1 'Th' few reasonable articles we've presented to your Lordships should have been attended to in a respectful manner, otherwise by your deferrin' it a few days longer, some others may pop up their terrific heads t'stare your Lordships in the face! We have nothin' more t'say but hope you will take th' necessary steps to save the country from a Civil War, which may end in th' ruin of yourselves, and uneasiness in our Gracious Sovereign, to whom we have ever been and will be loyal… whilst there's a chance oi our grievances bein' addressed.
' 'With regard to our havin' fired at th' San Fiorenio … be it known to you that we are very sorry that we could not sink her! As, without regard to th' league she had entered into with us, she basely deserted. We wish your Lordships likewise t'observe that th' Article Number Six shall extend to all persons condemned to imprisonments, or any other punishment by th' sentence of th' court-martial, as well as to prisoners who have not been tried, and that all persons now aboard labouring under any such sentence be from this time entirely free! We have th' honour t'be, your Lordships' very humble servants, th' seamen of th' fleet at th' Nore!' "
God, Lewrie shuddered in awe; now you've really stepped in the quag… right up to your eyebrows! I wouldn't post a letter like that to a dead lawyer! Threatening civil war, my Lord! If the King's proclamation hasn 't taken the wind from their sails, then that damn-foolery surely did! Of all the belligerent, bone-headed… /
Chatter was breaking out on every hand again, and the stunned mutterings pro and con swelled up from the gun-deck, out of his sight. Lewrie began to walk forward, into that maelstrom of doubt, sorting his thoughts for a choice, telling phrase or two which would scuttle Bales, McCann, and Proteus's mutiny once and for all.
"No, keep him back, there!" Bales cried, wheeling about as one of his minions tugged at his sleeve to point out Lewrie's intentions. "Not this time, you don't. See 'im below," he ordered those supporters on the quarterdeck. "He's nothing new to say to us. I'll not have it! All officers, mates, and midshipmen will go below now!"
And before the crew knew he might have spoken, before most even could espy his presence, Lewrie was seized and hustled aft to the compan-ionway near the taffrails, and down the narrow ladder to his cabins. The arched, cross-hatched timber hatch-cover was slammed down over it a moment later, as Lewrie stood massaging his arms where they'd taken hold of him-though with a lot less violence than he'd expected from them. Fear of the consequences, Lewrie suspected, now the consequences had risen gallows high?
The door to the gun-deck slammed open against the partitions of the chart-space, and Aspinall, Padgett, and Cox'n Andrews were hurled inside to join him. In the few bleak seconds allowed him, Lewrie got a glimpse of sailors gesticulating and jabbering back and forth, angry fists being shaken in faces, some making push-off gestures of conciliation as they argued for or against continuing the mutiny, amidst wails from the confused womenfolk.
And McCann's voice, which soared over them all, rasping harsh and shrill, so loud his words could clearly be made out even through the thick deck timbers overhead… "Spread th' ships out so we really give' th' lyin' bastards summat t'think about! We…!"
"Dey threatenin' t'flog any mon who goes against de oath, sah. Douse him in th' sea," Andrews carped, rubbing his arms as if to wipe the mutineers' taint off, not to ease bruised flesh. He was scowling hellish-angry; even after years of freedom after running away from his slave-masters on Jamaica, he showed an aristocrat's loathing for being pawed at.
"Ssshh!" Lewrie bade him, pointing a finger aloft.
"… won't issue rations; then we'll take what we need!" McCann was bristling. "Hundreds o' merchantmen, every day! Navy storeships be fair game too, a feast bound upriver t'London in every bottom! By order of th' Fleet Parliament, we'll starve London, swing th' people…!"
"Oh, Lord, that's revolution for sure, sir!" Aspinall gasped.
"Hush!" Lewrie snapped, all but cupping his hands to his ears.
"… anythin' perishable's free, but grain, coal, anything else, we'll stop here in th' Thamesmouth, lads! Brother seamen in merchant ships, they'll side with us, o' course they will! By next week, we'll be twenty thousand thirty thousand strong… in a fortnight, we'll lay our guns on alia London do they not give us our due! Brother Bales…! Up-anchor an' make short sail for…"
The rest trailed off into gibberish, then nothing, when McCann stopped talking for the horde and directed softer comments to Bales. Lewrie dropped his hands to his sides and lowered his gaze to stare at his tiny clutch of loyalists.
"Oh, Lord, sir," Aspinall said again, in a wee-er voice. "They really mean'ta start a rebellion. Damn' traitors they are! Were, all along, sir, an' just hidin' h'it 'til…"
"Hark, sah," Andrews said, cutting him off, cocking his head to one side. But they could all hear the drum of horny feet on oak decks, the rustle and thump of coiled sail-tending lines being taken down from the racks of belaying pins and dropped on the deck where they'd feed out smoothly; the preparatory creak of rope as men scampered up the shrouds and rat-lines to the tops and upper yards, the groan of the capstan as it was slowly rotated to free its drum before the messenger cable could be led to it and wound about it so the ship could be heaved into short-stays above her bower anchor. Proteus trembled gently to the movements as Bales and his mutineers prepared her to get underway.
Lewrie went forrud to the door and pulled it open to look out at what was going on, hoping someone, anyone, might put up strong objections, but… worried as they seemed, they were still cowed by rote duty, cowed by force of arms and the threat of punishment from their rebellious leaders… the habit of obedience drummed or lashed into them… damn' em.
"Nossir." Landsman Haslip leered at him, with a musket held at port-arms across his chest. "You stay b'low, sir," he insisted, taking stance to block Lewrie's exit. At his shoulder was Marine Private Mollo, also armed with a musket. "An' no talkin' neither. Don't 'ave no need o' you, sir… none a'tall." He grinned evilly.
The deck was its usual bedlam, of course, as gangs of men stood crowded together at jears, halliards, lift-lines, clews, and sheets, and no ship ever had room on deck for all of them to work at once, not with all those men at the capstan, the nippermen along the messenger and the heavier cable. It was shoulder-to-shoulder, as dense as the packing of slaves on a "black-birder" on the Middle Passage, and with so many women, and a fair number of children, aboard taking up precious deckspace…
"Here, now!" the old trollop with the passable daughter yelled, advancing on the doorway, and Lewrie felt a sudden flood of gratitude that Mollo and Haslip were armed; she looked so angry and full of lust for blood, she'd turned plummy-purple! Daughter, and that Nancy, were close on her heels, followed by at least a half-dozen more ship-wives, all howling bloody murder! "Git out me way, ya God-damn' bean-pole! I wanna word with 'at useless cap'um, yonder!" the old harridan shrilled.