On the Lee Shore, page 4
‘Was that the John Worthy mentioned in the petition?’ asked Clay.
‘That’s right, sir,’ replied Taylor. ‘It was a shame, for he was a good seaman. Captain Sheridan then declared that he would have the second from last man flogged in his stead.’
‘You jest, surely?’ exclaimed Clay.
‘No sir, you will find it duly recorded in the punishment book,’ said the lieutenant, pointing to the volume on the desk. ‘Three dozen for O’Brien.’ Clay found the entry and ran his finger along the line.
‘It states “Insubordination” here as the reason for the flogging,’ he said, looking up from the book.
‘Yes sir. That is how Captain Sheridan had such ad hoc punishments recorded.’
‘But Mr Taylor, are you not aware that the false recording of punishments is against every direction of the Admiralty?’ said his captain. ‘Did you not object to the practice?’
‘Eh, not openly sir,’ said the older man. ‘I did not see it as my place, and Captain Sheridan could be most forceful when he felt his will was being opposed.’
‘I make no doubt he was,’ said Clay. ‘We shall return to the punishment book presently. In the meantime please continue your account, Mr Taylor.’
‘Once O’Brien had been flogged, and John Worthy had been committed to the sea, I regret to say that matters onboard began to turn very ugly, sir.’
‘You don’t say,’ muttered Clay under his breath. After a pause Taylor continued.
‘That night the men started to gather in groups. At first it was chiefly to talk and plot together, but then they took to rolling cannon balls along the lower deck. By this time most of the petty officers had joined with the men. The captain attempted to restore order, but the crew were now quite mutinous and addressed him in a most uncivil manner. He resolved to send in the marines, but that wouldn’t answer either. Many of the soldiers joined with the mutineers, and the rest refused to stir. The men took control of the ship after that. There was little violence offered against the officers beyond some rough handling. Captain Sheridan was confined to his cabin, the officers were sent to the wardroom, all under guard, and the men took the ship into Plymouth without any direction from us.’
‘Did you identify which of the hands may have acted as leaders of the disturbance?’ asked Clay.
‘Not really sir, no,’ said the lieutenant. ‘It was dark, and the men made sure that none could be singled out in that fashion. I suspect that Richard Sexton was one of the principal troublemakers, but I am sure he cannot have acted alone.’
‘No, I am sure he did not,’ said Clay, sipping at his coffee. ‘So I collect you might describe Captain Sheridan as a brutal man?’
‘It is not really my place to find fault, sir,’ replied Taylor. ‘He was certainly a very firm man, perhaps too firm when he had been drinking. But then he was also obliged to be. We have many Irish papists among the crew, and they are known for their rebelliousness.’
‘There have been Irish sailors on every ship that I have ever served on, and most have performed their duty well, Mr Taylor,’ said his captain. ‘You need to look a little farther for the cause of this mutiny than that. You may not choose to describe Captain Sheridan as a Tartar, but I certainly shall. I can form no other opinion from my study of the ship’s punishment book.’ He returned to the open volume and leafed through the pages, stopping from time to time to read out entries at random.
‘Spitting on the deck, a dozen lashes. Appearing on duty in inappropriate and slovenly dress, two dozen. Use of blasphemous language, a dozen and no grog for a week.’ Clay shook his head at what he read. ‘These are not offences that merit a flogging. A day with no grog perhaps, an hour spent cleaning the heads or pumping the bilges will answer very well in most ships. I would expect the first lieutenant to administer such sanctions, with no need to come to me.’
‘I see, sir,’ said the lieutenant. ‘That was not Captain Sheridan’s custom. He wanted to know of every infraction, however small. I sometimes wondered if he did not derive some pleasure from the process.’ Clay glanced up from the punishment book with a look of distaste.
‘Did he, by Jove,’ said the new captain. ‘That explains much. Well, I am in command now, and I want you to handle such minor matters. No more floggings for spitting, if you please. I am sure you can find enough unpleasant or tedious tasks about the ship for such malefactors to perform. Is that clear, Mr Taylor?’
‘Aye aye, sir,’ said Taylor.
‘Good,’ said Clay, pushing away the punishment book, and drawing another volume towards him. ‘Now, I am puzzled by the gunner’s return of powder and shot. God knows our official allocation for live firing practice is little enough, but we do not seem to have expended any at all.’
‘Ah, yes,’ said Taylor, stroking his chin. ‘Captain Sheridan did not hold with live firing. He liked a trim looking ship. The recoil of the guns marks the deck most cruelly, and powder stains do so spoil the paintwork.’
‘And how did he propose to beat an opponent should he chance upon one?’ queried Clay.
‘Oh, he always held that English pluck would answer for that,’ said the lieutenant.
‘Or even Irish pluck, perhaps?’ said his captain. ‘I have always found that it is the ship which can fire three broadsides every two minutes that will win most fights at sea, whether blessed by English courage or not. I want the hands to perform an hour of gunnery training every evening from now on, with the discharge of some live rounds to finish each session. Kindly put that in place too.’
‘Aye aye, sir,’ replied Mr Taylor.
‘Also, can we not encourage the crew to play music, or sing and dance of an evening? For a ship with so many Irish onboard, the people seem to be very solemn when not on watch.’
‘Ah, yes, sir. That was because Captain Sheridan disliked mus—’ began Taylor, but he trailed to a halt when he caught sight of the steel in Clay’s grey eyes. ‘I... ah... well that was then. Shall I let it be known that the men are permitted to indulge in such practices again, sir?’
‘If you please, Mr Taylor,’ said Clay.
Chapter 3
The Ghost Ship
‘What a miserable fecking ship,’ moaned Sean O’Malley to his fellow volunteers from the Rush. ‘I know we were after serving with Pipe again, but what’s wrong with our new shipmates? Presbyterians on the Sabbath are livelier. And what makes it even worse is half of the buggers are Irish!’ He plucked at his fiddle in anger and a loud note twanged across the crowded lower deck, causing other sailors to look around in surprise. O’Malley held up an apologetic hand. ‘Sorry, lads, I didn’t realise someone had fecking died. Will you be letting me know when the wake is, at all?’
‘You're right there, Sean,’ said his close friend Adam Trevan, his long blond pigtail bobbing with agitation. ‘The captain has got himself a proper bad ship here. I hope he knows what he is about. There’s a lad in the afterguard as is from the same part of Cornwall as me, and he was saying the last captain was as mean a bastard as ever walked. A devil by the name of Sheridan. Apparently he killed one of the crew, while he was pissed on bishop, and this lot all mutinied. Officers locked up. Marines disarmed; he reckons it was a proper rising an’ all. I tell you, I love our Pipe dear as a brother, but I am thinking we should have stayed put on the Rush.’
‘All a bit late now,’ said Joshua Rosso, from the far side of the mess table. His more educated Bristol accent stood out among the oath-edged talk of his fellow mess mates. ‘We are on our way to at least three months on patrol off the Brest roads, to judge by all of the supplies we took on board in Plymouth. Still, being based out of Plymouth must be a nice change for you, Adam. Did you get to see your wife while we were on leave?’
‘That I most certainly did, Rosie,’ said Trevan with a smile. ‘I went back home and spent two whole days with my Molly. I would like to say it were good and restful, but after so long apart we had a deal of catching up to do, if you gets my drift. I’ve had more sleep getting in sail during a hurricane. It’s right hard being apart an’ all, but it’s good to have someone at home who cares about me. Can you believe that what with us going to the Caribbean an’ all it’s been over a year since I was last home? Molly hasn’t changed any, but our lad Sam’s running all over the place like a proper little jack rabbit. Home comforts! You boys should try it sometime.’
‘Ha!’ scoffed O’Malley. ‘Chance would be a fine thing, stuck here on the barky for months on end. Besides, the parting must be fecking cruel and all.’
‘Aye, you have the truth of it there, Sean,’ said the Cornishman. ‘My Molls were proper clinging to me when I left. The lad’s not so bad, but then seeing me for only two days after a year he barely gets who I am to him. I left her with the remains of our prize money from the San Felipe, and then I had to come away.’
‘Bet that ain’t the only thing he left her,’ said O’Malley with a wink for Rosso, ‘or has the quicksilver salve worked at last?’ Rosso chuckled at this, his smile broadening further as he saw who the fourth volunteer from the Rush had with him.
‘Look who that bastard of a Londoner has found, shipmates,’ he said. O’Malley and Trevan turned on their stools to follow his gaze. Looming up behind them was the huge figure of Sam Evan, his six and half foot frame doubled up under the low deck, together with a familiar stocky figure.
‘Here he is, boys,’ said Evans. ‘An’ ain’t he a sight for sore eyes.’
‘You have no idea how good it is to see you all!’ exclaimed Sedgwick. ‘At last, some friendly faces.’ He embraced each sailor in turn, before he joined them at the mess table.
‘So tell us, what is happening, Able?’ asked Rosso. ‘Why is the atmosphere so bad on board this ship of yours?’ The captain’s coxswain looked around him first before he answered.
‘Have you all heard about the mutiny?’ he asked.
‘Aye, but surely that is over now Pipe has taken charge?’ said Trevan. ‘It was this Tartar Sheridan the men rose up against, and he is long gone. The captain will give them little cause to grumble.’
‘You would reckon so, Adam,’ said Sedgwick. ‘And some of the changes he has made are much liked, make no doubt, but there are plenty on board who want him to fail. One is named Richard Sexton, have you seen him? He’s the big bastard with lots of tattoos and blue eyes like Adam here. He and his mates seem to have a taste for causing trouble now, and I doubt they are ready just to go back to their former places.’
‘Well, I have seen that Sexton bloke hanging around with his muckers,’ growled Evans, ‘an’ there ain’t one of them I couldn’t put down if it comes to a mill, easy as kiss my hand.’
‘That may be so, Big Sam, but then there are all of these Irish sailors too,’ began Sedgwick.
‘What’s wrong with the fecking Irish?’ protested O’Malley. ‘Jesus, Able! Most of my life I have had to take slights from the bastard English.’
‘Steady there, Sean,’ cautioned Trevan.
‘Not you lot, obviously, but all the fecking rest of the buggers,’ continued the furious Irishman. ‘But let me tell you, matters are after reaching a strange pass when the Negros are pitching in too!’ The others all laughed at this. After a pause Sedgwick gave his arm a reassuring pat.
‘Most of the Irish on board are fine, Sean,’ he explained, ‘just regular jacks like us. But there are some who ain’t. You must have seen them. Like them over at that mess table by the foremast. Do you mark them? Right strange, gloomy men who keep themselves apart. But then when you speak with them, they are truly hot in their inclinations. One had a long yarn with me the day I joined the barky. He wanted to know why I was fighting for the masters who had enslaved my fellow Africans. He said Ireland had been enslaved too. He even named himself a white Negro, and said how we should be on the same side by rights.’
‘I am not one of them radicals myself, Able, but he does have a fecking point,’ said O’Malley. ‘Why are you fighting for the English?’
‘I don’t hold that it is the English I fight for,’ said Sedgwick. ‘I don’t rightly know what the England you speak of is. If you mean the strange little village that the captain comes from, where the men cross the street as soon as they clock me, and the old ladies believe I live to kill them in their beds, then the answer is no. But perhaps I fight for other stuff. For the captain, of course, who took me into his ship in Barbados to save me from going back to the plantation and that bastard Haynes. I fight for the navy, who gave me back at least some of my freedom. And in truth I fight for you, my shipmates, and the first white men what showed me any kindness.’ The men were quiet for a moment, surprised by the eloquence of their friend. Rosso put a friendly arm about Sedgwick’s shoulders. O’Malley shifted on his bench awkwardly.
‘Well, if yous is interested at all, I am not fighting for any of what Able was just after saying,’ he muttered. ‘It’s the generous rate of fecking pay as keeps me loyal.’ The others smiled at this, and Rosso turned back to Sedgwick.
‘Some radicals that want a free Ireland and a few sea lawyers who wish they were on board the Bounty will not answer to start a mutiny, Able,’ he said. ‘You know how good a captain Pipe is. Didn’t we all follow him here? He will win the rest of the crew over for sure, soon enough.’
‘In time he will, Rosie, I make no doubt,’ agreed the coxswain. ‘But it is not just the hands that worry me. He has a poor set of Grunters too. The petty officers and the gunroom are sound enough, but the wardroom is very uncertain. The men say that Taylor, the first lieutenant, is weak. He never opposed Sheridan as he should have done. The man they call Beaky is Morton, the second lieutenant. He is an arrogant bastard who still smarts over Sheridan’s removal, and Blake the third is a babe in arms. He will do whatever Beaky wants. Our Tom Macpherson, and perhaps Warwick the master, are the only grunters in the wardroom he can truly rely on.’
‘Well, at least he can rely on us, if matters turn cruel,’ said Evans.
‘Can you play that fiddle, mate?’ asked a young sailor who had stopped by their mess table. O’Malley looked him up and down before he replied.
‘Can I play the fiddle?’ he asked in disbelief. ‘Aren’t I after being the finest fiddler in all of Leinster? Sean O’Malley is the name, in case yous haven’t heard of my playing on your side of the fecking water at all.’ The sailor shook O’Malley’s proffered hand.
‘I am Pete Hobbs. Some of us top men fancy a hornpipe now that Old Man Taylor says we can if we wish. Would you come and play for us?’
‘It would be a pleasure, shipmate,’ said O’Malley, picking up his instrument. ‘About time we had a bit of music on board this fecking ghost ship.’
*****
Several lanterns had been moved up into bow-end of the lower deck, and in their flickering orange glow danced the graceful figures of the young sailors as they twirled and stepped in time to O’Malley’s rapid playing. One of the Irish hands had produced a small drum to beat, and the two musicians sat and faced each other, the rattle of the drum syncopating with the cascade of notes that flowed from the fiddle. A dozen sailors had gathered to watch the dancing, and some had begun to keep time by stamping their bare feet on the deck. Richard Sexton watched the dancing with a frown, before turning back to his two companions.
‘It will take more than a couple of fucking hornpipes to bring this ship to order,’ he sneered.
‘You're right there, Dick,’ enthused Morris Page, a small, dark haired, intense man. ‘Getting rid of that bastard Sheridan was just the start. This fight is not over yet, not by a long way. When do we rise up again?’
‘Patience, Morris,’ said Sexton. ‘All in good time. He is a cunning one, this new captain, damn his eyes. Letting the hands have a sing and a dance, that’s very deep, that is. Why, it costs him nothing to do, yet directly it begins to get some of the men on his side. An’ all that talk of loyalty to the King when he joined, that hit the mark with a few of the more idiot hands. There is nothing like a bit of that rot to make a man forget the chains he wears. Where was the bleeding King when I got reduced to the ranks? All I did was sip a bit too much knock-me-down. And that bastard Sheridan, he was more pissed than I was when he sent me back before the mast.’
‘Loyalty to the King,’ scoffed Page. ‘Our brothers in America have no need of any King. The French have got rid of theirs. What need do we have for one? The sooner we can replace the corrupt rule of the men of property with a true democracy, the better, I say. We must have annual parliaments, an open franchise and ballots in secret.’
‘Easy there, Morris,’ said Sexton. ‘No one doubts your heart is in the right place, and I agree with what you hold – didn’t I let you put some of that talk in the petition? But it will not answer with the major part of the men; they have no interest in all that radical talk. If we want them to rise, we need to keep our reasoning simple. Poor pay, cruel treatment, no proper shore leave, rotten vittles, that is the stuff they all care about.’ He turned to the third person seated at the table, a redheaded sailor with pale green eyes. ‘You’ve been right quiet, Shane Kenny, letting us do all the talking. What about your Irish sailors, can they be relied on?’
‘It’s like the rest of the fecking crew, Dick,’ he said. ‘Don’t the Irish just love to talk all big about being free of the English an’ all, but most of them are truly just after a quiet life. There are maybe a dozen committed rebels I can call on, but the others will need something to get their anger up. Like last time, when Sheridan flogged that poor bastard O’Brien for being second to last off the yard. Now that served to get them proper mad with rage. But it’s like you was after saying, your new man seems to be much too cunning to make that sort of easy mistake.’
‘So when will it be our time?’ urged Page. Sexton looked around him with care. Most of the sailors at the nearby tables were either chatting amongst themselves or watching the dancing.
