The Hawk

by Peter Smalley

  '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.

  As Rennie came in to the clang of the above-door bell Mr Bracewell came forward, a hand held up, palm out. His tape measure fell to the floor.

  'Nay . . . nay . . .'

  Captain Langton saw Rennie and froze, his face rigid with contempt. A moment, and:

  'You, sir? Here, sir? When you could not keep an appointment at another place?'

  'I . . . I was delayed, unavoidable . . .' His faltering voice not altogether contrived.

  'Delayed! On a matter of honour! How dare you remain at Portsmouth, now!'

  'I – I am come to see about some new shirts. May not a gentleman ask about shirts, good heaven?'

  'Gentleman! Christ's blood!' And he turned away.

  Mr Bracewell was very anxious and uncomfortable. 'Now, sir, dear dear . . . do not you feel that it would be better to return at another time?'

  'You would welcome me back, at another time? Would ye, Mr Bracewell?'

  'I would not wish to give offence. Never that, never that. But you really must go away now, sir, if you please. Will you?'

  'I will, Mr Bracewell. Thank you.' Rennie gave him a sad little smile and nodded to him, and went out to the mocking clang of the bell. It rang in his ears all the way back to the Mary Rose Inn, and his heart was shrivelled in his breast by what he had been obliged to do this morning. When he came to the inn Mr Little was waiting outside the parlour. In his hand he held an itemized account, newly written in black ink. He coughed, half-apologetic, half-defiant, and:

  'I am – I must ask you to settle your bill, sir.'

  'Settle my bill, Mr Little? It ain't the end of the week, is it, already?'

  'No, sir. Howsoever, I must ask that you settle your bill at once, if you please.' Firmly, meeting Rennie's puzzled gaze. 'I require the room for another gentleman.'

  'What! Require the . . . d'y'mean I am to leave the Mary Rose?'

  'I do, sir. I has allowed the room to another gentleman, that wishes to occupy it at once.'

  'But this is beyond all . . . Mr Little, have I not paid my way here, week by week?'

  'I cannot help that, sir. The room is let to another gent, fair and square. You must pack up and depart, right quick.'

  'But why, Mr Little? What have I done to offend you?'

  'You knows all about that, sir, I reckon. You knows very well. I cannot have my hostelry made mock of, and lose my livelihood, because of one person, look.'

  'But you have just told me ye've already rented the damned room to another man! How d'ye square that with losing your livelihood, good God?' With counterfeit fury.

  'I cannot help that, I cannot help that. You must pack up your dunnage and clear out quick!'

  'You bloody scoundrel! I've half a mind to – '

  'Now then! Now then! Don't you raise your voice to me, Captain Rennie! You are a disgrace, and you knows it! Must I call the constable? Must I call for protection against your cowardly violence? Eh?' Retreating to his parlour with an alarmed snarl, and ringing a bell vigorously.

  'Very well, very well.' Rennie feigned defeat, and held out his hand for the bill. 'Give it to me, damn you. I shall pay, and get out. I do not wish to live in a nest of rats.'

  Twenty minutes later, his valise by his legs outside, Captain Rennie was homeless, friendless, and in spite of himself – so co
nvincingly had he mimicked the bitter poltroon – very nearly overcome by misery.

  Rennie found a room at the Drawbridge Inn at the Point, where the landlord Sawley Mallison was tolerant of any and all persons, irrespective of their social standing, providing they could pay, and did not set fire to their beds. Conditions were primitive, but apparently clean. In fact the rooms were infested with beetles and other vermin, and Rennie took care to sprinkle vinegar into the corners, and cologne liberally upon his pillow.

  'I cannot abide itching filth,' he muttered as he took his shirts from his valise, looked round for a cupboard or chest of drawers, found nothing, and put them back.

  'Christ in tears . . .'

  Later, in the taproom, he again feigned drunkenness – as he had at the coffee house several days since – spilled gin, shouted, and fell down. Got up on his legs, and:

  'I should be better served in the French Navy! Better served by serving France!'

  He stumbled out into the night and further into the stinking Point, where he found another tavern, the Pewter, and went in. Here he made a similar spectacle of himself, and again declared himself for France.

  'Who will join with me?' he demanded. 'Lan'lord! Brandy for any and ev'ry man that will come with me to France! Where there ain't damned foolish, meek and pus'llanimous bowing-down to those that don't d'serve it, by Chrice! A free, decen', hon'rable people, an hon'rable country, with a navy serving the people!'

  'You wishes to go to France, does you, mate?'

  A large presence at his elbow.

  'I do, sir. Indeed, I do!' Pretending to lurch and squint. 'Will you join with me – '

  Thud.

  A great knuckled fist flew into his temple and crushed flat his ear with sickening, brain-numbing violence. In the buzzing blur of the air as Rennie fell – a hoarse, scornful voice:

  'Let that send you on your way then, you bloody dog!'

  He regained consciousness in a place unknown to him, by candlelight.

  'You are awake, Captain Rennie?' A figure against the light.

  'Who are you . . . ? What is this place . . . ?' Groggily attempting to sit up. Waves of pain flowed round and enveloped his skull. 'Ohh . . .'

  'It is a dwelling, sir. You are safe, and among friends.'

  'Friends . . . ?'

  'Shall we say . . . friends of friends?'

  'Ah. Ah.' Lying back against piled pillows. The bed was narrow, but comfortable.

  'It is possible – when you are rested and recovered – that as your friends we may very likely be able and willing to do you a service.'

  'Service? What d'y'mean? Ohh . . .' as he again attempted to sit up, to see the hovering, shadowy figure silhouetted against the candlelight. Rennie clutched his throbbing head, and felt an egg at his temple. 'Ohh . . .' as he tried to swing his legs to the floor.

  'Nay, do not trouble yourself to get on your legs just yet, Captain Rennie.' A restraining hand. 'You have been battered, and knocked senseless. Drink some of this now, will you?' A cup was proffered.

  'What is it?' Suspiciously, sinking back on the pillows.

  'Tea, sir. A beverage you favour, I think.'

  'Ah, tea. Thankee, I do.'

  He took the cup and sucked down the grateful brew. Only when he had drained the cup did he reflect: What if the tea was poisoned? But he did not say it aloud.

  'Another cup?'

  Rennie shook his head, and wished he had not. It nearly fell off.

  'Will you like to eat something, Captain Rennie?'

  The thought of food repelled him, and:

  'Thank you, no. Where is this house? At Portsmouth?'

  'Near to Portsmouth, sir.'

  'How did I come here?'

  'You were brought, Captain Rennie. We brought you, in a carriage. Your friends.'

  'Why?'

  'Because we wished to aid you. As you may wish to aid us.'

  'Aid you? How so? I do not know you.' Peering again at the figure. 'I cannot see your face.'

  'No? Perhaps that is well, for the present. Until we are – shall we say? – mutually confident, each in the other. No?'

  Rennie thought he could detect a slight accent, the merest hint that this man was not English. Perhaps, in his fuddled condition, he was imagining it.

  'You do not trust me, even when you say I am to aid you? You know who I am, sir, but I do not know who you are – or what you may want of me. That ain't a square bargain, hey?'

  'Ha-ha, perhaps not.' Neutrally.

  'In course, I am greatly in your debt, for rescuing me. I must thank you for your kindness in doing so, and for bringing me here to safety and comfort. May I know your name . . . ?'

  'For the moment, I prefer – we prefer – that you should simply know us as friends. Names will come into the bargain later, you see?'

  'Nay, I do not. I am a plain-speaking sea officer, sir, and –'

  'Captain Rennie.' Iron had come into the voice – not quite menace, but a hardened edge.

  'I am here . . .' Politely.

  'Captain Rennie – you are not a serving sea officer any more, are you? You have been thrown out of the Royal Navy, have not you?'

  'Evidently, you know that I have.'

  'You have been disgraced, and then disgraced again. No?'

  'I was tried unfair, and unjust. In their eyes I was disgraced. Not in my own.' Defiantly.

  'Ah, but you were also involved in an affair of honour. No?'

  'I don't know what you mean . . .'

  'Do not you?' Again the hard edge. 'I think that you do, sir. You provoked a quarrel, and were subsequently challenged.'

  'Ohh – that. That was – it was nothing, a misunderstanding.'

  'A misunderstanding! A challenge issued, and accepted, and then not met?'

  'I tell you, it was a misunderstanding. I was in my cups, you know, and said things I ought not to've said . . . that is all.' Feigning great embarrassment.

  'Ah, yes, I see. Then – perhaps we cannot aid you, after all.

  You had, as I understood, made certain statements about wishing to leave England, and go elsewhere. No?'

  'Well well – I may have done.'

  'You no longer wish for this?'

  'Well well – perhaps I do wish it.' A sharp breath, and he gripped the other's arm. 'Listen now, I have been poorly treated. Very hard used. I had thought I would always be treated fair and decent by my own service, but I was traduced, and deceived, and spat upon! Aye, that is not too extravagant a description. Spat upon, and kicked, and cursed, like a damned mongrel cur! Well well, we shall see about that, by God!'

  'Yes, Captain Rennie? How?'

  'I – I may have certain intelligence, that I may be willing to share with certain persons.'

  'Intelligence? Yes? What does it concern? How to fight a duel?'

  'I thought y'said you was my friend!'

  'I thought you were ours. Now – I do not know. If you will not even admit to your mistakes, how can we trust you? How can we know that you will tell us the truth?'

  'Listen, that damned duel was not my doing! Captain Langton deliberately provoked me by finding against me at my court martial, and then he issued the bloody challenge, as if he was the injured man!'

  'Why did not you challenge him?'

  'Why should I do that, hey? Why should I accommodate him?'

  'That is a curious way of looking at the question. No?'

  'No.'

  A brief silence, then:

  'Will you tell me – what is this intelligence you wish to share with us?'

  'Ah, well, if we are getting down to cases – I should in course need something in return.'

  'Money?'

  'Money? You insult me, sir.'

  'I do? How very unfortunate. I should not wish to provoke a quarrel. What is it you do wish for, exact?'

  'Safe passage elsewhere, and a commission.'

  'Do you mean a reward, or a position?'

  'Naturally, I seek a position. A commission.'


  'For money?'

  'Oh, good heaven, this is poor stuff! D'y'wish to make a bargain, or no? Ohh . . .' His head spun horribly, and his stomach lurched in answer. He nearly puked, and was obliged to lie back against the pillows again.

  There was no immediate response to this outburst, then a sigh and a shrug, and:

  'I do not know. I cannot say, just at present. I must consult with my friends, and then let you know.' The silhouetted figure turned, hat in hand as if to leave, and hesitated. 'Unless . . . unless you were willing now, tonight, to give me some little hint, some little part of the information you hold, as a gesture of good intent. Hm?'

  Here at last was the vital moment Sir Robert Greer had anticipated and planned for. The baiting of the hook.

  Rennie in turn let out a sigh, a sigh of capitulation. 'Very well.'

  The figure put aside the hat, came close to the bed, leaned over it. 'Pray proceed, Captain Rennie . . .' Nothing of iron now in the tone, only carefully restrained eagerness.

  'Two cutters presently seek a certain party, in the Channel. They are Hawk and Pipistrel. They are to be joined very soon by six more, making a squadron of eight, under the command of Lieutenant Hayter RN. The Royal Navy is entirely determined to take this party, and his vessel. The navy will not rest until this has been accomplished.'

  'When will these new cutters come to the aid of the others? How soon?'

  'Within the week. They are presently being armed with new guns – carronades – and stored with extra powder. They are to be manned by hardened crew, all with experience of sea action, and well able to fight those guns. It will be a formidable force, I fear, against one vessel.'

  'How have you come by this information, Captain Rennie? You are a disgraced officer, an officer cast out.'

  'Yes, I am disgraced. But as I told you, only in official eyes. I am not without friends in the navy, I am not without connection.'

  'There are others in the navy who think as you do?'

  'Many.'

  'So?' Again that hint of eagerness.

  'Aye, many.'

  'Thank you, Captain Rennie. Pray return to your inn, and wait there. I will convey this item of intelligence, and we will communicate with you in due course.'