by David McDine
Altogether a different kettle of fish was the master-at-arms, Jemmy Askew, a Lancashire man who had previously served in the marines, experience that had fitted him well for his disciplinary role and for teaching the men the use of small arms and muskets.
And Sergeant Josh Kennard, of the marines, a Plymouth man brought up in the school of hard knocks, was equally dependable.
Robert Hogg, the acting gunner, and Patrick Connor, the carpenter, representing the artificers, made up the quorum.
All had been forced to keep a low profile when mutiny swept through the fleet like a forest fire, but now that the flames had died down and all but the most fervent were having second thoughts, these men had come together to attempt to save the day.
They stood around, ill at ease in this inner sanctum. But Rook had no such qualms. He plonked himself down in the captain’s chair, tapped the table and announced: ‘Now gents, let’s get to it! We ain’t got no agenda, but if we had it’d start with election of a chairman, right?’
There were nods of agreement and the rest took their seats around the table.
‘So,’ he demanded, ‘any nominations?’
His two mates seated either side of him remained expressionless and Rook broke the silence by cracking his knuckles. No-one was going to argue with this trio.
‘Well?’
Askew raised a hand. ‘How about you yourself, bosun?’
‘Me?’ Rook affected surprise.
‘Yeah, well, you’ve called the meeting. You’ve got what you might call the backing …’ He indicated the two stony-faced boatswain’s mates, ‘… and, well, I reckon you know how the rest of us feel.’
The bosun shrugged. ‘What about you, master? You’re the senior man.’
Alarmed, Sadler shook his head. ‘Oh no, not me! I’m for a peaceful life, I am. I’d be on a lea shore in a job like this.’
The others looked relieved. It was clear that none of them would have trusted him to lead at such a critical moment.
‘No other takers? You Josh, or you Jemmy?’
They shook their heads, if a little less vigorously than Sadler.
‘Very well, then, so I’ll consider myself elected …’
They murmured their assent.
‘Right, then let’s get on.’
The rest settled back in their chairs, relieved that someone like him was prepared to take the lead.
‘Look gents, it’s like this. We know from those delegates who came on board today to take ours off to meet with Parker that the ring-leaders now want to blockade London to force their demands—’
Askew interjected: ‘And some of the right agitators are urging their shipmates to defect to France. It’s not what they struck for …’
There was muttered agreement around the table. Enthusiasm for the mutiny had clearly waned. Here, on board Euphemus, as in certain other ships, the enormity of what they were now involved in was beginning to strike home.
Rook paused, taking stock of the mood, before continuing: ‘I’ve been talking, informal-like, to the men. Seems to me many of ’em have come to understand that everything’s changed. Most were up for trying to get better conditions, but now—’
‘Yeah, most were all for trying for better pay and all that,’ Connor ventured. ‘But I reckon it’s gone too far with this talk of blockading London. And all these rumours about deserting to the enemy, well, that just ain’t on, is it?’
The bosun nodded vigorously. ‘That’s right, Chippy. If one or the other – or both – happens, there’ll be no going back. And the feeling’s spreading among the men that anything like that could only end in defeat. The government couldn’t let us win.’
Connor stated the obvious. ‘So we’d have to surrender—’
‘That’s right,’ Askew agreed. ‘And that would mean the noose for those as have played an active part in all this.’
‘Or it’d mean deserting and exile among the Frogs, scoffing snails for the rest of our days!’
Hogg’s comment was met with a restrained laugh from the rest, but his point was well made, and they sat for a moment contemplating the gravity of the situation.
Rook broke the silence. ‘Well, I for one ain’t prepared to fight my own country, no more than I’d desert to the enemy. I didn’t get to be bosun of one of His Majesty’s war canoes by acting the traitor and I sure as eggs ain’t going to start now!’
‘I’m with you there, Bert,’ Askew agreed. ‘Anyways, I’ve got a wife and kids in Chatham and there’s no way I’m going to abandon them. I didn’t want to go along with this mutiny lark in the first place and now I want out of it afore it’s too late.’
The others joined in, agreeing to his sentiments, and Rook let them rattle on for a while before banging the table for silence.
‘Gents, what I’m hearing is what I’ve been hearing all day from the men. At first there was muttering and now they’re openly talking like us, with wiser heads convincing all but the out-and-out hotheads that the only way to save us all from disaster is to take the ship in, voluntarily-like, and declare for King George.’
‘But how – and where?’
‘Under cover of darkness, to Sheerness, or, better still, the dockyard at Chatham.’
The master spoke for the first time. ‘But we must take care,’ he warned. ‘It’d be no use simply lowering the red flag and sailing away in broad daylight. That’d be sure to bring the fire of the rest of the ships down upon us.’
‘And we don’t know how we’ll be received if we do take her in,’ Sergeant Kennard warned. ‘They’ve been setting up shore batteries and there’s been loads more soldiers brought in, cavalry and whatnot. What if they fire on us when we take her in? What’d we do then, caught between two fires?’
Rook held up his hands. ‘Gents, you’re right. So this is what we’ve got to do. While it’s still dark we’ll send a boat ashore, secretly like, and ask for a meeting with the admiral. We’ll explain how we’re fixed and get a guarantee that when we strike the red flag and take the ship in wearing the royal ensign they’ll not fire on us, and we’ll get his promise that we’ll all be pardoned for abandoning the mutiny.’
‘How can we be sure they’ll keep their word?’
‘Because we’ll ask the admiral to send an officer back with us, as a guarantee, like. Not one of our own lot but someone neutral as we can trust.’
‘That’s all very well, but the minute we slip from here the nearest ships will smoke what we’re about and they’ll fire on us for sure,’ Sadler pointed out.
Rook shook his head. ‘Not necessarily. We’d slip under cover of darkness so they might not wake up to what’s happening until we’re out of range, and in any case their gun crews would think long and hard before firing on fellow seamen.’
‘You might be right, but we don’t know for sure. More’n likely that President Parker would be forced by the extremists and the rest of the delegates to make an example of us to encourage the others to keep the mutiny alive—’
‘That’s right. And he’d order the other ships to fire on us!’
‘That’s as may be, but we can’t leave the mutiny and sit here without a red flag flying. We’ve got to take her in – and that means sending a boat in first to find out how we’ll be received.’
He looked around the table. ‘I’ll go myself. So who’s up for coming with me?’
They settled that Hogg and Connor and a few volunteer oarsmen from among the most reliable seamen would accompany him, leaving the others to arm themselves and maintain order on board, clapping dissenters in irons if necessary.
And so, in the early hours, a boat was lowered and seven men climbed down the side of the ship. Their leader, Rook, took the tiller, whispered ‘dip oars’ and the rowers pulled away as silently as possible.
Tucked in the bosun’s shirt was a message to the flag officer – in case they were unable to get a meeting with him – announcing that the majority of the ship’s company wished to leave the mutiny, and asking:
‘How will we be received if we bring the ship in?’
8
Duty Calls
After what seemed like an age confined to his bed, Anson was at last up and about, taking short walks in the grounds of Ludden Hall with Josiah Parkin.
The old gentleman was clearly of comfortable independent means and Anson was eventually able to coax him into revealing something of his background.
‘I had what many would consider the good fortune to be born into a Kentish banking family. It was a foregone conclusion that I would enter the profession after university and the Grand Tour, although the business never attracted me.’
The Grand Tour explained the pictures of Roman ruins, the ancient damaged statues and display cases of coins that adorned the hall and library, but not the detailed anatomical drawings and stuffed creatures in glass cases.
Anson asked: ‘But you joined the bank nevertheless?’
Parkin nodded ruefully. ‘I did. It was the least I could do after the privileged education the family bank had given me.’
Anson thought of the richly furnished house, the beautifully kept grounds and the immaculate carriage and pair. ‘And you were clearly successful in the banking business?’
‘Moderately so, but it was not a profession I enjoyed. We would willingly lend money to those who didn’t need it but withheld it from those who did, or we would lend it grudgingly and charge them high interest.’
‘I suppose that’s the nature of the business.’
Parkin frowned as if the memory pained him. ‘I tried to conduct it with humanity, but yes, banking is a curious and rather unsavoury occupation. I’d sooner consort with my rats.’
‘Rats!’ Anson did a double-take.
The old man smiled. ‘Deceased, of course, ready for dissecting … I am, you see, something of a natural historian too.’
‘And you are clearly happy to have left banking behind?’
‘There are worse professions, of course – the law, for example. Some lawyers I have had to deal with are among the biggest crooks un-hung. In knowing the ins and outs of the law they understand how best to work it to their own advantage, squirming and wriggling through it without rendering themselves liable to punishment for circumnavigating it.’
Anson laughed. ‘You clearly don’t rate banking or the law very highly I see.’
‘You could say that. It was a great relief when a few years back I handed over control of the family bank to some rather disagreeable second cousins. You see, I was always more interested in natural history and antiquarian pursuits than in pounds, shillings and pence. Your family, of course, is engaged in far more worthy and honourable professions.’
‘The church and the navy?’ Anson looked doubtful. ‘I would like to think that the navy is, but I sometimes wonder if the same is true of some clergy. They may espouse the sentiments of the sermon on the mount and suchlike, yet live privileged lives off the fat of the land while some of their flocks endure hardship.’
Parkin raised his eyebrows. ‘You cannot mean members of your own family?’
‘I am very much afraid I do. My father is an upright man but enjoys an extremely comfortable living, a good table, fine wines, hunting and so forth. But as for my brother Gussie, why, I sometimes feel he borders on the Pharisee—’
‘One who uses his church office merely to advance himself?’
‘I fear so.’ Anxious to change the subject, he asked hesitantly: ‘Please tell me if I intrude, sir, but do I take it that you never wished to marry?’
Parkin shook his head, chuckling. ‘Marry? Dear me, no! There was a young lady that I was fond of once, but she married into a, shall we say, larger banking family. To tell the truth I would have liked to have had children of my own. There is my niece Cassandra of course, but I envy your father having sons such as you venturing forth. It would be grand to share those adventures vicariously, as it were. But in any event, a wife would have protested at my wittering on about the Romans and would no doubt have objected to the dissection of creatures on the dining room table!’
So that explained the old gentleman’s reference to rats – and the anatomical drawings and stuffed animals in glass cases. Anson laughed. ‘And she would have had a point! I have no objection to hearing about the Romans myself – on the contrary. And some fellows cook and eat rats at sea in preference to salt beef—’
Parkin’s eyebrows soared. ‘Good gracious!’
‘Indeed, although I have never felt inclined to join them myself. And as to dissecting such creatures on the dining table, well, I can think of more agreeable pastimes!’
‘Ah, but to me the pursuit of knowledge is akin to some men’s obsession with the hunt. There is much satisfaction to be had from discovering what a rat had for his dinner or how a bat’s wing is constructed – and recording the information I discover with my drawings. And another plus is that my second cousins steer well clear of me and my dissected rats and bats, although fortunately Cassandra has been, shall we say, brought up with them.’
It was Anson’s turn to raise his eyebrows in mock alarm and, as they walked, he endeavoured to steer their discussions towards his host’s passion for antiquities, rather than creatures’ innards, as well as quizzing him for the latest news of the mutiny.
Parkin regaled his guest with tales of the Roman occupation, of the coming of the Jutes to East Kent and Viking raids on the Isle of Sheppey, commenting: ‘If you’ve been there you may well have met some of their descendants!’
In return, Anson recalled some of his adventures since joining the navy as a fresh-faced midshipman, encounters with the enemy and the taking of prizes.
As a former banker, Parkin was fascinated to hear how prize money was shared, exclaiming: ‘Better than gilts!’
‘Yes, for officers who get the major share, but you could easily lose a body part in the winning of it – or on some other risky enterprise. Lord Nelson is a prime example.’
When pressed, Anson recounted the happenings of the past few weeks – his mission to Portsmouth carrying documents that confirmed the ending of the Spithead mutiny, and his less successful assignment to the Nore where he was greeted with a sea of red flags.
The old man was as spellbound about these adventures as Anson was about his host’s antiquarian and natural history tales. Despite the wide difference in their ages the two got along famously and, with such convivial company, good food and plenty of rest, Anson’s health improved rapidly.
The colour was back in his once-sallow cheeks, the lump on his head acquired through his fall had disappeared, and he was putting back the weight he had lost over the past fortnight.
****
The pair were in the summerhouse reading the London newspapers and discussing the latest news of the mutiny when a letter arrived for Anson.
Immediately he knew it must be from Captain Wills at Chatham. No-one else knew where he was.
Parkin watched expectantly as Anson broke the seal, read it quickly and told his host: ‘This is what I have been expecting – a summons back to Chatham. I am told they have a special service for me, and it can only be something to do with the mutiny. I must leave at first light tomorrow.’
The old man nodded. ‘Very well. I’ll tell the maids to pack your dunnage. Everything is clean and neatly pressed, by-the-by, and I’ll arrange for my coachman to take you back in my carriage. In fact, unless you have any objection, I’ll accompany you myself. It will be an outing for me.’
Anson was supervising the packing of his bag by the two giggling maids when he heard a crunch of wheels in the driveway and looked out of the window to see Josiah Parkin handing a young lady down from a carriage.
His niece, no doubt.
He descended the broad staircase in time to see Parkin enter the hallway with the pretty dark-haired young lady on his arm.
‘Ah! Anson, allow me to present my niece, Cassandra.’
He bowed. ‘Pleased to meet you, Miss …?’
She bobbed and smiled, reveal
ing perfect teeth. ‘Parkin. I’m Miss Parkin, my uncle’s brother’s daughter, but as much like his own daughter as it’s possible to be.’
Anson was still working that out when Parkin explained, beaming affectionately at her: ‘Cassandra was the only daughter of my brother Jeremiah and his wife Helen. Sadly we lost them to typhoid when she was a baby and she has lived with me ever since.’
‘So by now you must be as well acquainted with rats as we sailors are, Miss, er, Parkin?’
She laughed prettily. ‘I see you have learned of my uncle’s foibles, sir. Fortunately his rats, squirrels, rabbits and other creatures arrive not on foot or out of holes in the skirting board, but hanging from gamekeepers’ belts all ready for dissection. But in any event my uncle has encouraged me to take an interest in natural history, although I prefer flora to fauna.’
Parkin smiled benignly at his niece. ‘My dear, Mister Anson is a naval officer, a lieutenant no less, resting here for a while convalescing from a fever before returning to duty at Chatham.’
‘I am sorry to hear of your indisposition, Lieutenant Anson, and trust you are on the road to recovery.’
‘Pretty well, Miss, er, Parkin, pretty well. So, from your Christian name, am I to take it that you have the gift of foresight?’
‘Cassandra? I see that you know your mythology, sir. But are you aware that the Greek Kassandra, with a K rather than a C, was also known as “she who entangles men”?’
Anson exchanged a knowing glance with Parkin. ‘I see that you have educated your niece well, sir. I was aware of Cassandra’s gift of seeing into the future, but not about entangling men!’
‘It’s a little early for that sort of entanglement. My niece is only just turned sixteen, after all. But yes, I have done my best to further her education and she knows her mythology, history, literature and so on pretty well.’
‘Then she is a credit to you, sir.’
Parkin shook his head. ‘I fear I have cruelly neglected the more ladylike pursuits – embroidery, painting, music, dancing and suchlike.’
