Patrick O'Brian - The fortune of war

'You think of everything,' said Herapath, and he hurried off. His enthusiasm, momentarily damped, blazed up again as he reclothed Jack in a choice of different coats, settling for a worn, sad-coloured gabardine. 'But we shall have to have your hair off, my dear sir, before we turn you into a convincing nigger.' Jack's hair was long and yellow, and he wore it clubbed, tied with a black ribbon between his shoulder-blades. 'I shall fetch scissors. And now I come to think of it, walnut-juice would be far better than burnt cork. You would not object to walnut-juice, Captain Aubrey?'

'Never in life,' said Jack. 'Once we have surveyed the field, and once we have fixed upon our plan, you shall dye me from head to foot, and clip my hair off too, if you wish.'

They fell silent, listening for Michael's return: Herapath fiddled with his buck-basket, blunderbuss, and the cordage, fetched one dark lantern and two plain, and a basket of provisions for the hiding-hole; Jack studied the plan. He did not regret his step - it was the only move open to him - but he did regret old Herapath's zeal. He was by no means sure how the old gentleman would behave when the expedition turned from something like play to earnest, perhaps very bloody earnest; and he much regretted the earliness of the hour. For such an operation the later the time and the fewer people about the better; and keeping Herapath easy was going to be a task. Nor did he see the necessity for Negroes. The natural carriers were the hotel's men.

'Here he is,' said Herapath, and a moment later his son walked in. 'Is all well, Michael?' he asked.

'Yes, sir. Joe is on his way to Salem in Gooch's cart. And the coach is ready in the yard. I have sent Abednigo to bed.'

'Good boy. Now let us load these things aboard: they can all go into the buck-basket. Take care of the blunderbuss. Make haste, make haste. Now, sir, this way, if you please.'

'First,' said Jack deliberately, 'I will ask you to drive me to the barque. It is a cardinal rule of tactics, to ensure one's line of retreat.' His tone was so convinced, so authoritative, that Mr Herapath made no objection, although he did look a little discontented.

He climbed on to the box; they rolled out of the stable yard; and at once it became apparent to Jack that Mr Herapath was no great coachman. They gave the rounded stone at the corner into the street a long grinding scrape; and the driver's excitement communicating itself to the horses, the coach soon began to bound and rattle over the indifferent paving at such a pace, in spite of the fog, that those inside had to cling on, while Mr Herapath kept up a steady 'Hey now, Roger. Easy, Bess. Easy, Rob. Hey there!'

They very nearly crushed two drunken soldiers, and they drove one gig fairly on to the sidewalk, but happily there was little other traffic in the streets, and the horses sobered as they neared the harbour. Herapath drove to his usual tavern - or rather the horses took him there -and they walked along the quays to the Arcturus, carrying a lantern and the basket of provisions.

'Now, sir,' said Mr Herapath, leading them below, 'I shall show you something that I reckon will surprise you.

Below, with the smell of tar and cordage and bilgewater, aft to the bread-room and there they stood: the space, now empty, was entirely lined with sheet-metal, tinned, against the rats, and it still smelt of biscuit. Mr Herapath pressed the wooden slats that held these sheets, jerked them, and sounded the panels, all of which gave the same hollow boom. 'Where is it?' he muttered. 'Damn my eyes, I could have sworn... seen it a hundred times.'

'I believe it is this one, sir,' said his son, causing a slat to pivot. The metal sheet opened upwards on a hinge, showing a space where four or five hands could lie hidden while the ship was being searched.

'There! Look at that,' cried Mr Herapath. 'I said I should amaze you.'

Both father and son were so pleased that Jack had not the heart to say he had seen the device half a dozen times at least when, as a midshipman or lieutenant, he had been sent aboard merchantmen to press what men he could. But his sinking spirits rose a little when he reflected that it would baffle landlubbers, and that although officers of the Royal Navy might find it easily enough, those of the American navy had no practice in this sort of detection, since they never pressed men at any time, their crews being made up of picked volunteers. Yet on the other hand, many and many an American seaman had been hidden from impressment, either in barrels in the hold, or in places of this kind;, and many an American officer had commanded merchantmen.

Mr Herapath showed him the catch inside that released the flap, stowed away the basket, and gave him the spare set of keys. 'Now, sir,' he said, looking at his watch by the light of the lantern. 'Now for our reconnaissance. It is growing late.'

It had grown later still by the time the coach reached the hotel. The first scrape on their setting out had injured the off-side trace, and it parted altogether when Mr Herapath involved the horses with a stationary hand-barrow on the way up from the harbour.

The rope they had with them answered well enough, but it was a long, slow task: the ordinary lanterns took to going out, and they had to be relit inside the coach, while the dark lantern shed but a feeble gleam, and the restive horses gave trouble from the beginning to the very end. The accident happened on the corner of Washington Street, and although most of Boston was in bed, at one time a small knot of people gathered to give advice, and two of them addressed Mr Herapath by name.

In the first stages of the repair he was talkative, full of suggestions, eager to be done and off; by the time Jack had whipped and served the trace, with a stout preventer from the swingle aft, he had grown much quieter, though there was a tendency to find fault and take offence; and when at last they drove towards the hotel he was almost mute.

Jack knew the symptoms well: he had seen them often enough during the long pull towards a hostile shore, before the batteries opened fire. Young Herapath, on the other hand, was calm, steady, apparently unmoved: he bore his father's reproaches with admirable patience.

It was late; too late for any blackguard boys to hold the horses' heads. So late that there was little sign of life in the hotel, apart from singing in the bar: Marlbrouk s'en va-t-en guerre, mironton mironton mirontaine and lights in the hall.

Jack lowered the glass and stared intently at the fa�e. A north-west breeze had sprung up while they were mending the trace and although the fog was still quite thick, between the drifting swathes he saw the lines of balcony across the front of the hotel. The coach came to a stop, not quite outside the door, but a little lower down the street. Jack stepped out, and said to Michael Herapath, 'You go in. See how the land lies, tell them we are here, and report back. You are all right, Herapath, are you not?'

'Yes, sir,' said young Herapath.

He went back along the sidewalk and into the hotel; and as the door opened light came out into the wispy fog and the singing grew louder: Marlbrouk ne revient plus.

Jack walked along by the horses - the off-side leader was particularly restless and troublesome: the whole team seemed apprehensive and nervous and a cat crossing the

street with a kitten in her mouth set them all capering - and from there he studied the hotel. His eye at once caught the workmen's pulley and its dangling rope: great possibilities there. Two men walked by and he busied himself with the trace as they glanced at the coach: Mr Herapath plucked his coat collar round his face and pulled his hat still further down. A third, walking briskly, muttering to himself. Mr Evans of the Constitution and a colleague, deep in conversation. One black woman with a large flat covered basket on her head.