6_4

They spent the rest of the day preparing.
Bailey and Melchior went down to the chandlers where they purchased a stout cutlass and picked up a few storm lanterns and rolls of heavy string. Bailey had had the idea of attaching small bells to trip wires and laying them out around the fields to give them advance warning. Stokes had been disdainful of this idea but had not pushed the matter.
De Hogue had spent the rest of the day talking to various people in the village and walking back along Church Street he passed the cooper sitting by his open workshop, smoking a long stemmed pipe.
“You are the man called de Hoogh?” the man asked in a thick accent.
“That’s right” de Hogue answered. He recognised the correct pronunciation and replied, “You’re Dutch?”
The man nodded. He was tall and thin, with a pointed beard and fair hair.
“Ja.” He answered; smoke issuing thickly from his lips. “I am from the old country. Not like you eh?”
De Hogue shook his head.
“No. I’m from London. But my father was Dutch”
“But not your mother?”
“No.” de Hogue shook his head.
The man extended a long arm and a hard bony hand.
“My name is Willem Maes.” He said.
De Hogue shook the hand and glanced inside the work shop where a young man was hammering away at a large barrel. Hogsheads, barrels, firkins and other casks were lined and piled against the walls. To one side was a half built butter churn.
“What’s that?” he asked pointing at a heavy iron instrument which hung behind Maes, on the inside of the workshop door.
“That?” Maes pointed to it. “That’s a bung hole iron.”
He pulled down the odd T shaped instrument and passed it to de Hogue who examined its blade. It did not fit the wounds he had seen, but suddenly he realised that the island must be full of odd shaped tools such as this one, and he glanced about at the various hammers and adze’s which littered Maes’s work shop and picked up a hammer which had a long tapering spike and asked Maes if he might borrow it and return it later.
Maes regarded him then regarded the hammer. His face took on a knowing look and he nodded silently. His apprentice had stopped working as de Hogue had poked about the workshop but now he continued, hammering the hoops into place on a massive one hundred and eight gallon butt.
Upon his return to Bailey’s cottage, de Hogue placed the hammer on the table.
“What is this?” Bailey asked picking it up and examining the long spike.
“It’s a Pick hammer” de Hogue replied. “I borrowed it from the cooper. I think we should look around and see if we can find a tool which fits the wounds. I don’t believe in the war hammer theory.”
Bailey and Arkwright both agreed.

They spent the rest of the daylight hours preparing and when the last rays of the sun faded they made their way out of the village as quietly as possible. Skirting around it they avoided Welles and made their way over the hills to the eastern reaches of the island. Bailey had chosen to concentrate on the region south of the hills and after an hour or so, they finally made their way down to a series of hills close by Sam Harrows farm. They set their trip wires and bells and then settled down to wait. Bailey and Arkwright took the first field, de Hogue and Melchior took the second and Stokes and Norris took the third and eastern most field. Very soon, the cold settled on to them, but they all sat quietly, huddling together for warmth and endured the freezing wind.After an hour or so, the moon appeared and they could see much better. The weather had cleared during the day and now they gazed out over the fields at the sheep. Every so often the wind blew and the bells chimed ever so softly, but the hours passed and nothing happened.