Under false colours

'Well sir?'

The officer seated behind the desk looked up from a sheaf of papers and regarded Drinkwater over a pair of pince-nez. From the expression on his face Drinkwater expected an intolerant reception. He had been led to believe, during the stiff climb up through the village to the old Danish barracks in the company of Mr Browne, that the Governor was plagued by the merchant fraternity who seemed to regard the island as more a large warehouse than a military outpost. Some of this disdain had rubbed off on Browne, who railed against the ever-increasing number of  'commercial gennelmen' who were littering his foreshore with their hastily erected warehouses. By the time Drinkwater was shown into the Governor's presence by a young adjutant, he was more than a little irritable himself.

'You are Colonel Hamilton, the Governor?' Drinkwater asked, pointedly ignoring the fidgeting adjutant at his elbow who had just told him the Governor's name. Hamilton's face darkened.

'You sir!' he snapped. 'Who the deuce are you?'

'This is Captain Waters, sir, supercargo aboard the barque Galliwasp — the disabled vessel I reported to you earlier, sir,' the subaltern explained.

'I wish to see you alone, Colonel,' Drinkwater said, ignoring the two soldiers who exchanged glances.

'Do you now,' said Hamilton, leaning back in his chair so that the light from the windows glittered on the gilt buttons of his undress scarlet, 'and upon what business, pray?'

'Business of so pressing a nature that it is of the utmost privacy.'

Drinkwater turned a withering eye on the junior officer, unconsciously assuming his most forbidding quarterdeck manner.

'Captain Waters,' drawled Hamilton as he removed the pince-nez and laid them on the papers before him. 'Every confounded ship, and every confounded master, and every confounded supercargo, agent, merchant and countin' house clerk, comes here bleatin' about private business. I am a busy man and Mr Browne will do all he can to assist your ship and her cargo ...' Hamilton leaned forward, picked up and repositioned the pince-nez on his nose and bent over his paperwork.

'No, Colonel. You will assist me ...'

'Come sir.' Drinkwater felt the adjutant's hand on his arm but he pressed on.

'You will assist me by obliging me with a private interview at once.' As Hamilton looked up, his face as red as his coat,

Drinkwater turned to the adjutant. 'And you will wait outside.'

'Damn it, sir,' said the young man, 'have a care ...'

'OUT!' Drinkwater roared, suddenly furiously glad to cast off the mantle of pretence. 'I demand you obey me, damn you!'

The adjutant put his hand to his hanger and Hamilton leapt to his feet. 'By God ...'

'By God, sir, get this boy out of here. I've a matter to discuss with you in private, sir, and you will hear me out.' Hamilton hesitated, and Drinkwater pressed on. 'After which, Colonel, you may do as you please, but you are a witness that your adjutant laid a hand upon me. On a quarterdeck, that would be a grave offence.'

Hamilton's mouth shut like a trap. As Drinkwater caught and held his eyes a glimmer of comprehension showed through the outrage. Still standing he nodded a dismissal to the fuming adjutant.

'Well, sir,' Hamilton said once again, his voice strained with the effort of self-control, 'perhaps you will give me an explanation?'

'My name is not Waters, Colonel Hamilton, but Drinkwater, Captain Drinkwater, to be precise, of the Royal Navy. I am employed upon a secret service with a cargo destined elsewhere than Helgoland, and I am in need of your assistance.'

Hamilton eased himself down into his chair, made a tent of his fingers and put them to his lips.

'And what proof do you have for this claim?'

'None, Colonel, apart from my vehemence just now, but if it sets your mind at rest, the name of Dungarth may not be unknown to you. It is Lord Dungarth's orders that I am executing; or at least, I was until overcome by the recent tempestuous weather.'

'I see.' Hamilton beat his finger tips gently together, considering. Lord Dungarth's name was not well known except to officers in positions of trust, and Hamilton, for all the obscurity of his half-colonelcy in the 8th Battalion of Royal Veterans, was among such men in his capacity as Governor of Helgoland.

Hamilton appeared to make up his mind. He leant forward, picked up a pen, dipped it and wrote a note. Sanding the note he sealed it with a wafer, scribbled a superscription and sat back, tapping his lips with the folded paper. For a moment longer he regarded Drinkwater, then he called out: 'Dowling!'

The adjutant flew through the door, 'Sir?'

'Take this to Nicholas.'

The junior officer's tone was crestfallen. It was clear he would rather have leapt to the rescue of his beleagured commander.

'Take a seat, Captain,' said Hamilton after Dowling had gone.

'Obliged.'

The two men sat in absolute silence for a while, then Hamilton asked, 'Are you personally acquainted with his Lordship, Captain Drinkwater?'

'I have that honour, Colonel Hamilton.'

'For a long while?'

'He was first lieutenant when I was a midshipman aboard the Cyclops.'

A desultory small-talk dragged on while they waited. Hamilton sought to draw personal details out of Drinkwater who gave them graciously. At last a knock on the door announced the arrival of Mr Nicholas.

'Mr Edward Nicholas, Captain Drinkwater, is in the Foreign Service.'

Drinkwater rose and the two men exchanged bows. Nicholas, a younger man than Hamilton, with quick, intelligent dark eyes, exchanged glances with the Governor, then studied Drinkwater.

'He says he's under Dungarth's orders, Ned. Got a cargo intended for a secret destination. Rather think he's your department — if he ain't a fake.'

Nicholas's eyes darted from suspect to suspector and back again. Then the slight figure in its sober grey suit sat down on the edge of Hamilton's desk and dangled one leg nonchalantly.

'What is your Christian name, Captain Drinkwater?' 'Nathaniel.’

'And what ship did you command in the summer of the year seven?'

'The frigate Antigone. Upon a special service ...'

'Where? In what theatre?'

'That is none of your concern.'

'It would greatly help our present impasse if you would tell me,' Nicholas smiled. 'Come, sir, be frank. Otherwise these matters become so tedious.'

'The Baltic'

'Good. You knew my predecessor here, Mr Mackenzie ...'

'Colin Mackenzie?'

'The same. He was with you in the — Baltic, was he not?' There was just the merest hint of a pause before Nicholas said 'Baltic', implying the proper name was a vague reference and that both men knew more than they were saying.

'I was employed at Downing Street, Captain Drinkwater, in the drafting of the special orders prior to Lord Gambier's expedition leaving for the reduction of Copenhagen and the seizure of the Danish fleet. I recall your name being mentioned by Mr Canning in the most flattering terms.'

Drinkwater inclined his head. It was odd how pivotal that Baltic mission had been. Before it, all had been hope and aspiration; afterwards, following the approbation of Government and the meteor strike at an unsuspecting Denmark in a pre-emptive move to foil the French, fate had discarded him. It was Hamilton who interrupted Drinkwater's metaphysical gloom.

'None o' that proves he's who he says he is.' Hamilton spoke as though Drinkwater was not there. Nicholas ignored the Governor. Drinkwater guessed they did not get on.

'If you want our assistance, Captain Drinkwater, you will have to be more frank with us. Where is your