'Sir.' Wary and tense, Binney spoke for both of them.
Dwyer's eyes flicked once more to Kydd. Then he said, 'The fisherman has sure knowledge of a danger to the realm that in all my experience I can say has never before threatened these islands.' He took a deep breath. 'The fleet at Spithead has refused duty and is now in a state of open mutiny. There is a red flag over every ship and they have set at defiance both the Admiralty and the Crown.' He wiped his brow wearily. 'The fisherman cannot be expected to know details, but he swears all this is true.'
Kydd went cold. The navy — the well-loved and sure shield of the nation - infected with mad revolution, Jacobin plots? It was a world turned upside-down.
'By God's good grace, we have been spared blundering into the situation, but we have to know more.'
'The Plymouth squadron, sir?' The forward base was nearest the main French naval strength at Brest.
'He's not sure, but thinks they may have gone over to their brethren.' Dwyer looked at the master.
'Near as I c'd make out, sir.'
Dwyer paused. 'I cannot risk this ship being overrun by mutineers. This is why I have sent for you, Mr Binney. I understand you come from these parts?'
'Yes, sir. Our estate is in south Devon, some small ways east of Plymouth.'
'Good. I desire you to land at a point on the coast with Plymouth near at hand, such that within a day you may enter the port in a discreet manner and make contact with the true authority, then to withdraw and report back to me. Now, do you know how this may safely be done?'
Binney hesitated for a moment. Desperate mutineers would make short work of him if he was caught.
He requested a chart. It was the standard approach to Plymouth, and he quickly found his place. 'Sir, to the east.'
'Wembury?'
'No, sir, that has an army garrison. Further to the east, past the Mewstones,' Binney said, bringing to mind the sea-mark of unusual conical rocks to the south-east of the port. 'Along the coast four or five miles. If I land here -' he indicated a small river estuary '— I'm out of sight on all sides, out in the country. I strike north about two hours and reach Ivybridge. This is on the highway and the posting house for the last change of horses before Plymouth, and there I can ride the Exeter stage into Plymouth.'
'This seems a good plan. Well done, Mr Binney.'
Eastman took a closer look at the chart. 'Hmmm, the Yealm and then the river Erme. Suggest you take the four-oared gig in, under sail.'
'That will do — it's sand, and I'd be satisfied to reach as far up as Holbeton.'
'Kydd, boat's crew. This is you and ... ?'
'Poynter, sir, gunner's mate. An' one other. Let me think on it, sir.'
Dwyer appeared satisfied. 'So we'll raise the coast at dawn, send the boat away, and hope to have you back before dark?'
'Aye aye, sir,' said Binney quietly.
'Then I don't have to remind you all that if this terrible news gets abroad . ..'
In the chill of early dawn, Achilles stood in for the river Erme. The grey, formless land firmed and revealed its rugged character. It was strange to be so close to a perilous shore from which a big ship would normally keep well clear. Sails were backed and within minutes the gig had touched water. Binney and Kydd, with Poynter and a seaman, boarded and set the lug foresail and mizzen to bellying life.
As Achilles got under way to assume position out to sea, the gig headed inshore. It was clear that Binney knew where he was: the small river estuary ending in a wide flat sprawl of sandy channels met the sea between a pair of bluffs. Binney took the biggest channel, following its sinuous course upstream, past dark woods, some isolated dwellings, steep pastoral idylls and at one point wispy effluvia of a lime kiln.
