A fortnight later the mutiny at the Nore shook and bewildered the
British Isles. In the public journals and in Parliament it was declared
that this outbreak, like that at Spithead, was due partly to political
strife, but more extensively to agents of revolution from France and
Ireland.
The day after Richard Parker visited the Ariadne the fleet had been put
under the control of the seamen’s Delegates, who were men of standing
in the ships, and of personal popularity. Their first act was to declare
that the fleet should not leave port until the men’s demands were
satisfied.
The King, Prime Minister, and government had received a shock greater
than that which had come with the announcement of American independence.
The government had armed the forts at Sheerness, had sent troops and
guns to Gravesend and Tilbury, and had declared war upon the rebellious
fleet.
At the head of the Delegates, Richard Parker, with an officer’s
knowledge, became a kind of bogus admiral, who, in interview with the
real admirals and the representatives of the Admiralty Board, talked
like one who, having power, meant to use it ruthlessly. The government
had yielded to the Spithead mutineers, giving pardon to all except the
ringleaders, and granting demands for increased wages and better food,
with a promise to consider the question of prize-money; but the Nore
mutineers refused to accept that agreement, and enlarged the Spithead
demands. Admiral Buckner arrived on board his flag-ship, the Sandwich,
without the deference due to an admiral, and then had to wait three
hours for Parker and the Delegates on the quarter-deck. At the interview
that followed, while apologizing to the admiral for his discourtesy,
Parker wore his hat as quasi-admiral of the fleet. The demands of the
Delegates were met by reasoning on the part of Buckner, but without
effect: for the seamen of the Nore believed that what Spithead could get
by obstinacy the Nore could increase by contumacy; and it was their firm
will to bring the Lords of the Admiralty to their knees.
The demands of the Nore Delegates, however, were rejected by the
Admiralty, and with the rejection two regiments of militia came from
Canterbury to reinforce the Sheerness garrison. The mutineers were
allowed to parade the town, so long as their conduct was decent, as
Admiral Buckner admitted it to be; but Parker declared that the presence
of the militia was an insult to the seamen in the Nore fleet.
Then ensued the beginning of the terror. When Buckner presented the
Admiralty’s refusal to deal with the Delegates, there came quick
response. The reply of the mutineers was to row into Sheerness harbour
and take away with them eight gunboats lying there, each of which fired
a shot at the fort, as if to announce that the mutineers were now the
avowed enemies of the government.
Thereupon the rebels ordered all their ships together at the Great Nore,
ranging them into two crescents, with the newly acquired gunboats at the
flanks. The attitude of the authorities gave the violent mutineers their
opportunity. Buckner’s flag was struck from the mainmast-head of the
Sandwich, and the red flag was hoisted in its place.
The Delegates would not accept an official pardon for their mutiny
through Buckner. They demanded a deputation from the Admiralty, Parker
saying that no accommodation could occur without the appearance of
the Lords of the Admiralty at the Nore. Then followed threatening
arrangements, and the Delegates decided to blockade the Thames and the
Medway.
It was at this time that Dyck Calhoun--who, by consent of Richard
Parker, had taken control of the Ariadne--took action which was to alter
the course of his own life and that of many others.
Since the beginning of the mutiny he had acted with decision, judgment,
and strength. He had agreed to the Ariadne joining the mutinous ships,
and he had skilfully constructed petitions to the Admiralty, the House
of Commons, and the King. His habit of thought, his knowledge of life,
made him a power. He believed that the main demands of the seamen were
just, and he made a useful organization to enforce them. It was only
when he saw the mutineers would not accept the terms granted to the
Spithead rebels that a new spirit influenced him.
He had determined to get control of the Ariadne. His gift as a speaker
had conquered his fellow-sailors, and the fact that he was an ex-convict
gave them confidence that he was no friend of the government.
One of the first things he did, after securing his own pre-eminence on
the ship, was to get the captain and officers safely ashore. This he did
with skill, and the crew of the ship even cheered them as they left.
None of the regular officers of the Ariadne were left upon her,
except Greenock, the master of the ship, whose rank was below that of
lieutenant, and whose duties were many and varied under the orders of
the captain. Greenock chose to stay, though Dyck said he could go if he
wished. Greenock’s reply was that it was his duty to stay, if the ship
was going to remain at sea, for no one else could perform his duties or
do his work.
Then, by vote, Dyck became captain of the ship. He did not, however,
wear a captain’s uniform--blue coat, with white cuffs, flat
gold buttons; with lace at the neck, a white-sleeved waistcoat,
knee-breeches, white silk stockings, and a three-cornered black hat
edged with gold lace and ornamented with a cockade; with a black cravat,
a straight dress sword, a powdered cue tied with a black-silk ribbon,
and epaulets of heavy gold stuff completing the equipment. Dyck, to the
end of his career at sea, wore only the common seaman’s uniform.
Dyck would not have accepted the doubtful honour had he not had long
purposes in view. With Ferens, Michael Clones, and two others whom
Ferens could trust, a plan was arranged which Dyck explained to his
fellow-seamen on the Ariadne.
“We’ve come to the parting of the ways, brothers,” he said. “We’ve all
become liable to death for mutiny. The pardon offered by the King has
been refused, and fresh demands are made. There, I think, a real wrong
has been done by our people. The Ariadne is well supplied with food and
water. It is the only ship with sufficiency. And why? Because at
the beginning we got provisions from the shore in time; also we got
permission from Richard Parker to fill our holds from two stopped
merchant-ships. Well, the rest of the fleet know what our food and drink
fitment is. They know how safe we are, and to-day orders have come to
yield our provisions to the rest of the fleet. That is, we, who have
taken time by the forelock, must yield up our good gettings to bad
receivers. I am not prepared to do it.
“On shore the Admiralty have stopped the supply of provisions to us and
to all the fleet. Our men have been arrested at Gravesend, Tilbury, and
Sheerness. The fleet could not sail now if it wished; but one ship can
sail, and it is ours. The fleet hasn’t the food to sail. On Richard
Parker’s ship, the Sandwich, there is food only for a week. The others
are almost as bad. We are in danger of being attacked. Sir Erasmus
Gower, of the Neptune, has a fleet of warships, gunboats, and amateur
armed vessels getting ready to attack us. The North Sea fleet has come
to help us, but that doesn’t save us. I’ll say this--we are loyal men
in this fleet, otherwise our ships would have joined the enemy in the
waters of France or Holland. They can’t go now, in any case. The men
have lost heart. Confidence in our cause has declined. The government
sent Lords of the Admiralty here, and they offered pardon if we accepted
the terms of the Spithead settlement. We declined the terms. That was a
bad day for us, and put every one of our heads in a noose.
“For the moment we have a majority in men and ships; but we can’t
renew our food or drink, or ammunition. The end is sure against us. Our
original agitation was just; our present obduracy is madness. This ship
is suspected. It is believed by the rest of the fleet--by ships like the
Invincible--that we’re weak-kneed, selfish, and lacking in fidelity to
the cause. That’s not true; but we have either to fight or to run, and
perhaps to do both.
“Make no mistake. The government are not cowards; the Admiralty are
gentlemen of determination. If men like Admiral Howe support the
Admiralty--Howe, one of the best friends the seaman ever had--what do
you think the end will be? Have you heard what happened at Spithead? The
seamen chivvied Admiral Alan Gardner and his colleagues aboard a ship.
He caught hold of a seaman Delegate by the collar and shook him.
They closed in on him. They handled him roughly. He sprang on the
hammock-nettings, put the noose of the hanging-rope round his neck, and
said to the men who advanced menacingly:
“‘If you will return to your duty, you may hang me at the yard-arm!’
“That’s the kind of stuff our admirals are made of. We have no quarrel
with the majority of our officers. They’re straight, they’re honest,
and they’re true to their game. Our quarrel is with Parliament and the
Admiralty; our struggle is with the people of the kingdom, who have
not seen to it that our wrongs are put right, that we have food to eat,
water to drink, and money to spend.”
He waved a hand, as though to sweep away the criticisms he felt must be
rising against him.
“Don’t think because I’ve spent four years in prison under the sternest
discipline the world offers, and have never been a seaman before, that
I’m not fitted to espouse your cause. By heaven, I am--I am--I am--I
know the wrongs you’ve suffered. I’ve smelled the water you drink. I’ve
tasted the rotten meat. I’ve seen the honest seaman who has been for
years upon the main--I’ve seen the scars upon his back got from a brutal
officer who gave him too big a job to do, and flogged him for not doing
it. I know of men who, fevered with bad food, have fallen, from the
mainmast-head, or have slipped overboard, glad to go, because of the
wrongs they’d suffered.
“I’ll tell you what our fate will be, and then I’ll put a question
to you. We must either give up our stock of provisions or run for it.
Parker and the other Delegates proclaim their comradeship; yet they have
hidden from us the king’s proclamation and the friendly resolutions of
the London merchants. I say our only hope is to escape from the Thames.
I know that skill will be needed, but if we escape, what then? I say if
we escape, because, as we sail out, orders will be given for the other
mutiny ships to attack us. We shall be fired on; we shall risk our
lives. You’ve done that before, however, and will do it again.
“We have to work out our own problem and fight our own fight. Well, what
I want to know is this--are we to give in to the government, or do we
stand to be hammered by Sir Erasmus Gower? Remember what that means.
It means that if we fight the government ships, we must either die in
battle, or die with the ropes round our necks. There is another way.
I’m not inclined to surrender, or to stand by men who have botched our
business for us. I’m for making for the sea, and, when I get there, I’m
for striking for the West Indies, where there’s a British fleet fighting
Britain’s enemies, and for joining in and fighting with them. I’m for
getting out of this river and away from England. It’s a bold plan, but
it’s a good one. I want to know if you’re with me. Remember, there’s
danger getting out, and there’s danger when and if we get out. The other
ships may pursue us. The Portsmouth fleet may nab us. We may be caught,
and, if we are, we must take the dose prepared for us; but I’m for
making a strong rush, going without fear, and asking no favour. I won’t
surrender here; it’s too cowardly. I want to know, will you come to the
open sea with me?”
There were many shouts of assent from the crowd, though here and there
came a growl of dissent.
“Not all of you are willing to come with me,” Dyck continued vigorously.
“Tell me, what is it you expect to get by staying here? You’re famished
when you’re not poisoned; you’re badly clothed and badly fed; you’re
kept together by flogging; you’re treated worse than a convict in
jail or a victim in a plague hospital. You’re not paid as well as your
grandfathers were, and you’re punished worse. Here, on the Ariadne,
we’re not skulkers. We don’t fear our duty; we are loyal men. Many of
you, on past voyages, fighting the enemy, lived on burgoo and molasses
only, with rum and foul water to drink. On the other ships there
have been terrible cruelty and offence. Surgeons have neglected and
ill-treated sick men and embezzled provisions and drinks intended for
the invalids. Many a man has died because of the neglect of the ship’s
surgeons; many have been kicked about the head and beaten, and haven’t
dared to go on the sick list for fear of their officers. The Victualling
Board gets money to supply us with food and drink according to measure.
They get the money for a full pound and a full gallon, and we get
fourteen ounces of food and seven pints of liquor, or less. Well, what
do you say, friends, to being our own Victualling Board out in the open
sea, if we can get there?
“We may have to fight when we get out; but I’m for taking the Ariadne
into the great world battle when we can find it. This I want to
ask--isn’t it worth while making a great fight in our own way, and
showing that British seamen can at once be mutineers and patriots? We
have a pilot who knows the river. We can go to the West Indian Islands,
to the British fleet there. It’s doom and death to stay here; and it may
be doom and death to go. If we try to break free, and are fired on, the
Admiralty may approve of us, because we’ve broken away from the rest.
See now, isn’t that the thing to do? I’m for getting out. Who’s coming
with me?”
Suddenly a burly sailor pushed forward. He had the head of a viking. His
eyes were strong with enterprise. He had a hand like a ham, with long,
hairy fingers.
“Captain,” said he, “you’ve put the thing so there can be only one
answer to it. As for me, I’m sick of the way this mutiny has been
bungled from first to last. There’s been one good thing about
it only--we’ve got order without cruelty, we’ve rebelled without
ravagement; but we’ve missed the way, and we didn’t deal with the
Admiralty commissioners as we ought. So I’m for joining up with the
captain here”--he waved a hand towards Dyck--“and making for open sea.
As sure as God’s above, they’ll try to hammer us; but it’s the only
way.”
He held a handkerchief-a dirty, red silk thing. “See,” he continued,
“the wind is right to take us out. The other ships won’t know what we’re
going to do until we start. I’m for getting off. I’m a pressed man. I
haven’t seen my girl for five years, and they won’t let me free in port
to go and see her. Nothing can be worse than what we have to suffer now,
so let’s make a break for it. That’s what I say. Come, now, lads, three
cheers for Captain Calhoun!”
A half-hour later, on the captain’s deck, Dyck gave the order to pass
eastward. It was sunset when they started, and they had not gone a
thousand yards before some of the mutineering ships opened fire on the
Ariadne. The breeze was good, however, and she sailed bravely through
the leaden storm. Once twice--thrice she was hit, but she sped on. Two
men were killed and several were wounded. Sails were torn, and the high
bulkheads were broken; but, without firing a shot in reply, the Ariadne
swung clear at last of the hostile ships and reached safe water.
On the edge of the open sea Dyck took stock of the position. The Ariadne
had been hit several times, and the injury done her was marked. Before
morning the dead seamen were sunk in watery graves, and the wounded were
started back to health again. By daylight the Ariadne was well away from
the land.
The first thing Dyck had done, after escaping from the river, was to
study the wants of the Ariadne and make an estimate for the future with
Greenock, the master. He calculated they had food and water enough to
last for three months, even with liberal provisioning. Going among the
crew, he realized there was no depression among them; that they seemed
to care little where they were going. It was, however, quite clear they
wished to fight--to fight the foes of England.
He knew his task was a hard one, and that all efforts at discipline
would have dangers. He knew, also, that he could have no authority,
save personality and success. He set himself, therefore, to win the
confidence of Greenock and the crew, and he began discipline at once.
He knew that a reaction must come; that the crew, loose upon their own
trail, would come to regret the absence of official command. He realized
that many of them would wish to return to the fleet at the Nore, but
while the weather was good he did not fear serious trouble. The danger
would come in rough weather or on a becalmed sea.
They had passed Beachy Head in the mist. They had seen no battle-ship,
and had sighted no danger, as they made their way westward through the
Channel. There had been one moment of anxiety. That was when they passed
Portsmouth, and had seen in the far distance, to the right of them, the
mastheads of Admiral Gardner’s fleet.
It was here that Dyck’s orderly, Michael Clones, was useful. He brought
word of murmuring among the more brutish of the crew, that some of them
wished to join Gardner’s fleet. At this news, Dyck went down among the
men. It was an unusual thing to do, but it brought matters to an issue.
Among the few dissatisfied sailors was one Nick Swaine, who had been
the cause of more trouble on the Ariadne than any other. He had a
quarrelsome mind; he had been influenced by the writings of Wolfe Tone,
the Irish rebel. One of the secrets of Dyck’s control of the crew was
the fact that he was a gentleman, and was born in the ruling class, and
this was anathema to Nick Swaine. His view of democracy was ignorance
controlling ignorance.
By nature he was insolent, but under the system of control pursued by
the officers of the Ariadne, previous to the mutiny, he had not been
able to do much. The system had bound him down. He had been the slave of
habit, custom, and daily duty. His record, therefore, was fairly clean
until two days after the escape from the Thames and the sighting of the
Portsmouth fleet. Then all his revolutionary spirit ran riot in him.
Besides, the woman to whom he had become attached at the Nore had been
put ashore on the day Dyck gained control. It roused his enmity now.
When Dyck came down, he had the gunners called to him, admonishing them
that drill must go on steadily, and promising them good work to do. Then
he turned to the ordinary seamen.
At this moment Nick Swaine strode forward within a dozen feet of Dyck.
“Look there!” he said, and he jerked a finger towards the distant
Portsmouth fleet. “Look there! You’ve passed that.”
Dyck shrugged a shoulder.
“I meant to pass it,” he said quietly.
“Give orders to make for it,” said Nick with a sullen eye.
“I shall not. And look you, my man, keep a civil tongue to me, who
command this ship, or I’ll have you put in irons.”
“Have me put in irons!” Swaine cried hotly. “This isn’t Dublin jail. You
can’t do what you like here. Who made you captain of this ship?”
“Those who made me captain will see my orders carried out. Now, get you
back with the rest, or I’ll see if they still hold good.” Dyck waved a
hand. “Get back when I tell you, Swaine!”
“When you’ve turned the ship to the Portsmouth fleet I’ll get back, and
not till then.”
Dyck made a motion of the hand to some boatswains standing by. Before
they could arrest him, Swaine flung himself towards Dyck with a knife in
his hand.
Dyck’s hand was quicker, however. His pistol flung out, a shot was
fired, and the knife dropped from the battered fingers of Nick Swaine.
“Have his wounds dressed, then put him in irons,” Dyck commanded.
From that moment, in good order and in good weather, the Ariadne sped on
her way westward and southward.