Mutiny(45)

It was a bitter blow. The prisoners had risen during the night and taken the ship, but bided their time before completing their break.

A roar of rage and disappointment arose from Achilles, but the run had been timed well, and it was long minutes before the ship could revert her exercise sail to running before the wind. There was no hope: sail appeared close inshore — it was common to see a French ship fleeing before an English predator and gunboats were always on hand to usher in the quarry. There was no chance they could haul up to their ex-prize in time. Achilles slewed round to send a frustrated broadside after her and slunk away, rounding irritably on an interested English frigate of the inshore squadron attracted by the gunfire. Yet again, the fortunes of war had conspired against them.



The next day, in a bitter mood, Achilles sighted the grey point of the Lizard, the most southerly point of England, but Kydd's spirits soared. It had been so long, so far away, and now he was returning once more to his native soil, to the roots of his existence. It was only a lumpy blue line on the horizon ahead, but it meant so much.

'Y'r folks are in Scotland, o' course, Tarn,' Kydd offered, seeing a certain distraction on his friend's face.

Cockburn didn't answer at once, seeming to choose his words. 'Yes. In Penicuik — that's Edinburgh.'

The ship made a dignified bow to one of the last Atlantic rollers coming under her keel; the shorter, busier waves of the Channel produced more of a nodding. There were sails close inshore, coasting vessels carrying most of the country trade of England with their grubby white or red bark-tanned canvas, and occasionally larger deep-sea ships outward bound or arriving after long ocean voyages.

'You'll be lookin' t' postin' up, or will ye take the Leith packet?' Kydd hugged to himself the knowledge that Guildford was less than a day away by coach from Portsmouth - and this time he'd travel inside.

'Perhaps neither. We won't be at liberty too long, I'll wager.' He wouldn't look at Kydd, who suddenly remembered that Cockburn had left his home and family as a midshipman, a future officer, but had yet to make the big step. It would not be a glorious homecoming, without anything to show for his years away, neither promotion nor prize money.

Impulsively Kydd tried to reach out: 'Ye'll be welcome t' come visit the Kydds in Guildford, Tarn. We've a rare old—'

'That's kind in you, Tom, but in Spithead I've a mind to petition for transfer to a frigate, if at all possible.'

There were far better chances for promotion and prizes in a frigate rather than part of a fleet, but Kydd knew that his chances among all the others clamouring for the same thing were not good. He stayed for a space, then said, 'Best o' luck in that, m' friend,' and went forward: he didn't want his elation to be spoiled.



Captain Dwyer paced grimly up and down the quarterdeck. 'What is the meaning of that damned Irish pennant?' he snarled at the boatswain, pointing angrily up at a light line tapping playfully high up on the after edge of the main topgallant sail. Welby snapped at the mate-of-the-watch and a duty topman swung into the shrouds and scrambled aloft. It would not do to be laggardly when Dwyer was so clearly in a foul mood.

Dwyer stopped his pacing, and glared at Binney. 'I have it in mind to press some good hands, replace our prize crew.' These would now be in captivity — the lieutenant would in due course be exchanged, but the seamen had nothing but endless years of incarceration ahead, their captors knowing that trained seamen were far more valuable than any soldier to England.

'Sir.'

'We haul in one of your fat merchantmen - there, like that one,' he said, gesturing ahead at a large and deep-laden vessel anxiously crowding on all sail to get past the dangers alwaj's to be faced at the mouth of the Channel.

'Inward bound, sir.'

'Yes!' Dwyer snapped. 'You don't agree?' Binney was clearly uneasy at his position. 'Well, sir, this one could've been on passage six months, a year or more. Who knows what hazards and pains he's been through? And now, in sight of home, if we then—'

'A damnation on your niceties, sir!' Dwyer's face was pale with anger. 'We're at war, it may have escaped your notice. Where else do you propose I get men? The quota? Debtor's jail?' His glare subsided a litde, but his tone remained hard. 'You will recollect, our people have been away from England all of two years — are they then to be pitied? No, sir!'

He thrust his hands behind his back and snapped, 'Mr Binney, I desire you to ready a boarding party to press a dozen hands from that merchantman.' He saw the look on Binney's face and gave a hard smile. 'And I'll not be satisfied with less, damn it!'



Kydd sat in the sternsheets of the boat with Binney. Six marines were also crowded into the small space, clutching their muskets and staring out woodenly. The bluff-bowed launch met the short, steep waves on her bow, occasionally sending spray aft.