Mutiny Read Online Free PDF

had
tripped and sent him staggering. His pupil had a memory as short as ... 'It won't answer, not at all,' he said
to the crestfallen Kydd. He muttered under his breath, then had an idea.
'Please to pay attention -1 will now make this clear enough for the meanest
intelligence.' Kydd looked at him resentfully.
    'Er, the first is to make sail, then we
haul our wind to the starb'd tack, and wear about before we drops anchor to
boxhaul around, like this.' The relief on Kydd's face was plain. "Then we
tack about twice against the sun and heave to for a space, let the lady get
clear of our hawse, and we are under way again, this time to larb'd . ..'
     
    'Shouldn't be more'n a half-hour,'
the lieutenant said, through his towel, finishing his personal preparations for
a rendezvous ashore. 'Lobsterbacks like marchin' around, up 'n' down, that sort
of thing, then they flog the poor wight an' it's back to barracks.'
    'Aye, sir,' Kydd said, without
enthusiasm. He had agreed to take the lieutenant's place in an army punishment
parade to represent Achilles as a major ship in the port.
    'Mos' grateful, Mr
Kydd. As long as you're at the Alameda by five bells ...'
     
    Kydd clapped on a black cockaded
hat, and settled a cross-belt with its distinctive anchor shoulder plate over
his white waistcoat. The rather worn spadroon sword he had borrowed from
Cockburn was awkward in the scabbard; it was so much longer and daintier than a
sturdy cutlass. A glance reassured him that his shoes were well shined - the
gunroom servant needed coaxing of a sort but was a knowing old marine.
    With two marines as
escort stepping out smartly ahead, Kydd found his way to the Alameda, and
halted the marines.
    The Alameda was a
remarkably large parade-ground that would not be out of place in the bigger
army establishments in England. It was alive with ranks of marching soldiers,
hoarse screams sending them back and forth. Splendidly kitted sergeant-majors
glared down the dressing of the lines and bawled in outrage at the hapless
redcoats. The discordant blare of trumpets and the clash and stamp of drill
added to the cacophony, and from the edge of the arena Kydd watched in wonder
for what he should do.
    A sashed, ramrod-stiff
figure with a tall shako detached himself from the melee and marched up, coming
to a crashing halt before Kydd. His eyes flickered at Kydd's polite doffing of
his hat and strayed to the marines motionless behind him.
    'Sah! With me. Sah!' He
wheeled about abrupdy and marched energetically across to a ragged square of
men across the parade; Kydd saw with relief that a few were in navy rig.
    'An' what happens
next?' Kydd asked a weathered marine lieutenant. The other navy representatives
nodded cautiously or ignored him in accordance with rank.
    The man's bored eyes
slid over to him. 'They brings out the prisoner, the town major rants at 'im,
trices him up t' the whipping post, lays on the lashes, an' we goes home.' The
eyes slid back to the front in a practised glassy stare.
    Kydd saw the whipping
post set out from the wall they were facing, an unremarkable thick pole with a
small platform. He had grown inured to the display of physical punishment at
sea, seeing the need for it without a better solution, but it always caused him
regret. He hoped this would not take long.
    The parade sorted
itself into a hollow square behind them. Within minutes a small column of men
appeared from the further side of the parade-ground. They were accompanied by a
drummer with muffled drum, the slow ta-rrum, ta-rrum of the Rogue's March
hanging heavy on the air.
    The prisoner was a
blank-faced, scrawny soldier without his shako. The column halted and turned
to face the post. From the opposite corner of the parade-ground, a small party
appeared, led by a short, florid officer strutting along bolt upright.
    'Actin'
town major,' murmured the marine.
    The peppery army
officer looked about testily, ignoring the prisoner. Slapping his gloves
against his side irritably,