Miraculously Repulse seemed
unscathed through the storm of fire. Then Kydd understood why. Savage splashes
and spouts rose all around the ship, none on target, an appalling standard of
gunnery — the gunners were firing wide.
The masts of Repulse changed
their aspect as the ship floated free with the tide. She spread more canvas,
eased off and away.
The night passed interminably. The
ultimatum would expire at two in the afternoon. Would they then go to the
capstans, bend on sail and set course for London? By this time tomorrow the
biggest city in the world might be a smoking ruin - an impossible, choking
thought.
Kydd couldn't sleep. He
went on deck: the lights of the fleet were all around, the three-quarter moon
showing the row-guards pulling slowly round the periphery of the anchorage. His
eyes turned to other lights glimmering on shore. In the nightmare of the past
few days he had not had time to think of Kitty. What would she be feeling now?
Would she think badly of him? Had she already fled into the country?
His breast burned and,
as he looked up at the stars, a terrible howl escaped into the night.
In the morning Parker appeared.
There were dark rings round his eyes. 'Good day to you, Tom,' he said quiedy.
'My deliberations are done. And they are that we cannot do this thing. I am
preparing a petition asking only that we receive pardon. We send this to the
Admiralty today.'
An hour later, Captain
Knight of Montagu arrived in a boat. He carried the King's reply. In the
plainest words possible King George comprehensively condemned the actions of
the mutineers and utterly refused to entertain any further communication.
Captain Knight carried
back Parker's petition by return.
When the news emerged,
there was outrage at Parker's betrayal: Director and Belliqueux shifted
moorings to the bow of Sandwich to put her under their guns, and the wait resumed.
At noon the fleet began to prepare for sea — sail bent on ready for loosing,
lines faked out for running, topmen at their posts.
'Is
the signal gun charged?' Parker hailed.
'Ye're not goin' ahead
with it?' Kydd's voice broke with anguish.
'I am their president, they have voted
for it, I will do my duty,' he said woodenly, turning away to consult his fob
watch. 'It is now two. You may fire, if you please.'
The
six-pounder cracked spitefully, and from all around the fleet came
acknowledging gunfire. Capstans were manned, topmen lay out on the yard ready
to loose sail. It was their final throw.
But a noise was heard, a swelling roar
of voices, that welled up from the furthest reaches of all the ships. Fierce
arguments, louder rejoinders, fighting — but not a capstan turned or a ship
moved.
The
seamen had decided: the mutiny was over.
They had fired on the King's ships,
stood as a deadly threat to the government of the day and repudiated the King's
Pardon. There would be no limit to the Admiralty's vengeance. It left Kydd
numb, in a floating state between nightmare and reality, but also with a
paradoxical sense of relief that all the striving, doubt and uncertainty were
now resolved for ever.
He stood on the
fo'c'sle with Parker, watching boats full of soldiers heading for any ship
flying a white flag. The first made for them.
'It's finished
f'r us, Dick,' Kydd said, in a low voice, ‘But we face it when it comes.'
Parker crossed to
the ship's side and gripped a line. 'History reached out and touched me, Tom.
Did I fail? Was it all in vain?'
Kydd could find
no words to reply. He noticed the white of Parker's knuckles and saw that he
was only just in control.
'Any with a shred of humanity could not
stand by and see those men groan under the burden of their miseries. I could
nod' He turned to Kydd, eyes bright. 'So you might say I am the victim — of the
tenderest human emotion.'
He
resumed his dogged stare at the approaching boats. "They could only ever
see us as a mortal threat, never as sailors with true cause for complaint. At
any time they could have remedied our situation and claimed our loyalty, but
they never did. Instead they bitterly opposed everything we put forward. They
offered redress and pardon at Spithead, but to us nothing.'
He heaved a deep breath. 'I was the one
that the illiterate, base-born seamen turned to when they needed a leader -
they elected me to achieve their goals, but. .. It grieves me to say it, my
friend, but the material I had at my command was not of the stuff from which is
wrought the pure impulse of a glorious cause. They were fractious,
hot-tempered, impatient and of ignoble motives. In short, Tom, my friend, I was
betrayed.'
The approaching boat
came alongside, and the unbending Admiral the Lord Keith came aboard.
'Which
one of you is Richard Parker?'
The president of the
delegates walked towards him. 'I am.'
'Then I arrest you in the King's
name. Provost corporal, do your duty.' Parker smiled briefly.
'That will do. I'll be
back for the others. Get him ashore.'
Kydd watched Parker
move to the ship's side. He turned once towards him, then disappeared.
The boat returned, and Kydd was
ordered aboard with others for the journey ashore. A numb state of resignation
insulated him from events, but when they approached the small dockyard wharf
his heart nearly failed him. Nothing had prepared him for the degradation, the
baying crowd, the noise and the shame. Hoots of derision, small boys playing
out a hanging, the hisses of cold hatred - and Kitty, her face distorted and
tear-streaked.
Flanked by soldiers who kept the crowds
at a safe distance, the seamen shuffled off, shackled in pairs with clumsy
manacles. They were taken to the fort, searched at the guardhouse and then on
towards the garrison chapel. Under the chapel were the cells; dark, dank and
terrifying. And there Kydd waited for his fate.
Renzi watched Kydd, with the
others, stumble out of sight into the fort. He forced his mind to rationality:
Kydd's incarceration in the fastness of the garrison with two regiments of
soldiers in the guard was unfortunate for his plan. He would, in probability,
be moved like Parker to the security of Maidstone jail until the court martial.
This would be at night, and without warning.
The whole plan hinged
on communicating with Kydd, passing on the vital message — and, of course, Kydd
playing his part without question. But if he could not even make contact?
Condemned men — and Kydd was as
good as condemned — had a certain unique position, and it was permitted that
they could be visited by loved ones; no one would question a woman's privilege
in this regard.
'O' course, you'd be meanin' Kitty
Malkin. She's over on t' next one, Queen Street.'
She didn't answer the
door, but Renzi saw inside through the curtained window that there was a light.
He knocked and waited, feeling conspicuous.
Eventually the door
opened, and a rumpled and tear-stained Kitty appeared.
'I hesitate to intrude at this sad time,
Miss Malkin, but do you remember me?'
She
looked at him without interest. 'No, sir, I do not.'
'I am the particular
friend of Thomas Kydd.' Her eyes flared but she said nothing. 'Please, don't be
alarmed. I come to you to see if you will do him a service. A particular
service, which may be the means of saving him from an untimely end.'
'Why did ye not save him afore now, may
I be s' blunt as to remark it?'
'A long story, er,
Kitty. It is a simple enough thing - a message needs to be passed to him, that
is all. You may be sure there is no danger or inconvenience to you—'
'You
know I will! Who are you, sir?'
'I am Nicholas Renzi, and my friendship
with Thomas begins with his very first ship. Please believe that since then we
have been through much together.'
'What
do ye want me t' do, Mr Renzi?'
Outside the Great Cabin of HMS Neptune,
anchored off Greenhithe, the first batch for trial sprawled listlessly in
leg-irons. Among them was Thomas Kydd, mutineer.
The numbness was still
there but the misery had reached ever-increasing depths. The shame he was
bringing on his family — his father would be trying to hold up his head in
Guildford town, and his sister Cecilia would hear and her hero-worship of Kydd
would die, her own situation with a noble family perhaps threatened.
He tried to move
position: the clanking irons drew irritation from the other prisoners and a
glare from the deputy provost marshal. The nightmare days before the end had
left him exhausted and ill; lack of sleep was now sapping his will to live.
The interminable
waiting, being prevented from talking - his mind tried to escape to other
realms and hallucination was never far away. Bright, vivid imagery crowded into
his thoughts: fierce, exhilarating seas so real he could taste the salt spray,
the bloodlust of a gundeck in action with its death and exultation — and the
many sights of great beauty and peace he had seen as a deep-sea mariner. It
faded, as it always did, into the grey pit of desolation that was now his lot.
The door to the Great Cabin opened. He
looked up; it was Parker. He stood there, white-faced. 'It's death,' he said,
with no emotion.
The provost marshal
came with the irons, clamped them brutally to his legs. 'Mark this, you damned
one-eyed bugger,' Parker said venomously, 'when you put on the halter, I'll
give you such a kick as will send your soul to hell.'
Davis saw Parker
being dragged away, and murmured, 'If they serve me th' same way, I'd ask ter
die with him.'
There was indistinct
movement inside the Great Cabin, and a lieutenant emerged. 'Court is adjourned.
It will meet tomorrow,' he informed the provost marshal.
They were brought to
their feet and taken down to confinement in the gloom and mustiness of the
orlop.
There, they were placed in bilboes, a
long bar with sliding leg irons; it would be a dozen hours or more before they
could hope to be released.
Kydd tried to lie, but
his legs twisted awkwardly. Four marine sentries watched, their expressions
impossible to make out in the dimness of the two lanthorns. Some of the
prisoners talked quietly; most lay motionless.
Some had visitors; a
dissenter chaplain led prayer for a Scots boatswain's mate and a disreputable
legal gende-man escorted by a lieutenant attempted to question one prisoner,
but left quickly. Fearon's mother came, but was so overcome she had to be
attended by the surgeon.
The screaming and
weeping tore at Kydd and he struggled to stay rational. Then a young woman,
brought by the marine lieutenant, appeared before him. It was Kitty.
'Tom, m' darlin' man, t' see you here!'
she said piteously, her hands writhing together.
'Kitty, m' dear,' said
Kydd, his mind scrabbling to keep a hold on reality.' Y' shouldn't be here -
why, it's a long way from—'
'Tom, oh, Tom,' she
wept, and clung awkwardly to him. The marine lieutenant looked away politely.
Kydd could just get his arms round her, and held her while she sobbed.
She pulled away,
dabbing her eyes, then leaned forward to whisper. Next to Kydd, Davis pushed
at Hulme and they leaned away so as not to overhear the endearments. 'Tom, m'
love, listen to me,' she whispered urgently. 'Are ye listening?'
'Aye,
Kitty,' he said.