James took the swivel from him, and heaved it on his shoulder. It was so heavy he staggered, nearly fell, clapped on to a stay to steady himself, and then went purposefully forrard. Rennie followed him toward the breast-rail, stepping round the dead and wounded. As they passed the unmanned wheel, Rennie:
‘Christ in tears, who is conning the ship? We are drifting.’
‘I will return and take the wheel myself, when we have dealt with the remainder of the mutineers, sir.’ James, effortfully, over his shoulder. ‘I ordered them to come up into the waist, and surrender.’
They waited, James with the swivel still on his shoulder, Rennie panting and clutching at his wound. Nothing happened. Silence except for the groans and whimpers of the wounded aft.
‘God damn the bloody wretches – hhh – I will make them respond . . .’Rennie, advancing to the starboard side of the breast-rail. James at last thought to relieve himself of the burden of the swivel, and lowered it with a thud to the breast-rail. Rennie, startled by the sudden noise, turned to look, and at that moment a man appeared at the lower deck ladder, under the shadows of the boats, raised and aimed his musket and was about to fire, when James:
‘Look out, sir! Throw yourself down!’
Rennie instinctively ducked his head, just as there came the flash of the musket.
crack
The ball thwacked into the breast-rail.
Another man appeared in the shadows beneath the boat skids, and James heaved the swivel round by the tiller, aimed it into the waist, cocked the flintlock, and grasped the lanyard.
‘Lay down your arms! If you do not, I will blow your guts all over the deck!’
crack
The ball struck the breast-rail, and slurred into James’s left arm. He gasped, and pulled the lanyard. A blinding flash.
BOOM
The unsecured gun leapt from the rail and tumbled heavily into the waist.
Smoke hid James’s line of sight a moment. Pain seared his left arm, and his knees began to buckle. He clung to the breast-rail with his right hand, and held himself upright. As the smoke cleared he saw that the two men at the ladder had been flung across the forrard hatch grating, their upper bodies smashed to pulp.
Soon after, a white shirt tied to a handspike was lifted up the ladder, and four men came into view in the waist, and carefully laid down their muskets and a brace of pistols each, and stood quietly waiting.
James turned.
‘It is over, sir, thank God. The ship is ours.’
*
The aftermath. The dead were buried, and Rennie took stock. Of the twenty-two original mutineers – whose wildly optimistic aim had been to take the ship to South America and there begin a new life – fourteen had been killed outright in the battle on deck, four more had been critically wounded, and four had surrendered. With the surgeon dead and many fever cases in the lower deck, Rennie was faced with a dilemma. He was now so desperately short-handed that he could not afford to confine these four remaining mutineers. Should another storm occur, or any of the myriad emergencies common to a long cruise, the safety of the ship must be his paramount concern. He convened a captain’s court in the great cabin, and the four men were brought before it under Marine escort.
Rennie presided, his arm in a sling, his dress coat draped at his shoulders.
‘Do you wish to remain in irons below, until we reach a place where a court martial may be convened, according to the Articles of War . . . or will you be tried before this court, here and now, today, and accept the findings and rulings of this court, and any punishment decided upon as a result?’
‘Captain’s court, sir.’
‘Ay, now.’
‘Ay, this court, sir.’
‘Today, sir.’
All four men.
‘Very well. Mr Hayter, you will read the charges, if you please.’
‘Very good, sir.’
Under number XIX of the Articles of War 1749, the four men were charged with making a mutinous assembly, and by reason of their open admission, duly and immediately found guilty.
Rennie addressed the convicted men:
‘Now, then. I cannot hang you, since this ain’t a court martial. I am in no doubt that you would be hanged, all of you, was you to have been brought before such a court. Nor can I punish you beyond two dozen lashes, according to the book, since any greater chastisement also requires the sanction of a court martial. However . . . I am going to take it upon myself, in the interests of discipline at sea, to sentence you today to four dozen lashes each, punishment to be carried out immediate. You will then resume your duties in the ship, and consider yourselves very fortunate indeed.’ A pause, and he looked hard at each man in turn, then: ‘Mr Hayter.’
‘Sir?’
‘All hands to witness punishment.’
‘Ay-ay, sir.’
Later, when the punishment had been completed, and each man – his back flayed bloodily to the bone – had been carried below, Rennie summoned Lieutenant Hayter to the great cabin. As James came in, removing his hat, Rennie:
‘I expect you think I was lenient?’
‘Forty-eight lashes?’
‘I could have ordered a hundred each, and been more than justified, by God. But I did not, because I need those men. I need every able-bodied man I can muster, and was therefore obliged to be lenient.’
‘Those men cannot now be called able-bodied, sir, surely. Each one cut down in a dead faint?”
‘You do not mean I hope that I was too harsh with them?’ Staring at him. ‘Damned mutinous wretches that fired on us, and wounded us both?’ Nodding at James’s bandaged arm.
‘The men punished never fired a shot, sir. They surrendered.’
‘By God, you do think I was too harsh!’
‘Nay, nay – I don’t.’ Shaking his head.
‘Then what do you mean, hey?’ Angrily, then wincing at the pain in his shoulder.
‘I certainly did not mean to make little of our wounds, sir. We are both of us fortunate to be alive and on our legs.’
‘Just so. Well, what else? Speak plain.’
‘Well, sir – when a man is flogged severe he can be of little use on watch, laying aloft, nor anywhere on deck, neither. He is crippled.’
‘Crippled? What nonsense is this? In a short time his back heals, and he resumes his duty.’
‘Yes, well, I . . . I expect you are right, sir.’ Politely.
‘Damnation to that! I asked you to speak plain! For Christ’s sake say what y’mean!’
‘Very well, sir.’ A breath. ‘Our surgeon is dead. The surgeon’s mate is hard pressed in the lower deck. He is a good fellow, well-meaning and diligent, but he lacks proper help in the sick berth. He has many fever cases, and now those wounded mutineers, leave alone our own wounds, that must be dressed if they are not to fester. To tax him with four further cases is . . .’
‘Is what?’
‘Would not it have been more prudent to punish those men when we had reached a place of safety? Now they cannot be of any use on watch, when we are desperate short-handed as it is.’
‘Good God, it is only a flogging. They are young and strong, and they will heal.’
‘One of them has not come to himself. He still lies unconscious. Dart thinks he may die.’
‘Dart?’
‘The surgeon’s mate, sir. Eloquence Dart.’
‘Ah, yes, I had forgot that curious name . . . Well well, never mind. He is talking nonsense, whatever he is called. As are you, James. Womanish nonsense. Those men will heal, and they will resume their duty – or by God they will be flogged again. D’y’hear me?’
‘Very good, sir.’
‘Cutton! – Cutton, damn you!’ Wincing again.
‘Yes, sir?’ Cutton, coming into the cabin.
‘Bring me a pint of three water, right quick.’
‘As you wish, sir. Shall I bring Dulcie and the kittens to you, or simply Dulcie herself, sir?’
Rennie glared at him a
moment, then, softer:
‘I had not thought once of my poor cat in four-and-twenty hours. She was horribly alarmed by the fighting, I am in no doubt, and has hid herself away. Has she?’
‘She is in the coach, sir, as you will remember. Placed there at your pacific requess, her and the kittens and the cot.’
‘She was not frightened?’
‘I could not say, sir. As you know, I was took by the mut’neers when I went to the fo’c’sle to smoke, sir, and was held susbequent under their muskets in the lower deck, and I was in a state of very great fright myse—’
‘Yes yes, well well.’ Over him. ‘Bring me my grog. Jump now.’
When the steward had gone, James cleared his throat, and:
‘May I return to my own duties, sir?’
‘What?’ Turning from the window. He had wished to consult with his lieutenant about new watch bills, and many other things consistent with the management of the ship, given their greatly reduced circumstances, and to share with him his feelings of profound sadness and disquiet about the mutiny and all of the foolish men killed, but he was now out of temper, too tired and and in too much pain. ‘Oh – yes. Yes, by all means, James. Return to your duties, if y’please.’
‘I am your first lieutenant, am I not, sir?’
‘Yes yes, in course you are.’ Looking at him.
‘Not – not Pursuit Officer, again?’
‘That post is – I am setting it aside. There will be no Pursuit Officer in Expedient, in the immediate. I will say so to Mr Loftus. Hm. Hm. Your course is west-sou’west, by a point west.’
‘West-sou’west, and a point west, ay-ay, sir.’ His hat on.
‘Bring me to Boston, without further mishap, and let us hope we may find Terces there, and thus be able to report her destination, as ordered.’ And when James had left him, he added under his breath: ‘Pray God, without further mishap.’
James for his own part was so numbed and bemused by the events of the past few days – in truth by all the events of this most taxing commission: the bitter actions; the long chase; fever; the loss of the pursuit; the mutiny – that he felt able to keep the deck, and his journal, keep up his lists and inspections, and take his meals in the gunroom, only by remaining in a kind of purposeful daze. Rennie had ordered him to bring the ship to Boston, and he would do his best, he would do his duty, and simply leave it at that.
As to the people themselves – those who had survived the fever and the mutiny – they too were numbed and dazed by events, but seamen are stoical beings by nature and calling. What could have been the source of conflict and division among them – the slow return to duty of wounded, flogged and disgraced mutineers – was simply accepted as a necessity in the survival of a short-handed, damaged ship, and the harsh fact of the mutiny receded into near insignificance as the long voyage continued.
*
Three days, and three nights, in returning light wind. On the third night, in the quiet of the middle watch, James paced the deck, deep in his thoughts. He paused and glanced aloft into the moon-bright, moon-shadowed canvas towers. So sharply were the sails and rigging defined, white and black, that he felt for a moment as if he were in a vivid dream, a living magic-lantern show, in which absurd creatures might appear, their painted faces jerking and whirling above him in grotesque pantomime.
He reached out a hand to a stay, and put his other hand to his head. His hat fell to the deck with a muffled sound that was like an ominous thud in his ear. His forehead was filmed with sweat.
‘Oh, Christ . . . am I fevered?’
But his brow was not hot, nor even warm. It was cold and clammy. He shivered, and bent down to pick up his hat. Straightened, and drew a deep breath. A slight dizziness, and his head cleared. The moonlight was no longer a threatening brilliance, stark and striped, but merely the soft radiance of a warm night at sea. Another breath, and he felt the sweat drying on his brow. He put on his hat, and again he began to pace. Passed the wheel, and glanced into the binnacle. To the helmsman:
‘Steady.’
‘Ay, sir. Steady it is.’ Half a spoke, and back.
The sighing of the wind. The sucking, slipping wash of the sea. The easeful creaking of timbers, and hawser-laid rope. The smell of tar.
James paced to the tafferel, and looked at the line of the wake. Under his breath, in order that the duty mid half-asleep nearby, or the other members of the watch, should not hear him and think him beginning mad:
‘ “All nature is but art, unknown to thee;
All chance, direction which thou canst not see;
All discord, harmony not understood;
All partial evil, universal good;
And, spite of pride, in erring reason’s spite,
One truth is clear, whatever is, is right.” ’
The glistening, washing, eternal sea, broad under the moon.
A figure approached, hesitant on the quiet deck. James peered and saw that it was the surgeon’s mate, Eloquence Dart.
He beckoned to him, and:
‘Yes, Mr Dart?’ Adding the courtesy, since Dart was now acting surgeon.
‘I – I had thought to wake the captain, and say something, but then I reflected that he – he may not be in the most welcoming mood, was he to be woke sudden in the middle of the night.’
‘What is it?’
‘It is a thing of some significance, I believe. Two of the men I had made certain would die tonight have recovered their senses entire. And their fever has broke.’
‘Well, they are lucky, that is all.’ A shrug.
‘Nay, that ain’t the whole of it, sir.’ A sharp intake of breath, shaking his head.
Four bells, the sound echoing clearly along the deck from the belfry.
‘Go on.’ James, looking closely at Dart. Was the fellow drunk?
‘There have been no further cases these past four-and-twenty hours. Nay . . . eight-and-forty, near enough. Two whole days, and now two men that was near dead are awake, and speaking. I believe . . .’ His breath catching in his throat.
‘Yes, Mr Dart?’ Was he laughing, the fellow? Nay, good heaven – he was in tears.
‘I believe – oh, thank God – I believe we shall soon be free of fever in the ship.’
‘My dear fellow, you are done up.’ Kindly, taking his arm. ‘Here, sit down on the flag locker.’
‘I’m sorry . . .’ Snuffling.
‘There is nothing to be sorry for, Mr Dart. You have worked nobly, to the point of exhaustion and beyond, in saving men’s lives. Here, now, take a pull.’ Producing his flask.
The acting surgeon took the flask gratefully, and sucked down raw spirit. A cough, and he wiped his mouth.
‘Thank you, Lieutenant. You are very kind.’
‘Take another pull. It will lift you.’
‘I am all right, now.’ Handing back the flask. ‘I have had very little sleep, but I am hale enough.’
‘Let me say again, in gratitude, that I know the very taxing work you have undertook, unaided since the surgeon died, binding up the wounded, and caring for all of the fever cases. You have bound up my own wound, after all, and the captain’s, and I know he is very grateful also. We are all in your debt, Mr Dart.’
‘You are kind.’ He tried to say more in response, but again his breath caught in his throat, and he turned his head away and was silent, his narrow shoulders trembling with emotion and exhaustion.
James looked at him, and was aware that he had always found something odd about Eloquence Dart. He had the voice and manners of an educated man, and was clearly intelligent, and yet here he was in the position of surgeon’s mate, scarcely above loblolly boy in the naval hierarchy. How had he come to this?
‘Is this your first ship, Mr Dart?’
‘First ship? No no, it is not, Lieutenant. This is my – my third ship.’ A tired frown, then a confirming nod. ‘Ay, my third.’
‘Could not you have qualified for a full surgeon’s warrant by now? You are not without the skills
, certainly.’
‘Nay, I have not sought advancement.’ Shaking his head.
‘But good heaven, why not?’ And when the acting surgeon made no reply: ‘How came you into the navy?’ James took a swallow of rum himself, and again held out the flask, but his companion shook his head.
‘I – I was a clerk. And I – lost my situation.’
A sudden instinct, and: ‘Not by any chance . . . a clerk in holy orders?’
His companion stiffened, shot him a glance, and was prepared to be defensive. Then, relaxing a little:
‘You have guessed correctly, Lieutenant.’
‘Yes, do not think me prying, you know. I asked because I was nearly a cleric myself, long ago, and know something of the life.’
‘You, Lieutenant?’ Astonished.
‘Ay.’ A smile. ‘It was a calling I had already decided to abandon by the time I went down from Cambridge. I should have made a terrible curate, and a worse vicar.’
‘Perhaps . . . And yet in away a sea officer’s duties are not altogether unlike those of a clergyman, now that I think on it. You must tend to the needs of your flock, Lieutenant, as must he.’
‘Nay, I do not think there is any similarity at all, you know. A clergyman attempts to lessen and eradicate the sins of his flock, in the name of God. That is holy orders. My duty is to give orders, in the name of the king. A clergyman may fail. A sea officer may not.’
‘I failed.’ Quietly.
‘Oh, I beg your pardon.’ James, discomfited. ‘I did not mean that as direct criticism of you, Mr Dart. It was a passing observation, that is all, and a damned clumsy one.’
‘None the less . . . I did fail.’ A sigh.
‘What happened ashore long since ain’t my business, nor the navy’s neither.’ Regretting now his searching questions, and adopting a deliberately light, dismissive tone in an effort to deflect the acting surgeon from unburdening himself. ‘What is past is past, and best forgot.’
‘I am – I am not as other men.’
‘Eh?’
‘If there is anything I have learned from life it is this: we cannot change what we are, and it is folly to assume the contrary.’
‘Nay, you are quite right. A short, uncommon stout man cannot become a tall, uncommon thin one. However, what of it? We make the best of ourselves, and you have clearly done so, Mr Dart. Hey? You have found a new calling at sea.’
The Pursuit Page 27