Kydd's anger rose. 'An' if this doesn't bring their lordships, what then? Sail aroun't' Portsmouth an' give the Channel fleet a pepperin'? Fire on y'r—'
Parker looked up, his face venomous. 'This is my concern, not yours. I'm president, not you! If you don't like the way we're proceeding, with democratic votes, then you'd better run.'
Kydd sat in the deserted foretop, his back to the mast, staring out over- the Nore. There had been so little time to stop and consider: he had been carried along by events and was as powerless to affect them as a leaf in a fast stream. The ever-spreading consequences of their actions, the multiplying dire possibilities, the implications for all he held loyal and true, was it too late to turn away?
It had begun with the noblest of motives, and this had held him to the cause. But this had not changed: what had were the stakes. Now it was the mutineers against the world on a numbing scale. Parker placed final victory for the mutiny against distress to the country as a whole, and this was something Kydd could not accept.
But could he desert, and betray the trust and reliance of his shipmates, especially if at this point they might be winning? He knew he could not.
He had respected Parker, even admired his knowledge and learning, but there were troubling flaws in his character. And his influence as president over the more hot-blooded men showed a worrying lack of common leadership. In effect, the belligerents were taking control.
If they sparked off some sort of confrontation, it would most certainly end quickly and bloodily. He could not have this on his conscience, no matter what the outcome.
This, then, was what it came down to: he would not desert, he would remain - not so much in devotion to the cause but to do what he could to restrain the hotheads. Resolved, he swung over the edge of the foretop and regained the deck.
'Mr Kydd, we bin lookin' fer you,' Hulme called, catching sight of him. 'Plannin' fer the blockade in the bays - chop, chop!'
The bays forward on the main deck, both sides, could hold more men than the Great Cabin, the better to hear the detailed planning. Kydd took up position to one side and noticed Parker looking at him suspiciously.
'Our Great Plan,' Parker announced, once they had all settled. 'A complete blockade of the Thames.'
It did not take long to go over the main items. The blockade was to consist of battleships spaced at half-mile intervals anchored right across the channel, lying to their anchors in the tide: this would ensure that any vessel passing through would take a full broadside on both sides from a ship-of-the-line — effectively, utter destruction. Each side of the line would be patrolled by a frigate and ship-sloop. An anchoring ground on both sides of the Thames was designed as a holding area for the arrested ships.
'This will be your authority,' Parker said, holding up a paper. 'Warrant of detention, signed by the committee.'
More details, then the meeting broke up in noisy cheerfulness. It was a daring stroke, and action instead of the boredom of waiting. Some were uneasy: perhaps this would set government and Admiralty implacably against them, with avenging to be wrought afterwards, no matter the result.
But Thomas Jepson, the lively fiddler of Sandwich, put the sailors' feelings best: 'We gets what we ask, or all London '11 be in an uproar Sat'day night.'
The next morning Kydd joined Parker on the fo'c'sle head. Standing in the desultory rain, arms folded and looking out over the grey expanse of the Thames estuary, the president of the delegates affected not to notice him.
'Goin' well, then,' Kydd said.
Parker glanced once at him. 'You're with us.'
'Aye.'
'Made peace with your conscience?' 'I know what I have t' do.'
Unbending, Parker pointed to the battleships. 'I should suppose they'll kedge and warp across.'
'Wi' this useful easterly an' on the ebb? They'd be lubbers if they don't cast t' larb'd an' make a board across t' their place, lettin' go the stream anchor .. .' He tailed off, aware that he was contradicting Parker.
'You'd never make a politician, but always a damn fine seaman, Tom.' Parker laughed.
They both looked out at the scene. Without officers, and with the minimum of fuss, the big ships-of-the-line took up their moorings and, under topsails and fore-'n'-aft canvas, leaned to the wind to find their allotted places. Within hours, they were in position, and the sea highway to the capital was securely closed.
'This is what I want to see,' said Parker. It was the several picket craft sailing to intercept merchantmen, working together with the patrolling frigates to shepherd them to a holding anchorage. One by one merchant captains found themselves joining a growing number of vessels crowding the mud-flat.
As the numbers swelled, Parker grew more sombre. 'To see it happen, to know it is my work - it gives me no pleasure, if you'll believe me. Did I do right? Or have I brought down forces of vengeance that will undo our precious cause?'