On the Lee Shore, page 13
‘Might I suggest you use a wine glass?’ said Corbett. ‘I believe that is said to aid such endeavours.’
‘Upon my word, how on earth does a gentlemen get to learn of such things?’ said Morton. ‘The preferred manner for listening at doors, for goodness sake!’
‘It is a technique well known to philosophy, Mr Morton,’ snapped the surgeon. ‘I will have you know that I have used a wine glass on occasion to aid me in listening to my patients' chests.’
‘Mr Morton,’ said his captain, ‘can you kindly refrain from vexing your fellow officers at every occasion? Thank you for your valuable suggestion, Mr Corbett, I am sure Mr Blake will put it into effect. We will stay quiet while you listen.’
The junior lieutenant wiped a glass clean with a napkin, and pulled his chair close to the door. He placed the glass with care against the wood, then pressed his ear to the base. The minutes dragged by in the silent wardroom as the officers waited for him to come to a conclusion. Haywood stared straight in front of him, dread knotting in his stomach, and tugged at his sparse hair. Whichever way I examine the future it all looks bleak, he thought. What am I to do if this mutiny should succeed? God, the men hate me! Why, some of the rougher ones might even take the opportunity to quietly kill me off. Of course, the mutiny may be defeated, he told himself. He glanced up the table at the brooding figure of the captain. He is right; I am finished if that happens. That bastard of a superintendent will give me up in a flash if it comes down to a simple choice between his job or mine. Oh, how I crowed over those stupid twelve guineas. They may as well be the thirty silver coins that Judas was paid for all the good they will do me. Why, oh why did I let my greed get the better of me?
Lieutenant Morton sat with folded arms and stared at Macpherson. Why is it that I hate that man so? he asked himself. He looked around the wardroom, with its four cabin doors on each side and its table with the trunk of the mizzen mast plunging down through it from the deck above. This space was all mine three months ago, he reminded himself. I was the one who was really in charge. Blake is just a puppy, yapping whenever I condescend to stroke him. Taylor is far too weak to stand up to me, and that previous marine lieutenant was nothing but a drunken fool – what was his name? Well, no matter. Captain Sheridan was always happy to share a bottle with the only other genuine gentlemen aboard. And now Sheridan has gone, and Lieutenant Bloody Enthusiastic of His Majesty’s Royal Marines has joined, complete with his father’s blade. Doubtless it was last used in Bonny Prince Charlie’s name by some half naked barbarian back in forty-five. Look at him, just itching to play the hero of the hour for his beloved captain. Well, I will show him. He has no monopoly on courage. I can fight bravely too. I am more than capable of standing up to these damned mutinous dogs.
Clay appeared to the others to be sitting still and watching Blake as he crouched by the door. In reality his mind was an active whirlpool as he ran through the events of the last few weeks, searching for the error he had made. Where did I go wrong? he wondered. What was it that I should have foreseen or could have done to prevent the mutiny? Was I too indulgent with the men? Should I have had Sexton marched off the ship back at Plymouth the moment I saw his arrogant face? He shifted about in his chair. God, this is humiliating. I am a captain in the Royal Navy in command of a powerful warship and have been granted such authority by my country. Power to chose when to fight and when to run. Power over every aspect of the lives of the two hundred and forty odd souls aboard, yet here I sit, confined unlawfully in my own damned ship. I am not even in my bloody cabin! He felt his face burn red with shame.
‘Five men, I should say, sir,’ reported Blake at last. ‘One of whom is much closer than the rest. I believe he may be seated on something that has been placed against the door.’
‘That would seem to be similar to last time, sir,’ explained Morton. ‘The wardroom door opens outward. They placed a pair of sea chests across the entrance to prevent us from rushing them.’
‘Five armed and desperate men that we are unable to take unawares,’ said Clay. ‘And we are but seven, all unarmed. Those are not good odds, gentlemen. Not good at all.’
‘We are not wholly unarmed sir,’ said Macpherson, indicating the mass of empty wine bottles on the table. ‘They could be useful in a melee.’
‘Even assuming we can persuade Mr Morton to use such an un-gentlemanly weapon as a broken bottle, the odds are still unrealistic, Tom,’ said Clay, smiling at the marine. ‘Keep them to hand in the hope that an opportunity may present itself. Until then I suggest we set watches, while the rest of us get some sleep. I shall take the first watch with Mr Blake. I fear we may be in for a long night.’
*****
Four bells in the mid watch had just rung out from the forecastle. Sean O’Malley counted the strokes, and as the last one faded away he raised himself up and peeked out of his hammock. The occasional lantern cast orange circles of light down onto a strangely deserted lower deck. The Irishman peered around him. He was used to seeing the space packed with a dense carpet of swaying hammocks, all moving together with the gentle roll of the ship. That was in normal times. None of the marines or petty officers who shared the space with the men had chosen to join the mutiny, he reminded himself, nor indeed had many of the crew. They were all confined in the hold, together with his friends. He thought of the look of horror and disgust on Rosso’s face when he had joined the mutiny. But what had hurt him the most had been his best friend Trevan’s reaction. He had never seen the Cornishman so angry. Normally he was the mildest of men, and his fury had cut O’Malley with its unexpectedness. Still, it had to be endured in a good cause, he reminded himself.
He checked his fellow mutineers in the hammocks that hung around him with care. Those nearest to him all seemed to be sound asleep; those farther away could be detected from their snores. That will be the extra tot Sexton had had issued to his men, thought O’Malley. He had wisely (and regretfully), poured his away, knowing he would need to be alert later in the night. He slipped from his hammock and dropped to the deck. He stayed still for a moment while he checked again that no one had been disturbed. Satisfied, he stooped to picked up the pistol he had been issued with from the deck beneath his hammock. He checked the priming, slipped it into the waistband of his trousers and then, after a moment’s thought, he took his neighbour's pistol too. He then reached for where his cutlass hung at the foot of his hammock. The blade rattled in its ill-fitting scabbard as he draped the strap across his chest, and the man whose pistol he had taken muttered in his sleep. O’Malley remained still, his heart thumping against his ribs, as the sailor rolled over towards him. His eyes opened wide and seemed to look straight into the Irishman’s from a range of a few inches. He frowned for a moment, and then his eyes slid closed again. Once he was snoring, O’Malley let out a huge breath and tiptoed across the dimly lit deck to where Stephenson, the armourer’s mate, lay in his hammock. He looked up as O’Malley approached.
‘I ain’t sure about this at all, Sean,’ he murmured. ‘That Sexton can be a right bastard when he set’s his mind on it.’
‘Look, it will all be fine,’ whispered O’Malley. ‘Just you be after keeping quiet. Let me do the talking, and make sure you bring your tools with you.’
‘I got them here,’ breathed Stephenson, patting his pockets. ‘So if I help you now, you’re going to put a good word in for me with the captain, like?’
‘That I will, feller,’ said the Irishman. ‘You’ll be quite the hero of the hour. But first you need to get your arse out of that there hammock.’
‘Cause this is all wrong, us rising against Pipe like what we done,’ continued the armourer’s mate, as he swung himself down onto the deck. ‘He don’t deserve it at all.’
‘So why did you fecking mutiny then, you daft fool?’ hissed O’Malley, his exasperation getting the better of his caution.
‘It’s that bloody Sexton! When you listen to him you can’t help yourself. He gets you all hot and angry like. It all makes such sense, when he is a rattling away. It’s only afterwards that you get to thinking, and then you says to yourself, “Tom Stephenson, you ain’t no bleeding mutineer! What the hell is you doing mixed up in all of this nonsense?” But by then it’s too late.’
‘Well, Tom Stephenson, I am after thinking it’s never too late to right a wrong,’ whispered the Irishman. ‘Get your weapons, and come with me.’ The two men crept along the deck to the fore ladder way, which they ascended in silence onto the main deck above them. It was dark outside, and the ship sailed through the night under easy sail with a skeleton crew of mutineers on watch. As O’Malley’s head came above the level of the deck, he forced himself to move normally.
‘Greetings, lads,’ he called out as he strode up to a group of men. ‘Have any of yous seen your man Morris? Is he still up on the quarterdeck?’
‘No, mate, he’s in Pipe’s cabin with Dick and Shane,’ said one of Sexton’s messmates. ‘What you after him for?’
‘He wants Tom here for something,’ replied O’Malley. ‘Probably another fecking lock as needs opening. I’ll be seeing yous later.’ He walked on down the deck with Stephenson beside him. O’Malley could sense suspicious eyes as they bored into his back. His neck prickled, but he forced himself to walk on as normal as he could and not look round. As soon as they were out of sight, he changed direction and clattered down the main ladder way back to the lower deck, then continued down to the orlop deck below it. As he had expected, a party of armed mutineers sat at the bottom guarding the hatchway that led down to the hold. They were each armed with one of the marine’s muskets, and the hatchway itself was covered by a heavy grating to keep the loyal members of the crew in the hold.
‘Evening, lads,’ said O’Malley, ducking his head under the low beams. ‘Any sign of trouble from the prisoners?’
‘No, mate,’ said one of the mutineers. ‘There was a deal of grumbling and plenty of bleeding abuse from them earlier, but no trouble since. I reckon they must be asleep.’
‘You can hardly blame them being a bit fierce like,’ said another one of the guards. ‘How would you fancy spending the night trying to kip down in the hold among all the rats?’
‘So the bleeders should have joined with us, then,’ said the first mutineer, who seemed to be the leader.
‘I am not so sure, Bryson,’ said a third guard. ‘It does bother me that so few of them has bleeding joined us. Why ain’t they? We was all in on the rising against Sheridan, but this time it’s barely one in three. If Sexton hadn’t had all them weapons to hand out, we wouldn’t of had no mutiny at all.’
‘They will be after coming round when we gets to Spithead,’ said O’Malley, ‘once they realise how the whole fleet is with them.’
‘I don’t know,’ muttered the last guard. ‘I’ve killed a few Frogs in my time, but it don’t seem natural somehow, pointing a gun at one of your own kind. I mean another shipmate, like.’
‘What are you down here for, anyway?’ asked Bryson.
‘Dick is after Tom here checking on them two in the lockup,’ said O’Malley. ‘He is worried about their irons coming loose.’
‘They looked fine to me,’ grumbled the mutineer.
‘He is probably troubling himself over nothing,’ said O’Malley as he walked towards the door. ‘Shouldn’t take us long.’
‘Sean!’ exclaimed Sedgwick, as the Irishman came through the door of the lockup. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Easy now, lads,’ whispered their friend, holding up a restraining hand. ‘Keep the noise down. We got four of Sexton’s men just over by the main hatchway keeping guard on the hold. Tom here is going to get those irons off you.’
‘What do you mean, Sexton’s men?’ asked Evans as he sat up to let Stephenson come at his leg irons. ‘We’ve heard a deal of shouting and stuff, but no one has told as bleeding anything.’
‘That bastard’s taken command of the fecking ship, that’s what,’ said O’Malley. ‘He managed to get hold of a key to the arms chest somehow, so him and his boys was able to overpower the lobsters.’
‘What of the captain?’ asked Sedgwick. ‘Is he still alive?’
‘Sure he is well enough,’ said the Irishman. ‘Last I heard he was after being trapped in the wardroom with the Grunters. Few enough of the lads have joined in with Sexton, but them as have are all armed, and they have the rest of the crew locked tight in the hold, including Rosie and Adam. Come on, Tom, can’t you get them fecking locks picked at all?’
‘Almost there,’ said the armourer’s mate. ‘Try and hold still you two.’
‘So how come you are armed, Sean?’ asked Sedgwick.
‘I played along as how I was with them,’ he said. ‘First time that being Irish has been some use since I joined the fecking navy. Mind yous, I don’t know as if Adam will ever let me tie his pigtail again. I never seen the man so angry like.’ There was a smooth click from the lock, and Stephenson sat back on his haunches.
‘Got it,’ he announced. Evans rubbed his chaffed ankles and Sedgwick rose to his feet.
‘I want to go and rescue the captain,’ he said.
‘One thing at a time,’ said O’Malley. ‘First we got to get past these four clowns outside.’
‘Leave ‘em to me,’ said Evans. ‘I’ve been spoiling for a fight since those bastards set on us yesterday.’
‘Steady, Sam,’ cautioned the Irishman. ‘These boys have got muskets and will use them if we try and rush the buggers. This needs a bit of blarney rather than muscle. I am after thinking we may not need to fight them at all. They were starting to talk real shy about the whole mutiny earlier.’
‘What should we do, Sean?’ asked Sedgwick.
‘Let Tom and myself get them in here. It’s too snug for muskets to be much use. You can speak to them, being Pipe’s coxswain an’ all, and if that don’t answer, Sam here can whack them.’
‘Hold on, Sean,’ protested Stephenson. ‘I only agreed to pick a bleeding lock. We never said nothing about no fighting with any mutineers.’ Evans reached across the small room and grabbed the collar of the armourer’s mate with one hand while he drew back his other and balled it into a huge fist. ‘See, I am going to fight with mutineers, maybe kill a couple. So if you ain’t with us I am thinking maybe you must be with them?’
‘N..n..no!’ stuttered Stephenson. ‘I am with you, Big Sam. I was just saying what we agreed, like. If he had asked me to join you properly, of course I would have.’ Evans released his collar, and pulled his shirt straight again for him.
‘Good. Glad we got that nice and clear before anyone got hurt,’ he said.
‘Hey!’ came a shout from outside. ‘What’s going on in there? You two have been bleeding ages.’ O’Malley ducked out through the door.
‘Bryson, I tell you, it’s a fecking miracle these two haven’t escaped,’ he exclaimed. ‘Will you come and have a look at this?’
Two of the mutineers exchanged glances, and came over to the cell. The Irishman stood aside and they entered the tiny room. Evans and Sedgwick were seated against the wall once more, their ankles hidden behind the crouched figure of the armourer’s mate.
‘Not a word,’ hissed O’Malley, whipping out his two pistols and pressing them into the men’s backs. Sedgwick sprang up and grabbed the muskets from their unresisting hands. He handed them to Evans without taking his eyes off the men.
‘Sean says that you two are having second thoughts about the mutiny,’ said the coxswain. ‘Is that right?’
‘Maybe,’ conceded Bryson. ‘But we’re committed to it now. We got no choice but to carry on.’
‘Sure you have,’ said Sedgwick. ‘Nothing is fixed yet. Join us now. Just like Stephenson here has. I will make sure the captain knows that you did the right thing.’
‘I don’t know,’ said the other. ‘If Sexton was to get to hear about it….’
‘Sexton is finished!’ exclaimed Sedgwick. ‘The mutiny is over. Most of your shipmates have stayed loyal. Sexton has tricked you, just like he did Evans and me. Now, in a moment we shall rush out of here with these arms of yours, overpower the other two, and release the rest of the crew. Then how long do you think this rising will last?’
‘Come on, Bryson,’ urged his mate. ‘He is right, you know. This ain’t never going to work without the whole crew behind it.’
‘And you’re both smart lads,’ said the coxswain. ‘You know how failed mutinies end. There will be pardons for them as did the right thing and chose to return to obedience and loyalty to their captain. Or there will be a reckoning, and a long drop from a short rope for those that fought on. Now it is time for you both to choose, shipmates. Are you with us, or do you plan to be strung up by the neck between Sexton and Kenny?’
The two mutineers exchanged glances, and Bryson nodded to the other.
‘We’ll join you,’ he said, and then grinned. ‘Christ, that’s a relief. What do we do now?’
‘Can you persuade the other two to join us?’ asked Sedgwick.
‘Aye, that we can,’ said the other. ‘If we can say you will speak up for them with the captain.’
‘Here is my hand on it,’ said the coxswain. ‘Once you have them on side, let the hands out of the hold nice and quiet like, and tell them to wait for us on the orlop deck. The rest of us will go and get the Grunters released. Evans, give them back their muskets.’ The Londoner hesitated for a moment, then flipped open the priming pans and raised each musket to his mouth in turn. He spat expertly onto the pinches of dry powder. Then he handed them back.
‘Not that I don’t trust you, lads,’ he said. ‘But the bayonets will still work just fine, should you need them.’
*****
Macpherson looked up with a start as there was a heavy thump against the wardroom door.
‘What the devil was that?’ whispered Morton from the other side of the table.
‘I am not sure,’ said the marine. ‘But something is unfolding. You had best go and wake the others.’ He reached for the neck of the nearest empty wine bottle and smashed it down against the edge of the wardroom table. Shards of glass rained down onto the deck. The marine hefted the remaining half of the bottle in his hand and moved till he stood to one side of the door, the broken bottle raised. From beyond the thick wood he heard another thump, as of a heavy body falling to the deck, followed by the clear double click of pistols being cocked.
