Under False Colours (15 page)

'And after
that
Colin Mackenzie carried into effect a masterstroke,' added Nicholas.

'Ah, yes, you mentioned some such affair, a Father Robinson ...'

'Robertson. A Jesuit who was sent from here via Hamburg to contact the Spanish forces Napoleon had isolated as a garrison on the island of Zealand — for Napoleon occupied Denmark as soon as we had seized the Danish fleet, all the while inveighing against British perfidy!'

'That would be about the time of the Spanish revolt, then?'

'Quite so. The object was to inform the Spaniards of their countrymen's uprising against the French and, if possible, repatriate them.' Nicholas refilled his glass, then went on. 'Robertson posed as a cigar and chocolate salesman and made contact with their commander, the Marquis of Romana. As a result the entire corps was withdrawn aboard the squadron of Rear-Admiral Keats then cruising in the offing.'

Almost all, Ned, a few of the poor devils were unable to escape. They say squadrons of riderless horses were left charging up and down the beach in perfect formation!' Hamilton amplified.

'What of Robertson?' Drinkwater asked.

'I believe he got back to England eventually. He was multilingual, don't you know, a remarkable fellow ...' Nicholas's admiration was obvious and not for the first time Drinkwater found himself wondering how much the young man might want his own reputation enhanced by a similar
coup de main
.

'Boney was reported to be hoppin' mad, when he heard of the loss of the Spanish corps,' Hamilton said, 'Romana's troops were considered to be the best in the Spanish army.'

The story and its outcome were satisfying to men planning their own foray and added to Drinkwater's high hopes, but on the eve of their departure news of a more sinister kind reached the island, borne by Herr Reinke, whose long awaited arrival signalled the end of their preparations.

On receipt of the news Nicholas had withdrawn to write to Lord Bathurst that his nephew, lately employed on diplomatic service in Vienna, had mysteriously disappeared at Perleberg and was presumed dead.

He confided as much to Drinkwater, warning him of the dangers he ran, as a naval officer out of uniform, in going to Hamburg. 'I beg you to be careful,' he said. 'I am sure that Napoleon has taken this revenge in part for the successes Robertson and others have enjoyed at his expense. He would be especially glad to seize anyone connected with the betrayal of the Tilsit agreement.'

'I understand,' Drinkwater had said, 'there is no need to labour the point.'

'Schar buoy, Kapitan,' Herr Reinke, the pilot pointed ahead. 'You make good course a little more to ze east.'

Drinkwater nodded at Munsden, standing by the helmsman. 'Bring her round a point, Mr Munsden, if you please.'

He exchanged glances with Littlewood. To facilitate the negotiations shortly to be opened with the authorities at Hamburg, Drinkwater was to assume the character of
Galliwasp
's master, leaving Littlewood free to deal with matters of trade with which Drinkwater had no experience.

It was refinements of this nature which had occupied Drinkwater in recent weeks, refinements designed to make plausible the defection of several British master mariners in the cause of profit.

To these had been added another. Both
Combatant
and
Bruizer
had been ordered on cruises, so that reports that there were no men-of-war in Helgoland Road would encourage belief in the merchant masters' decision to dispose of their cargoes. In a day or two, whenever they might return, either or both
Combatant
and
Bruizer
would be sent into the mouth of the Elbe, as though seeking out the whereabouts of the missing transports.

To emphasize the anxiety of the Governor to recall his cruisers, Bengal fires would be thrown up from the lighthouse at two hourly intervals during the coming night.

Referring to the chart spread on the companionway cover, Drinkwater monitored Herr Reinke's directions. They passed between the Scharhorn and the Vogel sands and left Neuwerk Island astern, raising the Kugel beacon and the flat mainland on which the town of Cuxhaven nestled behind its sea wall. They passed the familiar fishing boats, any one of which might have been a visitor to Helgoland, and doubled the North Ground where the river narrowed. Small villages appeared, each cluster of houses nestling close to its church: Groden, with its wind-pump, Altenbruch and Otterndorf. The South Ditmarsch shore closed from the north and, with the tide now ebbing and the sun setting at the end of the short, mid-winter day, they anchored off Brunsbuttel.

'We shall have visitors soon,' said Littlewood, pointing to a boat putting off from a large, heavily sparred cutter that lay anchored inshore of them. 'She's a Dutch-manned hooker of the Imperial Customs. They're smart as mustard in these waters, those squareheads,' Littlewood said in reluctant admiration.

Drinkwater studied the cutter. The massive mainmast, exaggerated tumblehome and huge leeboards marked her as a formidable craft amid the shallow waters of the adjacent coast. He remembered such a cutter with which he had fought at the battle of Camperdown. Whether it was the recollection, a sense of foreboding, or the cold of the December twilight, Drinkwater could not tell, but suddenly he shivered.

It was almost dark when the customs boat pulled alongside. Two officers in cocked hats and boatcloaks were followed up the ship's side by four armed seamen, one carrying a lantern.

'You are Americans,
Ja
?'

'Nein, mynheer
, we are English!' Littlewood stepped forward. Drinkwater watched a second boat go alongside the
Ocean
. He hoped Gilham would play his part and then jettisoned the thought. It was too late to worry now, they were committed and Captain Gilham, for all his unprepossessing appearance, did not seem averse to his task. A thin man with spectacles on a long nose, his face was a mass of broken veins, suggesting he was a toper. Drinkwater had learned, however, that Captain Gilham never touched liquor, held Sunday services aboard his ship and spent much of his time recording what he termed 'the marvels of atmosphereology'. The result, Drinkwater had been told, was a meticulous log of weather observations taken every six hours, day and night for the past sixteen years.

'You are
English
?' the astonished Dutch customs officer was asking. 'Den vy do you come into ze Elbe, mit your scheeps?'

Littlewood explained. 'We have been tricked by our Government. We have been kept at Helgoland too long,' he gestured at the
Ocean
's riding light. 'Captain Gilham has been seven months waiting for orders. We have received no pay, no provisions; my charter has expired. Now we wish to discharge our cargoes. If the British Government don't want them, perhaps we may find a market in Hamburg.'

The two Dutch officers looked at each other and the older one shrugged, saying something to the other which inferred the English speaker was the junior.

'Vat is your cargo?'

'Boots,' Littlewood said, raising one foot and waving his hand at it, 'coats, big coats, some muskets, flints, powder and shot.'

The junior
douanier
’s eyes opened wide and he translated for the benefit of his colleague. The senior muttered something, then strode to the rail and cupped his hands about his mouth, bellowing across to their friends aboard
Ocean
.

'He's asking what cargo the
Ocean
has,' Littlewood murmured.

A hail came from the other boarding party. For a few moments a shouted dialogue echoed back and forth between the two anchored ships, breaking the silence that had followed sunset and the dropping of the wind. At last the senior officer turned back to the waiting men and issued some orders. The other translated.

'You must here stay at Brunsbuttel. I vill here stay mit my men,' he gestured at the seamen with him, then accompanied his superior to the ship's side and saw him safely into the boat. As it pulled away the departing
douanier
shouted something.

'He say I am to shoot anyone who make trouble.'

'We ain't going to make trouble. Is he coming back in the morning?'

'Ja. He vill make zis arrival telled to Hamburg.'

'That is very good.'

'Dat is ver' good,ja.'

Drinkwater made a small movement of his head in
Ocean
's direction and Littlewood took the hint.

'Captain Gilham!' he hailed, 'is everything well with you?'

'Perfectly well, sir, the temperature is falling and we'll have a touch of seasmoke on the water at dawn.'

The laughter that greeted this weather report eased the tension. Having set their own anchor watch, the crew of the
Galliwasp
, including her putative master, drifted below in search of food and sleep.

'You were right, Captain Gilham,' Drinkwater said, welcoming the master of the
Ocean
aboard the next morning. A low fog lay like smoke over the surface of the river so that the two ships seemed to float upon cloud, and in pulling across, Gilham's disembodied head and shoulders had drifted eerily, the boat beneath him invisible.

'It's not a matter of judgement, Captain Waters, but simply the appreciation of an immutable natural law.' He looked up at the cloudless sky. "Tis a raw morning, but the sun will soon burn this off.'

'Did your guests make any objection to your paying us a visit?' Drinkwater asked, nodding towards the Dutch customs officer who stood warily watching them.

'Oh, they made a fuss, but ...' Gilham shrugged and disdained to finish the sentence. Drinkwater smiled.

'Are your men still game?'

'Certainly. Why should they not be? They are being well paid for a little inconvenience. They were more discontented lying at anchor in that detestable anchorage.'

Drinkwater envied Gilham the cold, unemotional approach of a man whose life was guided by the simplistic principles of profit and loss.

'Every man has his price, they say,' Drinkwater said.

'And it is a very accurate saw, sir,' added Gilham, cocking an appraising eye at the mysterious 'captain' Littlewood had informed him was a personage of some importance.

'You sound as though you have done this sort of thing before, Captain.'

'I am told,' Gilham replied obliquely, 'that best Bohea is available for guests at the Tuileries and Malmaison.'

'As is cognac at the Court of St James ... hullo, our friend stirs.'

Both men watched the uncanny sight of a large gaffed mainsail hauled aloft from an unseen deck as the Dutch customs cutter got under way. The long masthead pendant with its Imperial device trailed out in the light north-westerly wind. Littlewood joined them and in silence they observed the manoeuvre. After a few minutes they heard the splash of an anchor and the rumble of cable, then the mainsail disappeared again. The Dutch cutter was anchored closer to the two British merchant ships.

'When this seasmoke burns off,' Gilham said, 'you'll see her guns run out.'

'That ain't a matter of immutable law, Captain Gilham,' Drinkwater remarked lightly, 'but it's a damned sound judgement.'

A few minutes later, arriving as weirdly as Gilham had done, the senior Dutch customs officer clambered back over the
Galliwasp
's rail. Seeing Gilham he frowned and addressed a few curt words to the tired junior he had left to stand guard the previous night. The younger man said something in reply, then shrugged.

The senior officer crossed the deck, his face angry. He asked Gilham a question and the younger officer translated.

'He say vy do you come this scheep?'

'To talk with my friends,' said Gilham, his expression truculent. 'How do we know you won't cheat us?'

The junior of the two Dutchmen shrugged again and relayed the message. The exchange reversed itself.

'It is
verboten
you make talk.'

It was Gilham's turn to shrug. 'I do not understand.'

Again the pantomime of translation. This time there was a longer exchange, then: 'Vy do you come here to Brunsbuttel?'

'We told you last night,' Gilham said sharply, his self-appointment as spokesman lent force by his very real frustration. 'Because I have been waiting at Helgoland for seven months to discharge my cargo.' He held up his fingers to emphasize the period. 'Now the British Government tell me it is not wanted. I have no money. I must pay my crew. I have the expenses of my ship. I have a wife. I have sons.' He punched the air with his index finger, advancing on the unfortunate Dutchman until his fingertip tapped the blue-coated breast, physically ramming at him the cogency of the simple sentences. 'Now I come to sell to the Hamburgers what the British Government does not want. Tell that to your chief, and tell him that he does not tell me what I must and must not do. I am master of the
Ocean
and by heaven, I'll not be pushed around by you, or him!'

Drinkwater watched the Dutchmen; one quailed visibly under Gilham's onslaught, the other's face darkened as he understood the import of Gilham's speech. As his junior turned to explain, he was brushed aside. Gilham found himself under attack. The senior officer exploded into a tirade of invective in which God, swine and the English were recognizably called upon.

The senior
douanier
did not wait for this to be translated for his audience, but turned on his heel and went over the
Galliwasp
's rail in a swirl of his cloak. His colleague began to stammer out an explanation but ceased as Gilham touched his arm.

'Never mind, my friend,' he said, impishly smiling, 'we understand.'

The customs officer stood nonplussed, then shrugging dismissively shouted something to his seamen and followed his commander over the side. A moment later another young officer climbed aboard.

'The king is dead, long live the king,' Gilham said drily.

'Well, I suppose we'll just have to wait and see what happens now,' Littlewood remarked. 'I wonder if there's fog in the outer estuary?'