He waited until the men were quiet again before he continued. He was ready to demonstrate the godlike power he possessed as captain of a man-of war at sea.
"Hickman! I hold you primarily responsible for this late humiliation, with your incompetence and your stupidity. I am stripping you of your warrant as gunner and placing you under arrest. You will receive a dozen at the capstan at first light!"
The men were silent for a second, and then as one they shouted their protest.
"You can't do that!" shouted Hickman. "You have no power over my warrant! That's—"
"I have power over everything aboard this brig. Mr McDuff, Mr Longbottom, place Hickman in irons."
The boatswain and his mate shoved their way through the protesting men and grabbed Hickman by both arms.
"Silence!" Pendexter roared, and the deck was quiet. "You men will stand down to the watch on deck. Go!"
Slowly, sullenly, the men shuffled off, and the unfortunate Hickman was dragged below, his shouted protests audible until he was in the hold and his legs were bound by the heavy irons.
The brig was cleared for action, the first time since Biddlecomb had come aboard, and high aloft McDuff stood on the main crosstrees focusing a telescope on a distant unidentified vessel, a vessel that was still invisible from the deck. Pendexter and Smeaton were below, eating a dinner that the brig's company, standing at quarters, had been forced to miss. Before going below, Pendexter had sent McDuff aloft for the sole purpose, Biddlecomb was certain, of demonstrating to the boatswain that he, Pendexter, was still the lord and master. McDuff would be in a black mood when he regained the deck.
Biddlecomb looked aft. Dibdin had the deck. With the lieutenants below and McDuff aloft the atmosphere on deck was less tense than it had been in days.
Biddlecomb leaned heavily on the rammer he held in his hand. He blinked slowly, then blinked again, and his eyes remained shut and he felt his head swirl with fatigue. He shook himself awake and looked out toward the horizon. He shifted in his stance to try to ameliorate the pain. His legs were covered with welts from McDuff's starter, as was most of his body. He looked at his arm resting on the rammer. The dark bruises made him look as if he had been tarring the rig.
His eyes began to close again, and this time he slapped himself across the cheek. The welts and open wounds on his back did not allow him to sleep easily in a hammock, and it seemed as if every time his exhaustion overwhelmed the pain and he did fall asleep, Pendexter turned all hands out to tack or wear ship. Several times they had been turned out in the middle of the night just to be mustered and sent below again. It was just another form of torture. Biddlecom did not know what had happened on Barbados, but it seemed to have made Pendexter go completely insane.
Bloody Wilson, captain of number seven gun, took a step in Biddlecomb's direction. "You see you don't fall asleep, there," he said in a low voice, his eyes still locked on the horizon. "That whoremonger McDuff's up there running his glass over the deck as much as he is the horizon. You got to watch your arse. I wager your back ain't been scratched by a cat before."
"Why should I watch my arse? More than anyone else, I mean."
"McDuff's got it in for you, mate. You ain't noticed how hard he rides you, how he's always watching you and pushing you, waiting for you to do something? You and Rumstick?"
Biddlecomb had indeed noticed that he and Rumstick seemed to be getting the brunt of McDuff's and Longbottom's sadistic natures, but until that point he had told himself that it was his imagination, that every man aboard felt the same way.
"Sure, I guess we've been ill-used by that whore's son, but so has everyone else."
"That's no lie. But just watch your arse. I don't know why, but he's lying for you."
The two men fell silent again, then Biddlecomb glanced around and, satisfied that they were attracting no attention, asked in an even softer voice, "So what's to be done?"
"About what? What do you mean?"
"Well, it seems like Pendexter has gone mad. McDuff and Longbottom are like rabid beasts. The men are desperate. How's this situation to be solved?"
Wilson looked at Biddlecomb with an expression one might use on a confused child. ?We don't "solve" nothing, mate. There ain't a thing we can do."
"But yesterday you said Pendexter was breaking the law by disrating and flogging the gunner. Can't he be reported to the Admiralty?"
Bloody Wilson laughed, though he was careful not to make a sound. "Pendexter is a gentleman and a commissioned officer, and you and me? We're lower-deck bastards. There's nothing we can do. Nothing legal."
"All right, then. What is there illegal that we can do?"
"You can smoke that one yourself, mate."
"Pendexter goes overboard on a dark night?"
"What bloody good is that? Then you get Smeaton as lord and master."
"Of course. So the only option would be..."
"We take the ship," Wilson said, his words barely even a whisper.
Mutiny, of course. Would it work? Biddlecomb wondered why he had not thought of that.
"Is there talk of that?" Biddlecomb asked, just breathing the words.
"The lads always talk about it, but they'd never do it. They ain't got the balls. And there's nowhere to run."
"What do you mean?"
"Nowhere to run. We ain't at war with anyone, in case you didn't know. In war you just take the ship and go to whoever you're fighting and you're safe. But now there's nowhere, and the Royal Navy's damn good at running men to earth." There was an odd tone of pride in his words, and he added, "It ain't no use. But that don't stop the lads from jawing."
Biddlecomb turned and ran his eyes along the horizon once again. So the men were thinking about mutiny, but Wilson did not credit them with the courage to attempt it. The question of where to take a stolen man-of-war was a thorny one and would require some thought. We are at the stake and bayed about with many enemies, Biddlecomb thought, the line from Julius Caesar rising like a bubble from the depths of his memory. He had not thought of that line in years.
Biddlecomb looked across the deck to number-four gun, opposite his on the larboard side. Rumstick was standing there, stripped to the waist, the rammer he held looking like a twig in his huge hand. Biddlecomb shook his head as he looked at the angry welts that stood out in many places on Rumstick's back, all courtesy of McDuff and Longbottom. Longbottom in particular seemed the type of deviant who enjoyed beating a man who was far more powerful than himself, but helpless to strike back. But Rumstick, Biddlecomb knew, was entirely capable of striking back, and Biddlecomb prayed that he would not. Rumstick turned and their eyes met, but not a hint of recognition was on Rumstick's face. To Biddlecomb's knowledge Rumstick had not spoken a word since the Icarus had cleared out of Barbados, and Biddlecomb could only guess at the depths of his friend's despair. Then a thin smile played across the big man's face and he shook his head. Biddlecomb realized that his back must look as bad as Rumstick's.
"Listen here, you men!" Mr Dibdin shouted from the quarterdeck. "We shall remain at quarters until we see what this strange sail to weather is about. Larboard guns will reinforce starboard. You may stay easy."
To Biddlecomb's surprise most of the men at the larboard battery deserted their charges and crossed over to the starboard side. Then he realized that, as comparatively large as the Icarus's crew was, there were still not enough men to effectively man both batteries. That being the case, the men were taken from the unengaged side to reinforce the engaging side.Biddlecomb wondered what they would do if they if they engaged on both sides, and how often that occurred.