Julian Stockwin - Mutiny

'I shall be happy t' attend shortly,' Kydd replied guardedly, and the reefer scuttled off.

It could be anything, but with increasing apprehension he remembered his talk with Boddy. If anyone had overheard, or had seen that it had not been followed by instant action to take the matter aft, he was in serious trouble.

Removing his worn round hat, he hurried down to the wardroom and the officers' cabins. The polished dark red of the first lieutenant's cabin door looked ominous. He knocked.

'Come in.' Hawley's aristocratic tones were uncompromising, whoever he addressed. He was at his desk, writing. He looked up, then carefully replaced his quill in the holder and swivelled round. 'Ah, Mr Kydd.' His eyes narrowed. 'I've asked you here on a matter of some seriousness.'

'Er, aye, sir.'

'Some in the service would regard it more lightly than I, but I would not have it in question, sir, other than that I would rather put my duty, as asked of me, ahead of anything I hold dear in this world. Is that clear?' 'Aye aye, sir.'

He picked up a paper. 'This is duty! It is from the King himself.' He paused as if struck by sudden doubt, then recovered. 'Shall I read it to you?'

'If y' please, sir.' It was probably his commission: Kydd had never seen an officer's commission, the instrument that made them, under the King's Majesty, of almost sacred power aboard a man-o'-war. He had heard that it contained the most aweful strictures regarding allegiance and duty, and he was probably going to read them to Kydd before striking his blow.

'Very well.' His lips moved soundlessly as he scanned down to the right spot:

'"The Queen's House, the 10th day of May, 1797.

'"The Earl of Spencer, to avoid any delay in my waiting . .." er, and so forth ". .. that a fitting reception for the newly wed Princess Royal and His Serene Highness the Prince of Wurttemburg be made ready preparatory to their embarkation in San Fiorenzo for their honeymoon. Also attending will be Colonel Gwynn, Lord Cathcart and the Clerk of the Green Cloth and two others. I desire orders be given ..." more detail "... by return rider."

'There! What did you think of that? From His Majesty, Mr Kydd.'

'I — er, I don' know what t' think, sir. Er, the honour!'

Clearly pleased with the effect, Hawley unbent a little. 'Means we are required to mount an assembly of sorts for the Princess Royal and party prior to their boarding San Fiorenzo. I've spoken to Lieutenant Binney, who will be involved in the entertainments, and Mr Eastman will be looking into the refreshments. Of course, Captain Dwyer will have returned from the court martial by then.'

Fighting the tide of relief, Kydd tried to make sense of it. To be meeting royalty was not to be taken calmly and it would be something to bring up casually at mess for years to come. 'Sir, what—'

'In the nature of these things, it is possible that the party may be delayed or San Fiorenzo is obliged to take an earlier tide, in which case the whole occasion will have to be abandoned.'

'What is my duty, if y' please?'

'Ah, yes. You will understand that a royal retinue is accustomed to an order of civilised conduct above that normally to be found in a ship of war. Your, er, origins make you uniquely qualified for this duty.'

'Sir?'

'You will ensure that the ship's company as far as possible is kept out of sight, away from the gaze of this party, that those unavoidably on duty are strictly enjoined to abjure curses, froward behaviour and unseemly displays, and that silence is kept below. You may employ any expression of discipline you sec fit.'

Despite his relief, Kydd felt a dull resentment. What were his men, that they must be herded away from the gaze of others, they with whom he had shared so many dangers by sea and malice of the enemy? 'Aye aye, sir,' he said softly.

'So we—' Hawley broke off with a frown. From the deck above sounded the thump of many feet, ending suddenly, just as if the cry of 'all hands on deck' had sounded.

He stared at Kydd. 'Did you—' Distantly there came the unmistakable clamour of cheers, a crescendo of sound that echoed, then was taken up and multiplied from all around them.

'Good heavens! You don't suppose—' Seizing his cocked hat, Hawley strode out on deck, closely followed by Kydd. It seemed the entire ship's company of Achilles was cheering in the lower rigging, a deafening noise.

Around the anchorage in the other ships it was the same. In the flagship Sandwich the rigging was black with frantically waving seamen, the urgent tan-tara of a trumpet sounding above the disorder, the crack of a signal gun on her fo'c'sle adding point to the moment.

'You, sir,' Hawley shouted, at a bemused midshipman. 'What the devil is going on?'

Before he could answer, a crowd of seamen moved purposefully towards him on the quarterdeck, ignoring the others in the shrouds cheering hoarsely. Kydd's stomach tightened. He knew what was afoot

They didn't hesitate. Kydd saw Farnall conspicuously in front, Boddy and Jewell, some of his own forward gun-crews, others, all with the same expression of grim resolution. They were not armed: they didn't need to be.

'Sir,' said Eli Coxall gravely to the first lieutenant. 'I'll trouble ye for the keys t' the magazine.'

Shocked, Hawley stared at him. The cheering in the rigging stopped, and men dropped to the deck, coming aft to watch. Kydd stood paralysed: a mutiny was now taking place.

'Now, sir, if you please!' Farnall's voice held a ring of authority, a quota man turned mutineer, and it goaded Kydd into anger. He clenched his fists and pushed towards him. 'Do ye know what ye've done, man?' he blazed. 'All y'r shipmates, headin' for a yardarm—'

The big bulk of Nelms, a seaman Kydd knew more for his strength than judgement, shoved beside Farnall. 'Now, yer can't talk ter Mr Farnall like that, Mr Kydd.'

Kydd sensed the presence of others behind him, and looked unbelieving at Coxall, Boddy and others he knew. They stared back at him gravely.

'This is open mutiny, you men,' Hawley began nervously, 'but should you return to your duty, then—'

'We have charge o' the ship,' Coxall said firmly. It was a well-organised coup that was all but over.

Binney's voice came from behind. 'Sir, do you—'

Hawley recovered. 'No, Mr Binney, I do not believe hasty actions will answer. These scoundrels are out of their wits at the moment, but they do have the ship.' He turned to Coxall. 'Very well. You shall have the keys. What is it you plan to do with the vessel? Turn it over to the French?'

'Oh, no, sir.' Only Farnall showed an expression of triumph; Coxall's voice continued level and controlled. 'We're with our brethren in Spithead, sir, in their just actions. I'd be obliged were ye to conform t' our directions.'

Kydd held his breath. It was as if the heavens had collapsed on them all, and he dreaded what was to come.

'And these are?' Hawley hissed.

'Well, sir, we has the good conduct o' the fleet well at heart, so if we gets y'r word you'll not move against us, why, y' has the freedom o' the ship, you an' y' officers. We're not goin't' sail, we're stayin' at moorin's till we've bin a-righted.' Kydd was struck by Coxall's dignity in the appalling danger he stood in: he was now undeniably marked out, in public, as a ringleader. 'My word?'

'Aye, sir, the word of a king's officer.'

Hawley was clearly troubled. It was deadly certain that the gravest consequences would follow, whatever happened, and his every act - or omission — would be mercilessly scrutinised. What was not at question was that if word was given, it would be kept.

The crowd grew quiet, all eyes on the first lieutenant.

'I, er, give my word.'

There was a rustle of feeling, muttered words and feet shuffling.

'Thank ye, sir,' Coxall said. 'Then ye also have the word o' the delegates at the Nore that y' shan't be touched.' Hawley began to speak, but Coxall cut him off. 'Sir, the business o' the ship goes on, but we do not stir one inch t' sea.'