Mutiny

 

_{The next day, in a bitter mood, Achilles sighted the grey point of the Lizard, the most southerly point of England, but Kydd's spirits soared. It had been so long, so far away, and now he was returning once more to his native soil, to the roots of his existence. It was only a lumpy blue line on the horizon ahead, but it meant so much.}

_{'Y'r folks are in Scotland, o' course, Tarn,' Kydd offered, seeing a certain distraction on his friend's face.}

_{Cockburn didn't answer at once, seeming to choose his words. 'Yes. In Penicuik — that's Edinburgh.'}

_{The ship made a dignified bow to one of the last Atlantic rollers coming under her keel; the shorter, busier waves of the Channel produced more of a nodding. There were sails close inshore, coasting vessels carrying most of the country trade of England with their grubby white or red bark-tanned canvas, and occasionally larger deep-sea ships outward bound or arriving after long ocean voyages.}

_{'You'll be lookin' t' postin' up, or will ye take the Leith packet?' Kydd hugged to himself the knowledge that Guildford was less than a day away by coach from Portsmouth - and this time he'd travel inside.}

_{'Perhaps neither. We won't be at liberty too long, I'll wager.' He wouldn't look at Kydd, who suddenly remembered that Cockburn had left his home and family as a midshipman, a future officer, but had yet to make the big step. It would not be a glorious homecoming, without anything to show for his years away, neither promotion nor prize money.}

_{Impulsively Kydd tried to reach out: 'Ye'll be welcome t' come visit the Kydds in Guildford, Tarn. We've a rare old—'}

_{'That's kind in you, Tom, but in Spithead I've a mind to petition for transfer to a frigate, if at all possible.'}

_{There were far better chances for promotion and prizes in a frigate rather than part of a fleet, but Kydd knew that his chances among all the others clamouring for the same thing were not good. He stayed for a space, then said, 'Best o' luck in that, m' friend,' and went forward: he didn't want his elation to be spoiled.}

_{Captain Dwyer paced grimly up and down the quarterdeck. 'What is the meaning of that damned Irish pennant?' he snarled at the boatswain, pointing angrily up at a light line tapping playfully high up on the after edge of the main topgallant sail. Welby snapped at the mate-of-the-watch and a duty topman swung into the shrouds and scrambled aloft. It would not do to be laggardly when Dwyer was so clearly in a foul mood.}

_{Dwyer stopped his pacing, and glared at Binney. 'I have it in mind to press some good hands, replace our prize crew.' These would now be in captivity — the lieutenant would in due course be exchanged, but the seamen had nothing but endless years of incarceration ahead, their captors knowing that trained seamen were far more valuable than any soldier to England.}

_'Sir.'

_{'We haul in one of your fat merchantmen - there, like that one,' he said, gesturing ahead at a large and deep-laden vessel anxiously crowding on all sail to get past the dangers alwaj's to be faced at the mouth of the Channel.}

_{'Inward bound, sir.'}

_{'Yes!' Dwyer snapped. 'You don't agree?' Binney was clearly uneasy at his position. 'Well, sir, this one could've been on passage six months, a year or more. Who knows what hazards and pains he's been through? And now, in sight of home, if we then—'}

_{'A damnation on your niceties, sir!' Dwyer's face was pale with anger. 'We're at war, it may have escaped your notice. Where else do you propose I get men? The quota? Debtor's jail?' His glare subsided a litde, but his tone remained hard. 'You will recollect, our people have been away from England all of two years — are they then to be pitied? No, sir!'}

_{He thrust his hands behind his back and snapped, 'Mr Binney, I desire you to ready a boarding party to press a dozen hands from that merchantman.' He saw the look on Binney's face and gave a hard smile. 'And I'll not be satisfied with less, damn it!'}

_{Kydd sat in the sternsheets of the boat with Binney. Six marines were also crowded into the small space, clutching their muskets and staring out woodenly. The bluff-bowed launch met the short, steep waves on her bow, occasionally sending spray aft.}

_{Kydd looked at Binney: pale-faced and thin-lipped, he was clearly out of sorts. If this was because they would soon be pressing men Kydd sympathised with his reservations: he had been a pressed man himself. But cruel and inhumane though it might be, the fleet had to be manned at a time when England herself stood in such peril. These merchant seamen had chosen to take the higher pay and quiet life while the navy stood guard over them. Now was the chance for some of them to play a real part.}

_{The merchant ship had been brought to with a gun, but she affected not to understand and stood on. It had taken dangerous jockeying for the big ship-of-the-line to draw abreast and to windward. This stole the wind from her and at the same time brought her close enough to be within hail. There had been an undignified exchange and another shot ahead of her bowsprit before the vessel had reluctantly gone aback.}

_{The launch bobbed and jibbed alongside. A rope ladder was finally thrown down and they boarded; the marines were sent up first, and Kydd followed. Heaving himself over the bulwarks he was confronted by a tight circle of hostile faces. Under the guns of a ship-of-the-line and the stolid line of marines there was no trouble expected, but he watched warily until the boarding party was all on deck.}

_{Binney introduced himself formally. 'Your papers, if you please, Captain,' he added politely.}

_{'Cap'n Heppel, barque Highlander of Bristol. From Callao, bound f'r London.' He wore an old-fashioned long coat and tricorne, and his tone was frosty as he reluctandy produced the papers. Binney inspected them carefully: pressing men from ships of the wrong flag could flare up into an international incident with unfortunate consequences for the officer responsible.}

_{Kydd looked around. A ship always had a domestic individuality that meant everything to a sailor, her litde ways at sea, her comfortable smells, the tiny compromises of living. This one had sailed continuously for six months or more; her ropes were hairy with use and her canvas sea-darkened to grey. There was evidence of careful repair of sea hurts and hard hours of endurance in some ocean storm far out to sea.}

_{Binney handed back the papers. 'In the name of the King, I ask you will muster your crew, Captain,' he said uncomfortably. 'We mean to have a dozen good hands from you.'}

_{'A dozen!' The owners of a merchant ship always kept crew to a bare minimum, and so many taken would mean grim and exhausting labour to work the ship for those left.}

_{'Yes, sir. My captain will not allow me to return without them.' Binney was discomfited, but stood by his orders, patiently waiting for a response.}

_{'It's an outrage, sir!' Heppel spluttered and moved to confront Binney. Kydd stepped up quietly beside his officer and the marines fingered their muskets. There was nothing this captain could do: under the law the ship could be stripped of all but the mates and apprentices.}

_{'All hands on deck,' Heppel flung over his shoulder.}

_{Kydd counted the sailors as they emerged from the hatches — just nineteen. It was impossible to work even a two-watch system with only these. There were more. He looked at Binney, who seemed to have come to the same conclusion. 'Come, come, sir, the sooner we have them, the sooner we shall leave.'}