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Wilder Perkins: Hoare and the headless Captains

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Wilder Perkins Hoare and the headless Captains

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He left the barn, stood up, and walked out onto the road where his party could see him against the horizon, and gave them a beckoning signal. In no time, they surrounded him and trooped with him into the barn, where Leese struck a light.

"Take over, Sergeant," Hoare whispered.

"Aye aye, sir."

While Leese called the roll, Hoare looked about him in a more leisurely manner. The moldy hay was there for certain, in quantity. It lay loose in old stalls and in windrows along the walls. He let loose his stifled sneeze. By the flickering light of Leese's dark lantern, the barn seemed as huge as some Gothic cathedral and just as cold.

"Yer all 'ere, I'm pleased to see," Leese said as he drew Dunaway's chart from beneath his forest-green jacket. "I 'opes I'll see ye the same when we're back aboard.

"Now draw round me. You've seen thisyer map of the Captain's before, so I'll 'ave each of ye show me where yer supposed to lie up when ye make the Stones Circle. You first, Adams."

One after another, the members of the party stepped up and pointed out their respective hiding places. Only two had to be corrected, to Leese's audible scorn.

"Now, you an' me, sir. You show me, if you please, sir."

Hoare obliged.

"Very good, sir." So saying, Leese folded the map and returned it to his bosom.

"Now, one more thing," he said. "In the morning, ye'll drift off in yer pairs. Not all at once, and not all the same way. Take yer time, for I won't 'ave yer gettin' to the Ring afore dusk. Some of yer-you two, Green and Adams, and you, Dwight an' Cattermole-you go right past the Circle, out of sight of it, an' lay up till dusk. The Captain an' I, we'll lay up 'ere an' twiddle our thumbs till dusk, an' then we'll up an' join ye at the Circle.

"Remember, lads, there's like to be all kinds of weird doin's among the enemy as they 'eave inter sight. Maybe you'll go over that part for us, Captain, sir?"

"As I told you last night, these people will be pretending they are members of a crazy heathen religion," Hoare began. "Or perhaps not pretending; it's hard to say. In any case, they're likely to play weird instruments and sing weird chants… and I expect the leader to stand at that big stone in the center of the Circle as if he were a priest and go. It's about then that you can expect me to give the signal for attack. Remember what the signal is?"

"Mm-ooooo-ooo-uh," someone said.

"No, ye idjit." Leese's voice crawled with disgust. "That's my signal when I wants yer to rally into the Circle at dusk. No, it's the Captain's whistle. You 'eard it when 'e took command, and last night, too."

"I shan't make the noise again now; it's too loud," Hoare said. "You'll remember it when you hear it. Now, make yourselves as comfortable as you can till morning. Be sensible about your rations, for they're the last you'll get till we're back aboard Royal Duke. Smoking lamp's out, and no talking any louder than my whisper."

He lowered his natural whisper. "That's all," he breathed. "Stand down, the landing party."


Hoare had not bedded down in forage since his early boyhood, and this straw was not of the best. His sleep-what there was of it-was fitful and disturbed by feverlike dreams and shortness of breath. In one dream, he was very small, being chased through a labyrinth by a woman with no face. She metamorphosed into Titus Thoday, bearing a switch. Hoare's feet, in turn, took wings, and he could outrun his pursuer with great bounds.

Hoare was awakened by a steady cold drip onto his neck from a persistent leak in the barn roof under which he had positioned himself when finding his own nest of hay in the dark. The leak had not only explored his neck intimately but also penetrated to his ill-packed satchel of hard bread and salt beef. The morning had brought intermittent showers with it; the slow journey inland would be a soggy one. He and Leese, unlike the others of the party, must stay out of casual observation until as late as possible, for they would find it difficult to explain their presence, wandering about the South Dorset countryside, afoot, in His Majesty's uniforms. Given the sad, weeping skies outside, Hoare regretted this not at all. He shifted position and left his friendly drip behind.

He nodded at Leese.

"Off ye go, then," the Sergeant said. "Green and Butcher, you first."

Leese and Hoare waited in the doorway until the first pair had plodded out of sight in the morning mist, then called for the next, and the next. Now Leese and Hoare were left alone.

Leese's green Marines knew their business, Hoare mused. They moved with quiet confidence, unlike the rest of Hoare's rattletrap crew. He said as much to Leese.

"Well, sir," Leese said, "we been together some years, and after all, this is our job. 'Tisn't like the rest of this lot- more clerk than seaman, all of'em. An' I've had a chance to whip 'em into shape. We've done exercises out in the country, an' in town, too, thanks to your good self, sir.

"Reckon that's why I won't mind at all scraggin' 'oever 'twas cut Baker's throat," he added after a pause. " 'E were one of ours, like.

"There's plenty of time now fer a kip, sir, if ye don't mind."

"Carry on, Leese," Hoare said. "I'll stand watch and knock you up about noontime."

Leese found a dry spot, pulled an armful of hay over himself, and within minutes was audibly asleep. Hoare squatted in the doorway of the barn to watch it rain.

The sky was visibly lighter, and the rain had eased up when Hoare heard the rattle of a corncrake behind the barn. He replied with a rattle of his own.

"I thought I might find ye here, Captain," Abel Dunaway said with a grin, appearing from around the corner of the barn.

"Take a pew, Captain," Hoare whispered. "What brought you to that conclusion, pray?"

Behind him, Sergeant Leese stirred. Without looking, Hoare knew a pistol was aimed at Dunaway's middle.

In instinctive imitation of Hoare, Dunaway's reply was whispered at first.

"News from Dorchester, Captain." Then, in a normal voice, he added, "The town's half-full of madmen, I'm told. And madwomen with 'em, too. Most of 'em gentry. Even royalty, 'tis said."

Hoare remembered all too well Spurrier's warning upon leaving Royal Duke after that awful inspection.

"Stay away from the Nine Stones Circle, d'ye hear?" the hussar had told him. "If you should be found there at the wrong time, you'll get a welcome that might surprise you most unpleasantly."

The threat was dire enough. Worse still, Hoare was at a total loss to know what to do with Ernest, Duke of Cumberland, if he were to be caught tonight in the trap Hoare was about to set. As royalty himself, it would hardly do for Cumberland to be brought before some ecclesiastical court on a charge of witchcraft or Satan worship. And if a ritual murder were planned, as was Hoare's worst fear, he could not see Cumberland in the dock, charged as being at least an accomplice.

Hoare sighed and summoned up, as best he could, the pretense of good spirits.

"Oh, Leese, this gentleman is our host, Captain Abel Dunaway, of these parts."

Leese rose to his feet. "Pleased to meet ye, yer honor."

"I thought I'd bring ye along a spot of the needful," Dunaway said. "Bloaters and beer."

"Ahhhh," Hoare said. "Good."

Over stone bottles of that brew of the White Hart that Hoare had liked so well, a round loaf, and a pair of smoked herrings, the three reviewed the implications of Dunaway's tidings.

"Would ye want reinforcements, Captain?" Dunaway asked. Hoare could swear he sounded bashful.

Hoare's first thought was that with the numbers the smuggler could surely muster, he could be assured of capturing the whole group, whether the latter consisted of sincere members of Spurrier's cult-whatever it was-his political minions, or both. But then Hoare bethought himself of the confusion that would ensue. There would certainly be random collisions between Hoare's twosomes and Dunaway's people, with results no one could control. Once the encounter at the Stones Circle took place, the confusion could only peak. Hoare thanked Dunaway but declined, explaining his reasons.

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