Julian Stockwin - Mutiny

'Pray, why do they persist in their mutiny?'

Nepean shot a glance at Earl Spencer — his was the responsibility for some kind of resolution - but the First Lord continued to regard him gravely, so he continued: 'My lord, they have a number of grievances which they demand find redress before they'll consent to any kind of return to duty.' 'And these are?'

'The level of wages, of course, provisions served at short weight, no vegetables in port, that kind of thing.'

Stanhope looked up with a cynical smile. 'And?'

'Er, liberty in port and some oversight with the sick and wounded — and your lordship will no doubt recall that a couple of years ago the army were rewarded with an increase.'

Frowning, Stanhope turned to Spencer. 'It seems little enough. Can we not . . .'

'With the government's position the weaker for Lord Moira's unfortunate interference, any attempt on revenues will upset a delicate situation — we have suspended gold payments at the Bank of England, we are in dire need of every penny to buy off the Austrians, our last ally in all of Europe. Need I go further?'

'Our entire standing in foreign chancellories is threatened, sir. Do you propose to allow the situation to continue indefinitely?'

'No, my lord,' Spencer said heavily. 'We have compounded with the mutinous rascals for a substantial improvement in their pay, we have even secured a free pardon for this whole parcel of traitors, but still they will not yield.' He wiped his forehead wearily. 'They will not listen to Parliament, sir.'

Nepean broke in: 'This is true, sir,' he said smoothly, 'but we have secured the services of Earl Howe to intercede for us with the sailors. He is to coach to Portsmouth shortly, with plenary powers.'

'Earl Howe?'

'Whom the sailors call "Black Dick". He led them to victory in the action of the Glorious First of June, and they trust him like a father.' A wintry smile appeared. 'It is our last resource. If he does not succeed .. .'

Kydd stood in the foretop as one of the last rituals of the transition from live sea creature to one tethered and submissive was enacted. The sails were furled into a pristine harbour stow, the bunt taken over the yard into a graceful 'pig's ear' and plaited bunt gaskets passed to his satisfaction.

He found himself looking up to take in the sombre brown cliffs and bleak seacoast of Sheppey over the mile or so of scurrying drab sea. Emotions of times past returned sharp and poignant. A great deal had happened since he had left home ...

'Clap on more sail, if y' please, Mr Cantlie!' Kydd threw at the inboard seaman on the footropes. The sailor stared up resentfully but did as he was told. ‘Lay in,' Kydd ordered, when the furling was complete. The men came in off the yard and assembled in the foretop, but as they did so the piercing wail of calls from the boatswain's mates cut through. 'Haaaands to muster! Clear lower deck — all hands lay aft!'

It appeared that Captain Dwyer would address his ship's company before going ashore to pay his respects to the admiral. It was unusual — minds would be set on the joyous sprees to be had ashore, and a bracing talk more properly belonged to an outward-bound voyage.

Kydd took up his position, facing inwards midway between the officers aft on the poop-deck and the men crowding the main-deck forward, feet astride in an uncompromising brace.

'Still? the master-at-arms roared. Muttering among the mass of men died away quickly, and the captain stepped forward to the poop-deck rail.

'Men of the Achilles’ he began, then paused, surveying them grimly. The last shuffling of feet subsided: something was in the wind.

'I have to tell you now the gravest news, which affects us all. I am talking about nothing less than the very safety of this kingdom and the survival of these islands.'

He had total attention; some sailors had jumped into the lower rigging to hear him better. 'It is a stroke of war that the enemy have been able to achieve by cunning, treachery, and inciting our honest tars to treason.'

Puzzled looks were exchanged: this was nothing like a hearty call to arms.

Dwyer glanced at the stony-faced marine lieutenant, then continued: 'The news I will give may well come from others who do not have the true facts, which is why I am telling you now, so you have no reason to believe them.'

Suspicious looks appeared, eyes narrowed.

'It is my sad duty to have to inform you that your fellow seamen of the Channel fleet at Spithead have mutinied.' The suspicion turned to shock. 'In fact, the mutineers, led we believe by French agents, have joined together to hold Old England to ransom with a list of impossible demands that they have had the gall to inflict on Parliament this past week.'

An appalled silence was followed by a rising hubbub. 'Silencer screamed the master-at-arms. His voice cracked with tension, and the marines fingered their muskets. The noise lessened, but did not fade entirely.

'The fate of these blackguardly rogues you may guess. England will not forgive easily those who have so perfidiously betrayed their mother country, be assured.' His voice rose strongly. 'But do not you be gulled by free-talking scoundrels into thoughtless acts of treason, crimes for which only a halter at the yardarm is the answer. Your duty is plain before you — to your ship and His Majesty, no other!

'Mr Hawley,' he called to the first lieutenant. 'Three cheers for His Majesty!'

Hawley took off his hat and called loudly, 'M' lads, an huzzah for King George: hip, hip ...'

The cheers were distracted and uncertain, however, and Dwyer's face creased into a frown. 'Three more for our ship!' he ordered. These cheers were somewhat louder, but to Kydd's ears they sounded mechanical and lacking in spirit.

The captain waited for them to die, then continued evenly, 'I'm going ashore now. Mr Hawley will prepare your liberty tickets while we see about your pay. Carry on, please.'

Achilles's ship's company went to their noon grog in a ferment of anticipation. The talk of pay was promises only, but liberty ashore in an English port, however barren, after so long in foreign parts would be sweet indeed.

The more thoughtful reflected on the danger to the realm of the British fleet in a state of insurrection. Individual ships had mutinied before, the most prominent the Bounty less than ten years earlier, but this was a planned wholesale rising — who or what could be behind it?

At six bells the captain went ashore with all ceremony to make his number with the port admiral, Vice Admiral Buckner, and the ship setded to harbour routine. In the main this consisted of a controlled bedlam, a mix of those happy souls making ready to step ashore to taste the dubious delights of Sheerness and others whose duties kept them aboard.

The arrival of a big ship was always a gratifying sight to those shoreside, and it was not long before Achilles became the focus of a host of small craft coming round Garrison Point. Kydd sighed. He knew what was coming and, as mate-of-the-watch to Lieutenant Binney, he would have most to do with it.

Binney was on call below. Alone on the quarterdeck, Kydd watched as the hordes converged. He had made all the dispositions he could — boarding nettings were rigged below the line of the gunports, as much to deter desertion as unwanted visitors; gear had been triced up to allow more deck space, the guns run out to broaden the width of gundecks; and canvas screens rigged on the lower deck.

'Here they come, the saucy cuntkins!' piped a midshipman in glee.

'Clap a stopper on it, young 'un!' Kydd growled. 'M' duty to Mr Binney, an' they'll be alongside presently.'

Binney came up just as the first boats arrived at the side-steps. 'One at a time, and they're to be searched,' he said, in a bored tone. Men lined the side, chuckling at their prospects.