The Hawk Read online

  'Very good, sir.'

  'And lifelines. We will rig lifelines, fore and aft.'

  The wind increased in strength through the afternoon watch, and at seven bells, when Hawk would soon be obliged to go about and beat into the teeth of the gale, else be driven in on the shore of France, at Dieppe, Lieutenant Hayter was again on deck. The wind was now fierce, bringing with it squalls of rain and a heavy, surging swell. Spray whipped off the waves and smashed across the deck like a hail of canister shot. Hawk scudded across the sea, with Pipistrel half a mile astern of her.

  'Mr Abey!'

  'Sir?' Attending, hunched down into his jacket against the scattering spray and rain.

  'We must beat into this storm of wind now, on the return leg. Make to Pipistrel that we will go about and head west.'

  'Aye, sir. Stand by to go about!'

  Further shouted orders, the boatswain's call, and seamen ran aloft in the shrouds to shake out the reefs in the topsail. Flags on the signal halyard, snapping and streaming. A boy being sick over the lee rail as Hawk pitched, plunged, rolled round on the new heading, and the sea swirled about the boy's feet and legs as he clung there, racked and saturated.

  'God damn and blast this miserable cruise,' muttered James to himself. He brought his flask from inside his jacket, and took a pull of burning, lifting, unwatered rum.

  By the end of the first dog watch the storm had become so violent that even Mr Hope was obliged to concede that no chase was now possible, and that to seek shelter was perhaps the wisest course. He went up the little companionway ladder and on deck, to seek out Lieutenant Hayter. He found that James had anticipated him, and was about to give the order. He would attempt to head north to St Helen's Road, and seek shelter there in the lee of the Isle of Wight, beyond the Foreland.

  'Would it not be wiser to run east, and go into the Downs?' Mr Hope, shouting over the wind.

  'I will not like to sail east, sir. There is too great a risk of going aground at Beachy Head, or Dungeness. I must attempt northing, and shelter at St Helen's.'

  An immense sea – freakishly steep and wide – came running at Hawk from the west, and just as it reached the cutter she dipped her head, and pitched her flat-steeved bowsprit deep into the wave. Lifelines had been rigged fore and aft, but Mr Hope had not clapped on, and as the heavy surge of water rode along the deck, burying everything under it in a green massy seething, Mr Hope was lifted bodily and flung against the tackle block of the mainsail sheet. His head smacked against the block with a nasty thud, he tumbled slackly away under the great boom, was washed against the lee rail, and sucked face down forrard as the sea retreated.

  'Christ Jesu!' James clung to the lifeline, kept his head above the wave, found his feet and lurched across the deck to where Mr Hope lay senseless, one hand caught under him, the other flung half across the rail, water sluicing in a sluggish swirl away.

  'Bring her head up! Keep your luff!' Bellowed at the helmsman, himself half-drowned.

  James knelt, heaved, got Mr Hope into a half-sitting position, and with great effort got his shoulder beneath one of his arms, and lifted him up. The movement caused Mr Hope to spew a great gush of water over James, and to cough and gasp. His head lolled, he groaned, but was still a dead weight. A further sea – lesser than the first, but still considerable – now flooded aft, and water poured down the companion hatch. The wind roared mad in the rigging, and buffeted the deck.

  Mr Abey emerged from the companion and fought his way on deck, streaming and hatless, and at once saw his commander's need. Together they got Mr Hope below, where everything was very wet. Dr Wing was summoned, and in the cramped, lurching, confined space attended to their guest. James again went on deck, accompanied by Midshipman Abey. Michael Wallace, the junior mid already on duty, was very green about the nose and mouth, but was on his legs.

  'Mr Wallace!' James, shouting over the wind.

  'Sir?' Bravely lifting up his head.

  'Make to Pipistrel that she is to form up close astern.'

  'If you please, sir, I cannot see Pipistrel.' Over the wind.

  'What?' Looking at him, then away astern.

  'She is not there, sir.'

  James braced himself at the tafferel, and stared hard astern on the rise of the sea. The boy was right. There was no sign of Pipistrel. He waited, and the following rise looked again for the Excise cutter, briefly bringing up his glass to sweep. He found nothing but the heaving, rolling sea. Pipistrel, plainly in sight not half a glass since, had vanished.

  'By God, it was that tremendous sea . . .' Muttered to himself. 'Unless he has run east.' James jumped forrard and into the shrouds, hooked an arm through and swept with his glass. There was no sign of Pipistrel away to the east, neither, only the tumbling, spray-billowing wilderness of the storm.

  'She has foundered.'

  He descended to the deck. In these conditions there was no hope of picking up survivors. There would be no survivors. The only hope now was that Hawk herself could be saved.

  'Stand by to tack ship!'

  Rennie had walked for several miles in and about Portsmouth after storming out of the Drawbridge Inn, striding along, head bent, oblivious of streets, fortifications, towers, the Dockyard; of people, time, circumstances. In his head and breast were turmoil and rage, and a dark, desperate melancholy that burgeoned and swelled until it subsumed all else of his mood, and became his humour entire.

  'What is my life?' repeated again and again as he tramped heedlessly over cobble and stone and chaff-strewn flint. And answered himself again and again – unconsciously aloud, believing it was all in his head:

  'My life is all a waste. It is nothing. I have lost everything a man might value, everything he might esteem, and love.

  What is my life? I lost my one chance of happiness when my dear wife was took from me. I lost my ship. I lost my career. I will never get back these things. My life itself is lost, except in animate activity – and that is nothing, it is only mechanical. My life is nothing, a hollow, dismal list of nothings and nothingness, a purser's book of nothings, by God. – What is my life? Nothing!'

  'Are you quite well, sir?'

  'What?' Startled.

  'Are you quite yourself?' A constable, peering at him, lantern raised.

  'What?'

  Rennie had paused at the corner of a narrow alley and a larger street. He had no idea where he was.

  'You was speaking quite loud, sir. Only I did not see your companion, like.'

  'Companion? I am alone.'

  'Yes, sir. Yes.' Nodding. 'I see that, now.' A discreet sniff. 'Took drink tonight, sir, has you?'

  'Drink? What?' Stepping back from the lantern. 'I am alone, walking alone, and perfectly sober. What d'y'want of me? Hey?'

  The constable heard the tone of authority in these retorts, and knew that he was dealing with an officer.

  'Nay, sir, I do not want nothing at all. Only – please to talk less ve-hement, if you will be so good, eh?'

  'What? I am sober, and silent.'

  'Yes, sir. Only this is the Cambridge Road, very peaceful at night. Was you seeking a partic'lar place? A partic'lar address?'

  'Cambridge Road? Is it? Ah. Well well, in fact I was. I am seeking an address. I am going to number – number fiftyfour.' Recalling Mrs Townend's address.

  'Very good, sir.' Turning and pointing. 'You will need to turn to your right, and pro-ceed a little way along. You will endeavour to be quiet as you go, will not you, sir?'

  'In course I will, in course I will, good heaven.'

  'Thank you, sir. I will say goodnight.'

  'Goodnight to you.' Rennie nodded, grimaced politely as the constable held up the lantern to light his way, and turned right into the Cambridge Road.

  Presently he found number fifty-four, an end-of-terrace house, not very wide but three storeys high. A glimmer of light at one of the windows. Should he knock at the door? What o'clock was it? He took his watch from his pocket and peered at it in the darkness, but could
not properly see the face. The bell of a church clock answered his question. Nine o'clock.

  'Nine o'clock? Nine o'clock at night? Nay, that is too late to call. I cannot call on a lady, uninvited, at such an hour.'

  And he knocked. There was no answer. He waited, and then knocked again, and now a servant girl answered the door. She held up the stub of a candle in its holder, just as a voice called from within:

  'Who is it, Aggy?'

  Rennie recognized the voice of Mrs Townend's sister, Mrs Rodgers.

  'Yes, sir?' The maid, very timid, holding the candle and staring at him askance.

  'I am – will you say to Mrs Townend, if she is at home, that Captain Rennie would very much like to speak to her? Say to her that I am aware of the lateness of the hour, and – and so forth – but that it is a matter of great importance.'

  'Aggy . . . ?' The same voice, again calling.

  The girl bobbed in something like confusion, shut the door, and Rennie was left standing on the upper step outside. Muffled voices inside, and he waited, grew apprehensive, and then self-accusing.

  'You damned fool!' To himself. 'You bloody fool. She will not see you, at night. Why did y'knock at her door at all? How can she admit you, when she thinks you are a coward?'

  The door opened, and he lifted his head. The servant girl stood aside, and: 'Please will you come in, sir?'

  A moment after he was in a pretty, small drawing room, with a fire burning in the grate, and a lamp throwing a glow over the table and two chairs, and an embroidered screen to one side of the fire. Mrs Townend was alone in the room as he came in, and now she came forward, and Rennie saw with a little lurch of emotion that she was smiling.

  'Captain Rennie, you are welcome.'

  'Mrs Townend, it is – I am so very grateful that you felt able to admit me, at such a late – '

  'You would not have come unless on a matter of urgency – as you said to Agatha, just now.'

  'No. No, indeed. You are quite right.' Feeling himself wretchedly awkward. Why in God's name had he come? He bowed to her.

  'Will not you sit down, Captain Rennie?' Stepping back nearer the fire, and sitting down.

  'You are very kind.' He stepped to the other chair and sat down.

  'May I offer you refreshment? Coffee?'

  'Thank you, no. I – I wished to – '

  'A glass of madeira?'

  'Nothing, thank you. I wished to tell you, Mrs Townend, that I am not a coward.'

  'Oh. Oh. I had thought that you were about to say – pray continue, Captain Rennie.' Mrs Townend appeared disconcerted, and Rennie was further embarrassed. He stumbled on, wishing that he had accepted the offer of madeira.

  'Hm. Perhaps you will have heard rumours in Portsmouth that I was called out. And that subsequent, when I had accepted the challenge, I did not meet my obligation, I did not meet Capt—'

  'No! Captain Rennie, I beg you, do not mention any name to me. I wish to know nothing of this affair.' Greatly discomforted.

  'As you wish, madam.' Inclining his head. 'May I continue?'

  A troubled little smile. 'Captain Rennie, I had thought you would seek to – had I known you would talk of this other affair, well . . .'

  'I am very sorry. I wished only – '

  Over him: 'I had thought you was come to me on another matter. I see now that I was wrong.'

  'Nay, Mrs Townend, do not accuse yourself of wrongdoing in my presence. I will never like to countenance that.'

  And now she looked at him, a deep, startled, intimate gaze. Rennie felt obliged to meet it, and to say something more.

  'I had – I had only come to offer explication incidental, d'y'see? So that you would not continue to feel harshly toward me, when I needed your help.'

  'Help?' Further startled.

  'Aye, madam. I am in great need of your assistance this night. May I ask . . .'

  'Yes, Captain Rennie?' Very soft.

  'May I avail myself of that glass of madeira, offered a moment since?'

  'Oh. Yes.' Again disconcerted, ringing the table bell. 'Yes, in course you may.'

  The wine was brought to him, and to his relief Mrs Townend took a glass herself. He knew now what he would say to her. If she refused, as she almost certainly would, then he would take his leave, saying that he understood perfectly, &c., &c.

  'Mrs Townend, I have fled my lodging, and am sought high and low by evil men. I have nowhere to go. I wished to take a room in your house, where no one would think to look for me. Naturally, I will pay handsome – '

  'Stop, please stop, Captain Rennie.'

  Very good, thought Rennie, she has been so affronted by this absurd request that she will now show me the door, and the whole stupid episode will be over. He held up his hand, nodded, and:

  'In course, I understand you. It was a most foolish and ignoble request.' Making to rise.

  'Nay, it was not, it was not. The only thing foolish was to offer payment. I would not think of accepting money in aiding you, dear Captain Rennie.'

  'Eh? Oh.'

  'I have – I have not told you all of the truth, Captain Rennie.'

  'Oh.' Quite out of his depth, now. 'Ah.'

  'Nay, I have been remiss. I thought you had come here tonight to – nay, I cannot speak of it now. All I would wish to say is that I was ashamed of myself when we met in the High Street, and I turned away from you. I confess that I halfbelieved the rumours that were flying about. Then when I came home here I thought of what you did on the road at night, in the coach, of how you saved us all from a cowardly and violent attack, risked your life to save us, and I was doubly ashamed. I knew that you were not and could not be a coward, and that some unhappy circumstance which you had not the power to alter had caused the scandal.'

  'You are very kind.'

  'Captain Rennie, will you excuse me a moment? There is something I must say to my sister. You will not go away?'

  'I will not, if you do not wish is.'

  'I do not wish it.'

  She left him, and he drank his wine. The fire crackled, and he was aware all at once of a tremendous fatigue, as if his whole body was drained of energy. He stifled a yawn. Presently Mrs Townend returned.

  'It is all arranged, dear Captain Rennie. You are to stay here with us – ' Mrs Townend paused, and stared. Captain Rennie was fast asleep in his chair, the nearly empty glass of wine tipped to one side in his hand.

  When Rennie woke he remembered coming upstairs and being left alone with a candle-holder in a plain small bedroom at the rear of the house. He was vexed with himself for having fallen asleep downstairs, and for having been too tired to resist when Mrs Townend and her sister declared him their guest. The maid had guided him to his room, he had lain down on the narrow bed and at once fallen asleep. The candle now guttered in the holder, and he heard the church clock strike – one, two, three, four. At sea, eight bells of the middle watch.

  He sat up and leaned against the wall in the flickering semidarkness. At home in Norfolk he had a clock by his bed that chimed in imitation of a ship's bell – ting-ting, ting-ting. He thought of his house, of the stretching peace there in the wide Norfolk countryside, under the bird-turning sky. Of his maid Jenny busying herself day by day, keeping the house clean and pleasant. He had left money to settle household bills, and so forth, to pay the boy and the man who came in to tend the garden. All would be well at Middingham, until his return. Aye, his return. When would that be? His thoughts turned sourly on his present circumstance.

  'What the devil have I done by coming here to this house? By fleeing the Drawbridge? By defying Greer, the fellow? I cannot stay here, good God. Skulking, hiding, peering from behind the petticoats of respectable women. I must return and face my obligation, my duty. However damned unpleasant it may be, however wretched and discommoding, I must do my duty as undertaken and agreed.'

  He nodded, nodded again, and swung his legs off the bed. A further thought came to him:

  'Supposing that Sir Robert don't want me, any mor
e? What if he has decided that I am of no further use to him in pursuit of Faulk? Would it not be entirely justified in him to think me a weak-willed, impetuous, petulant, reckless bloody fool, that ain't to be regarded at all, nor trusted, in anything? Could he be blamed for making another arrangement altogether?'

  Rennie sat very still on the edge of the bed, and thought everything through with dull, relentless logic. If Sir Robert thought this of him, and had now abandoned him, then he would never get back his career, never be restored as post captain, never again have a commissioned ship under his legs. He would remain in fact – as he had until now been merely in imitation – an outcast, driven from all of ordered, decent, rank-observing life, never to be admitted again.

  'Christ Jesu . . .' Whispered.

  A mist of disadvantage seemed to surround everything in his life, a swirling mist that was thickening into a dense fog of despair. A deep sigh, and: 'This will not do, William Rennie,' he admonished himself. And now the sense of something else began quite abruptly to assert itself – the instinct of selfpreservation, piercing the fog like a bright shaft of light.

  Rennie stood up and strode to the little window, pushed it open and snuffed in a breath of night air, and was restored.

  'I will go home to Norfolk, to Southcroft House, and arrange my affairs. It will not take more than a day or two, and then I shall depart. Aye.'

  He found a ewer and basin on a stand by the window, dashed cold water in his face, and washed out his mouth – as if to cleanse it of all foolish, self-pitying talk.

  'Home to Norfolk, and away – to America. I am not known there, and will introduce myself as Captain Birch, and offer myself to merchant owners, at Boston. Aye, that is the solution, William, my boy. That is how to fight clear of this frightful, lowering, foul-smelling mess ye've allowed y'self to be bullied into. Go to America, and make a new start!'

  'Pipistrel lost?' Admiral Hapgood looked at Lieutenant Hayter with an expression of baffled disapproval. 'She is an Excise cutter, ain't she?'

  'She was, sir, yes.'

  'Then why d'you inform me of her loss? Why do not you inform the Excise Board?'

  'Since she was aiding me, sir, in my duty as a sea officer in the Royal Navy, I thought it best to inform you, the Port Admiral, and – '