"Baltic Mission" - читать интересную книгу автора (Вудмен Ричард)

7  Nielsen

Drinkwater sat in his cabin in a happier frame of mind than he had enjoyed for weeks. Although the butcher's bill for the boat action was heavier than anticipated, there was no doubt that the attack had been a success. The real damage to Marshal Mortier's Army Corps was not great, but the unexpected destruction of a battery showed the long arm of the British Admiralty, and could not fail to have its effect upon the general morale of the French corps.

There had been a little necessary diplomacy at the protest they had received from a Swedish officer who had come on board as Antigone entered Sassnitz Bay; but it had been passed off easily enough with a glass or two. Most important to Drinkwater was the effect the action had had upon Rogers and the people. He had heard several versions of the affair and gathered that a sneaking admiration had been aroused for Rogers, on account of his coolness under attack. It was undoubtedly only a temporary lull in the hostility between the lower deck and the first lieutenant, but it was a lull nevertheless, and Drinkwater was relieved to see that Rogers himself seemed to have recovered some of his old self-possession.

But it was not merely the raising of the morale of his own ship's company that occasioned Drinkwater his present good humour. On their return to Sassnitz Bay and the Swedish fleet, they had found a flying squadron of British frigates. Supposing at first that he was to place himself under the orders of the senior captain, Drinkwater found to his delight that special orders awaited him. Taking the opportunity to send mails home, including a highly laudatory report on the affair before Stralsund, he had hurried back to Antigone to digest the import of his written instructions. It was clear that Home of the Pegasus was somewhat jealous of Drinkwater's independence and had wished to include Antigone in his flying squadron.

'You seem to enjoy a kind of privilege,' Home had lisped. 'I have to give you written orders of your own.' Reluctance was written plain on the man's face and even discernible in the way he handed over the sealed package.

'The forward berth ain't always the most pleasant,' Drinkwater replied, happy to escape from the constraints of serving under someone young enough to be his son. Home would be a rear-admiral by the time he reached Drinkwater's age, but that was not Drinkwater's concern at the moment; he was more interested in the other news newly arrived at Sassnitz Bay.

'I heard one of your officers mention Dantzig when I came aboard,' he prompted.

'Dantzig? Oh, damn me yes, the place has fallen to the French.'

It seemed inevitable that, failing a major Russian victory, the French would mop up the resistance in their rear. Making his excuses as early as he could, Drinkwater had returned to Antigone, set a course to the eastward and retired to his cabin to open the package Home had given him. Slitting the fouled anchor seal of the Admiralty Office, he unfolded the papers and began to read.

His instructions from Mr. Barrow, Second Secretary at the Admiralty, were a mere repeat of those he had left the Nore with. The same stock phrases: You are requested and required to cruise against the enemy ... to examine all vessels and in particular those of neutral nations ... detaining those whose cargo is of advantage to the enemy ... and so on. In short, there was nothing to suggest that he had earned Home's envy or that his 'independence' had much advantage to it. But appended to Mr. Barrow's formal instructions was another letter, similarly sealed but not signed by the Admiralty's civil administrator; this document bore the scrawled and familiar name of the Director of the Secret Department. It was brief and undated, typical of the writer's economy of style when using plain English.

My dear Drinkwater,

Until you are able to ascertain the outcome of military operations in East Prussia, you are to cruise to the eastward of the Gulf of Dantzig and inform London the instant you learn anything of significance. You should afford any assistance required by persons operating on the instructions of this Department.

Yours amp; c Dungarth

Drinkwater laid the letter down and turned his chair to stare through the stern windows and watch Antigone's furrowing wake, where the sea swirled green and white from under the frigate's stern. He saw nothing of the gulls dipping in the marbled water; his mind was turned inwards, contemplating the full implication behind Dungarth's instruction, and it seemed that his independence was no coincidence. That last sentence, that he should afford assistance to persons operating on the instructions of Lord Dungarth's Secret Department, was a clear order. And both Dungarth and Drinkwater knew that one of those 'persons' was Drinkwater's own brother, Edward. Drinkwater's frigate was cruising independently for reasons beyond the arbitrary processes of normal Admiralty planning. Dungarth knew that Drinkwater was the one post-captain on the Navy List who would take more than a passing interest in 'persons operating on the instructions of this Department' in East Prussia, where the Tsar's armies were in the field.

Drinkwater sighed. Surely this was only a partial truth, and one that was engendered by his own long-held guilt over the whole affair of his brother. Colonel Wilson, whose presence in the area would be well known to Lord Dungarth, had given him almost identical advice, mentioning in particular a certain Mackenzie. Nevertheless that strange and fleeting feeling of presentiment could not be denied. Brief and passing though it was, it had the reality of one of those glimpses of the hungry gulls quartering their wake.

Drinkwater mused on the likely outcome of those military operations that were obviously preoccupying Dungarth and, by implication, His Majesty's Government. Home had told him of the fall of Dantzig to the French on 26 May. Dungarth could not have known of that when he had written his letter. Yet Drinkwater knew, as Wilson had told him, the coming weeks of the new campaigning season were vital to the outcome of the long and increasingly bitter war. Antigone was to be, for the foreseeable future, the Government's eyes and ears; to learn of the outcome of what promised to be a crucial clash of arms between France and Russia somewhere in East Prussia, Poland or Kurland.

There was a knock at the cabin door; Drinkwater folded Dungarth's letter and slipped it into the drawer.

'Enter!'

Midshipman Wickham's face peered into the cabin. 'Beg pardon, sir. Mr. Quilhampton sends his compliments and we shall have to tack, sir. The island of Bornholm is two leagues distant.'

'Very well. Thank you.'

'Aye, aye, sir. And I'm to tell you, sir, that Mr. Rogers is on deck.' There was more than a hint in this last remark. It annoyed Drinkwater that a youngster like Wickham should be privy to such innuendo. He frowned.

'Very well, Mr. Wickham. Be so kind as to give Mr. Rogers my compliments and ask him to take the deck and tack ship.'

'Mr. Rogers to tack ship ...' There was a slight inflection of doubt in Wickham's voice.

'You heard what I said, Mr. Wickham,' Drinkwater said sharply. 'Be so kind as to attend to your duty.'

The little exchange robbed Drinkwater of some of his former sense of satisfaction. He swore under his breath and, determined not to lose the mood entirely, he reopened the drawer beneath the table, pushed aside Dungarth's letter and drew out the leather-bound notebook and unclasped it. He also took out his pen-case and picked up the steel pen Elizabeth had given him. Uncapping his ink-well he dipped the nib and began to write in his journal.

It would seem that Ld Dungarth's Interest has influenced their L'dships to appoint us to this Particular Service. I am not inclined to enquire too closely into his L'dship's motives ...

He paused as the pipes twittered at the hatchways. The muffled thunder of feet told where the watches below were being turned up.

There was no need for him to go on deck. Rogers would benefit from any public demonstration of the captain's confidence, though there would doubtless be a deal too much in the way of starting. Drinkwater sighed again. He regretted that, but there was a deal too much of it in the naval service altogether. Shaking his head he continued to write.

I therefore directed our course to the eastward, as far as the wind would admit, intending to try for news at Konigsberg; for, with Dantzig capitulated to the Enemy, what news there is will surely be discovered there.

He sanded the page, blew it and put book and pen-case away. Flicking the cap over his ink-well he rose, took his hat from the peg and went on deck.

Antigone was turning up into the wind as he emerged onto the quarterdeck. Rogers was standing by the starboard hance. He looked at Drinkwater but the captain shook his head. 'Carry on, Mr. Rogers.'

Clasping his hands behind his back, Drinkwater affected to take little notice of what was going on on deck. Ahead the jib-boom pointed towards the long, flat table-land of Bornholm. Dark with fir trees, it impeded their making further progress to the northeast, and they were in the process of going about onto the larboard tack, to fetch a course of south-east until they raised the low coast of East Prussia, fifty miles away.

'Mains'l haul!'

Rogers's order was given with every appearance of confidence and the hands obeyed it willingly enough. He was not sure that his presence on deck had not toned down the usual activity of the bosun's mates with their rope starters. The frigate paid off on the new tack.

'Fore-yards there! Heads'l sheets! Leggo and haul!'

The fore-yards came round, the sails filled and the ship began to drive forwards again. 'Steer full and bye!'

'Full an' bye it is, sir ... Full an' bye steering sou'-east three-quarters south, sir.'

'Very well. Mr. Frey!'

'Sir?'

'Move the peg on the traverse board, Mr. Frey ... course sou'-east three-quarters south.'

'Sou'-east three-quarters south, sir. Aye, aye, sir.'

A comforting air of normality attended these routine transactions and, much heartened, Drinkwater crossed the deck.

'Very well, Mr. Rogers.' He smiled and added with less formality, 'Will you join me for dinner, Sam?'

Rogers nodded. 'Thank you, sir.'

It proved an odd meal. They dined alone and Drinkwater avoided serving wine, drinking the thin small beer that was usually drunk in the cockpit. Its very presence seemed an obstruction to any form of conviviality. Indeed, serving small beer and avoiding any reference to Rogers's recent unhappy experience only seemed to emphasize the matter. Drinkwater tried to fill the awkwardness and attempted an appraisal of the complex state of affairs among the Baltic States. But Rogers was not a man to interest himself in anything beyond the confines of the ship and such had been the mental disturbance he had so recently undergone that he was quite incapable of anything beyond the most subjective thinking. At the end of ten minutes of monologue, Drinkwater's lecture foundered on the first lieutenant's apathy.

'Well, Sam, that is the situation as I comprehend it. Now it remains to be seen who will outmaneuver whom. D'you understand?'

'Yes, sir,' said Rogers mechanically, avoiding Drinkwater's eyes.

There was a silence between the two men. It was not the companionable silence of contentment between friends. Drinkwater could sense the hostility in Rogers. Once, long ago on the brig Hellebore, it had been open and obvious; now it was concealed, hidden behind those downcast eyes. Drinkwater could only guess at its origins but that letter from Lord Dungarth made it imperative that Rogers suppressed it. He changed the subject.

'You did very well at Stralsund, Sam.'

'Didn't you think I'd be up to it?' Rogers jibbed at the patronisation. 'Look, if you're implying they didn't put up a spirited fight...'

'I'm implying nothing of the kind, Sam,' Drinkwater said with a weary patience he was far from feeling. Silence returned to the table. Then Rogers seemed to come to a decision. He pulled himself up in his chair as though bracing himself.

'Did you order Lallo to put me in a strait-jacket?'

Drinkwater looked directly at Rogers. To deny such a direct question would put poor Lallo in an impossible situation and give Rogers the impression that he was dodging the issue.

'I gave orders for the surgeon to restrain you with such force as was necessary, yes. It was for your own benefit, Sam. Now that you are weaned off the damnable stuff and have been recommended in a letter to the Admiralty — oh, yes, I sent it off with Captain Home's dispatch boat — you have a much better chance of ...' Drinkwater paused. He knew Rogers craved promotion and the security of being made post. Yet of all his officers Rogers was the one he would least recommend for command. Rogers would turn into the worst kind of flogging captain.

'Advancement?' said Rogers.

'Exactly,' Drinkwater temporised.

Rogers sat back, apparently appeased, looking at Drinkwater from beneath his brows. Drinkwater had told Rogers nothing of the real reason for their new station. The prevailing political situation was one thing, the complexities of secret operations quite another. Nevertheless it was not inconceivable that Rogers might wring some advantage out of their situation. Drinkwater would feel he could encourage Rogers if he could also avoid the man commanding a ship.

'Sam,' he said, 'I have a trifling influence; suppose I was able to get you a step in rank. What would you say to a post as Commander in the Sea-Fencibles?'

Rogers frowned. 'Or of a signal station?' he said darkly.

'Just so ...'

But Drinkwater had miscalculated. Rogers rose. 'Damn it,' he said, 'I want a ship like you!'

'Damn,' muttered Drinkwater as Rogers withdrew without further ceremony and, reaching for the hitherto untouched decanter, he poured himself a glass of wine.

The waters of the eastern Baltic, which two months earlier had presented a desolate aspect under pack-ice, were alive with coasting and fishing craft the following morning. Convention decreed that all fishing boats were free to attend to their business and Drinkwater was not much interested in stopping the small coasting vessels that crept along the shore. But mindful of the underlying task of every British cruiser, Drinkwater's written orders to his officers included the injunction to stop and search neutral vessels of any size. At two bells in the forenoon watch the lookout had sighted a large, barque-rigged vessel of some three hundred tons burthen. As Fraser eased his helm the barque set more sail and Drinkwater was sent for.

Coming on deck Drinkwater heard Rogers remark to Fraser, 'A festering blockade runner, eh?' with enough of his old spirit to dispel any worries as to permanent damage after the previous evening's conversation. He acknowledged the two lieutenants with a nod and a smile. Rogers's face was impassive.

Almost without any conscious effort on anyone's part, the news that the ship was in chase of a possible prize attracted every idler on deck. Gathering amidships were Mount and Lallo, with Pater the purser. Forward, on the triangular fo'c's'le, a score or so of seamen were crowding the knightheads to sight their quarry. James Quilhampton ascended the quarterdeck ladder and touched his hat to the captain.

'Morning, sir,' he said.

'Morning, James,' Drinkwater replied, dropping the usual formalities since Quilhampton not only was a friend but was not on duty. Fraser looked anxiously at the captain. He was eager to crack on sail for all he was worth.

'D'ye wish that I should set... ?'

'Carry on, Mr. Fraser, carry on. You are doing fine. Just forbear carrying anything away if you please.'

Drinkwater raised his Dollond glass and levelled in on the chase. 'Now what nationality do you guess our friend is, James?' He handed the glass to Quilhampton who studied the quarry.

'Er ... I don't know, sir.'

'I think he's a Dane, Mr. Q; a neutral Dane with a cargo of ... oh, timber, flax, perhaps, and bound for somewhere where they build ships. We shall have to exercise our right of angary.'

'Of what, sir?'

'Angary, Mr. Q, angary. A belligerent's right to seize or use neutral property: in our case temporarily, to ascertain if he is bound for a port friendly to the French,' Drinkwater took back his glass and again looked at the barque. Then he turned to Fraser. 'You are coming up on him hand over fist, Mr. Fraser. Let us have a bow-chaser loaded, ready to put a shot athwart his hawse!'

In the brilliant sunshine and over a sparkling sea the Antigone soon overhauled her deep-laden and bluff-bowed victim. A single shot across her bow forced the barque to bring-to and an hour and a half after they had first sighted her, the blockade runner lay under Antigone's lee.

'Very well done, Mr. Fraser, my congratulations.'

'Thank you, sir.' Mr. Fraser, looking pleased with himself, acknowledged the captain's compliment.

Drinkwater turned to Quilhampton. 'Do you board him, Mr. Q. Examine his papers and, if you think it necessary, his cargo. Take your time. If you consider the cargo is bound for a port under French domination or of use as war material we are authorised to detain him. D'you understand?'

'Perfectly, sir. Angary is the word.' And he went off to the quarter, where the lee cutter was being prepared for lowering.

Rogers and Hill were active about the deck as, aloft, the flogging topgallants were dropped onto the topmast caps and the big main-topsail was backed in a great double belly against the mast. Both courses and spanker were brailed in and Antigone pitched, reined in and checked in her forward dash.

'Lower away!' There was a loud smack as the cutter hit the water and a few minutes later she was being pulled across the blue sea towards the barque, her dripping oarblades flashing in the sun.

Drinkwater settled down to wait patiently. The hiatus occasioned by Quilhampton's search could be long, depending upon the degree of co-operation he received from the vessel's master. Drinkwater watched idly as a fishing boat crossed the stern, her four-man crew standing up arid watching the curious sight with obvious interest.

'She's Danish, sir,' said Fraser suddenly. Drinkwater looked up and saw that the barque was hoisting the colours that she had studiously avoided showing before. That very circumstance had made her actions sufficiently suspicious to Drinkwater. 'Hm. I thought as much.'

'This'll annoy the Danes,' added Rogers, joining them, and Drinkwater recalled the incident off Elsinore. It seemed an age ago.

'Yes, they are somewhat sensitive upon the subject of Freedom of the Seas,' Drinkwater remarked. 'At least they ain't escorted by a warship.'

At the turn of the century British men-of-war had detained an entire Danish convoy escorted by the frigate Freya. The incident had almost caused open hostilities and had certainly contributed to the rupture that had resulted in Nelson's victory at Copenhagen a year later.

'Well, to be neutral during such a war as this carries its own penalties and entails its own risks,' Drinkwater remarked. 'I feel more pity for others whose lives are more deeply affected by French imperialism than a few profitmongering Danish merchants.'

Fraser looked sideways at the captain. Did Drinkwater refer to the widows and orphans they themselves had made in the destruction of the battery at Stralsund? Or was he alluding to the families of the pressed men that milled in the ship's waist?

'Boat's returning,' said Rogers, recalling Fraser from his unsolved abstraction.

'Yes,' said Drinkwater peering through his glass. Beside Quilhampton in the cutter was another figure who seemed by his gesticulations to be arguing.

'Damnation,' muttered Drinkwater, 'trouble.'

'Capten, I protest much! Goddam you English! Vy you stop my ship?'

'Because you are carrying a cargo proscribed by the Orders in Council of His Majesty King George, to the port of Antwerp which is invested by ships of King George's Royal Navy.'

Drinkwater studied the papers Quilhampton had brought him, then looked up at the Danish master. 'The matter admits little argument, sir; Anvers, Antwerpen, Antwerp, 'tis all the same to me.' He held up the papers and quoting from them read, 'Der Schiff Birthe, Captain Nielsen, von Grenaa, Dantzig vox Antwerpen ... your cargo is, er, sawn timber, flax, turpentine. They make excellent deals in Dantzig, Captain, and with such deals they make excellent ships at Antwerpen. About a dozen men-o'-war a year, I believe.'

'And vot vill you do now, eh, Capten English?'

'Detain you, sir,' Drinkwater said, folding the Birthe's papers and tucking them in his tail-pocket, 'and send you in as a prize.'

'A prize! A for helvede!'

'To be condemned in due form according to the usages and customs ...'

'No! Goddam, no!'

Drinkwater looked at the man. He had expected anger and despised himself for hiding this unpleasant necessity behind the jumble of half-legal cant. The Danish mariner could scarcely be expected to understand it, beyond learning that he and his ship were virtually prisoners.

'A disagreeable necessity, Captain, for both of us.' Drinkwater spread his hands in a gesture to signify helplessness. Oddly, the man seemed to be considering something. This suspicion was almost immediately confirmed when Nielsen stepped forward, taking Drinkwater by the elbow and saying in his ear:

'Capten, ve go below and talk, yes?'

'I think that will not be necessary.'

Nielsen's grip on his arm increased. 'It is important ... ver' important!' He paused, then added, 'Before Dantzig I was in Konigsberg, Capten ...' and nodded, as if this added intelligence was of some significance. Nielsen suddenly stepped back and gave a grave nod to Drinkwater. Frowning, Drinkwater suspected he was to be made a bribe, but something in the man's face persuaded him to take the matter seriously. After all, Konigsberg was a Prussian port and Dantzig now a French one. Was Nielsen trying to placate him with some news?

'Mr. Rogers, take the deck. Watch our friend carefully. Mr. Fraser, this man wants to talk to me privately. I'd be obliged if you'd come as a witness.' And leaving the deck buzzing with speculation, Drinkwater led them below.

'Now, sir,' he said to Nielsen the instant Fraser had closed the cabin door, 'what is it you want?'

The Danish master put his hand up to his breast and reached under his coat.

'If you intend to offer me money ...'

'Nein ... not money, Capten... this,' he drew a package from his breast, 'is more good than money, I tink. I come from Konigsberg, Capten, plenty Russians Konigsberg.' He handed Drinkwater the sealed packet.

'What the devil is it?'

'It is, er ...' Nielsen searched for a word, '... er, secret, Capten ... for London from Russia ... for many times I, Frederic Nielsen, carry the secret paper for you English.'

Drinkwater turned the package over suspiciously. 'You intended taking this where? To Antwerp?' Drinkwater fixed the Dane with his eyes, searching for the truthful answers to his questions. Any fool could wrap up an impressive bundle of papers scribbled in a supposed 'cipher' and try it as a ruse. 'Together with your cargo for the French, eh, Captain. Is that how you trade first with Konigsberg and then with Dantzig, eh?'

Nielsen shrugged. 'A man must live, Capten ... but yes. To Antwerpen. In two days from Antwerpen it can be to London — by Helvoetsluys or Vlissingen — who know? This is not for me. I only make my ship go ver' fast.' He shrugged again. 'Now it is stop by you.'

'Are you paid?'

'Yes.'

'How?'

Nielsen hesitated, reluctant to admit his private affairs. He looked first at Drinkwater then at Fraser. He found comfort in neither face. 'How?' Drinkwater repeated and Fraser stirred men­acingly.

'Ven the paper to London, den is money made to me, to Hamburg.'

Drinkwater considered for a moment. 'If I undertake to deliver this, will you get your money?'

A look of alarm crossed Nielsen's face.

'Have a look at the thing, sir,' said Fraser, unable to remain silent any longer. 'He's trying to get you to let his cargo through on the pretext o' this cock-and-bull story.'

'What is the news in here, Captain Nielsen?' Drinkwater tapped the packet.

Again Nielsen shrugged. 'I do not know. Is some good news for London I hear at Dantzig.' 'Good news! At Dantzig?'

'Yes. French have battle at Heilsberg. Russian ver' good.' Drinkwater frowned. 'You say the Russians beat the French at Heilsberg?'

Nielsen nodded. Drinkwater made up his mind, turned to the table and picked up the pen-knife lying there.

'No, Capten, I tell good, if you cut paper I not get money! Gott!'

It was too late. Drinkwater had slit the heavy sealing on the outer, oiled paper and unfolded the contents. They consisted of several sheets of handwriting at the top of which was a prefix of seven digits. The message was meaningless in any language and was either in cipher or an imitation cipher. Drinkwater looked up at Nielsen.

'Any damned fool could write a few pages of gibberish,' said Drinkwater. He lifted the final sheet. At the bottom was a signature of sorts. At least it was a series of signs in the place one would write a signature. They seemed to be in Cyrillic script whereas the body of the thing was in Roman handwriting; Drinkwater could make nothing of them, but then his eye fell on something else that stirred a memory of something Colonel Wilson had said. When he had mentioned Mackenzie, the British agent to whom he should offer assistance, he had also spoken of a Russian officer, a lieutenant whose name he had forgotten. Were those Cyrillic letters this man's signature? Both men used a cryptogramic code, Wilson had said, and both sent their reports to Joseph Devlieghere, Merchant of Antwerpen. He did not have to recall the Flemish name: it was written at the bottom of the page.

'Capten, if you take my ship prize, you make London ver' angry. Frederic Nielsen help you English ...'

'For money!' said Fraser contemptuously.

'No!' Nielsen was angry himself now and turned on Fraser. 'Why you not to trust Nielsen, eh? You English not like business of oder people! Only for English it is good. Yes! But I tell you, Capten,' here he rounded on Drinkwater, 'if Nielsen not bring paper, sometimes London not know what happen in Russia, Sweden an' oder place.

You English send gold ... much gold... but not keep it good ... Ha! Ha! Ver' funny! You English crazy! You lose much gold but stop poor Frederic Nielsen to take some deals to Antwerpen ... bah!'

Drinkwater had only the haziest notion of what Nielsen meant and was only paying partial attention to the Danish master for there was something else about the papers he held that was odd; not merely odd but profoundly disquieting. Something had tripped a subconscious mechanism of his memory. Now he wanted Nielsen and Fraser out of his cabin.

'Take Captain Nielsen on deck, Mr. Fraser. I want a moment to reflect.'

'Don't be misled by such a trick, sir,' Fraser said anxiously.

'Cut along, Mr. Fraser,' Drinkwater said with sudden asperity, waiting impatiently for the two men to leave him alone. When they had gone he sat and stared at the document. But he could not be certain and gradually the beating of his heart subsided. He cursed himself for a fool and began to fold the letter, then thought better of it and opened his table drawer, drew out journal, pen-case and ink-well. Very carefully he copied into the margin of his journal the strange exotic letters of the document's 'signature': ИCЛAHД.

Then he stowed the things away again, stuffed Nielsen's dispatch into the breast of his coat, strode to the cabin door and took the quarterdeck ladder two steps at a time.

'Mr. Rogers!'

'Sir?'

'Be so kind as to have Captain Nielsen returned to his ship.' Drinkwater turned to the Dane. 'Captain, I apologise for detaining you.' He handed the dispatch back. 'You must re-seal it and please tell Mynheer Devlieghere the news of the defeat at...'

'Heilsberg,' offered Nielsen, visibly brightening.

'Yes. Heilsberg. Good voyage and I hope you have good news soon from Hamburg.'

Nielsen's face split in a grin and he held out a stubby hand. 'T'ank you, Capten. You English are not too much friend with Denmark, but this,' he wagged the dispatch in the air, 'this is good news, yes.' He strode to the rail where a puzzled Quilhampton waited.

'You are not going to let the bugger go, are you?' asked Rogers with some of his wonted fire, seeing a plum prize slipping once again beyond his grasp.

'Yes, Mr. Rogers,' said Drinkwater, fixing the first lieutenant with a cautionary eye, 'for reasons of state ...' Then he turned to the master. 'Mr. Hill, be so kind as to resume our course for Konigsberg when the boat returns,' he said and added, by way of a partial explanation, 'we must investigate the nature of a French defeat at a place called Heilsberg.'

'Aye, aye, sir,' replied the imperturbable Hill.

'And Mr. Mount?'

'Sir?'

'Can we locate Heilsberg on that atlas of yours?'

'I should hope so, sir,' said the marine officer with enthusiasm as Drinkwater led him below.

Lieutenant Rogers strode to the lee rail and watched the boat pulling back towards Antigone.

'Reasons of state!' he hissed under his breath, and spat disgustedly to leeward as the Danish barque made sail.