The Hawk (13 page)

'Yes? However?'

'I am a sea officer.'

'Aye.' A nod.

'A commissioned sea officer, in his first command.'

'You are.' A further nod.

'Whatever I may think of my instructions, it is my
obligation to carry them out. Or in least make my best
attempt. Further, I am free of financial burden, and have you
with me, sir. Taken together these things are a blessing, and
I am a lucky man.'

'Cutter approaching, sir.' Mr Abey, at the door.

'Cutter! Where away?' James, jumping up and bumping his
head.

'On our larboard quarter, sir, tacking up from the southeast
in light airs. I believe her to be an Excise cutter, sir. Her
signal halyard says she wishes to speak.'

'I will come on deck at once.' Stooping, buckling on his
sword.

'May I come with you, James?' Rennie got up on his legs.

'Yes yes, by all means. You have no sword?'

'Nay, it is at home in Norfolk.'

'Take one from the rack.' Indicating a low rack above the
lockers, with two blades.

'Surely we will not need swords to speak to an Excise
vessel, James – '

'As you wish. But I am not altogether sure of anything in
this commission, and I do not trust a vessel that comes at me
as dusk falls. I will like my sword at my side if this is some
damned piratical smuggler's trick!'

Rennie shrugged, took up a sword, and they went on deck.

She was the Excise Board cutter
Pipistrel
, a twelve-gun
four-pounder, tall-masted, carrying a great quantity of
number six canvas. She came up on
Hawk
very smart, even in
light airs, and hove to, as
Hawk
had already done. Her master
was Commander Renfrew Carr, and he came to
Hawk
by
boat, with one of his two mates. He had thirty-two souls
aboard. When James saw Commander Carr's blue Excise
coat, and his bluff, confident, officerlike demeanour, he
thought that nothing could be amiss, and invited him below
to the great cabin. But first impressions can be misleading, as
James soon discovered.

'I have no steward at present, and must make do with a
servant boy. Will you drink a glass of something,
Commander?'

'Thank you, no.' Laying his hat on the table. 'Look here,
Hayter, I must talk pretty direct to you, I think. – Who is this
fellow?' Noticing Rennie for the first time.

'Who am I? I am – ' Rennie began indignantly, but James,
over him:

'This is Mr Birch, that is assisting me.' They sat down.
'How may I be of assistance to you?'

'May I speak in front of him, though?'

'You may, indeed. He is, so to say, my right hand. You said
that you wished to be direct? Pray proceed.' Affably enough.
Rennie sat bristling on one of the lockers at the side, and
banged his sword back in the rack.

Commander Carr took a breath, pursed his lips in a none
too friendly fashion, and: 'Y'have been advised, have not you,
to take the
Lark
? Take her, and bring her in, with all hands?'

'Where have you heard this?'

'Allow me to say that I have heard it, and I must always say
to you – '

'Before y'do, pray allow me to say something. I do not
know the –
Lark
, is it? – I have never seen her, and do not
know her. You are misinformed, Commander.'

'Nay, I am not. I know very well that she is your intended
prize, and I am obliged to say – '

'Commander, I will not like you to call me a liar in my own
ship, you know.' James smiled at him, and spoke quietly, but
there was menace in every syllable.

'Liar? I have not called you a liar.'

'Haven't you? Ah. Then we are not at odds.'

'I do not wish to be at odds with the Royal Navy. I wish
merely to say that it cannot be part of the navy's duties to
trouble itself with minor matters in coastal waters – Excise
matters.'

'Whatever the Royal Navy's duties may be, and my own
duties within that service, I think that they cannot be the
concern of the Excise Board, can they?'

Commander Carr's face darkened a little, and his mouth
became a line. 'Do not make a nuisance in these waters, sir,
that is my advice. Do not blunder off course and take my
wind. The
Lark
belongs to me, d'y'see. She is my prize.
Mine.'

'Prize, sir?' Raising an eyebrow. 'You are not attached to
the Royal Navy, are you? We are not at war, are we? On
neither count, therefore, could you fairly expect to take prizes
– could you?'

'Do not attempt to blackguard me, sir. Stay clear of my
patrols, and leave the
Lark
alone. Leave her to me. D'y'hear?'

'What is your weight of metal broadside, Commander?'

'Eh?'

'Twenty-four pound, at a guess? Six four-pounders per
side?'

'What of it?'

'I am ninety pound. Five eighteen-pound smashers per
side. I will not like to mention
matchwood
– except in passing.'

'You wish to threaten me, damn you? You, a sea officer
RN, when you are on your oath to defend your country and
your King?'

'I have not threatened you, Commander. You may be sure
that if I had, you would by now be floundering in your own
wreckage. And since we are dispensing advice between us,
mine to you is this: return to your own quarterdeck, make
sail, and stand well away. I am minded to exercise my great
guns, directly. Good evening.'

And when Commander Carr had gone into his boat, grim
and silent, Rennie said: 'Attempt to blackguard him? Fffff.
The fellow has done that by himself, out of his own mouth.'

'Oh, I don't know.' James, musingly. 'Perhaps I should feel
the same, was I in his place. The Excise, after all, is obliged to
take smugglers, seize their vessels and so forth. I have heard
– in fact I know – that in seizing certain vessels with valuable
contraband, part or all is retained by officers as their
unofficial due. They may not take these vessels as prizes,
official, but in effect that is what happens.'

'Surely the Excise Board takes possession of such vessels,
don't it?'

'If it is aware of them, if it is informed. Smuggling vessels
may easily be spirited away, I think, re-rigged, painted over,
disguised. They are not great ships, but only cutters, most of
them.'

'Well well, it is a damned disgrace, James. That fellow Carr
is a damned disgrace to his blue coat.'

'Is he, though? The Royal Navy does the same in war, exact
– don't it? Is that a disgrace?'

'It ain't the same thing, not at all. They are enemy ships,
prizes of war, and we must declare them down to the last cask
and nail to the Admiralty Court. We are not at war, at
present, and smugglers cannot be considered enemies, good
God.'

'Not quite, I expect, but the morals of it are the same.'

'No no, smugglers are merely rogues, that is all. Rogues
bringing in such goods that people will like to smoke, or
drink, without being obliged to pay the unconscionable taxes
the government wishes to impose.'

'Unconscionable, sir? Do we not serve the same government?
Are we not duty bound ourselves to intercept
smugglers?'

'One smuggler. The
Lark
.'

'But if by chance we came upon another, or more than
one, we would be obliged to attempt to stop them, would
not we?'

'Yes, yes, in course you are right. Hm. – I resent having to
pay tax on my brandy. Only a damn fool would not resent it.'

'Have not you just contradicted yourself, sir?'

'What?'

'You have said that Commander Carr was a disgrace for
wishing to gain from his activity, and yet you approve of the
other activity behind it – the smugglers' trade.'

'It ain't the same, it ain't the same!' Indignant. 'Carr is a
thief and a scoundrel!'

'And smugglers? What are they?'

'Rogues, miscreants, knaves, nothing more. Nothing
vicious.'

'Ah.'

'You disagree?'

'It could not matter less what I think, I expect. My task is
to take the
Lark
if I can – and if I can, I will. Commander Carr
had better keep his distance, whatever his motive, else I shall
be obliged to remind him of the very great disparity between
us.'

'Aye, we are sea officers in an honourable duty, and he is a
blackguard wretch.'

'No, sir. Weight of metal, simple weight of metal.' And he
walked aft to the rail. 'Mr Abey, we will get under way, if
y'please.'

Pipistrel
retired east, tall and graceful in the gathering
darkness, shaking out reefs, and
Hawk
continued sou'-west,
to where James – by reason of the pattern of dates, tides, and
times of sighting, &c., contained in his detailed instructions –
believed that he must lie in wait for the
Lark
. Captain Rennie
he knew thought different. Captain Rennie believed that
Hawk
should stand in, hug the shore, and wait there for their
prey, 'like a lion crouching in the jungle grass'.

'I don't know that jungles are grassy,' James said to himself.
'Nor am I a lion. I am a bird of prey, as old Holly said, circling
and circling in light airs, waiting my opportunity to fall swift
on the
Lark
's neck.'

James remained on deck long after dark, long after Captain
Rennie had retired to his narrow screened corner of the
cabin, and his hammock – having no hanging cot. While
Rennie slept James allowed his mind to disengage from the
immediate, and to ponder questions that came to him sinewy
and shadowy, coiling about his head, out of the flowing night.
How the devil did Commander Carr know specifically about
the
Lark
, if he was only a 'cise officer, sweeping the Channel
for any and all smugglers? How did he know that
Hawk
had
been assigned to find and take her, when that was supposed to
be a secret? And evidently he knew that the cargo
Lark
carried was of great value, and thus wished to take her for
himself – but how did he know that? And:

'He was headed east as we made sail, but will he stay on that
course?' Under his breath, treading the little quarterdeck.
'Will he not double back, and dog me?'

Presently he decided something, and:

'You there, boy!'

'I am Michael Wallace, sir, that Mr Abey has chose to be
his junior acting mid.' A stocky lad of thirteen attending, hat
off.

'Chose? When? Why was not I informed?'

'He – he did not like to disturb you, sir, when you was
pacing so intent.'

'Ah. Ah. Very good, Mr . . . ?'

'Wallace, sir.'

'Aye, Mr Wallace. We will douse our stern light, and our
masthead light, also. I will like to be invisible this night.'

Doctor Bell stepped down from his gig and went up the
shallow steps and in at the door, between the great stone urns
that flanked the entrance in the Palladian façade. He had
been here before to Kingshill House, at the time Lady
Kenton was in residence. That lady had long since sold the
house and departed. Dr Bell's present patient was Sir Robert
Greer, who had bought the house from her; Sir Robert had
been his patient for some little time, until now merely on
occasions of minor indisposition. Today was different. Today
Sir Robert was ill. Dr Bell knew that he had been under a
physician in London, Dr Robards, for a stone. Had been
operated on by the King's own physician, Sir Wakefield
Bennett, and the stone removed. And now, down here, he was
again suffering. When Dr Bell was shown into the sickroom
– the large green-silk-canopied French bed was the one Lady
Kenton herself had slept in – he saw a man very gaunt, very
reduced and weakened. Sir Robert had ever been pale, but
now he was deathly livid. The voice, in usual deep and
vibrant, was now a reedy groan.

'Doctor . . . I need you today . . . I need . . . elixir . . .'

'Good morning, Sir Robert.' Attending at the bedside,
laying down his bag.

'I had a stone, you know . . . and it was removed . . . cut out
of mhh . . .' Attempting to sit up.

'Do not tax yourself, Sir Robert. I will ask a question or
two. A nod, or brief shake of the head, will suffice in
answer.'

'I wish to say . . . hhh . . .' A quivering nod. 'I wish to tell
you . . .'

'Nay, sir. Lie quiet, now.' Settling him on the pillows, and
taking his pulse. As he counted Dr Bell noted the slight rattle
at the end of each breath. Unless he was mistook – this man
was dying.

His hand now firmly grasped, with fingers surprisingly
strong. And the black eyes held his.

'Y'think me already dead, d'y'not?'

'Nay, Sir Robert. Calm yourself.' Releasing himself from
the fierce grip.

'Let me . . . assure you . . . I am nothing of the kind . . . I
am going to
live
d'y'hear! . . . I shall . . . hhh . . . I . . . shall
outlive you . . . and all of them!'

'No doubt you will, Sir Robert. But you are not well now,
sir, and you must be quiet – still and quiet, so that I may
examine you.' He lifted the covers.

'Nay, I do not wish it! . . . hhh . . . I do not wish hht . . .' A
feeble wrench at the covers, all his strength dissipated. 'Give
me a paregoric . . .'

Dr Bell, firmly: 'Sir Robert, you have called me to your
bedside, and I will not do my duty by you as my patient if I do
not examine you. Cannot do it, indeed.'

'Ohh . . . ohh, very well . . . do it, then . . .' And he allowed
the covers again to be lifted from his person, his nightshirt
lifted, and he submitted to indignity.

'Is there pain – here?' Dr Bell, pressing the lower abdomen.

'Hnnnh! Damn you, Bell . . .' Panting.

'There is pain. And – here?' Pressing again, higher up.

'No . . . only where ye pressed before . . . there! Hnnh! Aye,
that is where I feel it, low in my vitals . . . and now I want
paregoric . . .'

'How long since you opened your bowels, Sir Robert?'

'That is the least . . . of my concern . . . I cannot recall.'

'Try to recall, will you? It is pertinent.'

'Some few days . . .'

'Several days? A week, perhaps?'

'Perhaps . . . I do not recall.'

'And your appetite?'

'Appetite! I have none . . . none.'

'You have not ate? Since how long, Sir Robert?'

'Two days . . . three . . . and then only gruel.'

'You make water readily?'

'There is . . . no difficulty there.'

'Hm. Hm. I think it very probably a case of costiveness.'
His small oval spectacles gleamed briefly as he straightened
up by the bed. He removed them, polished them on a white
kerchief, turned reflectively to the window. His patient
watched him with anxiety.

'Nothing . . . nothing more?'

Dr Bell replaced his spectacles, turned back with a
professional smile and: 'Probably nothing more.' He did not
believe what he said. He said it because he did not like to
alarm his patient. He did not wish to say, straight out: 'There
is probably a growth in the bowel, and very likely you will be
dead in a fortnight.' That was too harsh. That was too abrupt
and cruel. So instead he had said something reassuring, and
he followed it with:

'And now I will allow you paregoric elixir, Sir Robert.'

'Eh? Now? Now, you will give me elixir? Should not you
give me a purgative?'

'On the morrow, on the morrow. For now – it will be
better to soothe the discomfort, reduce the pain in the lower
abdomen, and the like. Hm?'

'Well . . . if you think so . . .' And he lay back exhausted and
waxy on the pillow.

A few minutes after, having left his patient, Dr Bell spoke
to the housekeeper in the kitchen.

'Mrs Reese, I will call again tomorrow in the forenoon. If
he will take it give him broth, nothing solid for the moment.

And a spoon measure of this physic, that I shall leave with
you.' Handing her a phial of paregoric.

'I shall give it to his manservant. He don't like me to go to
the bedchamber. He will not allow it.'

When the doctor had quit the house, Sir Robert called to
his bedchamber his man of business, Mr Purvis. Mr Purvis
had been attached to his household since Sir Robert had
acquired Kingshill, several years before. He was a man wholly
unlike Sir Robert in looks, manner, character – he was
rubicund, and stout, and did not care about his appearance,
the cut of his coat, the buckles on his shoes, &c. – and yet he
was astute and businesslike in his own provincial way, and a
stickler for detail. Sir Robert trusted him. He smelled of
cheese, and port wine, and the foxiness of unwashed parts of
himself, but he was absolutely to be trusted because he was a
man without ambition or imagination.

'I will like to dictate something to you, Purvis.' Pushing
back fatigue and weakness with a deep effort of will.

'Very well, Sir Robert.' He brought a chair, and took from
the pocket of his coat his book of incidental accounts, turned
leaves and found a blank page. Sighed, shook snuff on his fist,
sniffed, sniffed again, and settled himself with his pencil. 'I
am here, sir.'

'I am going to dictate to you my last will and testament.'

'Good God. That is, that is – are you sure?'

'In course I am sure. Do not stare so, Purvis. I am not yet
dead. It is a precaution only. If on the morrow, as I fully
intend, I am restored – ye may put this aside. Do not destroy
it, though.'

'As you like, Sir Robert, as you declare and wish. – I am
here, sir.' Pencil over the page.

And Sir Robert dictated his wishes.

Later, when Mr Purvis had left him, Sir Robert swallowed
not paregoric, but two blue pills, that he had concealed in his
bedlinen. These blue pills had been given him long ago by Dr
Robards in London, and he had eschewed them then – but
had kept them aside for just such an eventuality as this. They
would either cure him, or kill him. He did not wish – he
would not allow himself – to be made to suffer days of further
agony and despair.

As night fell the blue pills began to have their effect, and
Sir Robert was convulsed. Fender, his manservant, came
hurrying in alarm –

'I – I will fetch Dr Bell, sir.'

– but was made immobile by a peremptory bark:

'Ye'll do no such thing-eeennhh! Do nothing, damn yeeegh!
Go away! Hnnngh! Away, man!'

Fender hesitated, alarmed and appalled by the poor
writhing creature half crouched by the bed – and then retired,
cowed by further agonized barks. Retired to the foot of the
stairs, where he and the housekeeper Mrs Reese – worrying
at her apron, cocking her capped head – stood in hushed
consternation, listening.

Hawk
heeled over on the starboard tack, and sheets and
braces were hauled tight on cleats. As she came just so, the
moon broke through a silvery patch of cloud ahead, and rode
staring on the black night. The moon was full, and so bright
that the whole of the sea around the slipping, slanting vessel
glittered and crawled with reflected light. Her wake flashed
and tumbled, became living lace, and swirled sloping far
astern.

Mr Wallace the acting mid, sent aloft, answered the
quarterdeck:

'No sail in sight, sir!' and was ordered down, his newly
issued long glass strapped safe on his back.

James handed him his silver flask. 'Take a nip of this, Mr
Wallace.'

'Thank you, sir.' The boy sucked half a mouthful of rum,
swallowed, coughed, and felt the spirit burn down and warm
him.

'We are in an empty sea, hey?'

'Aye, sir!' He handed the flask to James, who took it and
sucked down a mouthful or two, then put the flask away in his
coat.

'In least that bla— that 'cise cutter ain't following. I was
afraid that she would.'

'
Pipistrel
, d'y'mean, sir? I did not see her.'

'Nay, she has gone to her bed elsewhere, I expect. That is
well. The last thing we need is her company, on this nor any
other night.'

Four bells of the middle watch, and the moon at its staring
height over the trucktop of the mast,
Hawk
patrolling on the
larboard tack to the south, at that extreme of a quadrant
James had determined on his charts was the likely part of the
Channel that
Lark
would traverse in attempting to make
landfall on the south coast.

'D-e-e-e-ck! Sail of ship to the east! On our larboard
quarter!'

James had kept a lookout aloft all the night, and now he
bellowed from the quarterdeck:

'What ship is she! How many masts?'

'A single mast, sir! She is a cutter!'

'By God, that is the
Lark
, or I am a Hollander talking
Dutch.' James leapt up into the weather shrouds, his glass at
his back, and climbed nimbly hand over hand into the top,
then swarmed up the Jacob's ladder to the crosstrees. The
lookout made room for him on the yard, and James
unshipped his glass, focused, and found the vessel, far to the
east, a dark shape and a sail against the glittering crawl of the
sea.

'She is a cutter, right enough.' Muttering, then to the
lookout: 'Can y'make out any colours, Logan Barker?'

'No, sir.' Peering a long moment, then lowering his own
glass. 'She is too far from us, I reckon.'

'Aye. Too far, for the present. We must alter that, hey?'

'Sir?'

'We must come about, and chase her down. She heads
north.'

'Shall I remain here, sir, or return to the deck?'

'Stay at your post. I will like to hear her every move, as
soon as she makes it. Change of course, crowding on of sail,
anything. At once, d'y'hear me?'

'Aye, sir.'

James nodded, peered a last time at the distant cutter, slung
his glass on his back, clapped on to a stay, and plunged to the
deck. As his feet touched the planking:

'Mr Dench! Mr Abey! All hands on deck!'

Running feet. A scramble of bodies. Shouts and curses.
Captain Rennie, his nightcap perched atop his sparse hair,
came on deck and along the lee rail to where James stood by
the helmsman at the tiller.

'May I join you, James? What is afoot?'

'Indeed, indeed y'may, sir. We are about to give chase. Mr
Dench!'

'Here I am, sir.' Attending, shrugging into his jacket.

'We will come about and head east-nor'-east. As soon as we
are on the new heading, we will beat to quarters.'

'Aye, sir.' He raised his call, and the piercing notes sounded
along the deck.

Presently, as
Hawk
swung east with the wind, and ran
large on the starboard tack, her guncrews assembled by
their squat charges, cartridge boxes were brought up, and
sand scattered.

'It is the
Lark
, James? You are sure?' Rennie, attempting to
focus his glass.

'If she runs, she is the
Lark
.'

'Might not she be
Pipistrel
, patrolling like ourselves?' Half
to himself – but the question irked
Hawk
's commander, who
frowned. Frowned, but made no reply.

Hawk
swept on, steady and true and fast, her speed
reaching nine knots with the light following breeze. James
ordered stunsails bent, and her speed increased to ten knots.
The distant cutter, as yet unidentified, remained steady on
her own course, heading north toward the English coast.

Thirty minutes passed, and now
Hawk
was less than half a
league from her quarry. The lookout hailed the deck:

'Cutter changing course, sir! She heads sou'-east, crowding
on sail!'

'Very well! Keep a sharp eye!' And James gave the order to
alter course.
Hawk
swung on to the larboard tack, and began
to bear down on the fleeing shape, quickly narrowing the gap
between them. Another glass, and they had gained on her
again. She was painted black, her sails were dun and drab, and
she wore no colours, not even a pennant. She was ported for
eight guns per side, and her runs were run out.

'Four-pounders, I think,' said James, his glass to his eye.
'Sixes, at most.'

'She is a big cutter, James.' Rennie, his own glass fixed to
his eye. 'Bigger than
Hawk
, but not so wieldy, I think. Nor
quite so swift, else she would have outrun us.'

'Since she wears no colours in English waters we will give
her a gun. Mr Abey!' He gave the order.

'Aye, sir. A swivel?'

'Be damned to swivels, Richard. We will fire our number
one larboard carronade, and let the ball strike as near to her
as y'please.'

'Very good, sir.'

The order passed and the lanyard pulled. A flash of powder
under flint, and the gun spoke.

BOOM