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- 2740
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- 2026-01-30T03:55:03.879Z
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- 2684
- text
- ‘To steady us a bit, let us recur to the facts. In war-time at sea a
man-of-war’s man strikes his superior in grade, and the blow kills.
Apart from its effect, the blow itself is, according to the Articles of
War, a capital crime. Furthermore----’
‘Ay, sir,’ emotionally broke in the officer of marines, ‘in one sense it
was. But surely Budd purposed neither mutiny nor homicide.’
‘Surely not, my good man. And before a court less arbitrary and more
merciful than a martial one that plea would largely extenuate. At the
Last Assizes it shall acquit. But how here? We proceed under the law of
the Mutiny Act. In feature no child can resemble his father more than
that Act resembles in spirit the thing from which it derives--War. In
His Majesty’s service--in this ship indeed--there are Englishmen forced
to fight for the King against their will. Against their conscience, for
aught we know. Though as their fellow-creatures some of us may
appreciate their position, yet as Navy officers, what reck we of it?
Still less recks the enemy. Our impressed men he would fain cut down in
the same swath with our volunteers. As regards the enemy’s naval
conscripts, some of whom may even share our own abhorrence of the
regicidal French Directory, it is the same on our side. War looks but to
the frontage, the appearance. And the Mutiny Act, War’s child, takes
after the father. Budd’s intent or non-intent is nothing to the purpose.
‘But while, put to it by those anxieties in you which I cannot but
respect, I only repeat myself--while thus strangely we prolong
proceedings that should be summary, the enemy may be sighted and an
engagement result. We must do; and one of two things must we do--condemn
or let go.’
‘Can we not convict and yet mitigate the penalty?’ asked the junior
lieutenant, here speaking, and falteringly, for the first.
‘Lieutenant, were that clearly lawful for us under the circumstances,
consider the consequences of such clemency. The people’ (meaning the
ship’s company) ‘have native sense; most of them are familiar with our
naval usage and tradition; and how would they take it? Even could you
explain to them--which our official position forbids--they, long moulded
by arbitrary discipline, have not that kind of intelligent
responsiveness that might qualify them to comprehend and discriminate.
No, to the people the foretopman’s deed, however it be worded in the
announcement, will be plain homicide committed in a flagrant act of
mutiny. What penalty for that should follow, they know. But it does not
follow. _Why?_ they will ruminate. You know what sailors are. Will they
not revert to the recent outbreak at the Nore? Ay, they know the
well-founded alarm--the panic it struck throughout England. Your clement
sentence they would account pusillanimous. They would think that we
flinch, that we are afraid of them--afraid of practising a lawful rigour
singularly demanded at this juncture lest it should provoke new
troubles. What shame to us such a conjecture on their part, and how
deadly to discipline. You see then whither, prompted by duty and the
law, I steadfastly drive. But I beseech you, my friends, do not take me
amiss. I feel as you do for this unfortunate boy. But did he know our
hearts, I take him to be of that generous nature that he would feel even
for us on whom in this military necessity so heavy a compulsion is
laid.’
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