Yours, & Co
Dungarth.
There was precious little sympathy for the Jew, Drinkwater thought as he opened the second letter. Its superscription was in a vaguely familiar hand. The letter was cautiously undated.
London
Honoured Sir,
I am Privy to Matters closely related to your Circumstances. Your Personal Credit stands Highly here and you will Increase the Indebtedness of Your Humble Servant if you are able to Release my Agent and his Vessel to make those provisions necessary for a Small Profit to be Realized on all our Capital at Stake.
I have the Honour to be, Sir,
Isaac Solomon.
Drinkwater could not resist a rueful smile; it was a masterpiece. As Dungarth passed the cost of the failed mission to Solomon, the wily Jew inferred that, while the gold Drinkwater had lodged with him in good faith was of considerable value, its possession and sale guaranteed Solomon and Dyer's losses were handsomely underwritten! In short he, Nathaniel Drinkwater, would finance the expedition!
Drinkwater looked up at Nicholas. It could not have escaped either Dungarth's or Solomon's notice that Helgoland's occupation was chiefly to facilitate trade with the rest of Europe.
'I feel the strings of the puppet-master manipulating me, Mr Nicholas,' he said. 'Pray do you have any instructions regarding myself?'
'Indeed sir, his Lordship's letter to the Governor advised him to allow us to confer. But I am to take you to Colonel Hamilton forthwith.'
Drinkwater reached for his hat and both men stepped out into the passageway. 'Did you receive any further instructions about the other ships — Gilham's and the rest?' Drinkwater asked as they made their way to Hamilton's quarters.
Nicholas shook his head. 'No. I fear Government is still too disorganized as a result of Canning's disgrace ... come, sir, here we are ...'
Hamilton was standing with his back to them, staring out of the window. Behind him a gentle slope of grassland cropped by a handful of sheep rose to the tower of the lighthouse. Wisely, Drinkwater broke the silence.
'I am pleased to hear that matters have been happily cleared up, Colonel Hamilton. Will ye give me your hand?'
Hamilton turned and Drinkwater saw he was holding a letter. He seemed lost for words, embarrassed at the position in which he found himself.
'Come, Colonel, my hand, sir. Let us bury the hatchet ... perhaps over a glass?' At Drinkwater's hint Hamilton unbent, took his hand and muttered something about 'spies everywhere' and 'havin' to be damned careful'.
'Perhaps, sir, you would show Captain Drinkwater the letter,' Nicholas suggested, 'while I ...'
'Yes, yes, pour us a glass, for God's sake.' Hamilton handed over Dungarth's letter and threw himself down in his chair.
Admiralty, London
26 November 1809
Lt. Col. Hamilton,
Governor,
Helgoland.
Sir,
I am in Receipt of your Letter of the 2d. Ultimo. The Officer You have Apprehended aboard the Galliwasp, barque, Jno. Littlewood, Master, is in the Employ of my Department on a Special Service. It is not Necessary to make known his Name to you, but you will know him by the following Characteristics, Viz: Engrained Powder Burns about one Eye; an Ancient Scar from a Sword Cut on the Cheek and a Severe Wounding of the Right Shoulder causing it to be much Lower than the Left.
You will greatly Oblige me by affording Him your utmost Hospitality and free congress with Mr Nicholas. This Officer knows my Mind and His Directions may be assumed as Congruent with my own.
I have the honour to be, sir, & Co
Dungarth.
It was the most perfect carte blanche Drinkwater could have wished for, not to say the most perfect humiliation for poor Hamilton.
Drinkwater laid the letter down on Hamilton's desk and their eyes met.
'It is perhaps as well that his Lordship's letter arrived no earlier, Colonel,' Drinkwater said.
'How so ...?' Hamilton frowned.
'I was in damnably low spirits and had nothing of much sense to communicate. Now, Colonel, I have a proposition to make that will advance the service of our country ...'
'A glass gentlemen,' Nicholas interposed. 'Schnapps, Captain Drinkwater.' Then he added, 'From Hamburg.'
CHAPTER 9
Santa Claus
December 1809-January 1810
Staring astern from the taffrail of Galliwasp Drinkwater watched Helgoland dip beneath the western horizon. He wondered if he would ever see it again and the thought brought in its train the multiple regrets and self-recriminations that had become a part of him in recent years. He had written to Elizabeth and the task, long postponed, had wrenched him from his deep and complex involvement with his secret mission. Nicholas would post the letter if he had not returned in two months. It told Elizabeth everything. He had left her the burden of writing to Quilhampton's fiancee and Frey's family, giving her a form of words to use.
It was no use looking back, he thought resolutely, and smacked the oak rail with the flat of his hand. He turned forward. Gilham's Ocean was wallowing sluggishly on their larboard beam, her bottom foul with grass despite the efforts to scrape it clean. Galliwasp ghosted along under topsails, keeping station on her slower sister in the light, westerly wind. Drinkwater looked up to judge the wind from the big American ensign. The stars and bars flaunted lazily above his head.
'There's Neuwerk on the starboard bow, Captain,' Littlewood pointed with his glass, then handed it to Drinkwater.
Behind the yellow scar of the Scharhorn sand which was visible at this low state of the tide, the flat surface of the island of Neuwerk was dominated by the great stone tower erected upon it.
Drinkwater studied it with interest as the young flood tide carried them into the mouth of the River Elbe. The island was to be, as it were, the sleeve from which he intended playing his ace. He handed the telescope back to Littlewood.
'Let us hope it is not long before we see it on the other bow,' Drinkwater said with assumed cheerfulness. He wished they had left Helgoland a day earlier, before the arrival of the depressing news. It cast a cloud over the enterprise, though Drinkwater, Nicholas and Hamilton had kept the intelligence to themselves.
In the period of waiting for Galliwasp and the other vessels to be made ready, their crews sounded and appointed and the secret messages sent to Liepmann in Hamburg, Drinkwater had been daily closeted with Hamilton and Nicholas.
On the occasion when Drinkwater had first broached the idea with Hamilton and the Governor had grasped the olive-branch thus held out to him, Nicholas had judiciously kept Hamilton's glass full of schnapps. Between them Nicholas and Drinkwater had boxed the Colonel into a corner from which his naturally cautious nature could not extricate him. In some measure a degree of bellicosity had been engendered by the arrival of Combatant and her cargo of cannon, and Drinkwater had insisted that the seamen of all the ships help to land and site them. This thoughtfulness on Drinkwater's part earned him Hamilton's grudging gratitude, for he himself had shown too great a prejudice against the merchant shipmasters and trading-post agents to rely on any willing co-operation from them. For his own part, Drinkwater's act was not disinterested. Requesting such assistance was a ready means of measuring his command over the odd collection of merchant seamen and naval volunteers that he would shortly lead into the enemy heartland. The fact that after months of inactivity something was afoot proved a powerful influence.
As a mark of their improved relationship Hamilton, Nicholas and Drinkwater got into the habit of dining together, partly to keep up Hamilton's enthusiasm and partly to discuss the progress of the preparations.
Over the dessert wine one evening Hamilton became expansive and Drinkwater learned of Helgoland's real importance as a 'listening post' on the doorstep of the French Empire.
'Hamburg has always been important,' Hamilton said. 'We nabbed Napper Tandy there after the Irish Rebellion. The place was full of United Irishmen for years.'
'They
say Lord Edward Fitzgerald's wife is still resident there,' added Nicholas.
'She's supposed to be French, ain't she?' asked Drinkwater, 'though I believe her sister's married to Sir Thomas Foley. I recall him at Copenhagen.'
'Were you in Nelson's action, Captain Drinkwater, or Gambier's?'
'Nelson's, Colonel, just before the last peace.'
'It was after Gambier's scrap that we took this place from the Danes.'
'Yes. I was bound for the Pacific by then.'
'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 a
ccompanied 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.'
Under False Colours Page 11