Mutiny Read online

  Murmurs arose from the rest of the deputation. “We’ll give ’em to Ol’ Knobbs ’imself, then.”

  “The King! You—you must not! Recollect yourselves, I beg you!”

  Parker held up his arms. “Hold, you men, we’re pleased to grant Admiral Buckner a period of reflection on this matter. May we see you at nine tomorrow, sir?”

  * * *

  Soon after dawn, the sloop Firefly approached from the north under all sail. She went about under the lee of Sandwich, her boat in the water before she had lost all way. It stroked swiftly to Sandwich with five passengers.

  Parker lost no time in introducing them to Kydd. “These are delegates from the North Sea fleet, Tom,” he said, satisfaction rich in his voice. “This is our man from the Leopard, and this is the delegate from Agamemnon.” Kydd shook hands; the men looked hard and capable. “Come from Yarmouth to let us know what they think of our eight articles,” Parker continued.

  “We like ’em main well, Mr. Parker,” the older delegate said, looking curiously around him. “It’s right good in yer to set us straight about their tricksy lordships, an’ I can say we’re with ye.”

  Later, in the capacious cabin, Parker exulted, “Damn me eyes, but this is rare good news!”

  Kydd was scratching away at a letter but stopped immediately.

  “Tom, it means that in one go we’ve doubled our numbers. With the North Sea fleet, they dare not act against us now, and we will be heard.” Parker stared raptly into space.

  Kydd picked up on the relief he sensed behind the jubilation. “Y’ mean they’ve been foxed, the rogues. Found a tartar athwart their hawse, did they?”

  Parker’s worry lines had fallen away. He laughed softly. “Yes, let’s see what they think of that.”

  “Th’ admiral will be aboard presently,” Kydd reminded him.

  “Oh? Ah, yes. Well, now, I do believe it would be a good thing were we to establish our respective positions in a more, er, imaginative way. Sandwich will not await his personage in the usual way, no. Instead he will wait on myself, president of the delegates. So, Tom, well absent ourselves, and return after himself is on board. We’ll besides set the Parliament to debating our articles while we’re gone, keep ’em out of mischief.”

  “Dick—he’s a flag officer!” This ran against all the habits of respect and obedience Kydd had imbibed since his early days in the navy. “An’ Sandwich is his own flagship we turned him out of.”

  “All the sweeter!” Parker laughed.

  Admiral Buckner, the captain of Sandwich and another officer took boat and arrived at Sandwich at nine. They came aboard without ceremony and were told that the delegates were in session and could not be disturbed.

  Buckner paced slowly around the deck of his former flagship. After half an hour, Hulme told him truculently that he would be handed the demands after discussions were concluded. The three officers continued standing about the decks.

  At eleven the delegates emerged in a body from the Great Cabin. “You said we waits fer Mr. Parker!” one whispered fiercely.

  “An’ where’s he at, then?” Hulme said, with contempt. “Skiving off, so he’s not seen t’ do th’ dirty work? We does th’ job ourselves.”

  Hulme carried the documents in a signal pouch, and pushed forward to the front of the group. In a previous existence an admiral in gold-laced cocked hat and silk stockings standing with his officers on his own quarterdeck would hardly notice a common seaman. Hulme seemed determined not to be affected. He removed his hat elaborately with a mock bow, and took out the papers.

  “Admiral, this ’ere is th’ final word o’ the delegates.” He looked around at his consorts grandly. “An’ I’m ter tell ye, we don’t give up the charge o’ this ship, or any other, until these conditions are done.” Passing across the sheets of paper, he added, “As our brother seamen at Spithead wuz honored b’ the personal presence o’ th’ Board of Admiralty, then we got a right t’ expect ’em to come t’ Sheerness ’n’ see us. Which we insists on.”

  He backed into the group again. Davis came forward and, in a quiet voice, said, “Sir, we means no disrespect t’ you or y’ flag, but we will be heard.”

  Buckner passed the papers behind him without looking at them. His lips set in a tight line, but his voice was thin and weak. “Do you understand that I have no authority to concede on any point?”

  Muttered discontent rose to shouts. “Why did yer come, then?” It was McCarthy. “Keep an eye t’ wind’d, Admiral, we c’n easily set yez ashore like we did before.”

  Davis looked around and glared.

  “You may,” said Buckner, quavering in his indignation, “but I also have my instructions, which are that I may not even discuss any points you might bring forward.”

  So engrossed were the seamen with the drama on the quarterdeck that they did not notice Parker appear from the main-hatch-way. He strode quickly to the admiral and, without ceremony, deftly detached him from the confrontation.

  Kydd followed and stormed over to the delegates. “What the blazes are ye about, y’ swabs? Couldn’t y’ wait f’r Dick?”

  Hulme scowled. “What’s ter wait, cock? We done the talkin’, we done the votin’, admiral lies to, waitin’ fer a steer—where’s Parker?” His lip curled contemptuously. “Not as ’oo should say, a real copper-bottomed pres-i-dent!”

  The admiral and Parker returned. Buckner faced the delegates. “Ahem. I have your er, articles, and I shall send these by special rider to the Admiralty this very hour, together with my recommendation for their early attention. But this I have to tell you, I am not sanguine as to their reception.” His face sagged in fatigue, and his voice was barely above a sigh. “But I beg you once more, do you please accept His Majesty’s gracious pardon and return to duty.”

  McCarthy sidled around until he was behind Parker. He leaned forward and whispered hoarsely, “Why don’ ye settle him?” There was a scandalized pause until it was evident that no one was going to notice the provocation.

  Parker crossed to the main-hatchway, gesturing unmistakably. “Thank you for your visit, sir, we will not delay you further. Mr. Davis!”

  As soon as the admiral was clear of the ship, Parker turned on McCarthy. “You lubberly knave! Do you think to destroy our reputation? Damned rogue!”

  “Scrag the bastard!” Hulme shouted, and a dozen seamen threw themselves at McCarthy. Held by others, a halter was fashioned from a running bowline, and he was dragged forward along the deck.

  Terrified, clawing at the tightening noose, McCarthy gurgled, “What’ve I done, mates? What’re yer doin’?”

  “Let him go!” Parker shouted, but it had no effect. Stepping forward Kydd bawled at the leaders of the horseplay, but they obviously wanted their sport. Something snapped. He threw himself at the men, taking blows and giving them. Others joined in until the master-at-arms and boatswain’s mates intervened.

  “We gives him a trial first—a court-martial,” Kydd snarled. They frog-marched McCarthy below to the Great Cabin and lashed him struggling in a chair.

  “Court comes ter order,” growled Davis. “Stands accused o’ sedition.”

  Parker arrived, breathless. “You can’t do this!”

  “Guilty!” spat Hulme, who had taken a punch that had bloodied his nose.

  “What are you about? This man—”

  “Who votes fer guilty?” More seamen crowded into the cabin. “Is there any who’ll speak fer Charles McCarthy?” No one offered.

  “It’s m’ sad dooty to pass sentence on yez, McCarthy. Are ye prepared?” The rope was produced again—but the sentence turned out to be one of transportation.

  “Take him away!” He was thrown in a boat, turned out of his ship.

  Kydd watched, brooding, but Parker was clearly nettled. “At times I despair of the quality of these men’s devotion to the cause we all share.”

  The following day was sulky, gray and cool. Drizzle hung in slowly moving curtains over the Nore.

 
The morning wore on, but there was no word. Then a rumor came from ashore; it seemed extraordinary, but Admiral Buckner had been seen wandering about the dockyard, stopping any sailor he could find and urging him to persuade the delegates to submit; the Admiralty would never agree to terms.

  “It seems apparent to me,” Parker said, “that the cowardly knave has had his answer from their lordships, and is frightened to tell us.” His assessment seemed reasonable, and Davis went ashore to seek out the old man and find the truth.

  The mutineer captain of Sandwich returned within the hour.

  “So that’s it,” Parker said, sitting suddenly. Davis remained standing, his arms folded. “Did he give any hope of a parley?”

  Davis shook his head. “Nope. My feelin’ is that he’s got a cast-iron ‘no’ fr’m their fuckin’ lordships, an’ is too yeller t’ tell us ter our faces.”

  Parker stared at the table, his face gray. “This I don’t understand. At Spithead they talked with the delegates, the board came down to listen, they agreed their demands. Why don’t they do the same for us? Why are we treated like lepers, criminals?” His voice tailed off in dismay.

  “So what d’ we do, then, Dick?” Kydd asked gently.

  “Do?” With rising anger Davis pushed forward and said forcefully, “We got a pardon not worth a brass razoo, no hope o’ gettin’ our gripes heard, an’ now no clear ways ahead.”

  Parker raised his head. “Possibly it might now be time—”

  “Ain’t no way we c’n backwater on this’n,” Davis broke in. “Our necks ’re in a noose soon ’s we give it in. I reckon there’s only one course t’ steer. We show we means what we says. An’ goes at it hard, like.”

  “That’s what we do, no doubt about it. It’s the only way we’re going t’ get them to see we’re not Pr turnin’,” Kydd agreed vigorously.

  Parker gave a ghost of a smile.

  * * *

  Sailors began landing in numbers, each with a red cockade in his hat. The processions started again but there was no festive mood, no hilarity. Instead, it was a march of grim-faced seamen preceded by a huge red flag, damp and streaming in the oppressive drizzle.

  Townsfolk watched apprehensively, sensing the mood of anger and frustration. Some called encouragement but for most it was a disturbing, frightening sight—jolly Jack Tar in an ugly mood.

  Aboard Sandwich a meeting was called. Parker, pale-faced but resolute, addressed the Parliament. “We need to step up our vigilance, keep a strong hand in our discipline.” The assembled delegates waited. “I have here a list of proposed regulations that we—”

  “Enough of yer soddin’ regulations! Let’s ’ave some action, blast yer eyes!”

  “The chair recognizes Brother Blake, Inflexible,” said Parker warily.

  “Are we sittin’ around here while they waits us out? Be buggered we are! Look, I heard there’s soldiers on th’ march fr’m Chatham, comin’ over King’s Ferry now. So how about some regulations fer that, Mr. President?”

  The news caused a buzz of dismay, but the fire-breathing Blake stood up and challenged, “Strike Admiral Buckner’s pennant, an’ hoist the Bloody Flag fr’m the masthead instead. Every fuckin’ man-o’-war t’ do the same and be damned t’ any who stand in th’ way of justice an’ our rights!”

  In the animated discussion that followed, Parker rapped on the table. “It’s more serious than that. If they are moving troops against us, when we have always been peaceable, we are betrayed, brothers. And we can do only one of two things. Surrender without a pardon, or resist. I leave it to this meeting to decide.”

  Kydd laid down his quill while argument raged. Soldiers, sent to Sheerness Fort no doubt. Did this mean a deliberate act of encirclement or was it something more innocent? Whatever the reason, Parker was right: their alternatives were few. Their only chance now was a show of strength to persuade the Admiralty that negotiation was in their own best interest. He raised his voice stoutly over the din. “We take steps t’ secure the fleet.”

  “An’ what’s that supposed ter mean?” Blake stared at him suspiciously. Kydd was not a delegate and had no right to speak, but he was given a hearing.

  “All ships t’ shift moorings t’ the Great Nore, ground tackle down so’s we’re in a defensive circle, that sort o’ thing. Then f’r sure they can’t come close without we c’n greet ’em with a broadside. They’ll never try that, so we’ll be safe ’n’ snug.”

  “Um, intelligent,” Parker mused. “They can’t accuse us of an offensive action, no provocation, but by this we render ourselves quite beyond their power to harm us.”

  “What about th’ standin’ force o’ gunboats?” Hulme had made little contribution so far, but this idea was good. Sheerness as a naval port had its local defenses, and these included a small squadron of gunboats.

  “We helps ourselves, in course,” said Blake warmly. “An’ then we has th’ buggers around us t’ see off any cuttin’ out tricks b’ boats.”

  “Er, it sounds a useful move, I’ll admit,” said Parker doubtfully “We must suppose that if we leave them, they may well be used against us. Very well, we make our plans.”

  One by one the men-o’-war of the Nore took up their positions; concentrated in a double crescent, their combined broadsides were a fearsome threat. Every vessel in Sheerness that could sail was brought out to join the fleet. Some were fearful of the way things were shaping, and a certain amount of coercion, sometimes forceful, was employed.

  The column of soldiers made their appearance on the Queen-borough road—two full regiments—but they turned out to be militia, and succumbed quickly to the antics of the seamen ashore, who ran alongside taunting or striking up patriotic songs. The soldiers straggled into their barracks in disarray.

  In the dockyard the sailors found allies among the shipwrights. In sympathy with the wronged seamen, they resolved never to take any vessel for repair unless it was flying a red flag at main. Blue Town loyally urged on the sailors they had taken to their hearts, and when a flotilla of armed boats from the fleet swept around the point they were roundly cheered.

  Eight gunboats were boarded and carried, with most crews joining the mutineers. Without delay, they set out to join the fleet.

  “Should be comin’ in sight any minute,” said Kydd to Parker, clamping his telescope against a shroud.

  “And I’d never have considered Blake the man to do it,” Parker said.

  Kydd looked out over the low-lying fortifications. “He’s a shortfused beggar, I know, but he’s the kind o’ man y’d like next to you in a boardin’.” He saw the masts. “Here they come, thanks be.”

  The gunboats drew abreast of Garrison Point. Then came a jet of smoke and the thud of a gun. The next vessel passed; it also fired. And the next took its turn. There was no mistaking this time: an untidy scatter of black fragments leaped skyward. “Jesus!” shouted Kydd. “They’re bombardin’ the fort!”

  CHAPTER 9

  Kind in you, Dundas—my own shed a wheel this morning, most aggravating’.”

  The secretary of state for war did not appear particularly communicative, staring out of his carriage window at the sunset traffic on the Thames as they passed over Westminster Bridge.

  “Billy Pitt must be hell-bent on some adventure, callin’ a cabinet meeting at such a notice,” Windham, leader of the Commons, offered.

  “He has much to consairn him.” The burr of a lowland Scot had not entirely left the secretary, but Windham knew that, of all men, Dundas was closest to the beleaguered prime minister. “Know it for a fact that Lord Moira is tappin’ his friends with a view to bringing him and his gov’ment down—wants Northumberland as premier an’ Fox to be a minister.”

  “Fox! The wily beggar—you know he waited on the King?”

  “Aye, he did, and His Knobbs saw him, would you credit it? Didn’t say a word to him, I’m told.”

  The carriage clattered off the bridge at New Palace Yard, passing the twin flambeaux at its entrance cra
ckling in the gathering dusk. It swung right into Parliament Street with a loud creaking of leather springs, then slowed and came to a stop.

  Dundas thumped on the roof with his stick. “Dammit, man, we have to be in—”

  A caped coachman leaned down. “The mobility, sir,” he said heavily. Dundas leaned out of the window. A straggling, noisy crowd was astride the road: some of them bore crude banners, others were supporting an effigy.

  “Drive on!” Dundas snapped, and withdrew inside. He hefted his stick—it was capped with a heavy silver embossing. Windham loosened his sword, a paltry spadroon. Neither man spoke as the coachman urged the carriage forward with cracking whip.

  “No war! Down with Pitt!” came angry shouts.

  Dundas leaned out of the window again. “Don’t stop!” he roared. The driver plied his whip, but the horses were now shying at the ugly crowd ahead, flicking their heads to the side, eyes bulging white.

  The mob fell back sullenly before the charging carriage, with its scarlet and green coat of arms, but as it plunged among them, some beat at the sides, screaming. A stone shattered a window to the front, then another. More blows drummed on the side of the carriage as it thundered through the mob.

  The horses whinnied in terror, but the impetus now was to get away, and in a terrified clatter of hooves the wildly swaying carriage was through to the safety of the White Hall precinct with its redcoat guard.

  “Thank you, gentlemen, for your prompt attendance—you will find your celerity is amply justified by events.” Pitt rubbed his eyes in weariness, staring at the new Corinthian columns as though they were on the point of dissolving.

  They filed in: Grenville, the stern and principled foreign minister; the Duke of Portland, home secretary; the secretary of state for war and the war minister, still pale from their experience in the carriage. The big oval table was bare except for a small sheaf of papers and a glass of port before the prime minister.

  “Do be seated. A muzzler, Henry? I heard you were accosted by the mob.”