Julian Stockwin - Mutiny

Not a man stirred. They met his eyes steadily, neither flinching nor wavering, yet possession of a seditious document was sufficient evidence of treasonable intent whatever the circumstance. Then it dawned upon him: they had wanted him to read it. Cold anger replaced his uncertainty. 'Y' heard y'r captain — take notice o' this jabberknowl an' ye'll all be dancin' at the yardarm afore y' knows it.' In the sea service, mutiny was the one unforgivable crime, a swift court-martial and death a sure end for the offender. To see shipmates stark and still at the end of a rope for a moment's foolishness would be heartbreaking.

He glared at them, and met nothing but a stony gaze. His duty was plain and explicit: he should seize the culprit and haul him aft for just punishment. But which one was it? He hesitated. He went to rip up the paper but something stopped him and he stuffed it lamely into his waistcoat.

'Ye're all under m' eye fr'm this hour. That's you, Nunky, an' Lofty — you too, Farnall, 'n' don't think t' practise y'r sea-lawyer ways aboard Achilles. We're true man-o'-war's men in this barky.' He had the satisfaction of seeing Jewell's eyes flicker and a quick look of appeal from Webb to Farnall.

Kydd stalked away in the tense silence, hearing the low, urgent rumble of talk behind him. His mind cooled: it was clear that agents of the Spithead mutineers were at work aboard Achilles. He must bring this to the quarterdeck; but curiosity made him head first for the master's sea cabin, which he knew was empty as Eastman was ashore. Guiltily, he drew out the paper to read.

He scanned quickly past the wordy patriotic protestations, snorting at the references to victims of tyranny and oppression and laws of humanity. It went on to claim the support of Charles Fox — Kydd's father had a sympathy for the radical, he remembered, but Kydd had minimal interest in politics: that was a task for the gentlemen of the land, not him.

He read further — pampered knaves in power at Westminster, His Majesty ill advised by them ... The substance of what the mutiny was said to be about was much the same as he had read in The Times. But what had his eyes returning time and again was one ringing sentence: 'In all humanity is it a wrong to ask for bread and ah honest wage, that it is a crime that must be paid for at the yardarm?'

He could think of no easy answer, and fell back weakly on the reply that if it was the law of the land then that was how it must be.

Carefully he folded the tract. His head told him to take the poisonous scrap aft immediately, but his heart urged him to settie things in his own mind first. He hesitated. The rain had stopped and he stepped out on deck among a general resumption of noisy quarrelling and laughing humanity. It was hard to think anything through under conditions like this.

If only Renzi was on hand the whole question could be logically teased out to its only possible conclusion . .. But Renzi was part of the past. Now he must make his own judgements.

He roused himself: in his place what would Renzi have done? Discuss it logically. With whom? Not Cockburn, he was an officer-in-waiting, and had no way of knowing the strengths and good sense to be found before the mast -his answer would be short and implacable. The master? A long-service man of the sea with only a few years before his well-earned retirement ashore.'Then who?

* * *

'So nice in you, m' love, to call, but if you're going t' stay f'r supper, then I must send for some vitdes.' Kydd setded back in the chair, cradling his china mug of porter — it had on it a colourful pair of handsome sailors each side of crossed flags and 'Success to the Formidable, and damnation to the French!' in gold lettering beneath.

She had been pleased to see him, that was clear; pleasure and guilt in equal measure came to him at her warm embrace. In an awkward, masculine way he sensed that a woman could accept a situation for what it was without the need for logical justification.

He drew out the tract, holding it gingerly. "This'n was found on the mess-decks earlier.'

She took it with a questioning glance, and read slowly with a frown of concentration, her lips moving as she spelled out the words. As their import became clear, her brow lightened. 'Someone is takin' the sailor's part at last,' she said happily. 'I know about th' vitdes an' such, Ned told me, so I know it's true what they say.'

'Kitty, m'dear, what you are holdin' is an incitement t' mutiny an' treasonable — it c'n cost a man his neck.' She stared at him uncertainly. 'It's m' duty to hale aft any I fin' with this. An' then it's a court-martial an' the rope . . .'

She looked at him, incredulous. 'Ye're tellin' me that y'd see a man choked off f'r this?' she said, shaking the grubby paper at him.

Kydd shifted uncomfortably. 'It's m' duty, as I said.' He could have mentioned the Articles of War and their savage view of sedition and treasonable writings, but it seemed beside the point.

Her look hardened. 'I don't need t' remind you, Mr Thomas Kydd, what it's like t' go before th' mast in the navy. So when some gullion says as how it is, where's y' great crime? Tell me!'

'Don't ask me that, Kitty, it's not f'r me to say,' Kydd said, in a low voice. 'All I know is, the fleet's in open mutiny at Spithead, an' if the French sail'

'Then they'll sail 'n' fight, they've promised that,' she said scornfully.

Kydd looked at her with a frown. 'Kitty, ye know a lot about this.'

'Aye!' she said defiantly. 'There's those who think t' make the journey all the way fr'm Portsmouth t' the Nore just to let their brother Jack Tars know what's happening.'

'They're here, now?'

'Cruise along t' the Chequers Inn one night, and could be ye'd hear somethin' will get you thinking.'

Her face was uncompromising in its conviction, and in it he saw an unspoken rebuke for his lack of involvement.

Before he could speak, she thrust another paper at him, printed as a broadsheet but somewhat smudged. 'It's a petition, asking f'r redress. Sent t' Black Dick Howe three months ago, an' it was not th' first. Read it!'

Before he had covered the preliminaries she was on the offensive. 'Provisions at sixteen ounces to th' pound! Common liberty t' go about y'r pleasures ashore! T' be paid while you're lyin' wounded in th' service of y' country!' She sniffed loudly. 'Stap me, but doesn't this sound like what th' meanest grass-comber on the land c'n lay claim to without he goes t' hazard his life?'

This was not what he had come to see her for. He longed for the cool, balanced assessment he knew he would get from Renzi; her passionate sincerity on behalf of his shipmates made him feel ashamed. Stiffly, he returned the paper. 'I have m' duty, is all’ he said.

'Duty!' she spat. 'Aye - I'll tell you about duty!' She faced him like a virago, her eyes afire. 'An' it's to y'r shipmates — they who share th' hazards o' the sea with ye, who're there by y'r side when y' face the enemy! Not what some scrovy smell-smock in th' Admiralty tells ye.'

She held him with her eyes, then her head fell. When it rose again there was a glitter of tears. 'Please go’ she said, in a low voice, 'I've some grievin' to do.'

There was no answer he could find to what she was saying. 'I thank ye for the refreshments.' He picked up his hat and, without looking at her, made his way to the door.

'Thomas!' she called. 'You're a good man. But soon it'll be time t' choose.' Her eyes held his with a terrible intensity. 'Y' can never steer two courses at th' same time. When it's time, I pray t' God you take the right one.'

The Nore anchorage spread out over a mile of sea, a breathtaking display of sea-power, but Kydd was not seeing it as they rounded the point. He couldn't return the bibulous chatting of the boatswain of Director, and pretended to stare out over the anchorage.