Mutiny

_{the verbatim demands of the mutineers, apparendy printed under duress by The Times. Reluctantly, he continued to read.}

 

THE HUMBLE PETITION- of the SEAMEN and MARINES on Board His Majesty's Ships, in Behalf of Themselves. Humbly sheweth —

That the Petitioners, relying on the candour and justice of jour Honourable House, make bold to lay their grievances before you, hoping that when you reflect on them, you will please to give redress, as far as your wisdom will deem necessary ...

_{Kydd scanned ahead. A central issue emerged: a number of grievances specified not as a demand but a careful laying before their Lordships with a hope of redress'.}

_{Slowly he folded the newspaper. This was no sudden rising of seamen, this must be organised, deadly. Who or what was at the bottom of it all?}

_{'Sir, it is as we feared. Plymouth is now in the hands of the mutineers, and the ships have gone over, every one.' Binney was tired and distracted, but respectful before his captain, Kydd at his side. He had returned close-mouthed and abrupt, leaving Poynter and the seaman wondering.}

_{'Mr Binney, did you make your duty to the admiral's office?' Dwyer snapped. It was a crucial matter for him: his own conduct in the immediate future could well be examined later, but if there were orders . . .}

_{'I was unable, sir, but I do have this.' Binney fumbled inside his coat and handed over a document.}

_{Dwyer took it quickly. 'Ah, this is the admiral's seal. Well done, Mr Binney.' He tore open the paper and scanned the few words in haste. 'Thank God - here we have conclusive proof and assurance that the North Sea fleet and the Nore did not join the mutiny, and these are our orders to proceed there with all despatch.'}

_{Achilles leaned to the wind and, through a strangely deserted Channel, beat eastward. The Start, Portland Race and a distant Isle of Wight passed abeam, all treasured sights for a deep-sea mariner inward bound; Beachy Head loomed up, and past it was the anchorage of the Downs, protected to seaward by the Goodwin sands.}

_{Home - after such adventures as most could only dream of.}

_{At the North Foreland they tacked about and ran in to the estuary of the Thames, the sea highway to London, the keys to the kingdom.}

_{And the Nore. Soon after the low-lying marshy island of Sheppey spread across their course they came upon the unmistakable sight of a forest of black masts: the fleet anchorage of the Great Nore.}

_{Kydd saw them — it was not the first time for it was here those years ago, at the outset of the war, that he had first stepped on the deck of a man-o'-war. With a stab, he remembered that he had been a pressed man then, miserable, homesick and bitter, but now ... A reluctant smile acknowledged the thought that he had indeed returned home — to his original starting point.}

_{But the Nore was not a home to one of England's great battle fleets, it was a base for shelter, storing and repair, and an assembling point for the Baltic convoys, a working-up area for new vessels from the Chatham and Deptford shipyards and a receiving and exchange point for the continuous flow of unfortunates from the press-gang tenders and quota transports. It was a place of coming and going, of transience and waiting.}

_{In winter a northerly could bring a biting, raw wind for weeks on end, the only solace ashore the drab, isolated garrison town of Sheemess, a bleak place at the northerly tip of Sheppey. The town's sole reason for existence was the dockyard and garrison fort. The rest of the island was a place of marshes, decaying cliffs and scattered sheep pasture, an effective quarantine from England proper.}

_{Taking no chances, Achilles passed down the line of ships at anchor. No red flags, no mutinous cheering, only the grave naval courtesies of a ship rejoining the fleet Under greying skies the 64 found her berth and the great bower anchors tumbled into the muddy grey where the Thames met the North Sea, and she composed herself for rest.}

 

_{Chapter 6}

 

 _{This Mr Evan Nepean, my lord. He will furnish you with as complete an account as you'd wish and - dare I say it? - more succinct in the particulars.' As a politician and not a seaman, the First Lord of the Admiralty was happy to turn over an explanation of the calamitous events at Spithead to the secretary: he knew the sea cant of the sailors in mutiny and would field the more delicate matters capably.}

_{'Very well, then,' said Lord Stanhope, easing himself wearily into one of the carved seats around the board table.}