Julian Stockwin - Mutiny

Renzi sighed heavily, and started pacing the other way. Glorious was not a happy ship: the captain was unimaginative and set in his ways, remote from his men, and the first lieutenant was a bully. The ship's company was a collection of individuals, not a team, and petty tyrannies flourished.

They joined the flow of vessels into the Thames, the master watchful and alert for the lookouts' hail as another buoy was sighted. Then the dark forest of masts that was the Great Nore came into sight, reassuring in its powerful presence at the entrance to the capital.

Signals fluttered up from Glorious's quarterdeck. The mass of fifty-four ships of the Baltic Trade astern were now released and broke into an undignified straggle as they jockeyed for position for the beat up-river to the docks.

cHaaaands to moor ship!'

They closed with the fleet. Saluting guns were loaded, but as Sandwich was not flying her admiral's flag they were not needed. Glorious glided in, her anchors tumbled down to the muddy seabed, her sails were furled and she prepared for storing.

Finished with the veering crew at the hatchway, Renzi regained the deck to find the officer-of-the-watch, but his curiosity was taken by three boats making for Glorious.

A giant Union Flag was in one, and from another what sounded like 'Rule Britannia' was being pounded out by a scratch band.

'Hail them, if you please,' ordered Murray, the officer-of-the-watch. Aboard Glorious, sailors crowded to the deck edge, astonished by the display. The lead boat shaped course to come alongside; it was then plain there were no officers aboard.

'Damme an' I know what's afoot, m'lads,' Renzi heard the flabbergasted boatswain say.

'Lay off, the boat!' warned Murray, sensing something wrong. The boat took no notice and hooked on at the main-chains. Seamen nimbly mounted Glorious's side.

'What in God's name—'

The lead seaman, a bulky sailor with cutlass and two pistols, came easily over the bulwarks; another two were not far behind. Murray stalked down from the quarterdeck. 'Did you not hear my order? Why the devil did you—'

Bringing a paper out of his waistcoat, the first seaman announced, 'Sir, I'm commanded by th' president of the delegates of th' whole fleet of His Majesty's navy in the river Medway and the buoy of the Nore ter give you this'n.'

'What nonsense is this?' said Murray aghast.

The captain appeared from below. 'Mr Murray, why are these men in arms?'

The boarders smiled grimly. 'An' as of this minute, Cap'n, you're released fr'm duty. You're desired ter yield up yer ship to th' committee.'

Gobbling with anger, the captain opened his mouth to speak.

'No, sir, we'll take none o' yer pratin'. Take a squiz there.' The seaman indicated Director, lying barely a hundred yards abeam, and Inflexible, fine on the bow. 'These're all risen, they is, every one. An' if I signal, well, there's more'n a hundred guns'll answer.' As if on cue, gunports opened all down the sides of the ships-of-the-line.

At the threat there was little that could be done. The mutineer went to the ship's side and hailed the waiting boats. 'Right, lads, let's get ter work.'

After securing the ship the mutineers set up a committee in the starboard bay, holding court on the unfortunates against whom complaints had been laid. First the officers: most of them were deemed 'unsuitable' and given fifteen minutes to be clear of the ship. One boatswain's mate was taken below in irons to be dealt with later, and a sergeant of marines was given a ducking. Liberty tickets were freely given under the hand of the committee.

Renzi watched the- proceedings with interest, for without doubt it would be talked of for years to come. But then the new-elected delegates called him below, and he was asked to give a statement of position, and abruptly told, 'Fer a foremast jack yer've got a wry way o' talkin', cuffin. I thinks fer y' own sake, better ye're ashore 'n' out of it.'

In the boat on the way to Sheerness, Renzi's eyes lifted as he took in the unmistakable bulk of Achilles. The boat's crew cheered as they passed, and were answered with a full-throated roar from the ship. Renzi wondered if Kydd was aboard, or had been turned ashore, perhaps after an intemperate but loyal outburst. Whatever the case, probably within the day he would be seeing his friend once more.

He glanced at the boat's crew. They were in high spirits and full of what they would do ashore. In their way, these men were as close to the paradigm of Natural Man as it was possible to find: the suborning elements of civilisation were necessarily denied to them — he would never find such stout beliefs and open character in the elegant, blase world that awaited him.

The dockyard was in a state of feverish chaos and open disorder. People were all about but the gaunt ribs of new ships were not thronged with shipwrights and their sidesmen, the sawpits were deserted and the smithy silent.

Renzi was able to share a handcart for his sea-chest with one of the lieutenants at the price of pushing the creaking relic. The lieutenant was eager to be quit of Sheerness and saw no reason why he should not return to his family until the whole disgraceful episode was over.

They quickly crossed the marshes and left the noisy revelry of Blue Town behind. The lieutenant waited for a coach in the small hotel at the start of the London turnpike, but Renzi was not sure what to do. He had no plans after being so recently turned out of his ship; it would need some thinking about but, given the tumult and isolated nature of Sheppey, it was unlikely he would stay either.

The lugubrious landlord took a deal of gloomy pleasure in telling them of developments at Spithead as current rumour had it.

Such events did not greatly surprise Renzi: the wonder in his mind was that the seamen had not acted earlier, given the criminal neglect of their circumstances. That the mutiny was brilliantly organised, widespread and effective was the surprising element: could it be the work of Jacobin agents? However, with Robespierre executed there was a more sceptical cast to the power struggle now ensuing that probably didn't include such a hot desire to export their revolution — but without a doubt the French would be mad not to seize the opportunity to act against England. It was as grave a state of affairs as he had known, and the government would be well advised to act rapidly and decisively against the mutineers.

He had to speak to Kydd - that much was clear. Leaving his sea-chest, he walked back through the apprehensive inhabitants of Mile Town to the carnival atmosphere in Blue Town.

Outside one of the larger timbered hostelries in the high street a crowd was gathered, applauding two rabble-rousers. Renzi winced even though, at the distance, he couldn't hear the words, but the exultant roars that punctuated the speech did not leave much doubt over the nature of the harangue. He had to pass by to reach the dockyard in his mission to find Kydd, and glanced over the back of the crowd at the speakers. One was a dark, intense individual who appeared almost messianic in his zeal. The other was Kydd.

Rigid with surprise, Renzi stared at his friend while the other man declaimed against His Majesty's treasonable ministers.

A sailor whooped his approval next to him. 'Who are these gentlemen?' Renzi asked him.

'Why, that's the president o' the delegates, Dick Parker, is he. Th' admiral we calls 'im on account he berths in th' admiral's quarters in Sandwich.'

'And the other?'

'Ah, that there's Tom Kydd, mate off Achilles. Right ol' fire-eater he, faced down t' th' first luff.an' got him turned off 'is ship an' then got in wi' Dick Parker ter be his sec'tary, he havin' an education an' all.'

Struck dumb with astonishment, Renzi stayed until the speeches had run their course, then pushed into the crowd. 'Tom!' he called, unable to get through the jovial mob. 'Ahoy there, shipmate!'