Mutiny

_{The wind whipped at Kydd's oilskins, sending a shiver down his backbone. How was it that Sheerness weather had a quality that made the town seem the rawest, most desolate spot in the kingdom?}

_{'I spy our cutter,' Parker said, in some puzzlement, pointing to where a boat with the distinctive old-fashioned lug mizzen projected over the transom made its laboursome way towards them. The crews were there to supervise the loading of the hoys, and for some reason were returning early.}

_{The petty officer in charge came up the side quickly.}

_{'We bin flammed, Mr Parker. The shonky bastards, they've stopped vittlin'.'}

_{'What - gave ye no stores? None at all?' Kydd couldn't understand it.}

_'None!'

_{Parker looked at Kydd. 'I fear, Tom, you and I must get ashore and see what's afoot. Fetch your papers.'}

_{The victualling storekeeper was not helpfuclass="underline" it was a matter of authority, and for that they had to see a clerk of the cheque. They trudged across the dockyard, aware of the changed atmosphere. No longer the cheerful processions and hands waved in comradeship. Now it was in a sullen, hostile mood.}

_{'You see?' The clerk's finger stabbed at the requisition form. 'The signature. We have no authority to issue against this.' It was Parker's signature.}

_{'And why not? You have before.'}

_{'You needs an orficer ter clap 'is scratch to these.'}

_{'An' since when did we have t' do this?' Kydd snarled.}

_{'Steady, Tom,' Parker muttered.}

_{'This's not th' business of a mutineer,' the clerk said contemptuously.}

_{'You — you fawney 'longshore bugger, what d' you know about it?' Kydd seized the man's none-too-clean coat and forced him to his knees. 'Why don't y' let us have our vittles?'}

_{'H-help! M-murder! Help!' The clerk's eyes rolled. Passing dockyard workers stopped. A few moved warily towards Kydd.}

_{'Let him go, the bastard!' hissed Parker.}

_{Kydd dropped his hands and stepped back.}

_{The man dusted himself down ostentatiously. 'Yair, well. Since y' must know, we have orders,' he said, aggrieved but triumphant. 'An' the orders are fr'm the Admiralty, an? they say no vittles t' any ship what wears th' Bloody Flag.'}

_{A sizeable group of dockyard tradesmen gathered at the commotion. 'T' hell wi' the black mutineers!' shouted one. 'In th' oggin wi' 'em!' yelled another.}

_{Kydd bunched his fists. 'First man wants t' have his toplights doused, I c'n oblige ye.'}

_{'Let's be back aboard, Tom,' Parker said. 'It's as I thought. They're going to starve us out.'}

_{Even before they arrived back on the ship they caught sight of the 38-gun frigate Espion slowly turning, her slipped cables splashing into the water around her bows. Too quick for the mutineer vessels to bring their guns to bear, she went in with the tide and disappeared round the point.}

_{In sombre mood, Parker and Kydd rejoined the Parliament in the Great Cabin. 'Reports,' Parker ordered.}

_{Davis, looking cast-down and ill, opened: 'We now has Espion an' Niger in th' dockyard wi'out the red flag. I have m' doubts on Clyde and San Fi as well. They wants out, we know. Th' fleet istl, they don' know what ter do, an' when they gets noos of th' stoppin' of vittles ...'}

_{'Brother Bellamee?'}

_{This fo'c'sleman, a shrunken gnome of a sailor, spent his time ashore, listening and observing. He waited until it was quiet. 'Shipmates, th' sojers, they're on th' march, hundreds on 'em, an' all marchin' this way. They got this}

_{Gen'ral Grey with 'em, an' he's a tartar. Got 'em all stirred up, settin' guns across the river to th' north, an' I heard he has clouds more of 'em all over in th' country —' 'Thank you, Mr Bellamee.'}

_{— an' he's goin' ter put two whole reggyments inter the fort. Dunno where they'll kip down, mates. Word is, we can't go ashore any more, 'less we has a pass an' a flag o' truce.'}

_{The mood became black: it didn't take much imagination to picture a country in arms against them, relentlessly closing in.}

_{'I was in Mile Town, mates, an' there was a sight.' Kydd had never heard MacLaurin of Director speak before. 'See, all the folks think we's goin' to riot or somethin' fer they're all in a pelt, women 'n' children an' all, a-leavin' town, carts 'n' coaches — anythin' to get away.'}

_{Parker shot to his feet. 'My God,' he choked, 'what are we doing?' His anguished cry cut through the murmurs of comment. Astonished, all eyes turned to him. His head dropped to his hands.}

_{'What's wi' him?' Hulme demanded.}

_{Blake's eyes narrowed. 'Could be he's a-gettin' shy, mates!' Growls of discontent arose — there were many who still distrusted Parker's educated tones. 'We doesn't have ter have the same president all th' time, y' knows.'}

_{It brought all the talking abruptly to a stop.}

_{'I votes we has an election.'}

 _{In the first possible coach, a villainous unsprung monster of a previous age, Renzi headed away from Rochester. Time was critical. The coach wound through fields and marshland, across the Swale at King's Ferry and on to the island of Sheppey. Then it was an atrocious journey over compacted, flint-shot chalk roads to his destination - the ancient town of Queenborough, just two miles south from the dockyard but unnoticed since Queen Anne's day.}

_{There was only one inn, the decrepit Shippe. With much of the population on the move away, there was no questioning of the eccentric merchant with the fusty wig who chose to take rooms just at that time.}

_{'I'm an abstemious man,' Renzi told the landlord. 'It's my way to take the air regularly.' He was particularly pleased with his affected high voice, and he had taken the precaution, for local consumption, of laying out a reason for his presence — he was a merchant hoping to do business with the dockyard, waiting out the tiresome mutiny at a safe distance.}

_{The oyster-fishermen at the tiny landing-hard were curious, but satisfied by Renzi's tale of gathering sketches for a painting, and for a generous hand of coins agreed to show him many wonderful views, the events of the Nore permitting. They had no fear of the press-gang for the oyster-fishers of Queenborough carried protections whose rights dated back to the third King Edward.}

_{Renzi strolled along the single bridlepath that led to Sheerness. Behind his smoked glasses, his eyes darted around — angles, lines of sight, coven the undulating marsh grass was possible, but not easy.}

_{The road ended at the intersection with that of Blue Town on the way out of the dockyard. He turned left — his business was with the authorities.}

_{A stream of people were leaving: old women, fearful men with family possessions on carts, stolid tradesmen at the back of drays — and in the other direction troops of soldiers were on their way to the garrison.}

_{Renzi clutched his bag to him as though in alarm, and shuffled towards Red Barrier Gate. This was now manned with a sergeant and four.}

_{'I've been asked to attend upon the captain,' Renzi squeaked. The sentry gave him a hard look, then let him through. Renzi passed the hulks, then the public wharf, which was perilously crowded by those begging a passage on the next Chatham boat.}

_{The entrance to the fort was also well guarded. A moustached sergeant was doubtful about his stated mission and compromised by providing an escort. They set off for the commissioner's house, the seat of operations.}

_{At the door, Renzi instantly changed his demeanour; now he was in turn wordly and discreet, knowing and calculating. He bowed to the flag lieutenant. 'Sir, I desire audience with Captain Hartwell at your earliest convenience. I may have information . ..'}