Under false colours

floating sluggishly past them as the weather turned bitterly cold, the copper cupola of St Michels-kirche standing green against the dark grey of a sky pregnant with snow. The first fall occurred on the second day of their discharging and Drinkwater woke next morning to a changed scene, the roofs of the city white and the hum of the quays and bustle of the river muted under the mantle of snow. At first he thought the lack of activity due to the snowfall, but then he marked a restiveness among their guards and noticed a propensity for the French soldiers to huddle and gossip quietly amongst themselves with more animation than was usual. Again, this too might have been attributable to the change in the weather, except that he was conscious of something else, a total lack of movement on the river. It was true there was more ice than there had been, but the Elbe was a great highway and a fishing ground, and he knew from long experience that men who earned their livelihood from trade and fishing do not cease at the first flurry of snow, rather they increase their activity before the severity of the weather stops them altogether.

'There's something amiss ashore,' Littlewood said, lowering the glass with which he had been scanning the adjacent quay.

'You've noticed it too,' said Drinkwater. 'It can't be another religious holiday, the churches are silent.'

'No, but there are soldiers on the quay there.' Littlewood pointed and offered Drinkwater his glass.

Drinkwater scanned the wharves. A troop of dragoons trotted past, their long carbines tucked in stirrup- holsters.

'Can't have anything to do with us,' Littlewood remarked, though his tone lacked conviction.

'Garrison reinforcements?' Drinkwater said. 'Perhaps the arrival of a French bigwig?'

'That might explain the stoppage of work, I suppose,' said Littlewood disconsolately, 'I hope it won't detain us for long, I don't like this ice.' He gestured over the side, where larger floes, flat glistening sheets, revolved slowly in the stream, occasionally jamming athwart their hawse before tearing free and continuing their passage to the North Sea.

The following night, during the early hours, Drinkwater was shaken hurriedly awake. Littlewood, still wearing night­cap and gown and holding a lantern, stood over him.

'Cap'n Waters, get up! There's a summons from the shore! Thiebault's come aboard and he wants you and Gilham.'

'What o'clock is it?' asked Drinkwater, but Littlewood was not listening.

'Something's afoot! Two lighters will be here within the hour. That should take the remains of our cargo. Thiebault wants us and the Ocean under weigh by daylight.'

Littlewood left as hurriedly as he had come, leaving a confused Drinkwater to dress and follow him. On deck he found the French customs officer muffled in a cloak.

'Captain Waters?' Thiebault's voice was tense and his tone urgent.

'Yes? What is the meaning of this?'

'Please prepare yourself for an absence from the ship.'

'But I understand you wish us to be under weigh by dawn ...' Drinkwater protested. Thiebault interrupted him.

'I can give you five minutes, Captain, but no more.'

'I demand an explanation ...'

'I have loaded pistols which will persuade you to do as I ask,' Thiebault hissed. 'I do not wish to summon the guards, but I give you five minutes to attire yourself.'

Drinkwater spun on his heel and returned to his cabin, his mind a whirl. The dull, persistent foreboding was proved right, he thought, as he forced his feet into Dungarth's hessian boots, rolled up his shaving tackle and stuffed small clothes into a leather valise. For a moment he thought of leaping from the stern window, then dismissed the idea as stupid. He would freeze within minutes, his wracked shoulder no aid to such heroics. Wrapping himself in his boatcloak and jamming the plain tricorne on his head, he returned to the Galliwasp's poop. Thiebault was impatient to be gone.

'You are quite safe, Captain Waters, but I am under the painful necessity of securing your person, and that of Captain Gilham, as guarantors.'

'Guarantors! What the devil d'you mean?' snapped an increasingly angry Drinkwater.

'Against the compliant behaviour of the other ships whose cargoes you have promised ... come sir, I will explain, but you must attend me at once, we have not a moment to lose!'

Drinkwater turned to Littlewood, an unpleasant suspicion forming in his mind. 'Littlewood, are you a party to this knavery?'

'No sir! I shall do everything possible to expedite the arrival of the remaining ships, believe me!'

'I am compelled to, sir!' snapped Drinkwater.

'Come Captain ...' Drinkwater felt Thiebault's hand at his elbow. He shook it off angrily, then Thiebault called out in a low but authoritative voice, 'M'aider, mes amis!'

The grim infantrymen of their guard suddenly surrounded Drinkwater. He was hustled unceremoniously to the rail and down into the waiting boat. Collapsing, half-trodden on by the descending Thiebault, he found an indignant Gilham held at pistol point.

'What in God's name ...?' Drinkwater began, but he felt himself seized from behind and a hand clapped firmly over his mouth. As the boat shoved off from the side of the Galliwasp, Thiebault leaned over the two Britons.

'Not a word, gentlemen, I insist. In a moment I will explain.'

And with that they had, perforce, to be content. With a regular dip and splash, the boat was pulled obliquely across the river, dodging the ice floes and bumping gently at the foot of a flight of steps set in a stone quay. They were bundled up these and into a carriage. Its blinds were drawn and Thiebault entered after them. He set a lantern in the sconce, then turned and took a pistol from one of his assistants. The door slammed shut and the carriage jerked forward with Gilham and Drinkwater staring down the barrel of Thiebault's pistol. From time to time the Frenchman cautiously lifted the edge of the adjacent window blind and peered out. In the lantern light Drinkwater noticed an unseasonal perspiration on Thiebault's forehead.

Less than half an hour had passed since Littlewood had woken Drinkwater, and in the confusion he had felt only an angry perplexity. But it was anger tempered with the odd feeling that he had expected some such event, and now that it had occurred and he was compelled to sit and wait upon events, he noticed Thiebault's anxiety with interest. Beside him Gilham was less philosophical.

'Well,' he demanded, 'what about this confounded explanation you promised?'

Thiebault let the blind drop for the third or fourth time and lowered the pistol, his thumb and forefinger easing the hammer so that the gun was no longer cocked and the frizzen clicked shut over the priming pan.

'Gentlemen,' he said with what Drinkwater thought was an effort to assume his customary urbanity, 'there has been a development in our affairs that was unforeseen. I assure you there is nothing sinister in your predicament. It is merely a precaution.'

'I do beg to differ, M'sieur Thiebault,' said Gilham sarcastically, 'it is hard to view midnight abduction at pistol point as anything other than sinister.' Gilham leaned forward and Drinkwater shot out a hand to restrain him.

'I think M'sieur Thiebault has problems of his own, Gilham. I think we are taken not merely as guarantors against the arrival of the other ships, but as hostages ...'

'Hostages, by God!'

'Hold hard, sir!'

Thiebault, clearly compromised and, judging by his obvious anxiety, preoccupied with plans of his own that took precedence over any consideration, real or pretended, shot Drinkwater an unguarded look of pure astonishment.

Drinkwater seized upon his obvious advantage. 'Who has arrived in Hamburg, M'sieur Thiebault, to compel you to take this extreme action, eh?'

Thiebault's mouth opened, then closed. He offered no explanation, and Drinkwater knew his question had found its mark.

'You see, Gilham,' he went on, never taking his eyes off the French official, 'I believe that we are hostages to be delivered up to this person if M'sieur Thiebault here has to clear his name from any charge of trafficking with