“Prime Minister, there are no ships of force closer than the Downs and the rump of Duncan’s North Sea fleet. Together, they are easily outnumbered by the mutineer fleet, and even if we suppose that the seamen will fire on their brothers, I cannot be sanguine with respect to the outcome. The sight of our brave Jack Tars destroying each other …”
Pitt’s eyes half closed. “Then I take it that our combined wisdom has been defeated by a mutinous rabble? Is there nothing that can be done before they fall upon our lifeblood?” His words lashed into the silence.
Spencer muttered, “I fear not, Prime Minister.”
“How long can they hold out? Have we stopped all victuals reaching them?”
Spencer sighed audibly. “Sir, it is of no effect. If they are going to bail up the river, then they will have all the provisions in the world there for the taking.”
“Have they broken out, rioted, loosed violence in some way?”
“No, sir, they have always comported themselves, er, honorably.”
“Pity. It would stir the people against them. Gentlemen—friends, we are at a stand. If this catastrophe is allowed to take place I would offer short odds that with the total loss of revenue and credibility this government would fall within a week, and the country would be lost in disorder and rebellion within the month.
“This is now a war—a war of an increasingly personal nature, I’m sorry to say. The mutineers have a malignant genius conducting their affairs, one who seems to sense our motions and moves his forces accordingly.”
“Richard Parker,” murmured Spencer.
“Just so. My conviction, however, is that his origins preclude the notion that he is acting alone. I believe that he is secretly funded and directed by Jacobins.”
There was murmuring around the table, but Pitt went on scornfully. “This is neither here nor there. They expect to make their move in the next day or two, and just what are we going to do about it?”
Nobody spoke, so Pitt carried on: “We do nothing. Nothing! Any half-baked move would make us look fools, lose our moral standing as well as our reputations. If they carry out their threat then we suffer. But we let the world know that any mutiny without a cause must have the French at the bottom of it. This is our only hope. That they lose the support of the people, turn them against these knaves. Already they will earn the hatred of common folk for the ruination they will do to honest trade. That it is at the bidding of a Jacobin master will be hard to take.
“Evil must cast out evil. I will insure the newspapers receive plenty of fuel for their fulminations. Meanwhile, I want to clamp a complete hold on their fleet—they are neither to receive nor send any communications other than through channels controlled by us. We smuggle newspapers and tracts to the common seamen so they’ll have no doubt what odium the people of England now hold them in and drive wedges between them and their leaders. Tomorrow I shall introduce bills to the Commons concerning sedition and treason that will treat mutiny with the severity it deserves, and mark out as treasonable any who aid a mutineer.”
Pitt took a long pull at his port. “This is a fight to the finish. Victory can only go to he who is still standing at the end.”
“Ye mustn’t do this thing—I beg of ye, don’t!” Even as he spoke, Kydd knew that his words were merely a useless echo in his own ears.
“You are asking me to surrender our only real chance? To throw away all we’ve done so far? You’re a sad dog at times, Tom. Now we have real power! Pitt can’t stand his taxation revenue stopping or go against the City merchants, it’s obvious. Nothing stands in our way now.”
“Dick, till now, we’ve played it square, kept discipline, and all we c’n be accused of is not doing somethin’. Now we’re guttin’ the trade o’ these islands—don’t y’ think that we’ll lose any feelin’ for us we had before?”
“Feeling?” Parker said scornfully. “Do we take feelings into account? Damn it, we’re nearly there! Now if you feel qualmish about putting a halter around Billy Pitt’s neck then kindly keep it to yourself. And if you have nothing further to add, then leave me alone, I have work to do. This will bring their lordships here at the run, and I’m going to consolidate our grievances and articles into one, to hand over to them when they get here.” He lowered his head and returned to his writing.
Kydd’s anger rose. “An’ if this doesn’t bring their lordships, what then? Sail aroun’ t’ Portsmouth an’ give the Channel fleet a pepperin’? Fire on y’ Vr—”
Parker looked up, his face venomous. “This is my concern, not yours. I’m president, not you! If you don’t like the way we’re proceeding, with democratic votes, then you’d better run.”
Kydd sat in the deserted foretop, his back to the mast, staring out over the Nore. There had been so little time to stop and consider. He had been carried along by events and was as powerless to affect them as a leaf in a fast stream. The ever-spreading consequences of their actions, the multiplying dire possibilities, the implications for all he held loyal and true, was it too late to turn away?
It had begun with the noblest of motives, and this had held him to the cause. But this had not changed: what had were the stakes. Now it was the mutineers against the world on a numbing scale. Parker placed final victory for the mutiny against distress to the country as a whole, and this was something Kydd could not accept.
But could he desert, and betray the trust and reliance of his shipmates, especially if at this point they might be winning? He knew he could not.
He had respected Parker, even admired his knowledge and learning, but there were troubling flaws in his character. And his influence as president over the more hot-tempered men showed a worrying lack of common leadership. In effect, the belligerents were taking control. If they sparked off some sort of confrontation, it would most certainly end quickly and bloodily. He could not have this on his conscience, no matter what the outcome.
This, then, was what it came down to: he would not desert, he would remain—not so much in devotion to the cause but to do what he could to restrain the hotheads. Resolved, he swung over the edge of the foretop and regained the deck.
“Mr. Kydd, we bin lookin’ fer you,” Hulme called, catching sight of him. “Plannin’ fer the blockade in the bays—chop, chop!”
The bays forward on the main deck, both sides, could hold more men than the Great Cabin, the better to hear the detailed planning. Kydd took up position to one side and noticed Parker looking at him suspiciously.
“Our Great Plan,” Parker announced, once they had all settled. “A complete blockade of the Thames.”
It did not take long to go over the main items. The blockade was to consist of battleships spaced at half-mile intervals anchored right across the channel, lying to their anchors in the tide; this would insure that any vessel passing through would take a full broadside on both sides from a ship-of-the-line—effectively, utter destruction. Each side of the line would be patrolled by a frigate and ship sloop. An anchoring ground on both sides of the Thames was designed as a holding area for the arrested ships.
“This will be your authority,” Parker said, holding up a paper. “Warrant of detention, signed by the committee.”
More details, then the meeting broke up in noisy cheerfulness. It was a daring stroke, and action instead of the boredom of waiting. Some were uneasy. Perhaps this would set government and Admiralty implacably against them, with avenging to be wrought afterward, no matter the result.
But Thomas Jepson, the lively fiddler of Sandwich, put the sailors’ feelings best: “We gets what we ask, or all London ’ll be in an uproar Sat’day night.”
The next morning Kydd joined Parker on the fo’c’sle head. Standing in the desultory rain, arms folded and looking out over the gray expanse of the Thames estuary, the President of the Delegates affected not to notice him.
“Goin’ well, then,” Kydd said.
Parker glanced once at him. “You’re with us.”
“Aye.”
“
Made peace with your conscience?”
“I know what I have t’ do.”
Unbending, Parker pointed to the battleships. “I should suppose they’ll kedge and warp across.”
“Wi’ this useful easterly an’ on the ebb? They’d be lubbers if they don’t cast t’ larb’d an’ make a board across t’ their place, letting’ go the stream anchor …” He tailed off, aware that he was contradicting Parker.
“You’d never make a politician, but always a damn fine seaman, Tom.” Parker laughed.
They both looked out at the scene. Without officers, and with the minimum of fuss, the big ships-of-the-line took up their moorings and, under topsails and fore-’n’-aft canvas, leaned to the wind to find their allotted places. Within hours, they were in position, and the sea highway to the capital was securely closed.
“This is what I want to see,” said Parker. It was the several picket craft sailing to intercept merchantmen, working together with the patrolling frigates to shepherd them to a holding anchorage. One by one merchant captains found themselves joining a growing number of vessels crowding the mudflat.
As the numbers swelled, Parker grew more somber. “To see it happen, to know it is my work—it gives me no pleasure, if you’ll believe me. Did I do right? Or have I brought down forces of vengeance that will undo our precious cause?”
Three sailors deserting from Lion were brought to the gangway. The committee decided on two dozen lashes to be applied immediately But by night disaffected seamen could take boats and reach the Essex mudflats, the remote marshlands of eastern Sheppey or the Isle of Grain, and disappear.
HMS Maria was a victualer from Deptford. She was laden with stores and provisions for Jervis—newly created Earl St. Vincent—and his fleet still at Lisbon. Given the Admiralty’s non-supply to their own fleet, the committee deemed it proper that the stores should rightfully go to where they were most needed. Kydd was soon entering this accession of stores in open declaration and making out disbursement lists.
The Inflexible men took more direct means. Several boats were taken ashore where sheep were seized from terrified farmers and carried bleating out to sea. Others relieved a fishing smack of its catch.
Days passed. Newspapers told of fear and disorder, chaos on the trading floors, hunts for Jacobin spies. Editorials were full of rage at the mutineers. Still there was no word of a peace mission.
Parker toured the ships to raise spirits. Some, like Montagu, Director and Inflexible, turned on him, demanding yet more acts against the silent Admiralty, while others begged a resolution before their world disintegrated.
“We cannot cravenly surrender now,” Parker said softly. “They’ll crucify us for what we’ve done.” He smiled wanly. “Do you know, Tom, there are now proclamations posted in Sheerness that accuse me of ‘divers acts of mutiny, treason and rebellion’ and promising five hundred pounds for my apprehension? How long before we all have our fame published so far and wide?”
Kydd saw Parker’s despondent look. “They must yield! It c’n only be a matter of time, Dick.” Parker didn’t reply.
The breakthrough came just after dawn. The lookouts in the maintop of Sandwich hailed the deck. “Deck hooooo! Ships—men-o’-war, ships-o’-the-line—standin’ toward!”
Eager eyes identified the remainder of the North Sea squadron; Agamemnon, previously Nelson’s own famed ship-of-the-line; Ardent, of equal force; Leopard and Isis, ’0-gun ships. They all flew the Bloody Flag at the main.
“Now! Now we have it! Dare I say it?” Parker said, exulting in the moment. “We have a fleet, such a fleet that is the biggest in England!” The tension of the days fell away, men manned the shrouds and cheered themselves hoarse.
“With this force,” Parker said, his eyes bright and staring, “I can do anything. I’ve more power than any admiral—I can descend on whole countries and make them quiver. There’s nothing I can’t do. Think of it!”
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 insured 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 Saint 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 endeavors, 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 appro
ach 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 mudflats. 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 memorized. 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 rhapsodize 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 abruptly, “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 halfway 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.
Mutiny Page 29
