Julian Stockwin - Mutiny

Kydd could find no words to reply. He noticed the white of Parker's knuckles and saw that he was only just in control.

'Any with a shred of humanity could not stand by and see those men groan under the burden of their miseries. I could nod' He turned to Kydd, eyes bright. 'So you might say I am the victim — of the tenderest human emotion.'

He resumed his dogged stare at the approaching boats. "They could only ever see us as a mortal threat, never as sailors with true cause for complaint. At any time they could have remedied our situation and claimed our loyalty, but they never did. Instead they bitterly opposed everything we put forward. They offered redress and pardon at Spithead, but to us nothing.'

He heaved a deep breath. 'I was the one that the illiterate, base-born seamen turned to when they needed a leader - they elected me to achieve their goals, but. .. It grieves me to say it, my friend, but the material I had at my command was not of the stuff from which is wrought the pure impulse of a glorious cause. They were fractious, hot-tempered, impatient and of ignoble motives. In short, Tom, my friend, I was betrayed.'

The approaching boat came alongside, and the unbending Admiral the Lord Keith came aboard.

'Which one of you is Richard Parker?'

The president of the delegates walked towards him. 'I am.'

'Then I arrest you in the King's name. Provost corporal, do your duty.' Parker smiled briefly.

'That will do. I'll be back for the others. Get him ashore.'

Kydd watched Parker move to the ship's side. He turned once towards him, then disappeared.

The boat returned, and Kydd was ordered aboard with others for the journey ashore. A numb state of resignation insulated him from events, but when they approached the small dockyard wharf his heart nearly failed him. Nothing had prepared him for the degradation, the baying crowd, the noise and the shame. Hoots of derision, small boys playing out a hanging, the hisses of cold hatred - and Kitty, her face distorted and tear-streaked.

Flanked by soldiers who kept the crowds at a safe distance, the seamen shuffled off, shackled in pairs with clumsy manacles. They were taken to the fort, searched at the guardhouse and then on towards the garrison chapel. Under the chapel were the cells; dark, dank and terrifying. And there Kydd waited for his fate.

Renzi watched Kydd, with the others, stumble out of sight into the fort. He forced his mind to rationality: Kydd's incarceration in the fastness of the garrison with two regiments of soldiers in the guard was unfortunate for his plan. He would, in probability, be moved like Parker to the security of Maidstone jail until the court martial. This would be at night, and without warning.

The whole plan hinged on communicating with Kydd, passing on the vital message — and, of course, Kydd playing his part without question. But if he could not even make contact?

Condemned men — and Kydd was as good as condemned — had a certain unique position, and it was permitted that they could be visited by loved ones; no one would question a woman's privilege in this regard.

'O' course, you'd be meanin' Kitty Malkin. She's over on t' next one, Queen Street.'

She didn't answer the door, but Renzi saw inside through the curtained window that there was a light. He knocked and waited, feeling conspicuous.

Eventually the door opened, and a rumpled and tear-stained Kitty appeared.

'I hesitate to intrude at this sad time, Miss Malkin, but do you remember me?'

She looked at him without interest. 'No, sir, I do not.'

'I am the particular friend of Thomas Kydd.' Her eyes flared but she said nothing. 'Please, don't be alarmed. I come to you to see if you will do him a service. A particular service, which may be the means of saving him from an untimely end.'

'Why did ye not save him afore now, may I be s' blunt as to remark it?'

'A long story, er, Kitty. It is a simple enough thing - a message needs to be passed to him, that is all. You may be sure there is no danger or inconvenience to you—'

'You know I will! Who are you, sir?'

'I am Nicholas Renzi, and my friendship with Thomas begins with his very first ship. Please believe that since then we have been through much together.'

'What do ye want me t' do, Mr Renzi?'

Outside the Great Cabin of HMS Neptune, anchored off Greenhithe, the first batch for trial sprawled listlessly in leg-irons. Among them was Thomas Kydd, mutineer.

The numbness was still there but the misery had reached ever-increasing depths. The shame he was bringing on his family — his father would be trying to hold up his head in Guildford town, and his sister Cecilia would hear and her hero-worship of Kydd would die, her own situation with a noble family perhaps threatened.

He tried to move position: the clanking irons drew irritation from the other prisoners and a glare from the deputy provost marshal. The nightmare days before the end had left him exhausted and ill; lack of sleep was now sapping his will to live.

The interminable waiting, being prevented from talking - his mind tried to escape to other realms and hallucination was never far away. Bright, vivid imagery crowded into his thoughts: fierce, exhilarating seas so real he could taste the salt spray, the bloodlust of a gundeck in action with its death and exultation — and the many sights of great beauty and peace he had seen as a deep-sea mariner. It faded, as it always did, into the grey pit of desolation that was now his lot.

The door to the Great Cabin opened. He looked up; it was Parker. He stood there, white-faced. 'It's death,' he said, with no emotion.

The provost marshal came with the irons, clamped them brutally to his legs. 'Mark this, you damned one-eyed bugger,' Parker said venomously, 'when you put on the halter, I'll give you such a kick as will send your soul to hell.'

Davis saw Parker being dragged away, and murmured, 'If they serve me th' same way, I'd ask ter die with him.'

There was indistinct movement inside the Great Cabin, and a lieutenant emerged. 'Court is adjourned. It will meet tomorrow,' he informed the provost marshal.

They were brought to their feet and taken down to confinement in the gloom and mustiness of the orlop.

There, they were placed in bilboes, a long bar with sliding leg irons; it would be a dozen hours or more before they could hope to be released.

Kydd tried to lie, but his legs twisted awkwardly. Four marine sentries watched, their expressions impossible to make out in the dimness of the two lanthorns. Some of the prisoners talked quietly; most lay motionless.

Some had visitors; a dissenter chaplain led prayer for a Scots boatswain's mate and a disreputable legal gende-man escorted by a lieutenant attempted to question one prisoner, but left quickly. Fearon's mother came, but was so overcome she had to be attended by the surgeon.

The screaming and weeping tore at Kydd and he struggled to stay rational. Then a young woman, brought by the marine lieutenant, appeared before him. It was Kitty.

'Tom, m' darlin' man, t' see you here!' she said piteously, her hands writhing together.

'Kitty, m' dear,' said Kydd, his mind scrabbling to keep a hold on reality.' Y' shouldn't be here - why, it's a long way from—'

'Tom, oh, Tom,' she wept, and clung awkwardly to him. The marine lieutenant looked away politely. Kydd could just get his arms round her, and held her while she sobbed.

She pulled away, dabbing her eyes, then leaned forward to whisper. Next to Kydd, Davis pushed at Hulme and they leaned away so as not to overhear the endearments. 'Tom, m' love, listen to me,' she whispered urgently. 'Are ye listening?'

'Aye, Kitty,' he said.

She kissed him quickly. 'Then mark what I have t' say, on y' life, Thomas. On y' very life, I said!'