A rumble of agreement turned into a roar. 'Shipmates! Brothers!' Parker tried to get their attention, but his voice was drowned in the fury. Eventually he got a hearing. 'It's my duty to tell you, much as it pains me — yet I must say it as I see it - it is my unhappy conclusion that their lordships have no intention whatsoever of negotiating with us. For whatever reason, they are turning their backs on us and our complaints. I do not understand why,' he added heavily. 'They are obstinate and heedless of our cries, and I fear are implacable. Therefore it is my sad duty to recommend that we accept the pardon and - and give up our venture.'
'You what?' shouted Blake. 'Give it away! Nothin's changed. C'n I remind our president, we still hold all the cards! We're a fleet o' near five hundred guns — no one's goin' to go up against us. We calls their bluff, mates.'
Parker rummaged around and slapped a thick wedge of papers. 'These are printed copies of the pardon for distribution around the fleet. What will the common sailors think? That this is their chance, and you will deny them?'
Hulme leaned over. "They don't have ter know,' he snarled.
'Yeah,' said Blake. 'We's the true elected delegates, we speak fer them, an' we decides what ter do. What are we about, th't we do their fuckin' lordships' work for 'em? Bum the lot, I say, an' stand steadfast!'
Davis intervened: 'Y' know what this means — the noos is goin' ter get out anyway, an' that says there's goin' to be them what are now ready t' give it in. What'll we do then, half our strength goes?'
'We p'suades 'em ter stay,' said Blake, with a grim smile.
A vote was taken, but too late in the evening to bear to their lordships. A substantial majority was for continuing with their action. They broke up noisily and the Parliament of delegates returned to their ships, leaving Parker, Kydd and Davis alone in the Great Cabin.
'What d' we do, then?' Davis asked, reflecting the doubts of those who had voted against continuing the action. 'Ask pardon?'
Parker's grey face lifted. 'I was elected by the men to be their president. You may seek pardon, that is your decision. For myself, I will do my duty by my shipmates, as they trusted me to do, and convey their determinations to the Admiralty as needed.'
Cast down after the exaltation of the morning, Parker's misery was intense, Kydd realised, but the nobility of character that had impelled him originally was still as strong as ever.
'No, mate,' Davis said. 'I'll be stayin'.'
Kydd was too. 'If ye're standin' by the men, Dick, then what kind o' gullion is it wants t' skin out now? I'll be with ye.'
The day of the ultimatum was raw and grey. Kydd had spent a hard, sleepless night, the noises of the old ship around him now sounding ominous. He pulled on oilskins and ventured to the upper decks. To his surprise, he saw a party of seamen charging the guns, loading and running them out, then covering their gunlocks with a lead apron.
'Cheerly, lads, don't wan't' make mistakes, now do we?' It was Hulme. What crack-brained scheme was this?
'What's this'n, John?' Kydd asked carefully. The rain pattered insistendy on his oilskins.
Hulme looked at him. 'Tell me, Kydd, honest now. Are you loyal? We all is.'
Taken aback, Kydd could only reply, 'As much as th' next, I reckon.'
'Stan' clear, then, cully.'
Sandwich snubbed sulkily at her moorings, the wind's blast uneven. Under her guns there was no enemy, no ship closer than the humble Pylades. A forward gun went off, a sullen, subdued thud. Another fired, the smoke rolling downwind. In the distance Inflexible began firing. It was so unreal, in keeping with his imaginings of the night. Kydd shook himself. 'A salute?' he asked dully.
Hulme grinned and pointed up. At the mainmast head the Bloody Flag streamed out, wet and dull. But at the fore, and in all the other ships, the Royal Standard fluttered, its striking colours unaffected by the rain. 'King's Birthday?'
'No, mate, Restoration Day.' The day nearly one and a half centuries ago when the second King Charles had been restored to his throne after Cromwell's mutiny. 'Shows 'em we're still loyal, like.'
It was still four hours to the expiry of the ultimatum -four hours to come to a different conclusion and accept the King's Pardon, to resume his sea life, put it all behind him. But if he did, how would he get away to present himself? Stand up and tell them that Thomas Kydd wanted to save his bacon? Steal off in a boat, in disguise so none would recognise who was creeping off?
He tried to crush the bleak thoughts, and went below in search of Parker, the water streaming off his foul-weather gear. The wind had freshened, gusting in, and was quickly kicking up a sea; the lurching and tugging of the ship added seasickness to the misery of the press-gang victims.
Below, an ill-tempered meeting was still in progress; Parker was sitting motionless, not intervening. He did not notice Kydd, who quiedy left.