Mutiny - Kydd 04

by Julian Stockwin

  Kydd gathered his resources; he sent his assistants to secure boxes for the papers, then set about sorting and reading them. Parker had a fine, imaginative flair for words, with ringing phrases and legal-sounding threats. It appeared, though, Kydd had to conclude, that his inclination was more towards the florid than the detailed.

  At one point a well-built, fine-looking seaman entered the big cabin. 'William Davis, cap'n of Sandwich' he rumbled, with a hard-jawed grin. 'Do I see Tom Kydd, come fr'm the Caribbee?' 'Aye,' Kydd said.

  'Quartermaster's mate in Artemis as was, goin' aroun' the world? Gets turned over inta — what, some sail-o'-the-line?'

  'Trajan'

  'An' ends up in a squiddy cutter, saves 'em all after a spell in a boat?' 'Th' same.'

  'Then tip us yer daddle, cully,' he said warmly, holding out his hand. 'Thoroughbred seaman like you is who I wants now under m' lee while we're in shoal waters like this'n.'

  Kydd was grateful for the uncomplicated trust: Davis appeared the very best kind of blue-water seaman and he knew he had a friend in whatever lay ahead. 'Tell me, Bill, d'ye know much about Dick Parker?'

  Davis sat down, his seaman's gear - knife, marline spike, fox yarns around his neck — incongruous reflected in the deep mahogany of the table. 'Well, it's true about 'im bein' an officer, was a reefer in Mediator fer the American war, then shipped in Assurance but the poor bugger ran up agin Bully Richards who does 'im fer contempt. Court martial an' he's disrated 'n' turned afore the mast. Few years later, an' he gets ill an' goes ashore. Dunno what 'appened next, 'cos he ends up in clink fer debt, buys his way out b' volunteerin' fer the quota. Don't know much else — he's eddicated, you c'n tell that, comes fr'm Exeter, but wife in the north somewheres. But don't y' ask 'im too much about that, he's struck on 'er, very close they is.'

  Kydd worked through the afternoon; at five bells Parker returned. He was buoyed up as he greeted Kydd. 'If you'd wish it, there's room in the boat for another when I make my visits. It'll be a chance to see something of our achievement.'

  Kydd decided papers and lists, however important, could wait: it was about time he knew something of the greater arena.

  Before, the barge, a thirty-two-footer finished in green, scarlet and gilt and under fourteen oars, was to be seen conveying captains and admirals. Now it was crowded and noisy with oarsmen, two men arguing over a giant Union Flag, a seaman's band with trumpets, flutes and drums led by the ship's fiddler, and general revellers. Many wore ribbons threaded through their hats, some the popular band of blue with 'Success to the Delegates' in gold. There was no sign of liquor that Kydd could detect.

  Davis took the tiller, Parker and Kydd with him in the sternsheets. 'Where to, Dick?' Davis shouted, above the din.

  'Director - then Inflexible, of course, we'll see.'

  'Yair. Let go, forrard!' he roared at the bowman. 'Give way together, m' lads!'

  The boat surged away from Sandwich and the band struck up immediately. They approached Director: her ship's company, drawn by the merriment, lined her decks. Some mounted the rigging, and cheers sounded, rolling around the anchorage. Parker rose and waved, more cheers came. He looked down at Kydd, flushed and distracted, but there was no mistaking the elation in his face.

  They went about under Director's stern, the racket of the band echoing back from the formidable lines of the 64, then shaped course for Inflexible. As they approached the big ship-of-the-line there was the flat thud of a gun and smoke eddied away from the fo'c'sle.

  'A salute to th' president,' said Kydd.

  Parker acknowledged him with a smile. 'The Inflexibles are our most ardent,' he shouted, in Kydd's ear.

  Again the decks were lined, and cheers rang out. When Parker rose, this time he shook both fists in the air, bringing a storm of raucous applause. He repeated his success at the next ship, the frigate Proserpine, which promptly erupted in volleys of cheers. 'I believe this calls for a libation of sorts,' Parker said happily. 'Bear up for the dockyard steps, Bill.'

  Just as soon as the boat came alongside, the men scrambled ashore and formed up into a parade, as the band took up a rowdy thumping. The huge flag was proudly held high and taken to the front of the procession.

  'Do come with me, Tom. My place is at the fore, and you should share the honours.' Without waiting for a reply, he strode up to the head and bowed to the assembling crowd. Kydd followed, and eased into line behind Parker, who turned and pulled him abreast of himself.

  'Delegates, advance!' shouted Parker. The drums thudded twice rapidly, and the colourful procession stepped off gaily to the tune of 'Rule Britannia'. It attracted a noisy, adoring crowd that brought apprentices running, women leaving their work and small boys capering alongside.

  As the column swung away down the road, Parker waved affably at the spectators, bowing to some, blowing kisses at the ladies. At first Kydd could only manage a stiff wave, but after a laughing girl threw rose blossoms over him, he joined in with gusto.

  Around the corner and through Red Barrier Gate. Thumping lustily, the band brought the first of the Blue Town people running. Cries of 'Huzzah to the delegates - and be damned to Billy Pitt!' were heard. Beribboned sailors already ashore added to the uproar.

  A larger crowd waited at a timbered building—a tavern with a sign hanging, the Chequers. The band played a hurried final flourish and spilled inside. 'With me, Tom,' Parker called. Kydd found himself at a dark-stained table in the smoky interior.

  Davis arrived, his large frame wedging in the high-backed seat. 'Tom, me ol' cock, what c'n I get you?'

  Parker intervened. 'Kydd's with me, Bill, and I'll be having my usual. Tom?'

  'Oh, a stout pint o' the right sort'll do,' replied Kydd, happily. Parker's tipple turned out to be dog's nose, the splicings being a liberal dash of gin in the beer. The blue haze thickened in the tavern in due proportion to the noise and soon it was a merry throng that celebrated together.

  A seaman bawled for attention near the door. 'Dick Parker, ahoy!’

  Parker lurched to his feet. 'Who wants him?' he returned loudly.

  'Why, yer speechifyin' — when are yer comin', Admiral?'

  'I've said not t' call me that,' Parker grumbled.

  'Aye aye, Yer Majesty.'

  In front of the Chequers a space had been cleared and several boxes pushed together formed a stage, already bedecked with flags and boughs of greenery. A few chairs were in precarious position atop the boxes.

  A roar went up when Parker appeared. He stood to acknowledge the cheers, then jammed his beaver hat at a rakish angle and mounted the stage. Beaming, he held up his hands for silence, and the crowd subsided, while more ran up to catch the occasion.

  'Friends! Brothers!' he began, his face flushed. 'How dare their lordships presume to try the patience of the British tar, to deny him his rights, to ignore his courage and resource? I will tell you something that even these false ministers, these traitors, cannot conceive of — the true value of a British seaman!' He paused, and looked into the crowd. 'Ah, there he is!' he cried. 'Brother Tom Kydd, new-won to the cause. Come up here beside me, Tom!'

  There was a warm roar of welcome. 'Tom here was a master's mate in Achilles, but that didn't stop him standing for what he believed. The first lieutenant hales him to the quarterdeck and calls him to account — but Tom Kydd here, he tells him to sling his hook! So it's Heave-ho Hawley in the boat and turned ashore, mates, all because Tom didn't flinch when the time came. How can m' lords of the Admiralty prevail when we've got the likes of him in with us? Let's hear it for Brother Kydd, friends!'

  Chapter 8

  At dawn the soft grey coastline of England appeared far ahead. After the tedium of a Baltic convoy, complicated by an outbreak of ship-fever in the fo'c'sle, it was a welcome sight. But Renzi had mixed feelings: it was now just a few months before his term of exile was over. Then he must make his peace with his family, and resume his life on the land. It would be hard to leave the sea. The gentle lift and surge of a deck had i
ts own compelling sensuality and the life perspective to be gained from numberless foreign horizons was precious - but there was no going back. Before the year was out it would be finished, all over.

  As he paced back along the gangway, a depression settled, one that was never far away these days. There would be no interesting exotic finale to his last months. They were to spend a couple of days in Sheerness, repair and victual, then Glorious was to rejoin the North Sea fleet in Yarmouth, resuming its watch over the Dutch in the Texel, a powerful fleet now loyal to the French and which, sooner or later, would have to be dealt with.

  The low coastline ahead hardened to a deep blue, then acquired features; dark splotches, pale blurs. There was sail in all directions, converging to the south, a river of commerce, for here was the entrance to the Thames and the port of London.

  Renzi sighed heavily, and started pacing the other way. Glorious was not a happy ship: the captain was unimaginative and set in his ways, remote from his men, and the first lieutenant was a bully. The ship's company was a collection of individuals, not a team, and petty tyrannies flourished.

  They joined the flow of vessels into the Thames, the master watchful and alert for the lookouts' hail as another buoy was sighted. Then the dark forest of masts that was the Great Nore came into sight, reassuring in its powerful presence at the entrance to the capital.

  Signals fluttered up from Glorious's quarterdeck. The mass of fifty-four ships of the Baltic Trade astern were now released and broke into an undignified straggle as they jockeyed for position for the beat up-river to the docks.

  cHaaaands to moor ship!'

  They closed with the fleet. Saluting guns were loaded, but as Sandwich was not flying her admiral's flag they were not needed. Glorious glided in, her anchors tumbled down to the muddy seabed, her sails were furled and she prepared for storing.

  Finished with the veering crew at the hatchway, Renzi regained the deck to find the officer-of-the-watch, but his curiosity was taken by three boats making for Glorious.

  A giant Union Flag was in one, and from another what sounded like 'Rule Britannia' was being pounded out by a scratch band.

  'Hail them, if you please,' ordered Murray, the officer-of-the-watch. Aboard Glorious, sailors crowded to the deck edge, astonished by the display. The lead boat shaped course to come alongside; it was then plain there were no officers aboard.

  'Damme an' I know what's afoot, m'lads,' Renzi heard the flabbergasted boatswain say.

  'Lay off, the boat!' warned Murray, sensing something wrong. The boat took no notice and hooked on at the main-chains. Seamen nimbly mounted Glorious's side.

  'What in God's name—'

  The lead seaman, a bulky sailor with cutlass and two pistols, came easily over the bulwarks; another two were not far behind. Murray stalked down from the quarterdeck. 'Did you not hear my order? Why the devil did you—'

  Bringing a paper out of his waistcoat, the first seaman announced, 'Sir, I'm commanded by th' president of the delegates of th' whole fleet of His Majesty's navy in the river Medway and the buoy of the Nore ter give you this'n.'

  'What nonsense is this?' said Murray aghast.

  The captain appeared from below. 'Mr Murray, why are these men in arms?'

  The boarders smiled grimly. 'An' as of this minute, Cap'n, you're released fr'm duty. You're desired ter yield up yer ship to th' committee.'

  Gobbling with anger, the captain opened his mouth to speak.

  'No, sir, we'll take none o' yer pratin'. Take a squiz there.' The seaman indicated Director, lying barely a hundred yards abeam, and Inflexible, fine on the bow. 'These're all risen, they is, every one. An' if I signal, well, there's more'n a hundred guns'll answer.' As if on cue, gunports opened all down the sides of the ships-of-the-line.

  At the threat there was little that could be done. The mutineer went to the ship's side and hailed the waiting boats. 'Right, lads, let's get ter work.'

  After securing the ship the mutineers set up a committee in the starboard bay, holding court on the unfortunates against whom complaints had been laid. First the officers: most of them were deemed 'unsuitable' and given fifteen minutes to be clear of the ship. One boatswain's mate was taken below in irons to be dealt with later, and a sergeant of marines was given a ducking. Liberty tickets were freely given under the hand of the committee.

  Renzi watched the- proceedings with interest, for without doubt it would be talked of for years to come. But then the new-elected delegates called him below, and he was asked to give a statement of position, and abruptly told, 'Fer a foremast jack yer've got a wry way o' talkin', cuffin. I thinks fer y' own sake, better ye're ashore 'n' out of it.'

  In the boat on the way to Sheerness, Renzi's eyes lifted as he took in the unmistakable bulk of Achilles. The boat's crew cheered as they passed, and were answered with a full-throated roar from the ship. Renzi wondered if Kydd was aboard, or had been turned ashore, perhaps after an intemperate but loyal outburst. Whatever the case, probably within the day he would be seeing his friend once more.

  He glanced at the boat's crew. They were in high spirits and full of what they would do ashore. In their way, these men were as close to the paradigm of Natural Man as it was possible to find: the suborning elements of civilisation were necessarily denied to them — he would never find such stout beliefs and open character in the elegant, blase world that awaited him.

  The dockyard was in a state of feverish chaos and open disorder. People were all about but the gaunt ribs of new ships were not thronged with shipwrights and their sidesmen, the sawpits were deserted and the smithy silent.

  Renzi was able to share a handcart for his sea-chest with one of the lieutenants at the price of pushing the creaking relic. The lieutenant was eager to be quit of Sheerness and saw no reason why he should not return to his family until the whole disgraceful episode was over.

  They quickly crossed the marshes and left the noisy revelry of Blue Town behind. The lieutenant waited for a coach in the small hotel at the start of the London turnpike, but Renzi was not sure what to do. He had no plans after being so recently turned out of his ship; it would need some thinking about but, given the tumult and isolated nature of Sheppey, it was unlikely he would stay either.

  The lugubrious landlord took a deal of gloomy pleasure in telling them of developments at Spithead as current rumour had it.

  Such events did not greatly surprise Renzi: the wonder in his mind was that the seamen had not acted earlier, given the criminal neglect of their circumstances. That the mutiny was brilliantly organised, widespread and effective was the surprising element: could it be the work of Jacobin agents? However, with Robespierre executed there was a more sceptical cast to the power struggle now ensuing that probably didn't include such a hot desire to export their revolution — but without a doubt the French would be mad not to seize the opportunity to act against England. It was as grave a state of affairs as he had known, and the government would be well advised to act rapidly and decisively against the mutineers.

  He had to speak to Kydd - that much was clear. Leaving his sea-chest, he walked back through the apprehensive inhabitants of Mile Town to the carnival atmosphere in Blue Town.

  Outside one of the larger timbered hostelries in the high street a crowd was gathered, applauding two rabble-rousers. Renzi winced even though, at the distance, he couldn't hear the words, but the exultant roars that punctuated the speech did not leave much doubt over the nature of the harangue. He had to pass by to reach the dockyard in his mission to find Kydd, and glanced over the back of the crowd at the speakers. One was a dark, intense individual who appeared almost messianic in his zeal. The other was Kydd.

  Rigid with surprise, Renzi stared at his friend while the other man declaimed against His Majesty's treasonable ministers.

  A sailor whooped his approval next to him. 'Who are these gentlemen?' Renzi asked him.

  'Why, that's the president o' the delegates, Dick Parker, is he. Th' admiral we calls 'im on account
he berths in th' admiral's quarters in Sandwich.'

  'And the other?'

  'Ah, that there's Tom Kydd, mate off Achilles. Right ol' fire-eater he, faced down t' th' first luff.an' got him turned off 'is ship an' then got in wi' Dick Parker ter be his sec'tary, he havin' an education an' all.'

  Struck dumb with astonishment, Renzi stayed until the speeches had run their course, then pushed into the crowd. 'Tom!' he called, unable to get through the jovial mob. 'Ahoy there, shipmate!'

  Finally it penetrated. Kydd looked up from his conversation with a pretty woman. 'Nicholas!' he shouted, above the hullabaloo. 'Make a lane there, y' lubbers!'

  Kydd was back in simple seaman's rig, white duck trousers, waistcoat and short blue jacket, and was flushed with the occasion. 'Hey, now! Nicholas, well met, m' fine frien'.

  'An' this is Kitty, Kitty Malkin. She's walkin' out wi' me, lives on the hulks in as snug a home as any I've seen. Look, let's away fr'm here 'n' talk.'

  Kitty flashed Renzi a shrewd look. 'Pleased t' make y'r acquaintance, sir.' She turned to Kydd and patted his arm. 'Do go wi' y'r friend, dear, I have some shoppin' to do.'

  Renzi fell into step with Kydd. They found the road across the marshes relatively peaceful, and slowly walked together. 'Such a happenin' the world's never seen.' Kydd chuckled. 'Dare t' say that in Parliament they're rare put to think what t' do.'

  'Er, yes, I'm sure that is the case,' Renzi said. 'But do you not think that Mr Pitt - under pressure as he is -would not in any wise tolerate a new mutiny just as the old one is at a crisis?'

  Kydd's face darkened. 'That's not th' question. It is, do we stan' with our brothers in Spithead, or do we shamefully leave 'em t' the hazard all alone?'

  'Of course, dear fellow, I quite see that — an expression of support is demanded at this time.' He allowed the moment to cool, then continued, 'You are assisting Mr Parker .. . ?'

  'I am,' said Kydd, 'but not in a big way, o' course. He's got a mort o' work t' do, bringin' all th' ships together f'r the cause, some as are bein' fractious an' ill-disciplined.' He looked at Renzi direcdy. 'Dick Parker is a great man, Nicholas. A real headpiece on him. He's given himself t' the cause of his shipmates, an' that makes him a right good hand by me.'