Julian Stockwin - Mutiny

'Ah, you see, they won't. At Spithead it was voted that, no matter what, if the French moved against England, then the fleet will instantly return to duty and sail against the enemy. They know this, so at this moment they lie in their harbours, unmoved.'

Kydd took a deep breath. 'Then ye're still loyal - t' King 'n' country, I mean.'

'We are, Tom,' Parker said seriously. 'What could be more loyal than ridding His Majesty of such base villains - these scum?'

He rose unexpectedly and crossed to a cabinet. 'I want you to drink a toast with me, Tom.' He busied himself pouring. 'To success for our brave tars — standing against the whole world!'

Kydd took the glass suspiciously. 'Don't worry, this is not the admiral's, it's common grog only,' Parker said, with a smile.

'Aye. Well, here's t' our brave Jack Tars!' Kydd drank heartily.

Parker moved to a chair to one side. 'Tom. Let me be straight with you,' he began. 'Your common foremast jack is not best placed to see the whole of matters. He is brave and honest, but without guile. His nature makes him the prey of others, he has not the penetration to see he is being practised upon. What I am saying is that there are many who do not see the urgency, the dire necessity of our actions at this time, and hesitate. This is a folly, and puts at great hazard all those who have seen their duty to their shipmates and acted.'

He refilled Kydd's glass. 'We need men to declare their devotion to their shipmates, to end their hesitation, men that are fine and strong, men whom others look upon to set them a course to steer. Tom, we need you to stand with us. To give us your—'

'No!' Kydd slammed down his glass, suddenly icy cold. 'Parker, I believe in what ye're doing, but this, is not th' way — it can't be!' He turned to go, flinging open the door.

'Kydd!' called Parker from behind him. 'Just think on this. If you really care about your men, do something, but otherwise go away — and then try to live with yourself.'

Kydd left, Parker's words echoing in his ears, again confronting the dank, crowded decks, the misery in the faces of the men, the air of hopelessness and despair.

Only one thing kept hammering at his senses: he could no longer walk away.

'You've been aboard Sandwich? said Cockburn flatly. 'You're not such a fool, Tom, that you don't know the penalty for treasonous association, consorting with mutineers. Just for the sake of curiosity, you'd let it be seen . . .' Something in Kydd's face made Cockburn tail off.

'I know what I did.'

Kydd left the gunroom and moodily made the upper deck. His mind was in a spin of indecision as he paced along slowly. Abreast the mainmast he stopped. A young sailor was working by the side of the immense complexity of ropes belayed to their pins that girdled the mast. Spread out on a canvas in front of him were blocks and yarns, fid and knife.

Seeing Kydd stop he scrambled to his feet. 'Oh, Mr Kydd, I'm ter strap th' spanker sheet block 'ere fer the cap'n o' the mizzentop.'

'Carry on, younker. But what's this I see? You mean t' work a common short splice, an' it's t' be seen b' the quarterdeck?' Kydd hid a grin at the lad's worried look. 'Well, sure enough, we usually use a short splice, an' for our sheet block we turn the tail to a selvagee — but this is upon the quarterdeck, an' Achilles is a crack man-o'-war. No, lad, we doesn't use an ugly short splice. Instead we graft the rope, make it fine 'n' smooth around the block, then other ships go green 'cos we've got such a prime crew who know their deep-water seamanship.'

'But, Mr Kydd, please, I don't know yer grafting.'

'It's easy enough — look, I'll show ye.' Kydd picked up the strap and shook the strands free, then intertwined and brought them together, very tightly. 'Now work a stopper each side, if y' please.' The lad eagerly complied. 'Now we c'n open out Y strands, and make some knittles — just like as if y' was doin' some pointin'.' Kydd's strong fingers plying the knife made short work of producing a splay of fine lines above and below the join. His coat constricted his movements so he took it off and threw it over the bitts. 'An' now y'r ready to graft. Lay half y' knittles on the upper part .. .'

It was calming to the soul, this simple exercise of his sea skills: it helped to bring perspective and focus to his horizons — and, above all, a deep satisfaction. 'An' mark well, we snake our turns at the seizing — both ends o' course.' It wasn't such a bad job, even though it was now a long time since he had last strapped a block. He watched the lad admiring the smooth continuity of the rope lying in the score of the block and hid a grin at the thought of the captain of the mizzentop's reaction when he went to check the young sailor's work.

He put his coat back on and resumed his pace, but did not get far. A midshipman pulled at his sleeve and beckoned furtively, motioning him over to a quiet part of the deck. 'What is it, y' scrub?' he growled.

'Psst - Mr Hawley passes the word, he wants to see all officers an' warrant officers in the cap'n's cabin,' he whispered.

'What?.

'Please don't shout, Mr Kydd. It's to be secret, like.'

'I've called you here for reasons you no doubt can guess,' Hawley whispered. The sentry had been moved forward and the quarterdeck above cleared with a ruse; there was litde chance of being overheard.

'This despicable mutiny has gone on for long enough. I had hoped the mutineers would by now have turned to fighting among themselves - they usually do, the blaggardly villains. No, this is too well organised. We must do something.'

There was a murmur of noncommittal grunts. Kydd felt his colour rising.

'What do you suggest?' Binney said carefully.

Hawley took out a lace handkerchief and sniffed. 'The ship is unharmed - so far,' he said. 'I don't propose that she be left in the charge of that drunken crew for longer than I can help.' He leaned forward. 'I'm setting up communication with the shore. This will enable us to plan a move against the knaves with the aid of the army garrison—'

'Sir!' Kydd interrupted, his voice thick with anger. 'You gave your word!'

'I'll thank you, sir, to keep your voice down, dammit!' Hawley hissed. 'As to my word, do you believe it counts when pledged to mutineers — felons condemned by their own acts?'

'You gave y'r word not to move against them while y' had freedom of th' ship,' Kydd repeated dully.

'I choose to ignore the implication in view of your — background, Mr Kydd. Have a care for your future, sir.'

Kydd stared at the deck, cold rage only just under control.

'I shall continue. When I get word from the shore that the soldiers are prepared, we take steps to secure their entry to the vessel, probably by night through the stern gallery. Now, each of you will be given tasks that are designed to distract the—' He stopped with a frown. 'Good God, Mr Kydd, what is it now?'

Breathing raggedly, Kydd blundered out of the cabin. He stormed out on to the main deck, feeling the wary eyes of seamen on him.

A realisation rose in his gorge, choking and blinding. If he was going to do something that meant anything for his shipmates - and be able to live with himself later — then it was not going to be by throwing in his lot with those who wanted to turn the sky black with the corpses of his friends.

Kydd wheeled and marched off forward, scattering men in his wake. At the starboard bay, he stopped before the startled committee, panting with emotion. 'M' friends! I'm in wi' ye. What d' y' like me t' do?'

* * *

He emerged shortly from the fore-hatch, defiant and watchful. By now the news was around the ship and he knew eyes everywhere would be on him. The seamen seemed to take it all in their stride, grinning and waving at him. He went further aft. The master was by the mizzen-mast, hands on hips, staring down at him. He reached the gangways and passed by the boat spaces. Binney was on the opposite gangway and caught sight of him; he turned, hurried aft and disappeared.