The Hawk Read online

  He came to the house, which stood back from the road behind a red-brick wall and a tall iron gate with arms embossed on an iron shield above. The house was of red brick, with a steep gabled roof and two mansard windows set in the tiles. A central chimney boasted five narrow pots. There were six windows on the upper storey, and five below, and a door with a stone architrave. The rear bay of the house lay in the shadows of spreading elms. The drive curved gracefully away from the gate round a central lawn planted with low bushy shrubs and trees. It was a handsome, solidbuilt old house, grave in its demeanour, composed and dignified in its setting. Had not he been coming here under such difficulty Rennie would have admired the house unreservedly. As things were he felt there was an ominous atmosphere, a gloomy air about the place, hanging in the earthy smell of leaves and shrubs, and he could not like it. In spite of his determination to be forthright and straight- backed, his heart shrivelled within his breast, and his guts were chilled. He stepped through the gate and along the drive, his shoes crunching the gravel. Went up the single stone step to the door, and knocked.

  Presently he was shown into the library, a wide blue room, and left alone. He did not sit down, but paced the room, his hat under his arm. Tall shelves housed hundreds of goldimpressed, leather-bound books. The quiet of the room was made almost sombre by the slow, subdued tick of a longcase clock at the far end. A side window there was tinged green by shrubbery pushing against the glass, as if to break through it. Another window, on the opposite side, overlooked an inner paved court. The day was sunny and mild, but in here the air was chill, and Rennie wished that a fire had been lit. He paced the room, and paused in front of a whole-length portrait of a full-figured, imposing man in the clothes of half a century ago – wide-cut, wide-sleeved plum coat, long, elaborately decorated, green silk waistcoat, white silk stock with jewelled pin, shoulder-touching wig – and with the steady gaze of one entirely aware of his position in the world, and the fullness of his purse. Away down the room the clock whirred, and struck eleven. As the chimes died:

  'Captain Rennie, you are punctual.'

  Startled, Rennie turned. He had not heard Sir Robert come into the room. The fellow had a way of appearing abruptly in a place as if by some sinister magic.

  'Good morning, Sir Robert.'

  'Not only punctual, neither – but dressed in your finery.'

  'I would not call it finery.' Stiffly.

  'Would not you? Then what, I wonder.' Sir Robert was dressed as always in severe black and white.

  'It is a dress coat, Sir Robert, the correct coat for an officer of my rank.'

  'Your rank, yes. Then I must not call it finery, I expect.

  That would be to make little of a great institution, a noble service.'

  Rennie said nothing to that. He wished Sir Robert to come to the point of their meeting, so that he could respond. And now he noticed one small addition to Sir Robert's severe attire. On the little finger of his left hand he wore today a silver ring with a distinctive red stone.

  'You had thought, I am in no doubt, that this morning I meant to iterate my accusation of treason against your name. Yes?'

  'Just so, Sir Robert, I had.' Again stiffly.

  'Following on our brief conversation of yesterday, you had thought it. Yes?'

  Rennie waited, his back straight, his hat under his arm, very correct. Let the fellow do his worst.

  'Yes?' Sir Robert regarded him with his black stare.

  'I am at your disposal, sir.'

  'Indeed. Indeed you are.'

  Rennie bit his tongue and resolved that he would not suffer this a minute more. If Sir Robert did not come to his point then he would bow, put on his hat and stride from the room, no matter the consequence. He would not bear any more of this damned nonsense.

  'However – you are wrong in your assumption.'

  'Wrong, Sir Robert? I do not understand you.'

  'I have decided to allow the matter of treason to recede in my mind. To fade, so to say, into the shadows at the back of my attention. Aye. There it shall rest – for the moment.'

  'I do not – '

  'On one condition.' The deep, vibrant voice not raised. Only a finger raised, in emphasis. 'One condition, Captain Rennie.'

  'What is it?'

  'It is very simple. Just tell me where it is.'

  'Where – it is?'

  'Now then, Captain Rennie. Pray do not mimic ignorance. Pray do not pretend lack of acuity. You know what I mean very well. You and Lieutenant Hayter between you have concealed it somewhere safe. Where is it?'

  'If you mean the great treasure lost at sea by Rashid Bey of Rabhet, then I fear I must disappoint you. It is – lost.'

  'You persist in this deception?'

  'There is no deception, Sir Robert. The great riches of Rabhet were lost when Rashid Bey set sail from that place in a slow, sagging-off xebec, and was attacked by corsairs. A storm blew up, and the corsairs escaped.'

  'I see, very well, you do persist. That is very foolish in you.'

  Shaking his head.

  'The fact that he was enjoined to bring his treasure to England, enjoined by you, Sir Robert, led directly to its loss. Perhaps you will like to consider that.'

  'Be silent, sir. If you cannot tell the truth it will be better that you do not say anything.'

  Rennie had stood all he could, or would. He sniffed in a furious breath, and jammed on his hat.

  'If you will not listen to the truth, Sir Robert, I see no profit in this interview – for neither party. Good morning.' He made to leave, but Sir Robert stood in his path.

  'You refuse absolutely to tell me where you and Hayter have hid the gold?'

  'Christ's blood, will y'not comprehend! It ain't hid, it is lost! Lost irretrievable and for ever!'

  'Very well, then I must revive the charge of treason. I shall place you under arrest, and you will be confined.'

  'Is there a detachment of marines on duty in this house, Sir Robert?'

  'There are no marines here.'

  'Or soldiers, perhaps? No? Then how d'ye propose to arrest me, hey? Stand aside now, will you?'

  'You threaten me with violence, Rennie?'

  'On the contrary, you have threatened me. A man that offers threats of molestation and violence to a serving officer had damned well better be prepared to follow such threats with action – else be bested. Stand aside!' And he put his hand on the hilt of his sword.

  'You are a very great fool, Rennie, if you think I will allow myself to be bested by you. In the long run you will hang for what you have done today.' The voice still calm, but the black eyes glinting with menace.

  'I have done nothing, except defend my honour!' He pushed past Sir Robert to the door of the library, and a moment after banged outside and strode vigorously away from the house towards the gate, his buckled shoes kicking up little sprays of gravel. His demeanour, as he walked through the gate and down into Borrow Walk, was defiant, and vigorous, and angry – but the inner man was hollow with dread.

  'In Christ's name, what have I done?' Muttered to himself. 'Good morning to you!' To the innkeeper as he passed the Plough, and a confident wave. By the time he had come to the path across the fields to his house he was shivering, as if the air was frozen around him, as if the high, bird-flecked Anglian sky above was dark with foreboding.

  Months ago, many months, on their return from a commission at Rabhet in HM Expedient frigate, Sir Robert had briefly effected Rennie's arrest and confinement on a charge of treasonable conduct, arising from the failure of that commission, and the loss of great treasure belonging to the regent of Rabhet, Rashid Bey, at sea. On advice from the Admiralty, Sir Robert had been obliged to release Rennie. Their Lordships, having studied Rennie's journals, logs and other documents, had found no fault with anything Rennie had done. Lieutenant Bradshaw, commander of the cutter Curlew, had been lost with his vessel that same commission, and thus could not be held to account at a court martial. Their Lordships, in possession of all the facts,
were minded to see Captain Rennie walk free. He was a senior post captain in good standing, a brave sea officer who had done his best against overwhelming odds – one frigate against fleets of corsair ships – and had brought his ship safe home to England. He and Lieutenant Hayter both. There was nothing against either of their names.

  The mission – to secure Rabhet as a Mediterranean base for the Royal Navy, as an aid to the protection of trade with the Levant in the event of future conflict – Their Lordships had always thought was a supremely optimistic undertaking, underpinned by political intrigue, and fraught with local difficulty. Rabhet, far from Gibraltar, on the eastern coast of Tunisia, could never adequately be supported. Their Lordships had not been at all surprised that the commission had failed; they had declined to provide more than two ships in what had at first been declared to be a simple convoy duty. And so Sir Robert had been obliged to accede to their wish for Rennie's release – but he had not forgotten. Nor had he ever accepted the loss of the treasure, which he believed to have been brought to England in Expedient, and concealed.

  'And now,' muttered Rennie to himself, 'he will have his revenge.' He was guilty of nothing in the eyes of the Admiralty, and indeed their political masters in Parliament. Sir Robert had been a lone voice in this, and it was he who had failed – he and his people in the Secret Service Fund. Honourable and brave sea officers could not be blamed, when they had fought several fierce sea actions, been severely mauled, &c. They could not and would not be blamed. All this went through Rennie's head as he traversed the wide field, but none of it reassured him. Sir Robert was a man of great power and influence – behind. Rennie knew that he intrigued at the deepest levels of administration; it was rumoured that he had the ear of the King. Their Lordships at the Admiralty did not absolutely have to obey him, in course, but neither could they ignore him when he came to them with particular requests. All of Rennie's three commissions in Expedient had been given to him through Sir Robert's influence. To have defied Sir Robert at Middingham, indeed to have threatened him with violence, was surely:

  'The greatest folly of my career . . .' Aloud, as he came in sight of his drive. 'Fatal folly, William Rennie, y'damned wretched blockhead.'

  Lieutenant Hayter accepted his commission at the Admiralty, where he was interviewed not by the First, Second, or Third Secretary, nor by any of the Lords Commissioners, but by Captain Apley Marles. Captain Marles was a grey-haired, middle-aged officer who had lost the lower part of his left leg at Chesapeake, had once held a seat in Parliament, and was now employed by Their Lordships in a capacity James did not wholly understand.

  'I have sometime given advice at the Admiralty Court, you know, but in usual I am myself advised, which advice – so to say – I then communicate.' Standing at the table in a small side downstair office, a single high window behind him, admitting shadowy light.

  'I see.' James, politely. He did not see.

  'You will be attached official to Admiral Hollister and the Channel Fleet.'

  'I have met the admiral.'

  'Before you had got your wrote-out commission? Before you came here?' Surprised.

  'It was merely in passing, sir.' Disconcerted. 'Probably he will not remember me.'

  'In passing – ah. Well, you will be attached to him, but you will be just another cutter, among many such small vessels – schooners, brigs, sloops, and the like. In little, you will not be much noticed, neither as an attached cutter, nor as an absent one.'

  'Absent, sir?'

  'Aye. You will not be much with the fleet. Not at all, in fact.'

  'Then – who must I obey . . . ?'

  'You will be given your sailing instructions at Portsmouth.'

  'I see. – May I ask, what will be my duties?'

  'We will meet again, Mr Hayter, at Portsmouth. Ye'll be given your sailing instructions, and my own particular advice, at a future date. Soon.'

  'Thank you, sir. – Erm, may I ask . . . ?'

  'Yes?' Leaning on his blackthorn stick, his weight on his good leg, easing the pressure on the shortened limb and peg.

  'May I ask . . . why have I been so favoured?'

  'Favoured, Lieutenant?' Grey eyes, a deeply lined face. Were those lines a result of the pain of his injury, or merely of ageing? James could not guess.

  'You may probably have heard, sir, that I have been accused – myself and Captain Rennie, that was my commanding officer our last three commissions – that we have been accused of – '

  'Of treason?' Interrupting, and nodding. 'Accused by Sir Robert Greer? Yes, yes, that intelligence has reached me, in course. You was both exonerated.'

  'Indeed, sir. However, I never thought that Sir Robert would desist. Nor had I thought that the matter would be quite so readily forgot by Their Lordships, neither – '

  'It ain't forgot, Mr Hayter.'

  'Oh.'

  'May I tell you something?' Quietly. 'Sit down, will you, a moment?'

  James did sit down.

  'Sir Charles is a man not without influence, in certain quarters.'

  'My father . . . ?'

  'Aye, your father. That influence has been sufficient to thwart any further attempt by Sir Robert to – to hamper you.'

  'D'y'mean that my father has got me this commission? But he knew nothing of my debts . . .' And now he broke off, not wishing to pursue the vexed question of coal tar paint, and the supposed compensatory reward to him of this commission by Their Lordships.

  'Sir Robert was indeed minded to resume and continue his pursuit of you, but – this must be entirely in confidence, you apprehend me? Your father did not wish you to know of it.'

  'Oh. Ah.'

  'He was able to deflect Sir Robert's intentions successfully, in your case.' James half-expected him, now, to introduce the matter of the paint, and his debts – but he did not. 'Aye, in your case, your father's influence was more than sufficient, and the thing is now settled.'

  'When you say "in my case", sir – do you mean: not in Captain Rennie's case?'

  'My dealings, you know, are not with Captain Rennie. They are with you, Mr Hayter. I am able to tell you only what bears direct on your new commission.'

  'Very good, sir. However, Captain Rennie – '

  'Captain Rennie must proceed upon his own course.' Over him, firmly. 'He ain't attached to anything of this. Hm?'

  'I do see that, sir. However, I am concerned for his welfare, as you may imagine.' He did not say, I am greatly in his debt.

  'As are Their Lordships, and the navy. That is why halfpay is accorded to all sea officers on the beach. Captain Rennie, I believe, lives quite comfortable at Norfolk.'

  'He does, sir.'

  'Exactly so. Your own duties require your full attention at Portsmouth. Hawk must be manned, and provisioned, and her guns and stores took in. I should not delay a single moment, Mr Hayter, if I was you. You have your papers safe folded in your coat?'

  'Aye, sir.' Rising.

  'Good luck to you, Lieutenant.' Captain Marles shook his hand. 'Godspeed!'

  'Starboard your helm!'

  Hawk heeled to larboard, the wind on her quarter filling her great fore and aft mainsail so that it bellied taut. The sea swirled, rode hissing along her wales, and boiled aft. Shrouds creaked, halyards, blocks, as she came to her new heading, and:

  'Hold her so!' The helmsman on the tiller eased his weight against the long curve, and balanced himself, his feet firm on the decking.

  'Starboard battery . . . fire!'

  BOOM BOOM BOOM-BOOM BOOM

  Five eighteen-pounder carronades belched flame and smoke, and the timbers shuddered. Smoke and powder grit fumed along the deck. Away to starboard explosions of spray as roundshot struck into the swell, missing the floating target of casks bound together on a makeshift raft. Smoke drifted and sank shadowy over the sea as Hawk rushed on.

  'Reload your guns! Stand by to go about!'

  The deep-hulled, surging little vessel came about and beat into the wind on the port tack, as the guncr
ews went through the ritual of sponging, loading cartridge, roundshot and wad, ramming, adjusting the elevation, and running out. Hawk ran cleanly towards the floating target until it was again within range, then James bellowed:

  'Put your helm down! Handsomely now!' and brought his charge through the wind on to the starboard tack once more, and:

  'Stand by your guns! – Starboard battery . . . fire!'

  The repeated blasting of flame, the rushing balloons of smoke and grit and fragments of flaming wad, and this time the roped casks shattered into splinters, an iron hoop spun looping high, and when the spray settled the raft itself had entirely disappeared.

  'Well done, lads! Our smashers have done their work! – Reload!'

  Lieutenant Hayter had insisted at the gun wharf on being supplied with the latest carronades, fitted with loops and bolts instead of trunnions, and mounted on a slide carriage. Because the recoil of these squat guns was relatively short, and they weighed one quarter of the equivalent long gun, they could be fought with very small crews – three men, as opposed to eight or ten men for the longer weapon. His official complement was forty-two souls, but he had added an extra man to his muster book, taking his own steward, instead of relying on one of the boys to serve him; thus Hawk had a complement of forty-three. His two midshipmen were Mr Richard Abey, a capable Norfolk boy of fifteen years, with whom he had already sailed two commissions in HM Expedient frigate, and Mr Wentworth Holmes, of Devonshire, a youth of seventeen, who would act as secondin- command. His gunner, carpenter, boatswain and steward purser had all been assigned to him, as had his sailing master – warranted second. He had been able to fill his lower deck with good seamen, rated able and ordinary, by interviewing men at the Cockpit Tavern, and had also acquired eleven landmen idlers and boys – included among the idlers was his sailmaker, vital in a cutter, with such a vast spread of canvas. He had his quartermaster and mate, and one final and very important man of his choice. He had been able to obtain as his surgeon Dr Thomas Wing, again a most valued shipmate from Expedient. In the scheme of things Dr Wing was entitled to expect a place in another frigate, if not indeed a ship of the line. He had earned such a place. However, he knew that because of his stature – he stood no taller than a boy – he would not likely be so favoured, and had chosen to join Lieutenant Hayter in his cutter, when asked.