‘Seems to me that the tail is wagging the dog here, your honour, for all he is styled President of the Delegates.’
‘There’s little control, that’s for certain.’
‘Can I ask,’ said Flowers, and this time speaking out of the corner of his mouth was more appropriate, ‘what did you write to that sod?’
‘Just a name, Flowers.’
‘Will it get us out of here whole?’ asked Pender.
‘We could go now, Pious,’ said Flowers. ‘They’re all too busy with their laments.’
Pender responded gravely. ‘I wouldn’t try it, mate. I think if you was to attempt to get up on your pegs, you’d see that there’s still a fair number who care what we do.’
‘Stay still, Flowers,’ Harry snapped, as the man looked set to test the theory.
‘Whatever you say, Capt’n,’ he replied. Flowers sat back, and picked up his empty tankard, peering into it. Harry grinned and waved to a passing girl, ordering three refills.
‘So what do we do?’ asked Pender.
‘We sit still, and we wait,’ Harry replied, the grin staying on his face so that all who cared to look could see it. He was thinking about that slow shake of the head that Richard Parker had given, again relating it to what he’d witnessed at Spithead. There the men had admirals treating with them. The First Lord had come to Portsmouth, as he had to the Nore, not of course to parley, but to be on hand so that the officers, in conclave with the delegates, could refer to him immediately the sailors’ grievances. The impression here was that the mutineers had demanded more, and had been rebuffed.
The question was, did this firmness of purpose being applied at the Nore, this refusal by the Admiralty to bow to pressure and meet the Delegates in force, augur well or ill? Harry had no way of knowing. But he did suspect that not returning to their duty on the Spithead terms had put Parker and his men beyond the pale. And the whole of Sheerness seemed to be in a state of near riot, which further undermined them. At no time in Portsmouth had the delegates there allowed such loose behaviour.
Parker, all passion spent, had managed to restore some order to the meeting. He was now trying to tell the assembly that the Admiralty had issued no threats, and while they had called for the men to return to their allegiance, they had not added to that a warning of any retribution. That Admiral Buckner and the senior Nore officers like Captain Mosse were still available, willing to meet the delegates at a place of their choosing.
Each one of these statements was greeted by howls of protest, mostly cries of ‘Spencer’ repeated like a chant. Passions were rising and the girls serving drinks were having to move swiftly to keep up with demand. It did occur to Harry, and looking at Pender it had obviously entered his head too, that they might be made victims of this outrage. But as unpleasant a prospect as that was, they were still hemmed in, and unless they wished to try and fight their way out, there was nothing that could be done about it.
‘We shall respond hard, lads,’ Parker shouted, ‘and let them know that we are not cowed.’
More suggestions followed, several of which suggested the removal of ‘Papa’ Buckner’s balls. Parker was yelling at the top of his voice trying to get them to pay attention, a distinct air of desperation in his behaviour.
‘Take to the streets, mates. Let them hear the sound of our fifes and drums, so that Spencer in his tower, and those bullocks in their camp, know we’ll not be awed by their guns. March around the town so that those who side with the oppressor can run to their masters and tell them that the mutiny holds.’
‘Fuck the parades,’ called a voice. ‘It’s time to show ’em what’s what. I say we take over them gunboats sitting in Sheerness dock.’
‘If you do that,’ Parker shouted, ‘you might as well send in a declaration of war.’
‘We need to defend ourselves,’ called another voice. ‘Don’t tell me you trust those bastards, President Parker. Why, I bet this very minute they’re lining up ships to come and take us over.’
‘No, I don’t trust them. And any man that knows me will grasp that. Trust Spencer, who will see an innocent man damned rather than set up fair rules to live by? But I see no future in fighting them, and that ain’t nothing to do with numbers. There’s not a man here that is not loyal to King and country, willing to go out and trounce the Hollanders if they poke their noses out of the Texel. We want grievances redressed, not wholesale riot. Is there any man here who truly wants that? Us against the whole nation with the French and Dutch just waiting to sail up to the Pool of London itself?
‘There’s more’n one kind of tyranny, lads. But even if you think wrong the laws we are subject to, they are still adhered to by all, high or low.’ Parker’s hand shot out, sweeping from the east to the south. ‘That ain’t the case over yonder, where the bloody guillotine rules.’
‘Then how in the name of hell will we get them to talk?’ asked one of the men beside the President.
Harry had been wondering how Parker had got himself the title, plus the leadership of these men. And as he spoke at least one reason emerged. He was on the defensive, yet still impressive in the way he exhorted his fellow mutineers regarding the justness of their cause. His eyes shone and he spoke with easy facility, clearly more at home with zealotry and peace-making than any kind of violent action.
‘By being as brothers, that’s how. There’s no need for a shot or a shell in the face of common purpose. All we need do is look these men square, as equals, which in the eyes of God and humanity we are. Our cause is just, our hearts are pure and right is on our side. No man, from the highest to the lowest in the land, can stand before such a notion, and remain unmoved.’
It worked, the more violent members of the group overborne by those more placidly inclined. His propositions, regarding marches and the like, repeated, were taken up with loud approval. Tankards were drained, while others were concealed under coats to be taken along. Men began to file out of the door of the Chequers, to gather in the streets, their yells to each other loud enough to penetrate the walls. Left inside, surrounded by these muted cries, were Parker and half a dozen sailors, all sat on the far side of the long table. Apart from their leader they had the demeanour of fearful men rather than firebrands. Parker kept that zealous glow in his eye until the last man departed, then sat down heavily, as though exhausted. He looked across to where Harry sat, pulling the piece of paper from his pocket to be perused. Then the President stood up, and, watched by his companions, he walked slowly across to the trio at the table.
‘Mr Parker,’ said Harry, standing up.
‘There’s cryptology in this,’ Parker replied, holding up the paper.
‘Pender, Flowers,’ said Harry, without taking his eyes off Parker. ‘I think you’re free to leave the table now.’
Parker responded with the faintest of nods, and the two sailors left quickly. Harry held out a hand to indicate that the President should sit down, an offer which was declined.
‘Valentine Joyce did not send you here.’
‘No, he didn’t.’
The scrap of paper was held up under Harry’s nose. ‘Yet you feel free to use his name.’
‘I cannot think he would mind.’
Parker’s heavy black eyebrows lowered menacingly. ‘That depends on the purpose.’
‘It’s well intentioned, as is Joyce himself.’
‘We’ve never met, but I have been so informed on more than one occasion.’
‘Why did my man playing the bones cause such an upset?’
The expression changed immediately to one of bewildered enquiry. ‘Who said he upset anyone?’
‘Just about everyone in the room, Mr Parker, except you. I don’t think that we could have moved safely from this table while that rabble was within these walls.’
‘You’re dreaming.’
‘I’m not prone to that.’
‘Who are you?’
‘Harry Ludlow.’
‘Navy?’
‘Once. Now a priva
teer.’
‘Are you spying on us?’
‘Would I say “yes” if I was?’ The paper was under Harry’s nose again. ‘I met Joyce in Portsmouth, the day they had that business on the London. You will have heard of that.’
Parker nodded. ‘We’ve spilt no blood here, to speak of, barring that from some of our own.’
Harry jerked his head to the fading sound of the marching band. ‘How long will that continue?’
‘Till the high and mighty give way.’
‘And what if they don’t?’
Passion returned to Parker’s face then. He slapped his hand on the table. ‘They must. Otherwise they will live to regret it. They might see blood running in rivers.’
‘Is that what you wish?’ asked Harry gently.
‘Don’t be daft, man,’ Parker spat.
‘But you might not be able to stop it?’
The President was about to respond to that with a vehement denial. But before he could speak he looked Harry in the eye, and that killed the words in his mouth. When he spoke, his passion had evaporated. ‘We will win.’
‘No doubt, Mr Parker, you feel that in your bones.’
‘What did Joyce tell you?’ Parker asked, suddenly suspicious.
Harry was tempted to speculate, but he had no information to make even half a convincing impression, so he told the truth. By sitting down himself he forced Parker to do likewise. He explained about the Colpoys and Havergood incident, his own part in that affair, and his offer to pay for the burial.
‘They had quite a fête that day,’ said Parker, ‘a long procession of mourners, but as nothing compared to the day Howe came down with the power to grant their wishes.’
‘You were there?’
‘No. But some of our lads went down to confer. They stayed long enough to meet up with old Howe, and brought back the terms the Spithead lads had settled for.’
‘Ones which you have still to accept.’
That brought another heavy slap to the surface of the table. ‘We demanded more!’
Harry was running the conversations he’d had with Villiers through his mind, a slow process since there had been so much of it. But the man’s uncle was First Lord of the Treasury, the King’s first minister, ultimately the person who would decide what terms he would offer to the mutineers. Pitt had said little that was encouraging and Villiers had been quite vehement that the government wouldn’t budge.
The Admiralty had been undermined at Portsmouth, but they had not been humiliated, partly due to the good sense of people like Bridport. And Black Dick Howe had consented to take upon himself the opprobrium of the actual capitulation, not to save their faces, but because he thought it right and proper. But many a powerful voice had been raised calling the whole thing an error. Such people, having lost one battle, would be disinclined to lose another, and Parker and his men had played into their hands.
Those troops camped outside were not there by coincidence. They were a sign that compromise was not a consideration. It was a moot point as to whether Lord Spencer should meet with Parker and his fellow delegates. He hadn’t met with Joyce. But then he hadn’t been asked to. Here in the Nore he had, refusing point blank to even consider it, in a quite offensive way, from what Harry could gather. The meeting here had gone Parker’s way by a narrow margin, the power of his oratory the determining factor. But if Spencer stayed obdurate, the siren voices would gain ground, and eventually they would take over the mutiny. Added together, what he knew and what he suspected presaged not a harmonious meeting of minds, rather bloodshed on a grand scale.
Harry moved his shoulder slightly, to ease the dull ache. ‘Mr Parker, would it anger you if I gave you some advice?’
For the first time the President smiled, and it made quite a difference to Harry’s impression of him. The habitual frown made him look ill-tempered by nature. The opposite showed that behind that was a warmer creature, one to whom men might have responded naturally, without being swayed by the power of his speech.
‘I have to take the advice of every man at the Nore, from Admiral Buckner down to the meanest ship’s boy. I cannot, in conscience, deny you the same right.’
Harry hesitated, aware that he had to be careful. He couldn’t just tell Parker that less than twenty-four hours before he’d been in the company of Billy Pitt, nor that the Prime Minister’s nephew was here in Sheerness, determined to prove that there was a Jacobin conspiracy at the root of all the trouble. Parker’s smile had slipped a little as he picked up the confusion in Harry’s manner.
‘I’m sorry, Parker. I’m not quite sure where to begin.’
The smile returned in even greater strength. ‘Then that separates you from the mass, and no mistake. It seems that every man I meet knows the beginning, middle, and end of everything.’
‘You will lose here.’ Parker sat back abruptly, his face shocked, as Harry continued. ‘Everything that could be won was gained at Spithead. The Admiralty got a bloody nose there. They’ll not stand to take another.’
‘You speak with an air of authority, sir.’
‘If I do, it is because of my personal certainty, not any inside information about the workings of the Admiralty mind. There are soldiers here, and too few ships to threaten the security of the nation.’
‘We sit across the throat of London!’
‘That is the worst card you can play, Mr Parker. Hardly a voice in the country was raised against the Channel Fleet mutiny. The mass of the populace supported it not only because it was just, but because they knew that the least sniff of a Frenchman poking his nose out of Brest would have seen the fleet back at sea. That, for all your protestations of loyalty to the King, has not been promulgated here. Instead you threaten London. That smacks not of righteous mutiny, but of revolution, and you will find yourselves tarred as Jacobins if you attempt it.’
‘There are no Jacobins here,’ Parker barked, so loud that the others in the room, still at the long table, who’d been studiously avoiding looking in their direction, were forced to do so.
‘There are those who will not believe that,’ Harry responded quietly. ‘And if you’re not wary you will by your actions hand them the right to brand you so and be believed. You must look for another avenue to pursue redress, and bring what is happening here to an end.’
‘Me?’ said Parker, suddenly weary.
‘Who else?’
That produced a bitter laugh. ‘You overrate my powers.’
‘If you, Mr Parker, and the people at the table, do not control this mutiny, who does? How will you convince the outside world that there is no conspiracy?’
Suddenly Parker was alert again, and wary. ‘How do I know that you are who you say? You could be a government spy, sent to sow the seeds of disunity amongst us.’
‘I could be, but I’m not.’
‘And how, pray, can I be certain of that?’
‘If you wish, you may communicate with Valentine Joyce. I think he would be willing to vouch for me.’
‘That’s an easy thing to say, Mr Ludlow,’ Richard Parker replied, his habitual frown now firmly back in place, ‘but not so easy to do.’
‘Why not?’
‘The Channel Fleet weighed for Brest, and is at sea as we speak. And that fact was known to everyone who had any contact with the Admiralty telegraph.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
‘WELL, Mr Villiers, a man would not have to be a charitable soul to say, without fear of contradiction, that you’ve excelled yourself.’
As Harry said these words, Pender was standing, hands on hips, a look of utter disbelief on his face. Flowers had turned away to look across the great estuary of the Thames towards Essex, so that his captain would not see him laughing. The ship lying by the quay at Faversham, which went by the name of the Good Intent, was the cause of this hidden mirth.
‘I was firm with Buckner,’ Villiers replied, as usual completely missing the fact that Harry was being ironic, almost unbelievable given the expression o
n his face. ‘He tried to fob me off, but I said that I would sit in his office until Doomsday unless he complied with my uncle’s request.’
‘And this is the result?’
Villiers must have picked up some of the displeasure Harry felt in the way that was said. For once his voice lacked that irritating tone of complete certainty.
‘You said you required a sloop, victualled and armed. Admiral Buckner was most careful, once he realised my station, to quiz me regarding the vessel I needed. I demanded no more, nor no less, than what you asked for.’
The temptation to shout at him, to call him a fool, was almost irresistible, yet it had to be smothered: Buckner must have realised after one or two simple questions that Villiers knew nothing at all about ships. He certainly had no notion of the naval habit of calling anything that couldn’t be classified in any other category as a sloop, this so that they could be rated as King’s ships and given to young officers as their first command.
Fore-and-aft rigged, with a square topsail, she was shaped something like an old-fashioned Dutch boier, a short-haul merchant vessel, with the foremast stepped well forward and the mizzen poking out of the poop. She was elderly, but well maintained, cared for by a couple of retired seamen, who through boredom or application had kept the well dry, the ship painted, her deck planking clean, with ropes and rigging taut and all the blocks properly greased, waiting for the day when some youngster, well connected and on a fast route to promotion, would be allotted the hull as a step on his road to high rank. Every admiral with a shore posting had vessels like this, part of the patronage they could bestow on the offspring of people of influence, extracting a high price for the act, since the men put in command of them were never ever to be exposed to danger. Rumour had it that some of them never even took their vessels to sea.
The armament consisted of six 4-pounder cannon, old wellworn guns that would probably roll out the ball if depressed to fire low, the top of their touch-holes worn into saucers by decades of use. Broad in the beam, Good Intent looked seaworthy enough for a pleasant day’s cruising in estuary waters, but Harry guessed that in the open sea, in any kind of swell, she would wallow like the devil, threatening to tip out her masts by the extent of her pitch and roll. She’d float in storm weather, but with a degree of discomfort that would churn the steadiest stomach. And as a fighting vessel, Good Intent would fall victim to any half-determined midshipman in a leaking, armed cutter.
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