Under false colours

cargo destined for? I assure you, both Colonel Hamilton and I are used to matters of state secrecy.'

'It is intended for Russia, and I require it to be removed from the Galliwasp and stored securely in requisitioned space.

I will then attempt to arrange for another vessel to relieve the Galliwasp if she proves too damaged to re-rig.'

'You require, do you, sir?' Hamilton spoke in a tone of low sarcasm.

'For what purpose is your cargo going to Russia, Captain?' Nicholas persisted.

'To break the blockade.'

'We do that from here,' put in Hamilton sourly. 'One would think it the only purpose for holding the island.'

'But you do not implicate the Tsar by such a transaction,' said Drinkwater quietly, and now his words engaged the attention of both men.

'How so?'

'The purpose of my mission, gentlemen, the reason why a post-captain of the Royal Navy is obliged to submit himself to sundry humiliations, is that this cargo is designed to draw attention to itself, to shout all the way to Paris the single fact that Alexander, faithful ally of the Emperor of the French, is trading with his friend's sworn enemies.'

'And break the accord between Paris and Petersburg,' said Nicholas, his eyes bright with comprehension. 'Brilliant!'

'And what is this cargo?' asked Hamilton.

'Military stores, Colonel. Greatcoats, boots, muskets ...' Drinkwater began, sensing victory. Hamilton only laughed.

'Devil take you, sir, you jest. We've the Delia, the Hanna, the Anne, the Ocean, the Egbert and the Free Briton lying in the roads right now, their holds stuffed with ordnance stores, clothing, ball and cartridges. Captain Gilham of the Ocean has been languishing here since last May! They too were intended for a secret service! I'm afraid, Captain Drinkwater, you've brought coals to Newcastle!'

Hamilton's laughter was revenge for Drinkwater's lese-majeste, an assertion of superiority that pricked Drinkwater's pride. Yet the Governor had missed the point.

'Whatever the purpose of these other ships, Colonel Hamilton, the Galliwasp was not intended to end up at Helgoland.'

'We will write to London for instructions, Captain Drinkwater,' Hamilton said coolly. 'Besides, even a lobster knows the Baltic will be closed to navigation in a week or two. You must perforce become a guest of the mess. I am sure that Lieutenant Dowling will be only too happy to look after you.'

'You are placing me under constraint, sir?'

'Only as a precaution, Captain,' Hamilton went on happily, 'until Mr Nicholas here has received instructions from His Majesty's Government. We are not far distant from an enemy coast, you know.'

'And Captain Littlewood and his cargo?'

'Captain Littlewood may make arrangements among the mercantile fraternity and repair his ship if he is able to. Browne will give what assistance he can, no doubt. Be a good fellow, Ned, and call Dowling in again. Good day to you, Captain.'

CHAPTER 7 Helgoland

October-November 1809

The weeks that succeeded this unpromising interview were tedious in the extreme. Drinkwater's sole positive act was to write to Dungarth explaining his predicament and whereabouts. Of necessity, his words were terse and he carried round in his head the sentence admitting the failure of his mission:

It is with regret that I inform you that due to the tempestuous weather we have been cast up on the island of Helgoland at so late a season as to render the continuation of the voyage impracticable until the spring ...

Diplomatic affairs, Drinkwater knew, might be entirely upset by so delayed an arrival of his cargo.

Pending word from London, Drinkwater had taken Littlewood into his confidence to the extent of allowing the Galliwasp's master to give out that their cargo was intended for a secret service to Sweden. It was an open secret that the situation in that country was unstable and a shipment of military stores would raise no eyebrows, particularly as so many of the other ships in Helgoland Road seemed destined for a similar purpose.

Littlewood agreed to this proposal. He had much on his mind and Drinkwater left him to the supervision of the discharge and storing of Galliwasp's cargo and the survey of his damaged ship.

For his own part, Drinkwater was allowed a small room in the former Danish barracks and the freedom of the garrison officers' mess, but he was not a welcome guest. The officers regarded him with a suspicion fostered by Hamilton and confirmed by Dowling, while Nicholas, to whom Drinkwater felt a natural attraction, maintained a polite, uncommunicative distance. Although not exactly a prisoner, Drinkwater felt he was afforded the hospitality of the Royal Veterans in order that they might the better keep an eye on him. He took to walking on the wild western escarpment of the island, losing himself among the rocks and the sparse grass in the company of the wheeling seabirds whose skirling cries seemed to echo the bleakness of his mood.

In the frustration of his situation, Drinkwater felt himself utterly bowed by the overwhelming dead weight of a hostile providence. His lonely, introspective thoughts followed a predictable and gloomy circle that bordered on the obsessive. Intensified by his isolation they threatened to unhinge him and in other circumstances could have led him to succumb to the oblivion of opium or the bottle. From his involvement in Russia to the loss of Quilhampton, the train of his tortured thoughts drove him to seek out the lonely parts of the island, to curse and fulminate and regret in equal measure, only returning to what normality was allowed him during his nightly visits to the bleak mess.

Here he found some mitigation of his misery. Lieutenant McCullock of the Transport Service, an elderly naval officer with a lifetime's service to his credit, was not unfriendly in a gruff way; nor was Mr Thomson, agent of the Victualling Board, and from these men he gleaned a little information about the island and its inhabitants.

Perhaps McCullock was cordial only because it was rumoured that the irritable grey-eyed man with the scarred cheek, the old-fashioned queue and the lopsided shoulders was a post-captain in the Royal Navy. If it was true, it behove McCullock to mind his manners. Mr Browne seemed impervious to such a suggestion, though he was sufficiently expansive to explain that the native Helgolanders subsisted from fishing.

'They long-line for cod and 'addock from open boats in companies of a dozen or so men,' he said, 'and every one is licensed to sell liquor by hancient privilege.' Browne wiped the back of a huge hand across his mouth and grinned. 'Gives our noble Governor a parcel o' trouble.' Browne grinned and nodded in the direction of the two sentinels at the beach guardhouse.

The 8th Battalion of Royal Veterans who, with a handful of Invalid Artillery made up the island's garrison, were largely elderly or pensioned soldiers, re-enlisted for the duration of the war with France and her allies. One or two were younger men considered unfit for service with a regular line battalion in Spain.

'Weak in the arm and weak in the head,' Browne muttered, as they passed the two lounging sentries. ''Hain't worth a musket, rum nor bread,' he intoned. 'It's them young, useless buggers that give the Governor his problems.'

It was clear that Mr Browne considered his own drinking, evident from his complexion and the reek of him, to be beyond gubernatorial judgement.