The Hawk (24 page)

'You mean, that Captain Langton wishes to apologize to
me?'

'Nay . . . t'other way about.'

'That I should apologize to him – is that your suggestion?'

'Well, yes.'

'It is a damned poor one, Mr Cornwell. Captain Langton
has made the challenge. If he wishes to withdraw it, let him
apologize.'

'I do not think that possible, you know. What I mean is, he
feels himself the injured party . . .'

'Why did he call me out, if he did not wish to fight?'
Rennie raised his eyebrows.

'I have not said that! I hope you do not think that! He is
ready to fight, at any time!' Dismayed, and now very irate.

'Very good, Mr Cornwell. I will let you know. That is, that
is – my second will, when I have engaged his services.'

'I see. Very well, Captain Rennie—'

'By the by, I am no longer a post captain. I am plain Mr
Rennie.'

'Very good, sir. Good day.' Very stiffly Lieutenant
Cornwell bowed, put on his hat, and departed.

Early morning, a ploughed field, the sun dew-bright on thick
bordering grass. Trees on the north. A knot of men, one in
the standing-out white of his shirtsleeves, under the
spreading shadow of the branches. Captain Langton.

'Christ's blood, where is the fellow?' Low, to Lieutenant
Cornwell at his side.

'He ain't here, that is plain.' Equally low, opening the
pistol case he carried. Lying neatly with flask and mould were
a pair of walnut-stocked, iron-mounted pistols. Each barrel
was a heavy octagonal, with a raised sight at the muzzle.

'Are these the rifled pistols, sir?'

'They are, Mr Cornwell. Manton made them for my
brother in London, five years since. Rifled barrels, fourtenths
calibre, very accurate.' A breath that was half a sigh.
'Where is the bloody man?'

'D'y'know, I hope that he don't come.' Blurted.

'What!' Looking at him sharply.

'What I mean is, would it not be – '

'No, it damned well would not!'

'I beg your pardon, sir, I should not have spoke.'

Captain Langton glanced again at his second, did not
respond, and paced to the edge of the field. Paced back.

They waited a further thirty minutes, until it was broad
day. Swifts flitted and swooped above the field. A hare fled
across the furrows and swerved away behind a clump of
brush. In the distance the clacks of jackdaws, echoing on the
sky.

Captain Rennie did not come.

A choppy day in the Channel, and a gusting, blustery,
uncomforting easterly, making
Hawk
pitch as she ran east
close-hauled on the larboard tack. Deep-hulled as she was,
and a good sturdy sea boat, she was not a large vessel, and
pitching produced seasickness. Mr Midshipman Abey was
pale at the gills as he stood near to the helmsman at the tiller.
He had the deck, and wished he had not. Lieutenant Hayter
came on deck, accompanied by Mr Hope.

'Is
Pipistrel
in sight, Mr Abey?'

'No, sir. I have not seen her all the watch.' Consulting his
glass-by-glass notes, shielding them with his coat. 'Three
brigs and a snow, westward bound, an Indiaman making east
a league and more southward of us, fishing vessels . . .'

James nodded with a brief grimace. 'And no
Pipistrel
. Very
good, thank you, Mr Abey. How does she lie?'

Richard Abey told him, James looked aloft and forrard, trod
from weather to lee and back, and twice brought his glass to
his eye to make a brief, quartering sweep. Everything was very
damp. Spray exploded under the bow and the lee rail forrard,
slewed across the deck, and foamed and slid away through the
scuppers. The wind whipped angry spray off the steep, uneasy
chop, and drove it in the faces of the watch on the fall. Oilskin
weather, boat-cloak weather. James himself wore a pea-jacket,
and a blue kerchief tied about his head. He went to the
binnacle, peered at it, and strode a little way forrard towards
the boat secured on its skids. He came aft, his glass pinned
beneath his arm, his hands clasped behind his back.

Mr Hope waited until Lieutenant Hayter approached and
stood by his side. Mr Hope was by any measure the senior
man, but sea etiquette prevented him from approaching a
commanding officer on his quarterdeck unless invited to do
so. He thought that the lieutenant had the appearance of a
piratical smuggler, but did not say so. Again by convention he
waited for James to speak first.

'No sign of her.' James, shaking his head.

'D'y'mean the
Lark
?'

'Nay, I meant
Pipistrel
, Mr Hope. As to the
Lark
– well, we
have not sighted anything that even remotely resembled her
all the time we have been out. We have kept to our pattern of
search, we have been very thorough, and one or t'other of us
would have seen her, had she come near to the English coast.
Hey?'

'Aye, aye. Unless she slipped by us at night.'

'I do not think that possible, you know. Until today we
have had clear weather, fine nights, and as you will recall we
patrolled far to the east and south in searching sweeps all
through each night, both cutters.'

'Aye, we did. But 'cisemen make these sweeps regular, do
not they, and rarely catch a smuggler at night?'

James glanced at him, and strode to the tafferel. Another
sweep with his glass. Presently he came forrard to the
binnacle, and keeping his voice low:

'Will you give me your candid opinion, Mr Hope?'

'Candid opinion? What d'y'mean, sir?'

'Are we chasing a ghost? A wraith of the waves? A will-o'-
the-wisp?' A grim little smile.

'We are chasing the
Lark
.'

'Yes? Are we?'

'You know damned well we are, sir. What can y'mean by
these questions, at all?'

'What I mean is, would the
Lark
risk another sea action,
against two well-armed cutters, by attempting landfall on the
southern coast of England – day or night? Ain't it more like
that she would sail far to the south-west, then double back
and make for – say – the north coast of Cornwall, or Devon,
or even go into the Bristol Channel and make landfall on the
northern coast of Somerset? At Lynmouth, or Minehead?'

'Minehead? I do not know that. I do not think that.'

'Then – then – perhaps she is still in England, and has
never gone away at all. Nor her commander. Had y'thought
of that, Mr Hope?'

'I had not! How long have you harboured such notions
yourself, Mr Hayter?'

James did not reply immediately. He raised his glass and
peered at the horizon from his heaving deck, bracing his feet
apart. Lowered the glass, and:

'Some little time, Mr Hope. They have not sprung at me
all at once, out of the depth of the sea.'

'D'y'propose to act upon these thoughts?'

'I think I should require some advice, and guidance, as to
that.'

'From me?'

'If you will oblige me, sir.'

'Very good. If I was you, sir, I should put it from my mind,
and do my duty as ordered.'

'I have done that these several days, sir – without result.'
Putting his glass under his arm again.

'Are not you provisioned for a fortnight and more? In case
you should have to run south, and double back, and so forth?'

'I am provisioned for a month, sir. I would be prepared to
continue these patrols, these long sweeps – day and night – a
whole month, if I thought they would likely produce the
Lark
. I do not now think that probable, I am obliged to – '

'Didn't I just say to you: put doubt from your mind? Hey?

Christ in tears, sir, what business has a sea officer to question
his instructions! What pennant do you fly?'

'It is the common pennant.'

'Not an admiral's, then? Nor a commodore's broad red?'

'In course – no, sir.'

'Exact!' Looking at him very direct. 'Look t'your canvas,
sir, and follow your orders. That is my advice. That is my
guidance.'

James was now prepared in turn to look very direct at Mr
Hope. He did so, and continued:

'That is all quite clear, sir. All according to the book, and
so forth. But I wonder if you will give me your opinion?'

'Damn me, I have just done it! Did not y'hear me?'

'Sir, you gave me advice – go by the rules. I ask, will you
give me your own private view, one sea officer to another?'

'Private view, sir? The Royal Navy ain't a bawdy house,
with a spyhole in the wall. What?'

James tried again. 'Sir, Mr Hope, we are embarked upon a
hidden, private quest, are not we? That will never be
acknowledged, official? Come sir, I beg you to assist me, if
you please, man to man. As an instance, what men is Mr
Aidan Faulk bringing with him into England? Or . . . are
these men already ashore in England, with Mr Faulk?'

'Nay, they are not, I am certain. I will grant you this. There
may be some proceeding ashore, something else behind it all,
that we are not party to, at sea.'

'Aha!'

'Do not be so eager, Lieutenant Hayter, to discover
sinister underhand motives. D'y'think Their Lordships
would send me on an idle errand? I am here because they wish
me to aid you in taking Mr Faulk and his cutter. As does Mr
Pitt, as does the King himself. I will like to do my duty, sir.
Will ye not do yours, quiet and honourable?'

'Mr Hope, if you know more of this than I have been told,
more of Mr Faulk than that he was once your junior
lieutenant, I beg you most sincerely to tell what it is.' Very
earnest and low, standing next to Mr Hope on the canting
deck. Mr Hope clapped on to a stay as
Hawk
pitched through
a steep swell.

'I can tell you naught else, sir. I cannot and may not,
because – '

'Sir, I have come near to death once already in pursuit of
this fellow, and I – '

'Cutter, sir!'

'Where away?' James, bringing up his glass.

'A league to the south, on the starboard quarter!'

'Two cutters, sir!' Richard Abey, his own glass focused. 'It
is
Pipistrel
, I think, chasing another!'

'By God, has he got her? Has he got the
Lark
?' James
braced himself, focusing his own glass. He found the two
vessels on the pitching sea, held them a moment, identified
Pipistrel
by her colours, and saw at once that the chase was not
the
Lark
. She was smaller and painted a lighter colour – green
or grey, with a light band along her wales. A smuggler, almost
certainly. He lowered his glass.

'No, that ain't the
Lark
, Mr Abey.'

'Should we join the chase, sir?'

'What is their heading?'

'Due west, I should say, sir. Ah – no – the chased cutter is
breaking away to the south.'

James again focused his glass, confirmed Mr Abey's
observation, and:

'I see no useful purpose in joining a chase that
Pipistrel
herself will soon abandon. T'other cutter is too fleet of foot,
and will soon outrun her, and fly down to hide along the
French coast.'

Mr Hope did not quite approve of this development.

Gripping James's elbow, forgetting all about quarterdeck
manners, he said:

'D'y'think this is quite right, sir? D'y'think you may just let
a smuggler go, without even an attempt to apprehend him?
Without even beating to quarters?'

James glanced down at the hand on his arm, politely drew
his arm free, and once more brought up his glass.

'Yes, as I'd thought,
Pipistrel
is outrun. Carr will chase a
little while to save his honour, you know, and then he will
desist.'

'Ain't it our duty to take smugglers, Mr Hayter, good
heaven? D'y'think the Royal Navy should stand away, sir,
from any skirmish that may happen, just because it is a
smuggler?'

'Mr Hope,' gently but firmly, 'I think you have forgot
yourself, sir.'

'Eh? Eh?' Beginning to be irate. 'D'y'know who I am, sir?
Do you?'

'You are my guest, sir, in a civilian coat, on my quarterdeck
by invitation. Let us go below, and find a splash of something
and a biscuit. It will do us both good.'

And he led the way to the companion hatch.

Their respite was brief. Almost before they had had time to
raise a glass in the cramped little great cabin, Richard Abey
came below to inform his commanding officer that
Pipistrel
had indeed broken off the chase, had come about, and was
now heading nor'-east toward
Hawk
.

'Permission to go about, sir, and sail large to meet her?'

James came on deck, made a face, and at last gave a brief
nod.

'Stand by to go about!' Mr Abey; and the boatswain's call
rang across the deck.

The reason for James's scowling reluctance was his
knowledge that Commander Carr would likely be angry. He
would rush to the rendezvous, and would want to know why
Lieutenant Hayter had not come to his aid in pursuit of
the smuggler. Demand to know. James could not like
Commander Carr and Carr could not like him. Hades could
freeze solid before they would ever be friends.
Pipistrel
would
heave to, and her commander come to
Hawk
in his boat,
chopping rough as the sea was, in order to make known his
righteous ire. It would be an uncomfortable half an hour for
James – even though he was in command, even though he
could and would say that his reasons for standing clear of the
chase were perfectly sound and sensible. Underlying his
reluctance to endure Commander Carr's contumely was his
now certain apprehension that this duty, this running
ceaselessly about the Channel, day and night, was a sham, an
entirely fraudulent enterprise imposed upon him and
Commander Carr by conspiring men ashore.

'We are bloody dupes,' under his breath. 'Both of us dupes,
only Carr don't know it, and I may not tell him. So I must
endure his livid wrath and scarce concealed contempt, the
fellow, and be silent.'

'Are you ill, sir?' Richard Abey, peering at him in concern
as
Hawk
came pitching through the eye.

'Eh?'

'You – you had such a look of agony, sir . . .'

'Agony be damned, Mr Abey. It is toothache, that is all. –
Sheet that home, there!
' Striding forrard, pointing and shouting
at a seaman, very fierce.

Presently
Hawk
hove to, and
Pipistrel
came rushing up and
spilled the wind from her sails. James braced himself and
prepared to bite his tongue as Commander Carr's boat was
lowered, and the two cutters rose uneasily, topsails aback in
the Channel wind.

'Mrs Townend.' Rennie removed his hat, and bowed. 'My
very great pleasure, madam.'

'Oh. Captain Rennie. Yes. Hm.' And Mrs Townend passed
on in her bonnet and blue dress, with an embarrassed little
grimace of a smile, her parasol held tight.

'That is to be my lot,' reflected Rennie, in his head. He put
on his hat. 'I am now an outcast, by all reckoning, everywhere
in Portsmouth.' It was wounding to see Mrs Townend –
formerly so well disposed to him – turn her back on him in
the High Street, but he had agreed to Sir Robert's plan and
therefore could not complain when it bore the desired bitter
fruit. He wished, however, that Mrs Townend could have
been made immune to his new condition. He did not like to
see dismay and disapproval in her eyes. He did not. An inward
sigh. 'It cannot be helped.'

He walked on down the High to Hatton's Coffee House,
straightened his stock, lifted his head, and went in. Within
moments he was again in the street, having been required to
leave – in fact, ejected. Tables of shocked faces had greeted
him, hostile stares and glares, and the proprietor had guided
him peremptorarily to the door.

'No, sir. No, sir. Not in here, you ain't.'

'Ain't what?' A show of protesting.

'Kindly do not enquire.' Standing aside at the door,
holding it open. 'Never a-gain.'

He tried Paley's. A sudden hush as he came in, made
emphatic by the tick of a single spoon against a dish. There
were not here the same hostile, glaring looks as among the
men at the coffee house, only averted eyes and the faintest
whisper of satin and lace arrayed against him. He glanced
round, a sardonic expression on his face, and sniffed. 'Well
well,' he said, and walked out.

His duty of public humiliation was nearly done. He would
walk along to Bracewell & Hyde, in the hope that at least one
or two, perhaps several, officers would be there, trying on
coats, or buying shirts, and that he would cause suitable outrage
by going in. He was rewarded beyond expectation, but it
was a painful reward, by God. Captain Langton was there.