Roused discipline alone proclaims their cause,
And injured navies urge their broken laws.
Pursue we in his track the mutineer.
BYRON.
Man, like all other animals of a gregarious nature, is more inclined to
follow than to lead. There are few who are endued with that impetus of
soul which prompts them to stand foremost as leaders in the storming of
the breach, whether it be of a fortress of stone or the more dangerous
one of public opinion, when failure in the one case may precipitate them
on the sword, and in the other consign them to the scaffold.
In this mutiny there were but few of the rare class referred to above:
in the ship whose movements we have been describing not one, perhaps,
except Peters. There were many boisterous, many threatening, but no
one, except him, who was equal to the command, or to whom the command
could have been confided. He was, on board of his own ship, the very
life and soul of the mutiny. At the moment described at the end of the
last chapter, all the better feelings of his still virtuous heart were
in action; and, by a captain possessing resolution and a knowledge of
human nature, the mutiny might have been suppressed; but Captain A---,
who perceived the anxiety of Peters, thought the child a prize of no
small value, and, as Adams brought him aft, snatched the boy from his
arms, and desired two of the party of marines to turn their loaded
muskets at his young heart--thus intimating to the mutineers that he
would shoot the child at the first sign of hostility on their part.
The two marines who had received this order looked at each other in
silence, and did not obey. It was repeated by the captain, who
considered that he had hit upon a masterpiece of diplomacy. The
officers expostulated; the officer commanding the party of marines
turned away in disgust; but in vain: the brutal order was reiterated
with threats. The whole party of marines now murmured, and consulted
together in a low tone.
Willy Peters was the idol and plaything of the whole crew. He had
always been accustomed to remain on board with his father, and there was
not a man in the ship who would not have risked his life to have saved
that of the child. The effect of this impolitic and cruel order was
decisive. The marines, with the sergeant at their head, and little
Willy placed in security in the centre, their bayonets directed on the
defensive, towards the captain and officers, retreated to the mutineers,
whom they joined with three cheers, as the child was lifted over the
barricade of hammocks, and received into his father's arms.
"We must now submit to their terms, sir," said the first lieutenant.
"Any terms, any terms," answered the terrified captain: "tell them so,
for God's sake, or they will fire. Adams, go forward and tell them we
submit."
This order was, however, unnecessary; for the mutineers, aware of the
impossibility of any further resistance, had thrown down the barricade
of hammocks, and, with Peters at their head, were coming aft.
"You consent, gentlemen, to consider yourselves under an arrest?"
inquired Peters of the first lieutenant and officers, without paying any
attention to the captain.
"We do, we do," cried Captain A---. "I hope you will not stain your
hands with blood. Mr Peters, I meant the child no harm."
"If you had murdered him, Captain A---, you could not have injured him
so much as you have injured his father," retorted Peters; "but fear not
for your life, sir: that is safe; and you will meet all the respect and
attention to your wants that circumstances will permit. We war not with
individuals."
It was a proud moment for Peters to see this man cringing before him,
and receiving with thanks the promise of his life from one whom he had
so cruelly treated. There was a glorious revenge in it, the full force
of which could only be felt by the granting, not the receiving party:
for it could only be appreciated by one who possessed those fine and
honourable feelings, of which Captain A--- was wholly destitute.
If the reader will consult the various records of the times which we are
now describing, he will find that every respect was personally paid to
the officers, although they were deprived of their arms. Some of the
most obnoxious were sent on shore, and the intemperate conduct of others
produced effects for which they had only to thank themselves; but, on
the whole, the remark made by Peters was strictly correct: "They warred
not with individuals,"--they demanded justice from an ungrateful
country.
It is true that the demands in this mutiny were not so reasonable as in
the preceding; but where is the _man_ who can confine himself to the
exact balance of justice when his own feelings are unwittingly thrown
into the scale?
As I before stated, it is not my intention to follow up the details of
this national disgrace, but merely to confine myself to that part which
is connected with the present history. Peters, as delegate from his
ship, met the others, who were daily assembled, by Parker's directions,
on board of the _Queen Charlotte_, and took a leading and decided part
in the arrangements of the disaffected fleet.
But Parker, the ringleader, although a man of talent, was not equal to
the task he had undertaken. He lost sight of several important features
necessary to insure success in all civil commotions: such as rapidity
and decision of action, constant employment being found, and continual
excitement being kept up amongst his followers, to afford no time for
reflection. Those who serve under an established government know
exactly their present weight in the scale of worldly rank, and the
extent of their future expectations; they have accustomed themselves to
bound their ambition accordingly: and feeling conscious that passive
obedience is the surest road to advancement, are led quietly, here or
there, to be slaughtered at the will and caprice of their superiors.
But the leader of the disaffected against an established government has
a difficult task. He has nothing to offer to his followers but
promises. There is nothing on hand--all is expectation. If allowed
time for reflection, they soon perceive that they are acting an humble
part in a dangerous game; and that even though it be attended with
success, in all probability they will receive no share of the
advantages, although certain of incurring a large proportion of the
risk. The leader of a connected force of the above description rises to
a dangerous height when borne up by the excitement of the time; but let
it once be permitted to subside, and, like the aeronaut in his balloon,
from which the gas escapes while it is soaring in the clouds, he is
precipitated from his lofty station, and gravitates to his own
destruction.
He must be a wonderful man who can collect all the resources of a
popular commotion, and bring it to a successful issue. The reason is
obvious--everything depends upon the leader alone. His followers are
but as the stones composing the arch of the bridge by which the gulf is
to be crossed between them and their nominal superiors; he is the
keystone, upon which the whole depends--if completely fitted, rendering
the arch durable and capable of bearing any pressure; but if too small
in dimensions, or imperfect in conformation, rendering the whole labour
futile, and occasioning all the fabric previously raised to be
precipitated by its own weight, and dispersed in ruin and confusion.
This latter was the fate of the mutiny at the Nore. The insurrection
was quelled, and the ringleaders were doomed to undergo the utmost
penalty of martial law. Among the rest, Peters was sentenced to death.
In the foremost part of the main-deck of a line-of-battle ship, in a
square room, strongly bulk-headed, and receiving light from one of the
ports, as firmly secured with an iron grating--with no other furniture
than a long wooden form--his legs in shackles, that ran upon a heavy
iron bar lying on the deck--sat the unfortunate prisoner, in company
with three other individuals--his wife, his child, and old Adams, the
quartermaster. Peters was seated on the deck, supporting himself by
leaning against the bulkhead. His wife was lying beside him, with her
face hidden in his lap. Adams occupied the form, and the child stood
between his knees. All were silent, and the eyes of the three were
directed towards one of the sad company, who appeared more wretched and
disconsolate than the rest.
"My dear, dear Ellen!" said Peters, mournfully, as a fresh burst of
grief convulsed her attenuated frame.
"Why, then, refuse my solicitations, Edward? If not for yourself,
listen to me for the sake of your wife and child. Irritated as your
father still may be, his dormant affection will be awakened, when he is
acquainted with the dreadful situation of his only son; nay, his family
pride will never permit that you should perish by so ignominious a
death; and your assumed name will enable him, without blushing, to exert
his interest, and obtain your reprieve."
"Do not put me to the pain of again refusing you, my dearest Ellen. I
desire to die, and my fate must be a warning to others. When I reflect
what dreadful consequences might have ensued to the country from our
rebellious proceedings, I am thankful, truly thankful, to God, that we
did not succeed. I know what you would urge--my wrongs, my undeserved
stripes. I, too, would urge them; and when my conscience has pressed me
hard, have urged them in palliation; but I feel that it is only in
palliation, not in justification, that they can be brought forward.
They are no more in comparison with my crime than the happiness of one
individual is to that of the nation which I assisted to endanger,
because one constituting a part of it had, unauthorised, oppressed me.
No, no, Ellen, I should not be happy if I were not to atone for my
faults; and this wretched life is the only atonement I can offer. But
for you, and that poor child, my dearest and kindest, I should go to the
scaffold rejoicing; but the thoughts--O God, strengthen and support me!"
cried the unhappy man, hiding his face in his hands.
"Fear not for me, Edward. I feel here," said Ellen, laying her hand on
her heart, "a conviction that we shall soon meet again. I will urge you
no more love. But the boy--the boy--Oh, Edward! what will become of
that dear boy when we are both gone?"
"Please God to spare my life, he'll never want a father," said old
Adams, as the tears found a devious passage down the furrows of his
weather-beaten face.
"What will become of him?" cried Peters with energy. "Why, he shall
retrieve his father's faults--wash out the stain in his father's
character. He shall prove as liege a subject as I have been a
rebellious one. He shall as faithfully serve his country as I have
shamefully deserted it. He shall be as honest as I have been false; and
oh, may he be as prosperous as I have been unfortunate--as happy as I
have been miserable. Come hither, boy. By the fond hopes I entertain
of pardon and peace above--by the Almighty, in whose presence I must
shortly tremble, I here devote thee to thy country--serve her bravely
and faithfully. Tell me, Willy, do you understand me, and will you
promise me this?"
The boy laid his head upon his father's shoulder, and answered in a low
tone--"I will;" and then, after a short pause, added, "but what are they
going to do with you, father?"
"I am going to die for my country's good, my child. If God wills it,
may you do the same, but in a more honourable manner."
The boy seemed lost in thought, and, after a short time, quitted his
father's side, and sat down on the deck by his mother, without speaking.
Adams rose, and taking him up, said, "Mayhap you have that to talk of
which wants no listeners. I will take Willy with me, and give him a
little air before I put him in his hammock. It's but a close hole,
this. Good night to you both, though I'm afeard that's but a wish."
But a wish indeed!--and it was the last that was ever to close upon the
unhappy Peters. The next morning was appointed for his execution.
There are scenes of such consummate misery, that they cannot be
portrayed without harrowing up the feelings of the reader,--and of these
the climax may be found in a fond wife, lying at the feet of her husband
during the last twelve hours of his mortal career. We must draw the
curtain.
And now, reader, the title of this work, which may have puzzled you,
will be explained: for, intelligible as it may be to our profession, it
may be a mystery to those who are not in his Majesty's service. The
broad-headed arrow was a mark assumed at the time of the Edwards (when
it was considered the most powerful weapon of attack), as distinguishing
the property of the King; and this mark has been continued down to the
present day. Every article supplied to his Majesty's service from the
arsenals and dockyards is thickly studded with this mark; and to be
found in possession of any property so marked is a capital offence, as
it designates that property to be the _King's own_.
When Adams left the condemned cell with Willy, he thought upon what had
passed, and as Peters had devoted the boy to his King and country, he
felt an irresistible desire to mark him. The practice of tatooing is
very common in the navy; and you will see a sailor's arm covered with
emblems from the shoulder to the wrist; his own initials, that of his
sweetheart, the crucifix, Neptune, and mermaids being huddled together,
as if mythology and Scripture were one and the same thing. Adams was
not long in deciding, and telling our little hero that his father wished
it--he easily persuaded him to undergo the pain of the operation, which
was performed on the forecastle, by pricking the shape of the figure
required with the points of needles, and rubbing the bleeding parts with
wet gunpowder and ink. By these simple means the form of a broad-headed
arrow, or the King's mark, was, in the course of an hour, indelibly
engraved upon the left shoulder of little Willy, who was then consigned
to his hammock.