[Lieutenant Oliver Anson 02] - Strike the Red Flag

by David McDine

  Anson stared at the barrel, absurdly trying to see if it was engraved around the muzzle like the Royal Mail weapons. But it was not.

  Greybeard, his face full of venom and hatred, paused, savouring the moments before making the kill. But he left pulling the trigger for just a little too long.

  His threat had clearly angered some of the loyal seamen and panicked others who knew the officer’s death could put nooses around their own necks. There was hostile muttering and one of them shouted: ‘Leave him alone. If you kill an officer we’ll all be dead men!’

  For a split second the world stood still, but then from somewhere to Anson’s right a belaying pin came flying through the air. Its point caught the agitator in the neck and he fell back against the taffrail spraying blood from the wound. And, as his arm jolted up, his trigger finger tightened and the pistol went off with a loud crack, the ball flying harmlessly skyward.

  Rooted to the spot at such a narrow escape, Anson could only watch as several of the loyal hands closed on the agitator and before he could shout to them to hold him the man tumbled over the side and hit the water. Whether he fell or was pushed, Anson could not – and later would not – tell.

  He rushed to the side but the man was floating away on the tide, head down as if already lifeless. As Anson and the rest of those on deck watched, the body turned over and sank slowly, leaving only a few bubbles and a smear of blood on the surface.

  Anson watched until the bubbles ceased, then made a conscious effort to pull himself together. The other two delegates were still on board, and however it was achieved he knew they must leave the ship before the disaffected men joined them in causing more trouble.

  He grabbed one of the delegates by the shoulder and urged him. ‘Either join us in taking the ship in or leave now.’

  But the man struggled free shouting: ‘Join you? No chance!’ and he and his companion backed away. One called to the other malcontents: ‘We’re leaving and the minute we’re gone the rest of the ships will open fire on this floating prison again. If you want your rights and you want to stay alive you’d best join us afore it’s too late!’

  Anson quickly debated with himself whether or not he should call on the bosun and marines to restrain them, clap them in irons and take them in with the ship, but decided against it. If they were taken, he reasoned, the rest of the dissidents would be stirred up and there could be further trouble. No, best let them go and risk coming under fire again. No doubt they would be dealt with appropriately when the mutiny came to an end, as he now felt certain it would.

  As the delegates clambered over the side to jeers from some of the loyal hands, a few of their watching sympathisers moved forward to join them, climbing down the side netting into their waiting boat manned by fellow mutineers.

  Anson looked down to see them struggling to find room to squat in the thwarts and then the coxswain untied the painter and they shoved off, awkwardly at first until the oarsmen settled into a rhythm.

  At his elbow, Sergeant Kennard grunted: ‘Good riddance to bad rubbish!’ and spat over the side.

  It would take the delegates’ boat a while to clear the ship, Anson reckoned, and the firing would not re-start until the gun crews aboard the mutinous ships could see that their mates were out of danger, so he had a few minutes to get under way.

  He turned to the master. ‘As I was saying before we were so rudely interrupted, Mister Sadler, crack on what’s left of our canvas! Let’s get well under way before they start firing on us again.’

  As soon as the delegates’ boat was judged far enough away from Euphemus the gun crews of what could now be seen to be the mutinous Director and Monmouth re-opened a brisk fire. But, Anson noted with satisfaction, they were again attempting to cut away the top hamper and not a man had yet been injured.

  The mutineers were most certainly doing their damnedest to prevent them from taking the ship in, but were still refusing to endanger fellow seamen.

  They were stripping Euphemus of some of her rigging and shredding her sails, but with a freshening breeze behind her, she was soon out of range and before long they were reaching safety under the cover of the Sheerness batteries.

  Anson vowed to himself that he would never again call the place “Sheer Nasty”.

  13

  A Warm Welcome

  The arrival of HMS Euphemus in the dockyard, proudly flying the royal standard, was greeted with cheers and genuine warmth from everyone ashore.

  Exhausted from their exertions, Anson and his fellow escapers ate their first meal in many hours and grabbed a few hours’ sleep.

  The admiral himself came on board in the late afternoon and interviewed Anson and the bosun, sergeant of marines, the master and the other senior men in the great cabin.

  Anson used the opportunity to praise the men who had initiated the escape, playing down his own part in it.

  He did, however, mention that an armed agitator he knew only as Greybeard had tried to prevent their escape, but had been knocked overboard by a belaying pin thrown by some unknown hand and drowned.

  ‘No great loss,’ was the admiral’s reaction. He asked the loyalists if they knew who Greybeard was, but no-one did. ‘He was a stranger, sir,’ the bosun volunteered. ‘There’s been a few like him joining the delegates and going from ship to ship causing trouble. And he weren’t no seaman.’

  The admiral nodded. ‘So whoever dubbed him Greybeard got it about right. Nothing but a damned trouble-maker like the ghastly Caribbean pirate whose nickname he inherited. Grey instead of black, eh? But scum by any name. No doubt he and his kind were largely responsible for talking the men into this wretched mutiny in the first place.’

  ‘There were others, sir?’ Anson asked.

  ‘We believe there are a good many others like him – radicals and supporters of the French, hell bent on causing trouble and cock-a-hoop at the mutiny and desperate to keep it going. Whatever, there’s one less now and good riddance.’

  ‘Aye, sir,’ the bosun spoke for the others. ‘And we’d like it known, sir, that however Lieutenant Anson may try to hide his light under a bushel, so to speak, our escape is down to him. Without him, well …’

  ‘Thankee, bosun. That’ll be noted. There’ll be precious few officers coming out of this whole affair with reputations intact or enhanced. It’s good to hear there’s at least one!’

  The admiral thanked them for their services, offered each a glass of rum, and told them: ‘The petitions that have been presented will receive their lordships’ consideration, but not while a gun is held to their heads.’

  None could disagree.

  While their glasses were being filled, he added with obvious satisfaction: ‘You will I am sure be pleased to hear that Leopard has also now broken free, as has Repulse.’

  There were muttered expressions of relief from the group. They were not alone.

  The admiral beamed. ‘There can be no doubt that the mutiny is collapsing. As well as Euphemus and the other two, I’ve just heard that a number of other ships’ companies in the Nore have now struck the red flag. I can promise you that those who give it up like you will be treated leniently.’

  ‘And what of those who won’t give up, sir?’ Rook asked.

  ‘Some of the real hotheads who have bullied men into straying from their duty will have to pay for what they have done. Our enemy is not the Admiralty, nor your officers who were put on shore. No, men, our enemy is across the Channel. So let’s drink to a reunited navy – and death to the French!’

  They raised their glasses and echoed his toast.

  ****

  The admiral took his leave of them, promising that their own officers, excepting several accused of meting out cruel treatment, would be sent back on board forthwith.

  Any remaining trouble-makers would be dispersed to other ships but, he repeated, there would be no punishment given to any member of the ship’s company for any alleged offence occurring during the mutiny.

  Anson accompanied him as
hore and the admiral thanked him warmly for the part he had played. ‘It will not be forgotten,’ he assured him, ‘but your role in it will be kept out of the news-sheets. Any public credit must go to the men themselves. I’m sure you understand why.’

  ‘Indeed, sir. I was expecting no bouquets.’

  ‘But in any event you will now have other, more palatable fish to fry, and I’ve detailed my flag lieutenant to discover where the devil the store-ship you are supposed to be taking passage in has got to during all this muddle.’

  ‘Thankee, sir. The Mediterranean will seem like paradise after Sheerness and the mudflats!’

  They walked back to the commissioner’s house noting the relief on every face they met.

  Returning the salute of a group of smiling soldiery by raising his hat, the admiral remarked: ‘As you can see, Anson, they think it’s all over bar the shouting and they are right. All it needed was one ship to break away and now all the rest are beginning to follow like sheep. A sniff of the noose tends to remind men that it makes better sense to be a patriot, I find.’

  The flag lieutenant was awaiting them and announced: ‘The store-ship that’s due to take Lieutenant Anson to the Med broke away from the Nore just before the trouble started, sir—’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Via the telegraph I’ve discovered that she’s now in the Downs anchorage off Deal awaiting a favourable wind.’

  The admiral chuckled. ‘Then all’s well that ends well, eh? You had best get down there post-haste Anson, before I think up another task for you!’

  14

  Rattus Rattus

  The following spring Josiah Parkin was engrossed in dissecting a particularly large toad on the dining room table at Ludden Hall when his coachman Dodson returned from Faversham with provisions, the latest London news-sheets and the mail.

  ‘Letter for you, sir. From foreign parts by the look on it – and a wooden box with your address painted on the lid.’

  Parkin looked up expectantly from the unfortunate splayed-out amphibian. ‘Jolly good, Dodson. Kindly take it into my study. I’ll examine it there over coffee. Inform cook, will you?’

  Relaxed in his favourite leather-covered armchair, he took up the letter which was addressed to him in copperplate and stated that the sender was “Lieutenant O. Anson, HMS Phryne.”

  It had been nigh on a year since Anson had convalesced at Ludden Hall and set off on some mission connected with the late mutiny, and Parkin had often wondered what had become of his young guest.

  Now he was about to find out. With a tingle of excitement he broke the seal, unfolded the letter and read:

  “My very dear sir,

  Firstly, allow me to repeat my heartfelt gratitude to you and your household for the kind hospitality extended to me during my sojourn at Ludden Hall when I was struck down with the fever last May. No bounds what would have become of me had you not come to my aid, taken me in and arranged the medical treatment and nursing that allowed me to make a complete recovery. You are truly a Good Samaritan.

  Secondly, please accept my apologies for my long silence since you left me at Chatham Dockyard gates. However, lengthy silences are the nature of things when one is involved in sailing the high seas. Calls at friendly ports where letters can be left for onward transmission or encounters with home-going ships are rare indeed, and it is only now that I have had the opportunity to send a brief account of my doings since we parted company. In brief, it is as follows:

  The unrest in the ships stationed in the Nore anchorage had reached a critical point when I arrived in Sheerness and I was able to play some very small part in helping to restore the status quo. In truth, the great majority of the men had not wished to mutiny, but their genuine grievances had been used by radical firebrands, both within and without the service, to provoke them into disobeying their officers. Once their fingers were in the mangle it was difficult to extract them, but when the rabble-rousers proposed blockading London or defecting to the French the mutiny quickly collapsed, thanks to brave souls who took the lead in hauling down the red flags and brought their ships back into the paths of duty.

  But enough of all that. I was then able to join a store-ship under contract to carry salt beef and pork in casks, biscuit, coal and assorted tools etcetera from the victualling yard at Deptford to Gibraltar. After swinging at anchor in the Downs off Deal for some days awaiting a fair wind we endured a painfully slow, immensely boring, but to me restorative voyage to the famous Rock where I was at last able to join my new ship, the 32-gun frigate HMS Phryne, as second lieutenant. She proved a happy ship with a most competent and agreeable captain, George Phillips, a Pembrokeshire man, and I soon became particular friends with John Howard, the first lieutenant, and Lieutenant McKenzie of the marines.

  At that time our navy had all but abandoned the Mediterranean to the French, that is to say temporarily, but the powers that be had deemed it wise to grant our frigate an independent cruise to annoy the enemy by disrupting his trade along the northern shores of the inland sea. At this we were most successful, appearing where least suspected to snatch merchantmen and taking them in to Gibraltar as prizes to our great satisfaction.

  In the matter of antiquarian and natural history, I regret to say that although the Mediterranean is a wonderful storehouse, sadly my duties during this hectic cruise have prevented me from enjoying such pursuits to the full. Regrettably runs ashore to famous sites of antiquity have not been possible and I have seen only deep blue waters, not Homer’s wine-dark sea. Nor have we been able to follow the course taken by Ulysses, or indeed the Argonauts’ quest for the Golden Fleece. Our own quest for enemy merchantmen took priority and I was fortunate enough to be given the opportunity to take in a coaster myself with a cargo of leather goods worth a good deal of money. In the light of your banking past, you will be interested to know that we have therefore fared very well indeed with regard to prize money, which I recall you saying is clearly better than government bonds. You might be surprised to learn that the admiral under whose orders we were pockets an eighth without venturing to sea and you will no doubt understand one of the reasons why all sea officers aspire to flag rank.

  We are currently undergoing repairs at Gibraltar following a skirmish with the enemy and on completion have been ordered to sail for the good old English Channel where we will join the ships blockading French ports.

  A sloop leaves here today for Portsmouth so we have the opportunity to send mail home. With this brief dispatch outlining my adventures since we parted company I am sending you a stuffed hoopoe, a blue-cheeked bee-eater and a greater short-toed lark acquired from a taxidermist here. He assured me that the skins have been preserved using arsenical soap in the style of the master bird-stuffer Louis Dufresne and should withstand the voyage home.

  I trust they will interest and amuse you, and, if so, that you will do me the honour of adding them to your collection of antiquarian and natural specimens.

  You will also oblige me greatly if you would kindly convey my respects to your niece Cassandra, she of the gift of foresight, and my gratitude to Doctor Hawkins, the indefatigable Emily and the others for their great solicitude to me during my convalescence at Ludden Hall.

  And to you, dear sir, I send my sincere gratitude for all your kindnesses.

  Yours affectionately

  Oliver Anson.”

  ****

  Parkin smiled at his young friend’s thoughtful gesture and turned his attention to the wooden box.

  ‘This will need prising open. Fetch a crowbar Dodson!’

  The coachman hurried out and returned with the appropriate tool which he forced under the lid to lever it open.

  Parkin could not contain his excitement and peered inside. But all he could see was a scattering of feathers, assorted bones and several small glass eyes that appeared to flash at him in the rays of moted sunlight that streamed in through his study windows.

  ‘Appears the birds have flown, sir!’ Dodson grunted, unable to suppress
a chuckle at his own avian witticism.

  Parkin exclaimed: ‘What on earth?’ Surely Anson would not have sent these worthless scraps as some kind of naval joke akin to barking dogfish, hammock ladders and golden rivets?

  Then he spotted a circular hole at the bottom corner of the box and called for his magnifying glass. There had evidently been foul play of some kind and he intended to get to the bottom of it.

  Dodson handed the glass to him and he peered through it at the mysterious hole. It was edged with clear incisor marks that were familiar to a man like him, long self-schooled in the art of rodent dissection.

  They were the unmistakable calling cards of a creature he knew by its scientific name: Rattus rattus, alias the black or ship rat.

  It was a huge disappointment, but Parkin consoled himself that at the very least the offending rat or rats that had consumed the precious specimens would have suffered severe indigestion, even supposing that the arsenical soap had not proved fatal …

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  Historical Note

  The 1797 mutinies at Spithead and the Nore came as a considerable shock to a nation that had come to rely on the Royal Navy’s growing dominance of the seas.

  Britain was at war with Revolutionary France and it was to the “Hearts of Oak” – men and ships – that the kingdom looked for its salvation.

  The unrest at Spithead was essentially a strike for better pay and conditions, but the Nore mutiny was far more political and dangerous with agitators hell-bent on blockading London or defecting to the French.

  A famous Cruikshank cartoon of the time captioned The Delegates in Council or Beggars on Horseback depicts a meeting of the supposedly duped seamen’s delegates, with opposition politicians alleged to have incited the mutiny hiding with French revolutionaries under the table.