MUTINY.
"To be a hero, stand or fall,
Depends upon the man;
Let all then in their duty stand,
Each point of duty weigh,
Remembering those can best command
Who best know to obey."--DIBDIN.
It is terrible to think and to remember that about this time our country
was in the greatest danger of being conquered and lost through mutiny.
Of all evils that can befall a navy this is surely the worst.
There was a mutinous spirit in the fleet of Sir John Jervis after the
battle of St. Vincent, which the gallant knight used all his endeavours
to quell. He was a brave and most energetic officer, and not only did he
have the good of his country at heart, but he spared no effort to render
those who served under him happy and comfortable. I do not refer to the
officers only, but to the men as well. One would not be far wrong in
saying that he knew almost every man in the fleet. He loved his people,
and liked to have them happy, going among them, and even suggesting
games and amusements. Those were the days of tossing cans, and of
Saturday nights at sea, and the drinking of the healths of wives and
sweethearts. So long as the men kept sober, Jervis rather liked this,
and was never better pleased than when, on the last evening of the week,
he heard the voices of the men raised in song, or the squeaking of the
merry fiddle and gleesome flute.
But Sir John would have discipline, etiquette, and dress.
Jack Mackenzie was never more honoured nor pleased than when he and
M'Hearty were asked to dine with the admiral on board the flagship, the
_Victory_. Sir John was jovial, nay, even jolly. Jack was shy, but he
had to talk, and much to his own surprise soon found himself as much at
home in the admiral's society as he would have been in that of his own
father.
As for M'Hearty, nothing put that good fellow out, and at the admiral's
request he gave a very graphic account indeed of his doings in the
cockpit on the day of the battle. Sir John laughed heartily when the
doctor wound up seriously with the words, "But, dear Sir John, I _was_
thirsty."
To have seen this admiral to-night, no one would have believed that he
had that day signed the death-warrant of the ringleader of the mutineers
on board the _Marlborough_. But so it was, and to-morrow he should die.
It was on board the _Marlborough_ that the mutiny had found a hot-bed.
It was on board the _Marlborough_ that Sir John determined this man
should be hanged, hoisted up by the hands of his own messmates, whom his
seditious eloquence had seduced from duty's path.
It was a stern resolve. The captain of the _Marlborough_ had come on
board to beg that the man might be executed in some other ship. His
messmates, he averred, would never hang him, but would break at once out
into open mutiny. This officer was dismissed to his ship with one of the
severest reprimands ever administered to any captain in his majesty's
service.
Down below, in a darksome cabin of the cockpit of the _Victory_, Jack
went to see an old shipmate of his, a boatswain who had been with him
in the _Ocean Pride_. He was wounded, but recovering, and was delighted
to have a visit from one he had known as a mere boy.
And not far from this gloomy cabin was the cell in which the unhappy man
was confined who next morning early should pay the penalty for his
insubordination. Jack just caught one glimpse of his gray unhappy face,
in which his dark eyes gleamed like living coals. That face haunted him
in his dreams throughout the livelong night.
He saw that face again next morning, as the man was being taken to the
ship to be hanged _by his messmates_. The same gray, cadaverous hue, the
same dark and stony stare. "Had he a wife," Jack wondered, "or a sister
that loved and cared for him, or prattling children who would never see
their sailor 'daddy' more?" Oh, the sadness of it!
The whole fleet witnessed that punishment from rigging and decks. Every
precaution was taken to insure its being carried out. Captain Campbell
of the _Blenheim_ superintended. Launches armed with carronades were
ranged near the _Marlborough_, and the orders they had were to open fire
at once upon the rebellious ship if the men refused obedience, or dared
to open a port, and, if need be, to sink her with all hands, in presence
of the fleet.
But see! the trembling wretch stands out upon the cat-head, the awful
rope around his neck. The end is rove through a block in the fore-yard
arm, and taken down and round the deck, so that every man may help to
pull.
Bang! A great gun is fired from the flagship. The sound thrills through
every heart, and every eye is turned towards the _Marlborough's_
cat-head. The rope trembles, is tightened, and finally--there is an end.
The mutiny is nipped in the bud, and the fleet is saved.
But thus it must ever be. Mutiny is a monster that must be crushed by
the iron heel of force, ere yet it is fully hatched.
* * * * *
Jack was not sorry when all was over and the boats returned to their
respective ships. To relieve his mind he went to see Murray. The poor
boy smiled feebly, and held out his white worn hand to clasp that of
Jack.
"I've been thinking of home, and my little sweetheart, sir."
"Have you a little sweetheart?"
"Yes; look!"
He took out a miniature from his breast--one of the sweetest young faces
Jack had ever seen.
"That is why I don't want to die, sir."
Jack heaved a sigh. But after this all the spare time he had he passed
by the side of young Murray's cot. And now came the terrible bombardment
of Cadiz.