The Hawk

by Peter Smalley

  'Good morning to you, sir.'

  'What? Oh, good morning.' Jerking his head to squint at the proprietor.

  'Supposing you and I discuss it over a splash of something in my own quarters, sir?'

  'Discuss what, pray?' Rennie frowned at him.

  'Whichever is the difficulty you may be having this morning, sir. Quietly, eh? In my own rooms at the rear, without unpleasantness.'

  'Go to the devil.' Rising, and pushing past the proprietor. 'Langton! Do not skulk there, you bloody wretch! I will have an apology from you, sir! Aye, a public apology for my humiliation at your hands!'

  Langton flicked him a now ferocious glance, then turned away.

  'Nay, nay! That will not do, Langton! Do not turn your miserable back on me, sir!' Advancing on the table. 'Before I take myself off to volunteer my services to France, I will have your apology! Now, if y'please!'

  And now Captain Langton stood up, turned to Rennie, and:

  'You will get nothing from me! Nothing at all! Be very careful what you say next, sir!'

  'Be damned to careful, you bloody lawyer's lickspittle! Apologize, and mean it too!'

  'I will not, sir. I will call you out, instead! Well?'

  'Ha-ha-ha! So I have tickled your testicles at last, eh? You are a man, after all. Accepted, sir! I am at your disposal, at the Mary Rose Inn!'

  Rennie turned, strode, cannoned into a chair, nearly stumbled – and flung away out of the door into the street.

  Only when he was in the open air did he allow himself a small, shaky smile. His clothes were soaked through with sweat.

  Rennie was shown into the library. A new-lit fire crackled in the grate, but the room was chill. The curtains had not yet been drawn. Candles glowed on the desk and in reflecting girandoles on either side of the fireplace. The glow was mirrored in the wheel barometer, and shone dully on the papier-mâché globe by the desk. Beyond great banks of books tall portraits loomed in the reduced light of the far corners. Rennie heard the click of the door, and:

  'Good evening, Sir Robert. I hope that I do not disturb you, but there is a – '

  'Damnation, Rennie, why have you come here again!' Sir Robert was very vexed, his face waxy as he came forward in the candlelight. 'Did not I say to you, do not come anywhere proximate to Kingshill, nor to me, until the matter is settled?'

  'Aye, sir, you did. However, there is a question I must ask – '

  'Come away from the window!' Sir Robert jerked the silk rope at the wide window, and drew the curtains. 'Did you confront Langton?'

  'I did, sir.'

  'And? And?'

  'A challenge was issued, and accepted.'

  'That is well, that is well. But I wish y'had not come here.'

  'I took pains to be unobserved, Sir Robert. I left my gig some little distance outside the gates, and walked in by another path.'

  'You do not know these people.' Darkly. 'They are capable . . . never mind. You will go away from here at once, else you will wreck our design entire.'

  'Not before I know the answer to my question, Sir Robert.' Firmly. 'Why is the Hawk at sea?'

  'What?'

  'If our design – your design, Sir Robert – is that I should meet Aidan Faulk ashore, why is Lieutenant Hayter at sea in Hawk, aided by a second cutter? For what purpose? When I meet Faulk you will spring your trap, will not you, and take him prisoner?'

  'Indeed.' Curtly, a black glance.

  'Then I repeat – why is Hawk sent to take him at sea, in the Lark?'

  Sir Robert sighed, motioned to Rennie to sit, then sat down himself at his desk. The longcase clock struck the hour, the chime sounding with a cold resonance through the room.

  'There is some little disagreement between the Admiralty and me, about this matter.' Sir Robert, after a moment. 'It is Their Lordships' belief that Faulk can only be took at sea. I do not concur. Lieutenant Hayter's experience, in his last encounter with the Lark, was a near disaster. I do not believe that Hawk and one additional cutter will produce the outcome Their Lordships desire. There is also the presence of Mr Hope. You know who Hope is?'

  'I do not.'

  Sir Robert told him, and Rennie was astonished.

  'So you apprehend the importance . . .' Sir Robert continued, and he took a pinch of snuff '. . . that Their Lordships place upon this duty, at sea. I am more circumspect, Captain Rennie. I am also more practical.'

  'Their Lordships will not like to hear they are not practical men, you know.'

  'I do not seek open conflict with Their Lordships, nor any of their connections. I shall not provoke it. Quietly and discreetly I seek an outcome ashore, because it is more practical than an encounter at sea. I have learned to employ simple means, practical means, to gain a simple end.'

  Rennie thought, but did not say, that Sir Robert's notions of practical means were uncommon devious, many-layered, and fraught with difficulty. Instead, he asked:

  'Sir Robert, if you and Their Lordships differ in this, how was you able to persuade them to sanction my court martial?'

  'Ah. Yes.' Sir Robert closed his silver snuffbox, and allowed his head to tilt a little on one side. 'I told the Prime Minister it was part of my grand design, and he gave me free rein to achieve it.'

  'You have the ear of the Prime Minister?'

  'On occasion, on occasion. Their Lordships did oppose your court martial, at first. The Prime Minister wrote a letter, and said a word, and opposition fell away.' A nod. 'And so, Captain Rennie, we shall achieve our ends together, you and I. Yes?'

  Rennie rose and took up his hat. 'I shall do my best.' A bow. 'Your servant, sir.'

  'Your servant.'

  'Captain Rennie, I have come to ask: who is to be your second?'

  'I have not yet made that decision.'

  'Not yet?' The young man seemed surprised. He was Mr Cornwell, a lieutenant of Marines, and was today in civilian dress. He had introduced himself to Rennie in the dining room of the Mary Rose Inn, and requested an immediate interview. He and Rennie now occupied a private parlour at the rear.

  'Not yet.'

  'But the challenger wishes to know when you will be disposed to make yourself available. He wishes to know whether or no pistols will be acceptable, where you and he may meet, at what hour, and upon what day. Certainly these things may not be left uncertain very long.'

  'No no, you are right, Mr Cornwell.' A nod, a sniff.

  'What I mean is, I cannot very well put these things to you direct. I must put them to your second. Ain't that the correct form?'

  'Is it? I expect so. If you say so.'

  'Captain Rennie . . . you have me at a very great disadvantage. I – I have never acted in this capacity in my life. In truth I wish that you and Captain Langton could find some opportunity for accommodation. A duel is a very wretched thing – do not you think so?'

  'Has he required you to say this to me?'

  'No, he has not.' A hint of indignation. 'I say it because I believe it to be true, that is all. It ain't right that two senior officers should meet in this dismal way. If I speak out of turn I do so because I do not wish to see life wasted, when a simple apology would end the matter.'

  '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.

  FIVE

  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.'