Julian Stockwin - Mutiny

It had to be faced. The terrible uprising at Spithead had cast its shadow as far as the Nore and soon he would have to choose. In his heart he knew that he could never condemn a shipmate for wanting full measures from the purser. The alternative, however, ran against all he had ever felt for the navy.

On board Achilles there was unaccustomed quiet. An evening on the foredeck without dancing, grog and laughter was unsettling. Kydd could see men there, in the usual social groups, but there was none of the jovial camaraderie or careless noise, they were talking quiedy together.

Below in the gunroom there was a pall of foreboding. The gunner and carpenter had left their cabins forward looking for company and now sat cradling their glasses, gloom etched on their faces. Kydd pulled down a book, but the light of the rush dips was so bad he gave up and gazed moodily at Cockburn, who was as usual scratching out a piece of poetry and oblivious to all else.

'Himself not back aboard, then,' offered Mr Lane, the gunner. No one was inclined to reply: the captain's erratic movements in the last several days needed little explanation.

The sharp-nosed surgeon's mate gave a thin smile. 'We takes any more o' the doxies an' we'll have the other half o' the crew under Venus's spell.'

'What d' you care, Snipes? Ye takes y'r silver off 'em either way,' snapped the gunner, many of whose mates would be owing some of their meagre pay to the surgeon's mate for venereal treatment.

The smile vanished. Morice, the carpenter, stirred and looked significantly at the two subdued midshipmen at the end of the table boning their best shoes.

Without a word, Kydd reached for a fork and, blank-faced, jammed it into a well-worn cleft in a deck beam. The midshipmen looked up, and quiedy left.

Morice leaned forward. 'I've heard as how we got Spithead men aboard,' he said quietly.

'Aye.' The gunner would be more in touch than the carpenter with the main body of sailors and their concerns. 'Can't stop 'em coming aboard to see their mates in course.'

'I bin in a real 'nough mutiny once,' Morice muttered. 'Ain't something y' forgets too easy.'

Lane glanced at him with interest, and Cockburn stopped his scribbling and looked up.

'Yair, Culloden in th' year ninety-four,' Morice, aware of the attention he was getting, became animated. 'That's right, Troubridge was our cap'n, an' a right taut hand was he. A fine seventy-four she was, Slade built an' a fair sailer—'

A polite cough from Lane steadied him, and he went on, 'Ship lyin' in Spithead, they thinks t' send us t' sea short on vittles. Ship's company doesn't like this idea, they just in fr'm a cruise an' all, 'n' starts talkin' wry. Then one o' the quartermaster's mates - forget 'is tally t' my shame — we calls him Cocoa Jack on account of him being touched b' the sun, fine, hard-weather kind o' man . . .'

The carpenter's expression grew troubled at the memory, and his voice changed when he resumed: 'Yeah, fine sort o' seaman. Well, he sees we ain't the stores aboard ‘ll let us sail, an' gets to speakin' with the men. Right reasonable he was, says Cap'n Troubridge would see 'em right if they shows firm.' He looked round the table gravely. 'He says as if they weren't t' take the barky to sea until she was stored proper, it was only their right. Gets half a dozen of his mates an' goes about th' ship organisin'. S' next mornin' they all stands fast when it's "hands t' unmoor ship" — jus' that, willin' t' do any duty but unmoor, they was.'

'Well, where did you stand in this?' Kydd asked.

Morice's eyes flicked once at him, and he continued, 'An' the cap'n listens, calm as y' like. Lets Cocoa Jack have his say, nods 'n' says, "Fair enough," or some such. "Yes," he says, when they asks f'r a pardon if they goes back t' duty.'

'Did they get one?'

'Sure they did, and fr'm the cap'n's own mouth in front of the whole company.'

Kydd let out his breath. 'So all square and a-taunto then,' he said.

'Not quite,' Morice said, in an odd manner. 'Hands turn to, but quick as a flash, when they wasn't expectin' it, Troubridge has 'em all clapped in iron garters, an' before they knows it they're in a court martial in the flagship f'r mutiny.' He paused significantly. 'They claims pardon - but funny thing, mates, th' court couldn't find any evidence o' one, no written pardon.' Another pause. 'So five on 'em, includin' Cocoa Jack, gets taken out 'n' hung on the fore yardarm afore the whole fleet.'

While he drained his pot noisily the others exchanged glances. Letting the atmosphere darken, Lane waited and then growled, 'I was in Windsor Castle previous t' this'n, left before they has their mut'ny.' He looked for attention. 'Now that was a downright copper-bottomed, double-barrelled swinger of a mut'ny.

'Remember it's a bigger ship, ninety-eight she was, a stronger crew, and they has the admiral an' all on board. An' it's just the same year as yours, mate, but out in th' Med. Can't swear t' the details, 'cos I'd left b' then, but I heard it all fr'm mates later. Now, ye'll find this a tough yarn, but it's true enough — in the flagship an' all, so hear this. They mutinies because they don't like the admiral, the cap'n, the first 1'tenant an' the bo'sun, and demands they all gets changed!'

There was a shocked silence, until Morice chuckled. 'Yeah, heard o' that one,' he said, to the chagrin of Lane who was clearly winding up to a climax.

'Well, what's t' do then?' Kydd demanded.

Lane finished resentfully, 'No court martial — barring the cap'n only, I should say, an' the cap'n, first luff an' not forgettin' the bo'sun, all gets turned out o' their ship, just as they says.'

'That's all?'

'Is all,' confirmed Lane, "ceptin' they gets a pardon, every one.'

The surprised grunts that this received were quickly replaced by a thoughtful quiet. Cockburn soberly interjected: 'This is different. At Spithead it's not just one ship but the whole fleet. The Admiralty will never forgive them — there'll be corpses at every yardarm for months.'

'I saw in Th' Times the mutineers are talkin' to Parliament, even got 'em to print their demands in th' paper. It's already past the Admiralty - wouldn't be surprised if Billy Pitt himself ain't involved,' Kydd said.

'Good Lord! I didn't know that.' Cockburn appeared shaken by the news. 'If that's so then this - well, it's never gone so far before. Anything can happen.'

Lane's face tightened. 'O' course, you knows what this means f'r us . ..'

'It's about to start here,' said Cockburn.

The gunner gave a hard smile. 'No, mate. What it means is that Parlyment has t' finish this quick — that means they'll be askin' us an' the North Sea fleet t' sail around to Spithead an' settle it wi' broadsides.'

'No!' Kydd gasped.

'C'n you think else?' Lane growled.

'Could be. Supposin' it's like y'r Windsor Castle an' they agree t' do something. Then it's all settled, we don't need t' sail.'

'You're both forgetting the other possibility,' Cockburn said heavily.

'Oh?'

'That the Spithead mutiny spreads here to the Nore.'

A wash of foreboding shook Kydd. Out there in the night unknown dark forces were tearing at the setded orderliness of his world, upheavals every bit as threatening as the despised revolution of the French.

'Need t' get me head down,' muttered Morice. 'Are ye—' The little group froze. From forward came a low rumble, more felt than heard. It grew louder — and now came from the upper deck just above. It came nearer, louder, ominous and mind-freezing: it seemed to be coming straight for them, thunderous and unstoppable.

Then, abruptly, the noise ceased and another rumble from forward began its fearful journey towards them. Unconsciously the surgeon's mate gripped his throat and, wide-eyed, they all stared upward. The gunner and carpenter spoke together ‘Rough music!'