The Hawk Read online

  'It will be a novel experience for me, in so confined a space. I have become so accustomed these past months to assisting Dr Stroud upon the wide wards of the Haslar again, that any sort of ship will seem confining, and a cutter in particular like being afloat in a seaborne wooden cupboard, or similar receptacle.'

  His careful diction, the studied language of the auto-didact – he had begun his medical career as a hospital porter – was not displeasing to James's ear because it was tempered with a dry wit and the wisdom of a man who had seen the worst and harshest of life, and overcome it. The lieutenant and the diminutive doctor were firm friends.

  'A wooden receptacle, hey. I hope not a coffin, Thomas.'

  'Certainly not that, if I do my work efficient. I will not like to kill seamen, James, only cure their costiveness, and lance their carbuncles.' With a smile. 'What is our intended voyage?'

  'Ah. There you have me. Perhaps attached to the fleet, perhaps not. I do not know for certain.'

  'Do not know?' In surprise.

  And now as evening approached, and the glow of the sun sank into the sea beyond the Needles to the west, Lieutenant Hayter brought his cutter back from the Channel to Spithead. The Master Attendant had long since deprived Hawk of her numbered place off the Hard, and now she made her signals and dropped anchor on her designated bearing far out. The ships of the Channel Fleet lay tethered on their hawses all around, the flag Vanquish half a league distant.

  'Mr Holmes.'

  'Sir?' The senior midshipman attended him.

  'We will hoist in our boat, if y'please.'

  'You do not go ashore, sir?'

  'Not tonight.'

  'Very good, sir. – Mr Dench! Boatswain, there! We will hoist in the towing boat!'

  And as the tackles were deployed, James wondered whether it would not be profitable for him to go ashore again.

  He had seen his vessel provisioned, her guns, powder and other stores taken in, had seen her trimmed, and in every way got ready for the sea, and had then waited in vain for the arrival of Captain Marles, or his representative, and for his sailing instructions. A few days ago he had sought an interview with the Port Admiral, Admiral Hapgood.

  'Don't know anything about you,' Admiral Hapgood had told him. 'You are attached to the Channel Fleet, are y'not?' Contradicting himself. Standing very tall at the window in frock coat.

  'So I was given to understand, sir, but I – '

  'Given to understand! By whom? What officer, where, and when, gave you such "understanding", hey?' Moving back to his desk, bending over to find a document, his black beetling brow like a threat hanging over the room.

  'Well, sir, Captain Marles said so, at the Admiralty, and that – '

  'You have come to me before this, have y'not?' Finding the document now, glancing at it.

  'Yes, sir, when I first came to take command of the Hawk cutter, some few weeks since, and – '

  'What did I say to you, then?'

  'That you knew nothing about me, sir.' Lamely.

  'Yes, yes, I did say so. Because I did not, and do not. Don't know Captain Marles, neither. Is his name on the Navy List? I have not seen it, if it is. Yes, what now?' To a clerk at the door.

  'The ladies visiting the Hanover seventy-four, that has just come ashore in the launch, sir . . .'

  'Yes? Well?'

  'Yes, sir. They had wished to visit you, sir, upon their return – if you recall . . . ?'

  'Good God, yes, you are right. I did ask them to join me for sherry wine, when they returned. Give me five minutes, Pell, to sluice my face and shift into my dress coat.'

  'Yes, sir. – Where shall they wait?'

  'Downstairs, Pell, downstairs. I will join them there presently.' The clerk disappeared, and Admiral Hapgood walked into his closet. James was left standing, unsure what he should do. A minute after, as the admiral busied himself in the closet, James quietly left the office, trod quietly down the stairs, glimpsed a room full of pretty women, and quietly let himself out into the daylight, and the saline breeze.

  He had subsequently requested an interview with Admiral Hollister, as one of the admiral's commanders, albeit a very junior one. The admiral had granted this request, and had seen him in his quarters aboard Vanquish.

  'How is Captain Rennie?' Stooping, emerging from his quarter gallery, as James stood quietly waiting, hat under arm.

  'I think he is quite well, sir.'

  'Not pining, nor wasting away, on the beach?' Going to his desk, lifting the lid of a silver box and taking a very small pinch of snuff.

  'I do not think that is in his character, sir.'

  'Nay, nor do I.' He sat down, having cleared his nose into his handkerchief with a short sharp blast.

  James glanced beneath the lashed-up bulkheads at the splendid hanging silks of the admiral's sleeping cabin to starboard, and at the black-leaded stove, the shelves of books, &c.; at the racks of swords, shelves of silver, and the long gleaming splendour of the dining table beyond – until his attention was recalled.

  'But y'did not come to me to talk about Captain Rennie, I think, Mr Hayter.'

  'No, indeed, sir. I – I wished to discover my duties.'

  'What? Your duties? Your duties, sir, are to hold yourself available, watch by watch, until you are needed. Until you are required. That is every captain's obligation and duty, in the fleet.'

  'Yes, sir, thank you.'

  'To keep your ship clean, and disciplined, and ready for the sea.'

  'Yes, sir. I wonder if you were informed, sir, by Captain Marles at the Admiralty – '

  'Apley Marles?'

  'Indeed, sir. Captain Apley Marles. He – '

  'Lost a leg at Chesapeake, did not he?'

  'That is so, sir, I believe. Certainly he has a wooden leg. He had given me to understand – '

  'You saw Captain Marles, at the Admiralty?' Puzzled. 'Why?'

  'Sir, he gave me to understand that he would come to Portsmouth, and himself give me my instructions, but he – '

  'What instructions, pray?' A hard blue stare.

  'I do not know, sir, exact. I have asked Admiral Hapgood, and he could not tell me, neither.'

  'Happy Hapgood? What has he to do with your attachment to me, pray? Ain't a happy sinew in him, by the by. Only don't allow I said so. What has Captain Marles to do with your attachment here? I do not understand you, Mr Hayter.'

  Not yet quite severe.

  'Sir, if you please, I was told that I was to be attached to you official, but – not in fact.'

  'Was you? By the Admiralty? That is a singular curiosity at such a time as this, when we have assembled because of the emergency in North America. – Not in fact?' A little jerk of the head.

  'In course – I had thought the same thing, sir,' James nodded in hasty agreement, but the truth was that he had been so caught up in his own dealings of late that he had taken little notice of the crisis – the reason behind the assembling of the fleet of forty ships at Spithead: the capture by Spain of British fur-trading posts on the north-west coast of America, and her claim on the coast entire. He had not thought of himself as caught up in the crisis at all, until this moment.

  Admiral Hollister frowned at the young sea officer. 'I will not like to think that my officers was not paying their fullest attention to their obligation, Mr Hayter. All officers attached to me.'

  'I – I am very grateful to you, sir, for allowing me to come.' A formal bow.

  'You are the Hawk cutter, are y'not?' Again the blue stare.

  'I am, sir.' His back straight.

  'Yes – you came to her in my barge some little time since, I think?'

  'I did, sir.'

  'Pretty little ship, your Hawk. How does she handle? Fast by the wind? Sturdy sea boat, is she?'

  'Well, sir, I have not – that is, I have waited day by day, since we provisioned and took in our guns and powder, and – '

  'You have not weighed and took her out, even for half a day?' Growing severe.

 
'I have not, sir – since I was without instruction as to my specific duty.' Shamefaced.

  'Then, by God, ye'd better discover how your cutter behaves, do not y'think so, Mr Hayter? You must take her out into the open sea, work her, put her about, exercise your great guns, and so forth. How may you become – you and your people – a capable addition to the fleet, else?'

  'I have your permission then, sir?'

  'My permission? You have my direct order to weigh and make sail, Mr Hayter, without the loss of a moment. Do not stray far, however. The fleet may be given its sailing instructions at any hour.'

  'Thank you, sir. Will the French fleet support the Spanish in this, d'y'think?' Attempting to lift himself in the admiral's opinion.

  'I do not know the French need give us pause in anything, at present. Their nation is in – disarray.'

  'Their fleet is still considerable in size and strength, ain't it, sir?'

  And then the admiral had made clear that the young sea officer had imposed long enough on his time, and his patience. 'I am not a political man, Mr Hayter. I do as I am told by Their Lordships, in the King's name. My concern as a commander is the Spanish fleet, not the French. You will oblige me by working up your cutter and your people, in a short exercise at sea, and then you will return to your mooring. Good morning.'

  'Very good, sir.' Very correct, and a swift departure, with his chief question left unanswered: in Christ's name, to whom did he really belong – to the fleet, or to Captain Marles?

  The answer did come, on the day following that brief exercise at sea.

  By design James went ashore, not to enquire yet again at the Port Admiral's office as to the whereabouts of Captain Marles, but to discover what had become of the steward he had put on his books. This man he had recruited at the Cockpit Tavern, requiring him to bring himself and his dunnage to Hawk, but no one had come; the steward had disappeared. James wished to find him, and to send a letter to his wife Catherine, and to receive hers, care of the Marine Hotel. He wished also to visit his tailor, Bracewell & Hyde, from whom he had bespoke a new coat, waistcoat, breeches, and a dozen shirts. He could not afford them, but Portsmouth tailors were accustomed to wait for their payment, since many sea officers were long away from England. He was emerging from the Marine Hotel with two letters from Catherine in his pocket, and about to make his way to his tailor, when from across the street:

  'Hayter!'

  James turned in the direction of the voice, but saw no one he knew in the jostling crowds – with the fleet assembling Portsmouth was crammed with urgent humanity – and after a moment he went on his way, but again the voice, louder this time:

  'You there, Mr Hayter!'

  This was an unmistakably naval summons, and again James paused and turned. A figure stumped towards him, apparently indifferent to the clopping, wheel-rumbling traffic, was twice nearly struck, then gained the safety of the pavement. Captain Marles, and his peg.

  'Hhh! Portsmouth ain't London – it is ten times as dangerous!' A little out of breath, brushing dusty chaff from his coat. 'Those damned draymen have no regard for safety!'

  'It is the great volume of vehicles, and the comparative narrowness of the High, sir, that make it seem so.' James, his hat off and on. 'Do you wish me to come to the Port Admiral's office?'

  'Nay, I do not.' Taking his arm. 'Let us go to the coffee house.'

  They walked to the coffee house on the corner, and went in. The gloom of the interior, after the din and glare of the street, was a relief. In here there was not perfect quiet, but the murmur of voices, and the subdued clattering and clinking of crockery, combined with pleasant aromas, were welcoming. The gloom became temperate low light, restful to the eye. At tables round the walls, and at the end, merchants, clerks, a scattering of sea officers, some reading newspapers. The captain and the lieutenant were shown to a table in a corner, and ordered chocolate. Captain Marles at once became confidential, leaning forward.

  'I have something to give to you. You must keep it with you, and show it to no one.' He gave James a sealed packet. James looked at the seal and saw to his surprise that it was not an Admiralty impress. A coronet, and initials.

  'Am I to break the seal and open the packet, sir?'

  'When our chocolate has come – then y'may open it.'

  They waited until the pot of chocolate had been brought to the table, and the girl had laid out their cups. When she had gone:

  'Very well, Mr Hayter.' Pushing the chocolate pot aside.

  'Y'may break the seal, and open the packet.' Nodding. 'Go ahead.'

  James laid the packet on the table, his back to the room, and broke the seal. In the packet were two documents, one a letter. James opened out the letter and at once saw a signature:

  Chatham

  and a smaller version of the seal, done with a ring.

  'The Earl of Chatham?' James stared at the signature. 'The First Lord?' And looked at Captain Marles in astonishment.

  'Read it, read it.' Nodding again.

  And James read:

  To: Lieutenant James Hayter RN

  Commanding HM Hawk cutter –

  to be given into his hand at Portsmouth

  Sir,

  According to the detailed Instructions that shall be given to you together with this Letter, by Captain Apley Marles RN, you will use your best endeavours to take the privately owned cutter Lark, that frequents the English Channel for the purpose of landing Contraband goods, & having took that Vessel bring her without the loss of a moment to Portsmouth, or failing that place to Weymouth, or Plymouth, should either of those Ports prove more convenient & necessary to your purpose of capture.

  The master of said cutter, believed to be one Sedley Ward, shall be arrested at all cost, and all other persons aboard with him, and brought into your ship; he shall then be brought ashore under close escort. His capture is as vital to your purpose as the taking of his ship.

  On no account, therefore, is Lark to be sunk, burnt or destroyed, nor Captain Ward killed. They must be took.

  5th June 1790

  Chatham

  James now slipped from the packet the second document, unfolded it, and read his detailed instructions. These included lists of dates and times when Lark would likely appear, based on observations made over several months by masters of three separate cutters in the service of the Board of Excise, none of whom had been able to match Lark in speed and handling. Also included was an accurate description of Lark, drawings, sail plan, and probable armament. There was a list of ports in France where Lark would take in her contraband goods, and a list of places along the southern coast of England where she was thought to have made landfall. James read through everything, noting the admonition 'Hereof nor you, nor any of you, may fail, as you will answer the contrary at your peril'. And at last looked up from the documents, into Captain Marles's steady gaze. 'You are lucky in that letter, Mr Hayter.'

  'Lucky, sir? Yes, indeed, if you mean – '

  'I mean that the First Lord is notorious apt to forget to sign his letters, nor any of his official utterances. We are often in despair at the Admiralty. You have been favoured.' A halfsmile.

  'May I ask a question, sir?'

  'In course you may.' Pouring chocolate, now quite cold.

  'How am I to detach myself from the Channel Fleet, sir, now assembled?'

  'You will not.' A slight, dismissive gesture.

  'Ah.' James sipped cold chocolate, made a face and set the cup down. He wiped his lips. 'May I ask: if the fleet is ordered to sea against Spain, and my duties – that I am eager to pursue, very eager, as you may imagine – if my duties hold me here in England, what then?'

  'The thing will be managed, Mr Hayter.' The half-smile. 'This chocolate is abominable.' He held up his hand, and the girl returned. 'We will like a fresh pot of chocolate. Hot, if y'please.' He gave the girl a coin. She bobbed, took away the offending pot, and Captain Marles:

  'Aye, it will be so arranged that your vessel will not take station,
that is all.'

  'Ah. – D'y'mean that I am to weigh and make sail, if so ordered, but not put to sea? With respect, sir, each ship must make her signals to the flag, and – '

  'Yes, yes,' interrupting, 'do not trouble yourself, Mr Hayter. These are little things, minor details. You are attached to the fleet official, but by the documents lying at your elbow you are released.'

  'Thank you, I do see that, sir. However, Admiral Hollister has told me – '

  'Admiral Hollister? He spoke to you?'

  'Well, yes. I – I went aboard his flag.' James lifted his head.

  'What caused you to do that, pray, without instruction?' The half-smile now wholly absent.

  'It was at his invitation.' Quickly.

  'Hm. Why did he so invite you, I wonder? What prompted him?'

  'Sir, again with respect, I do not think you quite understand my difficulty. By Admiral Hollister's spoken opinion to me, I am attached to him. On his orders I have already put to sea to exercise my great guns. I am presently at a mooring at Spithead in plain view of his flag, and my cutter is absolutely at his disposal. Can you not see, it is to him that I must look, because his authority overrides and overrules these documents – to all practical purpose?'

  'Nonsense.' Curtly. 'Those documents bear the signature and seal of the First Lord. Do not you suppose that – '

  'Forgive me, but that is not an Admiralty seal, is it?'

  'What? It is the Earl of Chatham's seal, and he is the First Lord. D'you doubt his authority, sir?'

  'No, sir.' James was uncomfortable.

  'Do you?'

  'In course I do not, sir.'

  'Very well. Admiral Hollister, in commanding the Channel Fleet, does not, however, command the Royal Navy entire, does he? Their Lordships have that honour. The First Lord. Hey?'

  'I am in no doubt of that, sir.'

  'Well, then?' Captain Marles sat back in his chair impatiently. The fresh chocolate arrived, and there was a brief lull in the conversation while the girl set the pot on the table and replaced their cups. When she had gone, James tried again: