The Hawk by Peter Smalley

Author:Peter Smalley [Smalley, Peter]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: C429, Extratorrents, Kat
ISBN: 9781407004785
Publisher: Random House
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

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

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