Chapter Twenty Nine.
Mutiny.
A week of light and fickle winds brought us through the Channel and well on our way to Yarmouth Roads, off which we understood Admiral Duncan was lying. As we passed the Downs, strange and ugly rumours of trouble ahead met us. One night, as we lay anchored waiting for our wind, I was on deck at my watch when I caught the sound of oars approaching the Zebra. Shortly after several missives were pitched on deck, one of which alighted just at my feet.
I examined it with some curiosity. It was a bundle of printed papers addressed to the sailors of England, calling upon them to insist on the redress of grievances, and to stand by their brethren who at that moment were in a state of mutiny at the Nore. Other papers described the success which had attended a similar mutiny at Spithead a week or so previously. Another was a flaring proclamation, signed “Parker, President,” on board H.M.S. Sandwich at the Nore, announcing that the fleet was in the hands of the men; that all the obnoxious officers were under arrest; that the Thames was under strict blockade; that conditions had been offered to the Admiralty; and that, if these were not accepted within a given time, it was the intention of the leaders of the mutiny to put to sea and hand the ships in their possession to the enemy. Further, it was stated that the fleet at the Nore was being daily recruited by deserters from the North Sea squadron and elsewhere; that arms and supplies were abundant; and that England was at the mercy of those whom up till now she had treated as veritable slaves. And so on.
All this greatly troubled me; for, from what I knew of the crew of the Zebra, such seditious stuff furnished just the fuel required to set the spirit of the men in a blaze. The other missives thrown on board, no doubt containing the same or similar matter, had pretty certainly fallen into the hands of those who would read the call to mutiny with different eyes from mine. If so, the mischief was already far gone.
I hastened with my papers to Lieutenant Adrian, who glanced over them contemptuously.
“All bunkum and wind,” said he, pitching them into a corner. “We have heard this sort of thing before.”
“If it is true, sir,” I ventured to say, “that the ships at the Nore have mutinied, we had better give them a wide berth, for it’s a catching thing.”
“Pooh! there’s no more in it than the cat and a noose or two at the yard-arms can cure,” said he. “However, keep your eyes open, Mr Gallagher, and report the first sign of mutiny. There’s nothing like nipping it in the bud.”
For all the lieutenant’s assumed indifference, further consultation with the captain and the other officers resulted in some needful precautions being taken. The watches were increased, the ammunition was placed under extra guard, and picked men were told off to man the helm. As the south-easterly breeze was rising, too, orders were given to weigh anchor at once and put to sea.
The men obeyed the orders to set sail in a sullen, mechanical way, which did not grow more hearty as they saw that every officer carried his pistol in his belt, and watched the execution of every command with suspicious keenness.
It was only when the order to turn in gave them the opportunity of congregating in larger numbers and discussing the proclamation that they took heart, and arrived at something like a united policy. Had I had my own way that night, convinced as I was of the inevitable outcome of delay, I would have clapped down the hatches and left them there to deliberate till doomsday, or such time as they chose to beg for release on the captain’s terms. As it was, there was nothing to do but to speculate moodily on what the morrow would bring forth, and meanwhile make what use we could of the favouring breeze to put as many leagues as possible between ourselves and the treasonable neighbourhood of the Nore.
The worst of it was that the honest grievances of the seamen were so patent, and the injustice they suffered at the hands of officers like Lieutenant Adrian so flagrant, that had they been fairly stated and fairly met nothing but good could have come of it. But put forward as they were likely to be by a crew like ours, and encouraged and fomented by agitators such as those who had drawn up the proclamation, what issue was probable but one of desperate struggle and probably bloodshed?
It was plainly seen, when hands were piped next morning, that the temper of the men had changed for the worse. As they strolled indolently up on deck, and glanced up at the well-set sails, and saw the bows pointing due north, and as their eyes fell on the bright pistols and side-arms at the officers’ belts, it was evident they were in some doubt as to what course to pursue.
They talked together in surly groups, arguing probably that on the high sea, away from support, and in the presence of a forewarned and forearmed body of officers, their chances of seizing the ship were not promising; and one or two were bold enough audibly to regret their folly for not having struck their blow and hoisted the red flag while the Zebra lay in friendly company in the Downs.
Finally, as I supposed, it was decided to wait till we reached Yarmouth Roads, and claim the support of the mutineers there. Meanwhile orders were obeyed with ominous silence; and worse still, the few loyal men on whom the officers had counted to stand by them were got at and drawn into consultation with their messmates, and some of them were seduced into taking part with the malcontents.
Next afternoon we sighted sails to northward; but as just then the breeze fell dead, we were unable before nightfall to ascertain whether they were ships of Admiral Duncan’s squadron or not. While Lieutenant Adrian was deliberating with the other officers as to whether we should put off a boat to get word of them, the men came aft in a body and demanded a conference.
Their spokesman was an Irishman whom I recognised as one of the new hands brought on board at the last moment off Dublin. He was a glib, noisy fellow, clever most likely at anything but seamanship, of which he knew nothing, and very little acquainted with the seamen’s grievances of which he elected himself to speak.
Lieutenant Adrian, who was in an ill-enough temper at the time, ordered him to take himself and the dogs at his heels to the place they came from, unless he wanted to taste the lash.
The men, who had expected some such reception, stood their ground, and ordered Callan, for that was the leader’s name, to say on.
“It’s not yourself we need to speak to,” said Callan, “it’s the captain. Let us see him.”
“My lads,” said the ship’s surgeon, who was one of the officers present, “you are like enough to see your captain in his shroud before morning, for he is this moment at death’s door.”
“So much the worse,” replied Callan. “There was hope of justice out of Captain Swift; there’s none at all out of the lieutenant.”
“There’s precious good hope of a rope’s end,” retorted the enraged lieutenant hotly.—“Mr Gallagher, see that the fool is put in irons at once, and any one else that joins with him. We’ll soon put an end to this, even should a man dangle at every yard-arm for it!”
The only reply to this was a cheer from the men, and, what was quite unexpected, a sudden click of pistols as they drew up in two lines across the deck.
“Look’ee here, Mr Adrian,” said Callan, “we’re not the fools you take us for. While you have been drinking, we have not been idle. The powder-magazine is ours, and the forward guns are loaded and primed and turned this way.—Stand aside, lads, and let them see for themselves.”
The ranks opened, and sure enough in the forecastle we could see the muzzles of two twenty-four pounders pointed at the quarter-deck, and manned by some of the very men of whose loyalty until yesterday there had been least question.
Lieutenant Adrian, although a bully and a brute, was not lacking in animal courage, and betrayed no sign of dismay at this discovery.
“If you think we are to be frightened, hang you,” said he, “you are much mistaken. What is it you want?”
A coarse laugh greeted this tame ending to his speech. One old tar put himself forward before Callan could reply.
“It’s like this,” said he, with a salute. “We mean no disrespect to the captain or the service, but—”
“Hold your tongue,” said Callan, pushing him aside.—“What do we want? That’s easy told.”
And he took a paper from his pocket and read:—
“First. The first lieutenant, the third lieutenant, the master, the master’s mate, the boatswain, and Midshipmen Gamble and Brock, to leave the ship and be put ashore.
“Second. The ship to be taken to the Nore, and placed under the orders of Admiral Parker.
“Third. The remaining officers either to take the oath or be placed under arrest.
“Fourth. Two delegates, chosen by the men, to attend the admiral’s council, and act and vote on behalf of the ship.”
Lieutenant Adrian listened with an ill-concealed smile, in which, I confess, he was by no means alone.
“And what if we reject your precious first, second, third, and fourth piece of infernal impudence?”
“Then we shall take what we want without asking,” replied Callan with cool effrontery. “You may take an hour to decide.—Come, boys.”
The men gave another cheer, and retired singing “Rule, Britannia.” They left, however, a strongly-armed picket to cut off access from the quarter-deck to the rest of the ship.
The night was still dead calm, and the Zebra lay like a log in the sea, her sails drooping, and her head swinging idly with the tide.
“Well?” inquired one or two, looking at Lieutenant Adrian.
“Well?” retorted that officer. “If you want to know what I intend to do, I mean to drink a bottle of port below. There is but one answer to give, and nothing to discuss. So you may fetch me in an hour.”
“Shall we tell the captain?” asked Mr Felton, the second lieutenant, who, if he had only been superior to Mr Adrian, would have seen us through the crisis with more credit than we were likely to get.
“Certainly not,” said the doctor authoritatively. “The consultation in his cabin yesterday was a fatal mistake as far as he is concerned. Let him at least die in peace now.”
“How many loyal men do we muster, Mr Gallagher?” said Mr Felton.
“Twenty-five, all told, sir,” replied I. “We cannot count on any of the men for certain, though one or two may join us if it comes to a fight.”
“It will certainly come to that,” said Mr Felton quietly. And no one entertained the least question on that score.
“We have one ally more,” observed the master, who had for some time been sniffing the night air. “Unless I mistake, there’s a sou’-wester coming up in a jiffy.”
“I think you are right, master,” said Mr Felton. “That will put us over to the Dutch side, anyhow.”
“And there’s another ally yet, sir,” said I. “They’ve got possession of the two casks of rum that were last shipped at Dublin.”
“In that case,” said the second lieutenant, laughing, “we may count on a full hour before we are disturbed. If we are to make a fight of it, let it be a good one. Gentlemen,” said he, addressing the company, “the quarter-deck is still ours; twenty-five loyal men are a match for two hundred and fifty scoundrels any day. Bring the stern-guns into position, and throw up a barricade here. Look to your pistols and swords, and don’t waste bullets or powder. The worst they can do is to blow the ship up, and that they won’t do.—Master, you were right about the breeze. Bring her round as soon as she moves.—And some of you young gentlemen,” said he to the midshipmen, “be ready to bear a hand aloft with the sails.—Mr Gallagher, watch your chance of getting round to the forecastle and doctoring the guns there. You are not a new hand, I hear, at such a job.—Now, gentlemen all, we can but die once; let us do it well while we are about it.”
This spirited address had a great effect, and whatever sense of helplessness had been caused by the disparity of our numbers and the strong position of the mutineers, gave way to a desperate resolve to give a good account of ourselves before we yielded up the ship.
I could not help believing that some of the older and more experienced hands, though now borne down by the general feeling of insubordination, would side with us if only we could show a strong hand. If so, there would not be seamanship enough in the rest to set a topsail or read a chart; and every moment the breeze was freshening and promising us a lively morning.
The Zebra still hung listlessly in the water, but any moment now she might get under way. There was no time therefore to be lost in getting unobserved at the forward guns, which I was convinced was only to be done by dropping overboard and swimming round to the stem, where there was sufficient hanging tackle to help oneself on board with.
I secured the services of the master’s mate in this perilous venture—a tough sea-dog who was ready for anything, provided it was out of the commonplace. This business, I promised him, would at least be that.
The quartermaster had charge of the helm.
“Look alive, my lads,” said he, as we prepared to let ourselves overboard; “her head may go round any moment. As she lies you can drop on to it easy. Take a line with you, and pay out as you go, as you’ll need it to come back by. Over you go.”
We secured our pistols as best we could against the water, and then one after the other dropped over the stern and struck out for the peak. The ship was already beginning to sway on the breeze, and once or twice as we kept close under her side we were in peril of being sucked under or else crushed down by her lurches. However, we managed to reach the hanging tackle below the bowsprit without misadventure; and making fast the end of the line we carried, so that it hung close on the water-line from stem to stern, we began to haul ourselves, with our knives between our teeth, up into the shrouds.
While we were doing so the ship swung round into the wind, and began to move through the water.
As soon as we got our heads level with the gunwale we could dimly see the forecastle deck before us, and the breeches of the two twenty-four pounders, pointed astern. There was a man in charge of each. The two sat on the deck, with a can of liquor between them, playing dice in a quarrelsome, half-tipsy way. The rest of the company were assembled on the middle deck, and, to judge by the
sounds, were deep in the discussion of their rum and their grievances.
I gave my comrade a signal, and next moment we sprang noiselessly on board, and had the two gunners overpowered, gagged, and made fast before they could utter a sound or reach for their arms.
Then without losing a moment we drove our nails into the touch-holes of the guns, trusting to the noise of the revellers and the dash of the water at the bows to drown the sound of the hammer. This done we dropped overboard, each with a prisoner, as quietly as we had come, and with the aid of the line reached the stern in safety, and found ourselves once more on the sanctuary of the quarter-deck.
Scarcely had we done so when we became aware of a movement among the enemy. So busily occupied had they been in their debauch that they had not noticed the change in the weather, or the advantage which had been taken of it to put the ship under way. As it was, they might have even allowed that to pass, supposing it only brought them nearer to Yarmouth Roads, when one of the old salts in their number pronounced that the new wind was from another quarter, and that instead of closing in with the admiral’s fleet off Yarmouth the Zebra was running for the open sea with a strong south-wester astern.
Finding themselves thus hoodwinked, and already excited by drink, the leaders, and as many of the men as could be enticed from the liquor, came once more aft and demanded another interview.
The quarter-deck, except for the sentries, the watch, and the men at the guns, was comparatively deserted, the officers having retired below until the hour allowed by the enemy had expired.
The senior officer present was Mr Felton.
“Quartermaster,” said he, as he stepped up to the helmsman, “how does she sail?”
“Nor’-east by east, sir. Making ten knots an hour.”
“Keep her so.—Mr Gamble,” said he, turning to a midshipman, “have the goodness to go to my cabin at once and fetch the magnet you will find lying in the drawer of my desk.”
In a minute Mr Gamble had performed his errand. Mr Felton meanwhile had lifted the cover of the compass-box, into which he now inserted the small magnet, so that it pulled the needle a quarter of the circle round, and made it appear that our course was due north.
“That should give us time,” said he as he replaced the cover. “The land-lubbers will know no better.—Use your pocket-compass, quartermaster, and keep her as she is.—Now, my man,” said he, addressing one of the loyal marines who had been standing sentry, “what is it?”
“If you plaze, sir, the hounds beyant there want a word with yez.”
“Tell them the hour is not yet up, and that Mr Adrian is below.”
“Sure I told them so, and Callan, he’s their talking man, says he must see yourself, or there’ll be mischief.”
“Very good,” said Mr Felton. “Pass the word below for all hands on deck; and let every man go quietly to his place.—Marine, allow Callan on the quarter-deck.”
But Mr Callan was not tipsy enough to fall into such a trap, and insisted on the honours of war and the word of a gentleman that he and three of his followers should be allowed safe-conduct, hinting at the same time that the forward guns were still in position, and that any attempt to break parole would be visited with ugly consequences.
Lieutenant Felton gravely gave the necessary assurance, whereupon, ordering their followers to wait below, Callan and three comrades, as tipsy as himself, staggered up the ladder.
“Now, sir, what is the matter?” demanded Mr Felton.
“Matter? The ship’s on the wrong tack. You’re sailing her out to sea; and if she’s not put round at once, we’ll put her about for you.”
Mr Felton laughed.
“Not so easy to sail out to sea in this wind as you think, my lad. I wonder, now, if you really know what direction we are going in.”
One of the four replied, “Nor’-east,” unless he was mistaken.
“Bless me,” said the officer, “and these are the men who pretend to speak in the name of the British seaman! I should prefer to take the word of the compass against yours in a cap of wind, my fine fellow, any day. Nor’-east, indeed!”
“The compass will say the same as us; or maybe we’re a point more to eastward.”
“You can satisfy yourself as to that if you please,” said Mr Felton dryly.—“Mr Gallagher, take these men and show them the compass. It will be a lesson to them in navigation.”
The laughter of the company succeeded in effectually damping the confidence of our amateur seamen as they slowly followed me abaft.
“Steer gingerly round these guns,” said I, as we passed the two guns which had been brought to bear on the forecastle; “they’re loaded. Gently now; it’s not so steady walking on a deck as round the Newgate exercise-yard. Come away now.—Quartermaster, show a light on the compass here for these gentlemen. They have come to give us a lesson in seamanship.”
“Compass!” said the quartermaster with a chuckle. “Ain’t the stars good enough for you? Who but a landlubber ever needed to look at a compass to see which way the wind blew? However, look away; and if it’s a point out of due north call me a Dutchman.”
The men peered stupidly over the compass.
“It’s north, sure enough,” growled the only man of the party who was at all weatherwise. “I could have sworn it was nor’-east or more.”
To encourage him I tapped the glass.
“We could make it nor’-east for you by putting a spring on the needle, if that’s what you want,” said I with a laugh.
Callan and the others looked wisely at the mendacious instrument, and then began to sheer off with the best grace they could.
“We should be in Yarmouth Roads at this rate by daybreak,” said he, “provided they play us no tricks.”
“We’ll see to that,” said the old salt. “Now we know she’s sailing north we’ll see she keeps so, or there’ll be the mischief in it.”
“Come away now,” said I, “your friends will be missing you; and what will become of your first, second, third, and fourth without you?”
It did not tend to raise the spirits of the four noble mariners as they passed round the guns to hear the laughter and cries of “nor’-east by east it is, sir,” which greeted their passage. Nor did they quite recover till they returned to the arms of their comrades, who bore them off with the glorious news that a fresh cask of rum had been broached, and that the lights of Yarmouth were already visible on the horizon.