The Parliament of the Delegates was called instantly; the agenda, final determination. Discussion raged - but there was really only one issue: how to wrest attention and redress for their grievances.
Parker let the arguments roll on, then stood up tall and proud. 'There is only one course now left to us, brothers. I'm speaking of the King.' He got complete attention. 'As I detailed to this Parliament at the beginning of this affair, it is my contention that the King is surrounded by ministers and advisers who are evil, self-seeking and avaricious. Now we have the power to cut through those who have until now ensured that we are never heard, and approach His Majesty directly.' He paused and smiled. 'I therefore ask this committee for a form of wording of a loyal address to His Majesty, detailing our grievances. Thank you, brother seamen.'
There was general polite applause then discussion began again, but not for long. 'Loyal address be buggered!' Blake snapped. 'We tells 'im what we want, an' that's all.'
There were hearty roars, then Hulme put in harshly, 'An' that sharp 'n' quick, too. We gives 'im a time.'
The idea took root and Blake shouted, 'One day is all, lads.'
'Give 'im time — two days,' said Hulme.
'Right. We dates it fer next morning, Toosday, eight o' the clock, an' he has until eight on Thursday t' give us our reply,' Fearon said, nudging Kydd to note it down.
'We needs some time t' get it to the palace,' Davis intervened.
'Then we adds six hours t' that,' Fearon dictated.
Kydd wrote as if in a dream. To demand things of a king! They had reached the end of their hold on reality.
Parker stood up. 'Find the captain of Monmouth, if you please, Brother Davis. He's the Earl of Northesk and has the ear of the King. He is to be alongside ready for my letter to His Majesty within two hours.'
The cabinet waited in respectful silence for Pitt to begin. His strained face was sufficient warning that his news would not be in any wise good. Finally he raised his eyes, his voice unnaturally soft. 'By Admiralty telegraph I have received the most appalling news.' He broke off to cough harshly into his handkerchief. 'This morning at dawn the remainder of the North Sea fleet went over to the mutineers.' Spencer went white.
'So there is no mistaking the situation. I will go over the main points. At the moment there is at our most vulnerable point a battle fleet fully armed and manned by desperate men, larger by far than even Jervis and Nelson had at St Vincent. With the final rising there is now no chance whatsoever that any force can be brought to bear to end this situation.
'We have endured this blockade as long as we can. Our losses are catastrophic and there are no more reserves. And now Captain the Earl of Northesk has brought the final disgrace, an ultimatum addressed to the King himself. I will attend His Majesty after this meeting.'
He paused, choosing his words. 'The mutineer chief now has a number of possibilities, all of which are deadly to this country. He can sail wherever he wishes, and menace whoever he will. He is untouchable. He may wish to use this power to threaten us, and by that I include the promise to deliver his fleet to the enemies of this country, France, the Dutch, any. I need hardly say that, in that event, England is certain of defeat. I confess before you now that I can no longer see any further act of significance that can have any effect on the outcome of this miserable affair.'
'There's still Trinity House, Prime Minister,' Spencer stuttered.
'Yes, my lord, you'll spare me the details of my worthy and salty old gentlemen's valiant endeavours, please. But in the main, just what are their chances?'
'They have started at the northern limits, around the Swin, but there is difficulty . . .'
'Quite so. I understand,' Pitt said wearily. 'Putting that aside, we have to face reality, gentlemen. And that is, we have tried and we have lost. There is now no further course left. Except one. Grenville, it is with the deepest reluctance imaginable, but I have decided that the time has come to approach the French and treat for peace.'
Renzi returned to the Shippe Inn, tired and dismayed after his early morning walk. Despite his warnings, nothing had been done to prevent the blockade. It had been days, and the entrance to the Thames was now a chaos of jammed shipping, the wealth of England wasting away on the mud-flats. It could only be a short while before the nation collapsed into anarchy.
The oystermen grinned a welcome: his liking for a daily trip to the Nore was a profitable sideline. The smack put out from the Queenborough jetty, went smartly about and beat out to the anchorage.
Renzi sat bolt upright. To his shock there were now additional ships, big ones, settling to their moorings at the Great Nore. With them how many more thousands of sailors had swelled the numbers of mutineers? It was a fantastic, unreal thing that was unfolding, unparalleled in history.
As he let the fishermen circle the anchored warships he counted and memorised. It was a difficult and brain-racking chore to come up with small gems of intelligence gleaned from his observations yet which obeyed the principles he held. But it was vital if Kydd was going to have any chance to escape his fate.
The smack returned, Renzi careful to rhapsodise on the quality of the sunlight on cliffs, seagulls and sails. With as much patience as he could muster, he allowed the oystermen to fuss him ashore, brush him down and set him on his way.
The situation was now a matter of the greatest urgency. He wandered about the village and, when sure he was out of sight, stepped rapidly along the path to the dockyard. The amiable sentry passed him through and Hartwell came immediately. 'Sir,' said Renzi abrupdy, 'I advise most strongly that tonight is the best — your only chance.'
'Do I understand you to mean—'
'You do. Trinity House! Pray lose no time, sir. I need not remind you of what hangs on this night'
He left immediately, and on the way to Queenborough he kept looking over his shoulder. Before he was half-way, to his immense satisfaction, the telegraph on its stilts above the dockyard clashed into life, the shutters opening and closing mechanically with their mysterious code.
The afternoon passed at an interminable pace, giving ample time for reflection. The stark fact was that he had chosen a course of action that contradicted the principles he had arrived at: he could alert the mutineers and nullify the action, but this he had coldly and logically decided was a matter touching on the safety of the realm, and it must remain.
Now it had to be. Renzi knew that the attention of the mutineers would be on celebrating the arrival of their powerful new brothers; this would be the only time that the daring operation planned by the Elder Brothers of Trinity House had even the slimmest of chances.
It was, besides, a source of some satisfaction that Hartwell had trusted him enough to divulge the plot and consult him on the timing. His strategy was working.
At last, sunset He waited for a further hour, then made his way in the dark to the jetty.
'Why, sir, you haven't a grego,' an oysterman said kindly. 'Ye surely needs one on th' water at this time o' night'
Renzi accepted the fishy-smelling surcoat and boarded the smack by the light of one dim lanthorn. 'How exciting!' he made himself say. 'What kind of creatures are abroad at this hour, I can hardly conceive!'
Under easy sail to the night airs, the smack put out into the Swale. The moon came and went behind ragged clouds, and Renzi scanned the night tensely.
A splash nearby startled him. 'Don' never mind him, sir. Jus'a fish out on a frolic'
They met the Medway and paid off to starboard. Still no sign. Then he caught a sudden blackening of the wan glitter of moon on sea. 'What's that?' he asked quickly.
'That? Oh, jus' the Trinity Yacht, sir. Don' righdy know why she's abroad now, don't usually.'
Renzi setded back with relief. It was happening. His part was now finished.
From seaward, the approaches to London beckoned with lights in a confusion of beguiling sea-paths — hundreds of golden pinpricks ashore and afloat, the larger navigation beacons and the Nore light-ve
ssel.
The Thames met the sea in a maze of sandbanks that stretched out to sea for miles, each one marked with the wrecks of countless unfortunate vessels that had strayed from the deep-water channels. No sailing master in his right senses would attempt to enter or leave without thankful reference to the buoys and lights set and maintained by the brethren of the Corporation of Trinity House, whose ceaseless work continued even in wartime.
On this night, Trinity House began a different task. To the seamarks of the Whiting, Rough and Gunfleet to the north, Girdler, Shivering Sand and Pan in the centre, and the Blacktail, Mouse and Sheers, their vessels converged under the command of Captain Philip Bromfield.
The Trinity Yacht, purpose-built for buoy lifting and heavy cable work, slipped through the night to her first rendezvous. She was fitted with a massive capstan and particular cathead to starboard. Her decking was of Danzig deal for laying out buoy and ground tackle, but her captain did not rig for buoy lifting. Instead, the buoy was hove short and the night's quiet was broken by the sound of men wielding axes and hammers, smashing into carefully crafted staves, wrecking tightly caulked seams. Then the buoy was let go, to disappear into the black depths.
One by one the seaward buoys that the buoy warden of Trinity House had dedicated his life to preserve were sunk without a trace. The work continued through the night, as quietly as possible, as they approached the Nore and the mutinous fleet.
By morning it was complete, carried off during the only night when there was any chance of success — a daring feat that so easily could have gone wrong. To seaward not a buoy or beacon remained: the Nore fleet was trapped, unable to get out across lethal sandbanks now lying concealed under an innocent sea.
Kydd found Parker forward, right in the eyes of the ship, alone. He was gazing out across the smooth, unblemished sea to the hard grey line of the horizon, his face a picture of grief.
'Why? Why do they force my hand in this way?' Parker mouthed.
Kydd mumbled something, but his own mind was in a chaos of feeling. Just hours ago they were dictating terms to the King himself, now they were trapped in their own impregnable lair. He could see nothing but the blackness of defeat ahead. Their mighty fleet was impotent - they would rot in place until...
Kydd forced himself to the present. 'What was that ye said, Dick?'
Parker turned to him with an intense expression of noble suffering. 'My friend, by their stubbornness, stupidity and malice they have forced me into the position where there is only the final sanction, the last move in the game. They insult us to think we would carry the fleet over to the enemy, for they've shown by their actions last night that this is their concern. Very well, this is barred to us. But this we can do. I have ten thousand men and a thousand guns at my command. At the expiry of our ultimatum, if the King is led by false advice to deny us our right, then we sail, up-river, to the capital. There we shall demand our due, and if not we shall with broadsides reduce the City to utter ruin.'
'Yer mad bastard, ye've lost y'r mind!' shouted the Lancaster delegate.
'Damn yer blood, c'n ye think of a better?' snarled Hulme.
Kydd put down his pen. In the violent discussions nothing was being decided. 'Mates, do we have t' fire on London t' get our way? Is this the only thing t' do?'
'Shut yer face, Kydd, you ain't a delegate,' snapped Blake.
Hulme added, 'An' yeah, if it saves our necks, cully.'
'I don' like this a-tall,' MacLaurin, delegate of Lancaster, said. 'Can't be right, firin' on our own, like that. There's kitlings 'n' all ashore, like t' stop a ball. I tell yer, we—'
Kydd was nauseous, his head ready to burst. He excused himself, went to the captain's sea-cabin and pulled out the victualling list. Some ships were running far short of proper rations.
'Director needs six tons o' water b' sundown, Mr Kydd.' It was the dour purser's steward of the ship; he had asked before, but Kydd had been caught up with the endless arguments in the Great Cabin.
'Ye can't have any now,' Kydd snapped.
'I asked ye yesterday forenoon, Mr Kydd.'
'Goddamn it t' hell! Listen, the water-hoy won't come 'cos the dockyard maties want t' slit our throats, Proserpine's waterin' party was all took b' the soldiers, an' Leopard thinks now a good time t' find her water foul 'n' wants more fr'm the fleet.'
'I said, Director needs 'er water,' the purser's steward repeated obstinately.
Blind rage surged up. 'You come here pratin' on y'r problems — y' fuckin' shaney prick, you — you— Get out! Out?
The man left soundlessly, leaving Kydd to hold his head in his hands.
How long could he hold on? Pulled apart by his loyalty to the navy and that to his shipmates, in a maelstrom of half-belief in the wickedness of the highest in the land, he had now to come to terms with the prospect, if the mutineers voted it, of doom and destruction to the heart of his country.
He threw himself out of the suffocating closeness of the cabin, needing the open sky and air. At the main shrouds he stopped, breathing heavily. He grabbed one of the great black ropes, wanting to feel in his hands its thickness, its seamanlike simplicity. He looked up at the towering maintop: its stark, uncompromising outline was urgent with warlike strength, yet in its form there was also grace and beauty for those who knew the sea.
Not long afterwards red flags descended on three of the smaller ships and were replaced by white. Fighting could be seen on the decks of one, and the red flag ascended once more, but the other two slipped away round the point to the dockyard, and safety.
Parker came on deck. 'They're deserting their shipmates!' he called loudly. 'Damn them to hell, don't we say, men?' There were weak cheers and cursing from those in earshot. But Kydd could see he was pale and shaking.
'There goes Leopard, the bloody dogs!' someone called excitedly.
Fearon, delegate to the Leopard, raised his fists. 'I know the gib-faced shab 'ut did that. When I get aboard . ..'
The bigger 50-gun ship slid away with the tide. Others in the fleet opened fire on her but she made her escape. Then it was the turn of Repulse — but her furtive setting of sails had been spotted by the alerted fleet and guns started to go off.
'Captain Davis, call away my barge,' shouted Parker. 'I'm going to send those beggars to the devil by my own hand, see if I don't!' The boat put off, and pulled madly for Director.
Repulse's sails caught the wind and she heeled, gathering way. Parker scrambled up the side of Director and could be seen arguing with her gun-crews — they had not opened up on Repulse as she slipped away — but then Repulse suddenly slewed and stopped, hard aground.
Parker flew into his boat again, and stood in the sternsheets wildly urging on its crew as it made for Monmouth, the closest to the stranded ship. He swarmed up the side and ran to her fo'c'sle. An indistinct scrimmage could be seen around a nine-pounder. Then it fired — and again.
Kydd watched in misery as Monmouth and other ships poured fire on Repulse. All the high-minded sacrifice, hard work and dedication, the loyalty and trust, now crumbling into vicious fighting.
Hundreds of Sheerness folk lined the foreshore to watch as the mutineers' guns thundered, the stink of powder smoke drifting in over them. They would have something to tell their grandchildren, Kydd thought blackly.
Miraculously Repulse seemed unscathed through the storm of fire. Then Kydd understood why. Savage splashes and spouts rose all around the ship, none on target, an appalling standard of gunnery — the gunners were firing wide.
The masts of Repulse changed their aspect as the ship floated free with the tide. She spread more canvas, eased off and away.
The night passed interminably. The ultimatum would expire at two in the afternoon. Would they then go to the capstans, bend on sail and set course for London? By this time tomorrow the biggest city in the world might be a smoking ruin - an impossible, choking thought.
Kydd couldn't sleep. He went on deck: the lights of the fleet were all around, the three-quarter
moon showing the row-guards pulling slowly round the periphery of the anchorage. His eyes turned to other lights glimmering on shore. In the nightmare of the past few days he had not had time to think of Kitty. What would she be feeling now? Would she think badly of him? Had she already fled into the country?
His breast burned and, as he looked up at the stars, a terrible howl escaped into the night.
In the morning Parker appeared. There were dark rings round his eyes. 'Good day to you, Tom,' he said quiedy. 'My deliberations are done. And they are that we cannot do this thing. I am preparing a petition asking only that we receive pardon. We send this to the Admiralty today.'
An hour later, Captain Knight of Montagu arrived in a boat. He carried the King's reply. In the plainest words possible King George comprehensively condemned the actions of the mutineers and utterly refused to entertain any further communication.
Captain Knight carried back Parker's petition by return.
When the news emerged, there was outrage at Parker's betrayal: Director and Belliqueux shifted moorings to the bow of Sandwich to put her under their guns, and the wait resumed. At noon the fleet began to prepare for sea — sail bent on ready for loosing, lines faked out for running, topmen at their posts.
'Is the signal gun charged?' Parker hailed.
'Ye're not goin' ahead with it?' Kydd's voice broke with anguish.
'I am their president, they have voted for it, I will do my duty,' he said woodenly, turning away to consult his fob watch. 'It is now two. You may fire, if you please.'
The six-pounder cracked spitefully, and from all around the fleet came acknowledging gunfire. Capstans were manned, topmen lay out on the yard ready to loose sail. It was their final throw.
But a noise was heard, a swelling roar of voices, that welled up from the furthest reaches of all the ships. Fierce arguments, louder rejoinders, fighting — but not a capstan turned or a ship moved.
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