"Man the yards, lads!" one of the new-comers was crying, waving a cutlass in the air. "Reeve yard ropes aloft, d'ye hear there? Break out the battle flags from the taffrail lockers, you lot! Declare for the cause… be quick about it! Huzzah for sailors' rights! Huzzah!"
"Please, sirs…" Handcocks interrupted. "Do ya sheathe them swords, Mister Ludlow. LePten't Devereux, sir? Yer out-numbered… no call for violence. Ship's ours now, sirs, same'z t'others. Won't make no point. We've the artillery."
Handcocks gestured to the guns. One of those brutal 12-pounden carriage guns had been rolled back from its port, freed of its tackles, and secured to other deck ringbolts, aimed aft at the door to Lewrie's cabins. Lighter 2-pounder swivel guns sprouted from their stanchions along the gangways-pointed aft and inboard! Seamen stood by them, fondling cartridge bags of grape-shot and canister, which they had yet to ram down the muzzles; grape-shot and canister which could scour the quarterdeck or gun-deck cleaner than a billiards table was there any resistance or disruption. They didn't look particularly glad about it-but they were standing ready, with flintlocks fitted and the trigger cords in their hands!
"Damn you all!" Lewrie snarled, whirling about to face the men nearest him, the uneasy Marines who still held weapons, the sailors who sported belaying pins, crow-levers, or rammers from the quarterdeck guns, boarding pikes, marling-spikes, tar-paying loggerheads, or clasp knives. "Admiral Lord Howe is in Portsmouth to settle things. They may be settled as we speak. Come on, lads… don't do this! Any man proved a mutineer… in arms!… laying hands on superiors, threatening superiors, will hang when this is over! Drop your weapons, go back to your stations, and submit to orders."
"Sorry, sir… can't do that just yet." Handcocks disputed in a sad tone. "Not 'til word comes from Portsmouth. Not 'til all grievances're satisfied. What they demand, we want, too, Captain, sir. And we won't obey orders t'sail. Do we not take hands with the other lads, well… there's a chance we won't be included in the settlement, d'ye see? Like it only applies t'them? Not us?"
"Oh, don't be a complete fool, Mister Handcocks!" Lewrie sneered. " Portsmouth, Plymouth… that's half the Fleet in home waters. Don't you think Admiralty needs this over, quick as dammit? All of it over? Of course it'll be Navy-wide!"
If they've any bloody sense, he thought, hoping he wasn't lying.
"Wouldn't be so sure o' that, lads!" the well-armed stranger from the cutter shouted, barging his way through the press to confront Lewrie, with his drawn cutlass in his hand and a brace of pistols in his waistband. "Cheese-parin' bastards'd starve us t'death 'fore we see a shillin' more'n necessary. Congratulations, mates! You stood up an' took her like real men, soon'z ya saw th' red banners, an' proved faithful t'th' cause!" he orated, flinging his arms about to brandish his sword, bellowing to be ! heard. "Huzzah, brother seamen! Cheer, now, lads! Hip-hip-hooray!"
They did, rather more lustily than Lewrie expected; though there were an encouraging number who only went through the motions unwilling.
Sadly, though, he also noted more than a minority eagerly at the halliards, lowering the Red Ensign to replace it with the plain battle flag, or out on the course-yards' tips, reeving ropes… to which hanging nooses could quickly be bent!
"Now then, brothers…!" the squat stranger cajoled.
"Now then," Lewrie countered quickly, "you can get your arse off my bloody quarterdeck. And put that damn' cutlass away 'fore you hurt yourself."
"Oh, I'll sheathe, sir," the stranger rasped, looking sly. "Do these tyrant officers sheathe alike. I'll let 'em keep 'em, for now…"
"How bloody gracious of you!" Lewrie sneered, so adrip with acid that most within earshot were forced to laugh.
"Aye, 'long'z they stow 'em below in their cabins an' appear on deck unarmed, sir. You're the Captain, I take it, sir? Here, see me do it, sir; I'm sheatin' my cutlass now. An' I'm… requestin'… yer officers do the same?"
Lewrie looked at Ludlow and Devereux. They were glaring, panting with anger and outrage. Ludlow looked glazed-over, ready to lash out; Devereux's slyer eyes were calm, half-slitted, darting about for an opening or an advantage. He'd be the more scientific fighter, did that come, the more dangerous. Ludlow, though, was about to go off at half-cock, draw blood out of rage, and that'd…!
"Mister Ludlow," Lewrie said, in a captain's proper stoic tone, "in the face of overwhelming opposition, I request that you put your sword away. As the Master Gunner said, there is no call for you to perish without a chance to alter the situation. Or aggravate it?" he hinted. "Lieutenant Devereux, my pardons, sir, but I have to ask the same of you. I would not have you fall needlessly, sir."
"Very well, Captain." Devereux sighed, sounding disappointed, as he released the watch-spring tension of his body with an exhalation that sounded like a deflating pig-bladder, rose an inch or so from the taut crouch he'd held, and flourished his sword in a circle before he sheathed it, gaining a bit of his own back by making the nearer mutineers flinch from its wickedly sharp tip.
"Mister Ludlow?" Lewrie was forced to insist.
"Gahh!" Ludlow spat, making a chopping motion with his sword out of sheer frustration. "Damn you all! Yer scum… fuckin' scum! Damn' fools! I'll see you all in chains; I'll break the lot of you! Signed your death warrants, ya have, every last mother's son!"
But Ludlow raised his scabbard and clumsily stabbed at it, to jab his sword-tip into it and ram it home. He glared at Lewrie, with ultimate scorn and bloody murder on his phyz!
"Never thought I'd see the day a Royal Navy captain'd just give up his ship at the first whim o' cut-throats an' trash!" Ludlow snarled, as he turned away to stomp his way below, shoving the close press apart with his shoulders, glaring defiance, and muttering dire imprecations.
"See how th' proud're brought low, lads, an' tyrants banished!" the stranger hooted. " 'Least yer captain's sensible."
"Fuck you, too!" Lewrie hissed back with an evil grin.
"Thomas McCann, sir. Able Seaman. An' you're Captain Lewrie."
"I am. McCann," Lewrie grudgingly allowed, taut-lipped.
"Heard o' ye, we have," McCann leered. "Called 'the Ram-Cat' I heard-tell. Fightin captain. Not so cruel an' high-nose proud'z some. Though, ye all are. Firm but fair, hah! Don't mean dis-respect, sir…"
"Do you not, McCann?" Alan scoffed. "Does this not?"
"Delegates've decided, sir," McCann ploughed on, oblivious to Lewrie's scorn. "Officers behave, they won't be discomfited. Ship's discipline t'be maintained. Officers, warrants, mates, an' midshipmen t'be obeyed 'long as it's run-o'-th'-mill duties. Barrin' th' last few minutes, sir, no man'll raise a hand 'gainst any superior nor show any signs o' disrespect. Belong-in's t'be safe, even personal pistols an' swords…'long as they're below an' unloaded. We give ye a promise on that. 'Cept, we'll turn out the man-killers an' tyrants as soon as we name 'em."
"How reassuring," Alan drawled, with one brow up.
"Just 'til word comes from Portsmouth that them bloodsuckers at Admiralty's declared all our demands're met, sir," McCann ranted, with an odd look to his eyes. "That all brother seamen been victorious, do ye see. As a caution, like… so none o' us're ordered t'fight brother sailors at Spithead or Plymouth an' we know for certain we're included in th' terms an' them bastards won't betray us. Our cause is just, I tell ye! Their grievances're ours too!" McCann all but raved.
Christ, I'm dealing with a bloody lunatick! Lewrie realised.
"So's we don't get betrayed like them Cullodens!" someone back in the crowd crowed. "Pay, more pay!" howled another. "Fairer share o' prize-money!" suggested another. "Proper rations an' honest weights… shore leave whene'er we wish… bigger rum ration!" they gabbled.