The Hawk (39 page)

'We will not attack them, you know. We will do nothing
except observe.' Thrusting pistols into his coat, and taking up
his long glass.

'Would not it be more sensible to mount a heavy attack at
once? I can give you more men, if you wish me to.'

'I do not, Colonel. I must be certain of the cutter herself,
her crew, and her master. This may not be the vessel we seek,
nor the man.'

'Very good.' Clearly disappointed.

'I am very grateful to you for your offer, and in course I will
call on you when we are certain of our facts. Your assistance
then will be invaluable to me – to us.' A glance towards
Rennie, who nodded.

'I am ready to give it whenever you ask.' Colonel Macklin.
A polite bow, and he went to the door.

'Thank you, Colonel.' To Rennie: 'You are armed, sir?'

'Nay, I am not.'

'Colonel, may I call on your assistance, after all? Captain
Rennie will like a pair of pistols.'

'Certainly.' Pausing in the doorway. 'But – if you do not
intend to attack, why d'y'need firearms?'

'I do not intend to attack. That don't mean we may not
need to defend ourselves, on that part of the coast, and I
would never wish to be without the means.'

They went in a commandeered ship's jollyboat, with a single
mast and a lugsail. Because of James's more recent experience
in handling a small boat, he took charge of sail, sheets and
tiller, and Rennie was his obedient crew. They made the
journey to the cove by midnight, close-hauled on a lifting
swell, tack on tack under a gibbous moon, occasionally
darkened by drifting cloud. They were guided by glimpses of
lights ashore, and by Rennie's knowledge of the coastline.
They beached the boat to the east of the cove, and climbed
across a broad rise to the cove itself. They were careful,
keeping to a low crouch, and very quiet. When they were
immediately above the cove, hiding behind a clump of
buckthorn on the humped eminence, James lifted his head
and peered down.

A steep shingle beach gave on to a spoon-shaped bay with
a narrow entrance. A ledge of rock running east to west made
a natural breakwater. The place was just wide and deep
enough to accommodate a small ship or a brig. Within the
breakwater tonight lay a large cutter. Her mainmast had
been stepped, but not yet her topmast, and her shrouds and
other rigging were only part-rove up. There were lights in
her, and about her, and activity in the dull glow. James could
juts make out the shape of a raft alongside, and there was a
boat tethered astern. James nudged Rennie, who moved
forward and looked down for himself. On the shingle beach
lay casks, yards, rope, and under canvas the humped shapes
of her guns.

'Is it the
Lark
?' Rennie, whispering.

'If she ain't then she is her twin, I recognize the lines.'

James peered through his glass at the men working on the
vessel.

'Can you see him, James?'

'No, sir. The light ain't enough for me to see faces clear. I
do not think he will be here, though, when she is repairing
still, and her guns remain out of her. He will likely come only
when she is ready for sea – don't you think so?' Whispering,
then peering down again through the glass.

'I think we'd better wait here a while, hey? In case he
should come?'

James nodded, and lowered his glass. 'Very well, sir.'

They settled themselves as best they could on the uneven
stony ground, concealed by the buckthorn, but they were not
comfortable. They were tired and damp from the long trip in
the boat, and the night air was chill.

'Did ye bring a flask, James?' Rennie, presently.

'I did, sir.' Handing it to Rennie, who took a long, grateful
pull.

'Rum, hey?' Handing the flask back.

'Aye, rum.' Sucking down a mouthful of neat spirit. 'There
is nothing quite like it for keeping out the cold, and lifting a
man to his duty.'

Within a few minutes both men were asleep.

They woke in the small hours to the sound of raised voices
below. Both felt ashamed in having allowed sleep to overtake
them, but neither said so. James lifted his head and peered
down, and saw that a second boat had entered the little bay.
The moonlight was brighter now, unimpeded by cloud, and
James noticed a figure in the second boat as it beached on the
shingle. The others crowded round the man as he stepped
ashore, and appeared to defer to him as he pointed at the
cutter, asked questions, and made comments. James handed
his glass to Rennie.

'Is that the man?' Whispering. 'Is that Aidan Faulk? I have
never seen him.'

'If I can only see his face . . .' Taking the glass, and pointing
it downward.

'Well, sir?' Impatiently.

Rennie focused the glass, and peered. After a minute or two
he sighed in exasperation, and:

'I cannot see his face clearly, even in the moonlight. He
wears a hat.'

'We must discover if it is him – or not. Also whether or no
the vessel is the
Lark
.'

'Y'said you recognized her, James.'

'I thought so . . .'

'I am fairly certain of her myself.'

'. . . but we must be certain, absolute. There is too much
hanging on this to allow of any doubt.'

'Yes – yes, you are right, in course. I will go down
there.'

'You, sir?'

'Why shouldn't I go down?' Curtly.

'Well – it is a very great risk. It will require a certain . . .
agility of movement.'

'I am not a decrepit old man, James. I am healthy and
strong – and agile. I will go down and look at the fellow close,
and at the vessel.'

'How will you do it, sir?'

'Eh?'

'How will you contrive to get close enough on the
beach. It is a shingle beach, impossible to walk over silent,
and – '

'
Lark
, I recall, had particular furniture at her tafferel, that
I would know at once.' Ignoring James's protests. 'We cannot
hope to see it from this height, but from the beach I should
certainly be able to make it out.'

'Furniture?' James, doubtfully.

'Aye, it is the stepping for a ringtail mast. I have never seen
it before on a cutter.'

'I did not notice it.'

'It ain't something you would likely have remarked,
perhaps. I remember it distinct from the first encounter, after
Lark
had bested us. She delivered a final broadside, and ran to
the north, and I saw her tafferel then as we wallowed on the
swell, crippled and half-drowned, and you lay near death
upon the deck – '

'Yes, yes, thank you, sir.' James, over him. 'You saw her
tafferel. However, I do not think you should climb down
there.'

'One of us must. I have proposed myself, and I fully
intend – '

'You forget, sir, that at present you hold no commission,
and therefore cannot be in command, cannot give orders.'

'Eh? What the devil d'y'mean, James?'

'I am in command, and I do not permit it.'

Both men were now growing angry, and the necessity to
limit their speech to furious whispers did not improve their
temper.

Rennie drew in a deep sniffing breath, and bit his tongue.
Then without another word he crawled rapidly away from
James along the top of the little eminence, and disappeared
down the slope to the west.

'Sir! Captain Rennie!' A hoarse, dismayed, furious whisper.

But Rennie was gone.

Rennie came down to the beach from the steep slope on the
western side of the cove, and wished that he was wearing
Lieutenant Hayter's working rig. In the past he had deplored
these clothes – old shirt, jerkin, and breeches, and a blue
kerchief tied rakishly on the head – as unbecoming to an
officer, altogether too much of the lower deck, and likely to
lead to familiarity and indiscipline among the people. Now
he would have welcomed any and all of these faults. James's
working clothes would have allowed him to appear on the
beach as a natural member of the throng there. He crept
along the top of the beach, discarded his coat, waistcoat and
hat, tore off his stock, rolled up his sleeves and tied his pocket
handkerchief loosely round his neck. He took a handful of
earth and rubbed it on his face and forehead, then smeared it
to a smooth patina of unwashed skin. Then he took a deep
breath, another, turned and walked swiftly down to the pile
of casks and other gear, and caught up a length of rope.
Coiled and slung it on his shoulder, and strode steadily down
the shingles to the water's edge, joining the large group of
men there. All were at work, some carrying gear aboard the
raft, others preparing it ashore. A forge had been set up, and
fired. There was a ring of lanterns on the shingles, and others
aboard the cutter and the raft. The rumble of voices, the
clinking of metal on metal at the forge.

Rennie edged closer, cleared his throat and spat, and
settled the rope on his shoulder. He peered at the tafferel of
the cutter, and at once saw the stepping for the ringtail mast.
He noted that although the vessel had been painted blue,
traces of black showed underneath the blue paint along her
port strake. Here was the
Lark
, without question. Rennie
looked for the man who had come in the boat. Was he still on
the beach, or had he gone aboard the cutter?

'Clap on to t'other end of this, mate.' A voice behind
Rennie. He turned cautiously, keeping his head lowered a
little, as if he had a natural stoop. Took hold of the length of
planking thrust at him, shouldered it and found himself
stepping in unison with the other man, in line ahead, across a
short gangway to the raft.

'Heave!'

And they heaved the timber on the pile of planking already
there with a thwacking thud. Keeping his head down Rennie
pretended to push the plank better into position on the pile,
and looked across the
Lark
's deck. There was no sign of the
man he sought.

'Is you going to stand there fartin' into y'breeches all the
night long, mate? Bear a hand lighting along the rest.'

Rennie straightened up, nodded, and in an assumed
seaman's blur: 'Aye, go on. I am wiv you.' And followed his
companion ashore.

'Come in the uvva boat, has you, from along the coast?
Wiv the master?'

'Eh? Oh, aye, in the boat. Got a painful feerce head on me,
from the drink.' He spat again.

'A-going back theer t'night, is it? On the tide?'

'I am to stop 'eer. Lend a hand, like.'

'Bofe 'ands, then. Cheerly, too. She must be made ready by
t'morrer night.'

'I shall pull my weight – but I must piss away some of that
drink, first.'

He stepped up the shingles, unslinging the rope from
his shoulder, and pretending to unfasten the front of his
breeches. As soon as he was safely beyond the glow of
the lanterns he ducked down and ran doubled-up away to the
place where he had left his hat and coat, gathered them up,
pulled them on, and began to make the climb to the top of the
steep slope. Presently he reached the top, and made his way
cautiously along to the clump of buckthorn bushes, and
James.

'Christ Jesu, I had given you up for lost, sir – or took!' Half
angry, half delighted.

'Hhh – never think that, James – hhh.' Short of breath
from the climb. 'Hhh – I am here, as you see. Whhh . . . I am
not as young as I was.'

'What did you discover – if anything?'

'There can be no doubt. None at all. She is the
Lark
.'

'Very good, excellent.' James, nodding. 'You saw Faulk?
You recognized Faulk?'

'I did not.'

'Ah! Damnation!'

'However, I spoke to a man who referred to the fellow that
came in the boat as the master. That can only be Faulk, I
reckon. And I discovered another valuable piece of
information. She is to be made ready by tomorrow night.'

'Tomorrow night! Hell on fire, then we cannot lose a
single moment.'

'I am sorry to wake you so confounded early, Colonel, but we
must assemble and depart by nine o'clock.'

Colonel Macklin was not yet wholly awake in his cot. He
stared blearily at James, sat up and rubbed his face, yawned,
and scratched the back of his head. Then: 'Nine in the
forenoon?'

'Aye, today, if y'please.' James, briskly. 'We have found our
quarry, and if we are to best him we must take him by
surprise. A dozen men, I think you said?'

'I did, Lieutenant.' The colonel sat up, and swung himself
out of his cot. He shrugged off his nightshirt, and tipped
water from ewer into basin. 'Allow me five minutes, and I
shall join you.' Dashing water into his face, and sluicing
himself from head to foot with a dripping sponge. The bare
floorboards round his cot were soon liberally splashed. James
stepped back to avoid getting wet, and went out.

True to his word Colonel Macklin appeared fully dressed
in the corridor five minutes after, strapping on his sword and
gorget.

'We need a larger boat, Colonel.' As they walked along the
narrow corridor towards the stairs. 'A thirty-two-foot
pinnace. Can you request one at the yard?'

'I expect so, yes.'

'Very good. Extra powder and ball for musket. And several
brace of spare pistols, if you can get them.'

'I will get them.' As they clattered down the narrow stone
stairs. As they came out into the open air, the colonel saw
James's drawn unshaven face in the harsh glare of daylight,
and: 'By God, Hayter, you look all in.'

'We've been at work all the night,' admitted James. 'Many
hours in the boat, and watching ashore.'

'You must get some rest, if we are to fight an action.'

'I'll snatch a wink or two in the boat on the way to Bucklers
Hard. Captain Rennie is waiting for us. I must rouse and
assemble my people, and – '

'Have you ate breakfast?'

'Nay, there ain't time. It is already past seven o'clock.'
Striding away across the barrack square.

Colonel Macklin hurried after him, gripped James by the
shoulder and made him pause. 'Now then, don't be
altogether a damned fool. No sleep, and no victuals neither,
will not answer. You and Captain Rennie will eat breakfast
with me, if y'please, and my sergeant of marines will assemble
the men and equipment.'