was a scramble among the men at the top, a cry of 'Side!' A hurrying boatswain's mate arrived and, with appropriate ceremony, President of the Delegates Richard Parker was piped aboard HMS Achilles. Kydd held back at the parody, but was drawn in fascination to the scene.
Parker carried himself well and looked around with studied composure, his dark eyes intelligent and expressive. He doffed his hat to Hawley, who had come on deck but did not speak with him; he went forward, and stood on the fore gratings, folding his arms, waiting for the men to come to him.
Sailors gathered around, their talking dying away. 'Brother Tars,' he began, fixing with his eyes first one man, then another. 'Your waiting is over. Your long wait for justice, rights and true respect - is over.' His voice was educated, assured and direct, but somewhat thin against the breeze and shipboard noises. 'We have joined our brothers in Spithead, as they asked us, and even while we celebrate, there are despatched our representatives to Yarmouth, to the North Sea squadron, to beseech them also to join us. When they do, with Plymouth now aroused, the entire navy of Great Britain will be arisen in our cause.'
Kydd listened, unwilling to leave. The North Sea squadron! This was news indeed: the last battle squadron left to Britain, the one strategically sited to confront the Dutch and the entrance to the Baltic, if it mutinied then . ..
'This will make His Majesty's perverse ministers sit up. It will show that we are steadfast, we mean to win entire recognition of our grievances - and as long as we stand together and united, we cannot fail.' Parker's eyes shone, as though he was personally touched by the moment.
Scattered cheers rose up, but there were as many troubled and uncertain faces.
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