Mutiny(110)

Kydd lowered his head, and tried to cool his anger. Renzi's words made sense: there was nothing at all he could do about his situation other than humbly accept his fortune and move on.

'Shall we rejoin Kitty?' Renzi said gendy. 'I have been promised a mutton pie, which I lust for.'

Kydd sat for a litde longer, then lifted his head. 'Yes.' He stood facing the far-off men-o'-war. 'It's all over, then, Nicholas,' he said thickly. His eyes glistened.

'All over, my dear friend.'

They walked together down the hill.

'Nicholas,' Kydd began hesitantly, 'y'r decision t' return to y' family. May I know—' 'My position is unaltered.'



'Welcome aboard, Mr Kydd. You're in Mr Monckton's watch, he'll be expectin' you.' The master of HMS Triumph shook Kydd's hand and escorted him below. A considerate Hartwell had ensured that he would rejoin the fleet as a master's mate in a new ship, a well-tried 74-gun vessel in for minor repair.

Monckton looked at him keenly. 'I heard you were caught up in the late mutiny.'

Kydd tensed, then said carefully, 'Aye, sir, I was.' He returned the curious gaze steadily.

Monckton did not pursue the matter, and went on to outline Kydd's duties and battle quarters. He looked at Kydd again, then added, 'And everyone knows of your splendid open-boat voyage. I'm sure you'll be a credit to Triumph, Mr Kydd.'

The ship was due to return to station at Yarmouth, but first she joined others in taking position in the Medway, at Blackstakes. Kydd knew what was happening — Sandwich was moored midstream, ships of the fleet around her. On the banks of the river spectator stands were erected; at Queenborough and the public landing place at Sheerness small craft were sculling about, kept in their place by naval guardboats.

Troops filed out of the fort and along the foreshore. With fixed bayonets they faced seaward in a double line towards Sandwich. The crowd surged behind them, chattering excitedly, and boats started heading towards the big three-decker.

At nine, the frigate Espion fired a fo'c'sle gun. A yellow flag broke at her masthead, the fleet signal for capital punishment. Sandwich obediently hoisted a yellow flag in turn.

Kydd watched with an expression of stone, but his soul wept.

Just a few hundred yards away a temporary platform had been built on the starboard cathead, a scaffold -the prominence would give a crowd-pleasing view.

'Clear lower deck! Haaaands to muster, t' witness punishment!' The boatswain's mates of HMS Triumph stalked about below until the whole ship's company was on deck, many in the rigging, the fighting tops and even out along the yards.

Kydd stood between the officers and the seamen, and moved to the ship's side. In Sandwich the men had similarly been called on deck, with marines in solid ranks forward and aft.

A rusde of sighs arose at the sight of a figure entirely in black emerging on deck from the main hatchway, flanked with an escort. It was too far away to distinguish features, but Kydd knew who it was.

Parker paused. His face could be seen looking about as if in amazement at the scene. Over on the Isle of Grain women jostled each other for the best view of the spectacle and men stood on the seafront with telescopes trained.

The distant prisoner knelt for a few moments before a chaplain on the quarterdeck. When he arose his hands were bound and he passed down the length of the vessel to the fo'c'sle, then to the cathead under the fore yardarm.

An interchange occurred; was Parker being allowed to speak? It seemed he was, and he turned aft to address his old shipmates. The provost marshal approached with the halter, which would be bent to the yard-rope, but there was some difficulty, and the presiding boatswain's mate was needed to secure the halter above. The provost marshal put a handkerchief into Parker's hands, and he stumbled up to the scaffold. The officer pulled a hood over Parker's head, then stepped down.

Parker stood alone. A party of seamen was ranged down the deck with the yard-rope fall ready to pull. The signal to haul would be a fo'c'sle gun, their cue apparently Parker's handkerchief.

In that endless moment Kydd struggled for control, the edge of madness very near.

Without warning Parker jumped into space. Taken by surprise, the gun then fired, and the sailors ran away with the hanging rope, jerking Parker's body up. It contorted once, then hung stark. A handkerchief fluttered gently to the water.

Kydd bit his lip. Even to the last Parker had thought of the seamen: he had effectively hanged himself to spare them the guilt.



The next day five vessels at the Great Nore flew the Blue Peter; Triumph was one. The North Sea squadron would be whole again, and at sea.

Of all the memories Sheerness would hold, there was one that shone like a beacon for Kydd. He secured an understanding permission to go ashore for a few hours before the ship sailed, and stepped out for the hulks.