Under false colours

'Aye, I'll see to it. As for this morning, what shall I give out as the nature of our conversation?'

Drinkwater considered the matter for a moment. 'Why, that I've overheard talk in the mess that the Ordnance Board is abandoning the convoy.'

'That should set the cat among the pigeons,' Littlewood rumbled.

'It just happens to be true, Captain Littlewood.'

He found Nicholas waiting for him when he returned to the barracks.

'Is your despatch ready, Captain?' Nicholas asked, a trifle impatiently, drawing from his breast a small octavo volume bound in brown calf. 'Dante, Captain, The Reverend Cary's translation.' Nicholas turned a few pages. 'Canto the second. You must commit these lines to memory.' Nicholas dipped the pen he had leant Drinkwater and began to scratch on a sheet of paper, quoting as he wrote:

Thy soul is by vile fear assail 'd which oft
So overcasts a man, that he recoils
From noblest resolution, like a beast
At some false semblance in the twilight gloom.

Nicholas finished scrawling and looked up. 'Now, sir, 'tis perfectly simple: write the letters of the alphabet beneath each letter of the verse, omitting those already used, thus: Thy soul is ... a to h, leaving the s of is blank, for you have used it in soul, and so on to the end. I and j are synonymous and those letters not found in the verse, j, p and q substitute for x,y and z. Cary's translation is new and not much known on the continent, though Liepmann has a copy. You have only to learn the verse.'

After Nicholas had gone, Drinkwater read the lines again as he committed them to memory. It struck him first that they uncannily described his own situation and the realization made the hairs on the nape of his neck crawl with a strange, primeval fear. And then, as he strove to remember the verse he realized that he no longer felt the oppression of spirit so acutely, that the mental activity of the last hours had roused him from his torpor.

This lift in his mood was sustained during the three days that the gale blew, three days during which he worked over and over his plan and committed Dante's lines and the information of Gilham's charts (which Littlewood had surreptitiously obtained for him) to memory. By the light of guttering candles he pored over and over them and finally burnt the blotchy copy of Cary's rendering of the Florentine poet's words in the candle flame. The plan to carry the cargoes into Hamburg had gained a powerful grip on his imagination and he eagerly awaited Nicholas's assurance that he had won Hamilton over to the plot.

He knew he could no longer dwell on the loss of his friends, only grasp the promises and seductions of tomorrow. That much, and that much alone, was allowed him. 'Hope,' he muttered to himself, 'must spring eternal.'

Then, in the wake of the gale, as it blew itself out in glorious sunshine and a spanking breeze from the west-north-west, His Britannic Majesty's Sloop Combatant, carrying additional cannon for the defence of the island and confidential mail for the Governor, put an end to the dallying.

'It is providential, my dear sir, quite providential don't you know,' Nicholas said, hardly able to contain himself. 'Colonel Hamilton has received instructions from Lord Dungarth regarding yourself, Captain Drinkwater: combined with the arrival of the cannon it has quite put the backbone into him.' 'Lord Dungarth's instructions don't run contrary to our intentions then?'

'Quite the reverse ... and here are letters for yourself.' Nicholas pulled two letters from the breast pocket of his coat. Taking them Drinkwater tore open the first. It was from Dungarth.

London, Nov. 26

My Dear Nathaniel,

I am sorry to hear of your Misfortune. The Venture has Miscarried in common with the Affair in the Scheldt. Your Failure is Insignificant beside this. You may also have heard of Rupture in Government. All, alas, is True. Take Counsel with Ed. Nicholas and Act as you see fit. Solomon and Dyer have Accepted Heavy Losses.

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.