"Under false colours" - читать интересную книгу автора (Вудмен Ричард)

CHAPTER 10 Hamburg

'It is good, Kapitan,' Herr Reinke said in his flat, humourless English, 'everything is arranged.'

'There are no problems?' Drinkwater enquired, hardly able to believe what Reinke, Littlewood and Gilham accepted without apparent misgiving.

'No.' The ghost of a smile now played about Reinke's face. 'You have not been many times in this trade?' he asked, though he seemed to be merely confirming an impression rather than seeking a fact. 'You are surprised it is easy, yes?'

'Yes, I am.' Drinkwater poured two glasses of Littlewood's blackstrap, handing one to the German surveyor.

'Prosit. Things are a little different now. When Bourrienne was Governor it was more easy.'

Drinkwater knew of the corruption, if corruption it was, that had flourished under the city of Hamburg's disgraced Governor. Bourrienne's hand had been light on the helm, but deep in the pockets of his unwilling subjects, for he had connived at flouting the proscriptive decrees of his Imperial master on the pretext that too severe an imposition of trading embargoes would produce indigence and destitution among the inhabitants of the Hanseatic towns. Such disaffection, Bourrienne had argued, could fester and then erupt as open rebellion. It was rumoured to be happening in Prussia and other German states unhappy with their vassal status. Bourrienne's recall and subsequent disgrace was a measure of Napoleon's displeasure, and a gauge too, Drinkwater thought, of the Emperor's likely reaction to news of similar irregularities with Russia.

'In fact, Kapitan, more than one thousand English ships already discharge their cargo here, in Hamburg, every year since you take Helgoland.'

'I see. Then there is a ready supply of capital in the city?' Drinkwater persisted. Such details he had left to Nicholas, assured by him that they would encounter no obstacles and which, preoccupied as he had been by the planning and writing of orders concerning the logistic and military side of the operation, he had been content to ignore. Now, in the very heart of the great city, as he waited for the hatches to be opened and the contraband cargo discharged, he found his curiosity aroused.

'Ja,' said Reinke. 'Mainly Jews, like your Herr Liepmann, but also good German merchants. Herr Liepmann is knowing that the Governor must provide some stores for the Grand Army. Some things, like these boots you have, the Governor will sell to Paris. Herr Liepmann will buy from you, the Governor's agents will buy from Liepmann. Paris is happy it has boots; the Governor is happy: he has a profit because he sell at more than Herr Liepmann sell to him; and Liepmann is happy because he also has a profit when he buy from you and sell to the French. And you are happy because without Liepmann buy your cargo, you have nothing.'

'But how,' Drinkwater asked, feeling far from happy, 'did Herr Liepmann reach this accommodation with the Governor? And how does he preserve it when Bourrienne leaves and Reinhard arrives with new orders to enforce the embargo more strictly?'

'Ach, you don't understand that! Well, that is most easy.' A smile of pure worldly cynicism lit up Reinke's sober face. 'We are not barbarians. The French take Hamburg and we must live, nein? We must, what is word ...?'

'Adapt?'

'Ja, to adapt. Hamburg must adapt. There are ways of doing things. Herr Thiebault, he is un homme d'affaires, he understands ...'

'And has a taste for sugar?'

'Ja! You understand Kapitan, but also, I think, he is much interested by these boots.'

The seasmoke they had experienced at Brunsbuttel became a daily phenomenon as they lay at buoys off the city of Hamburg. The ships had worked their way slowly upstream, catching the wind and tide when they served, anchoring when they became foul and hampered progress. Reinke piloted them skilfully, for the channel wound between a vast expanse of salt marsh and shoals. The flat wilderness of reed beds where the mighty Elbe swirled and eddied over the shallows was the haunt of heron and harrier, of a myriad species of ducks and geese. Alders and willows crowded the banks and midstream aits, and cattle stood hock deep in the water-meadows near the scattered villages past which they had slipped under their false, American colours.

At Blankenese the land began to rise in a series of low hills until, beyond the village of Altona, they could see the smoke and spires of the great city that lay on the Elbe's northern bank. Here, in accordance with Thiebault's instructions, they were directed to secure to midstream mooring buoys. Their Dutch escorts departed and French soldiers, grizzled infantry of a line battalion recruiting its strength in the 'soft' posting of garrison duty, took over as their guards. The contrast they made with Hamilton's men struck Drinkwater, for these were veterans in the real sense of the word, men whose entire lives had been spent in bivouac, men used to scraping a bare subsistence from the country they found themselves in, men of almost infinite resource, easy in their demeanour like his own seamen, yet possessed of the intelligent eye, the keen weapon and that invisible yet detectable esprit that marked them as invincible. Their proximity increased Drinkwater's unease.

On their arrival Littlewood was escorted ashore. When he returned he reported he had met the mysterious Herr Liepmann. He expressed himself satisfied with the transaction and said that Liepmann had undertaken to transmit a secret message through his own channels to Isaac Solomon in London. Three days into the new year lighters arrived alongside, each with a gang of workmen and more guards.

'They,' said Littlewood nodding at the blue uniforms of a platoon of voltigeurs, 'are proof that the French authorities themselves are taking this little lot into safe-keeping.' Here Littlewood shifted his nodding head to the first bales of greatcoats that swung up and out of Galliwasp's hold.

Drinkwater was aware that he ought to have shared the obvious euphoria of Littlewood and Gilham, but he could not shake off the thought that matters had gone too well and that the plan had worked almost too faultlessly. In his mind he reviewed the interviews, Thiebault's reactions and Reinke's laboured explanations. There could be no doubt that a cargo had been shipped from London for Russia, and that the French knew about it, for if Fagan had not alerted them, Thiebault had most certainly done so and had made no attempt to disguise the fact that he had digested the information with interest.

Drinkwater ought, he knew, to have enjoyed a sense of relief far greater than that of his companions for, against the odds, he had carried out his orders. The enemy had been baited and taken the lure, and this appeared to have been confirmed by the account of the 'naval battle' off Cuxhaven in the Hamburg newspapers, for it was too preposterous a story not to have originated in Paris, a reprint of Le Moniteur's account of 'two British frigates trying to force a passage into the Elbe in pursuit of neutral, American shipping. They had been engaged and driven off by horse-artillery detachments, one having been dismasted.'

It was only after Reinke had translated this mendacious account that Drinkwater realized that the 'neutral, American shipping' referred to Galliwasp and Ocean, and that the report was virtual confirmation that the French had been deceived.

There was, he realized, no absolute guarantee that the men of the Galliwasp and the Ocean would be released, though Reinke assured him he had nothing to worry about. It was of little advantage to the French to hold merchant seamen, for they were outside the normal cartel arrangements for the exchange of prisoners and merely an expense, though their confinement did deprive the British of their services as pressed men. At a local level the pragmatic realization that their detention would deter others from bringing the desired luxuries through the blockade was a more persuasive argument in favour of letting them continue their voyaging.

'If Thiebault makes trouble,' Reinke promised, 'we will make trouble also.'

It was clearly in the interests of the Chamber of Commerce to ensure the freedom of the Britons in their midst, an action facilitated for all the parties concerned by the fiction that they were American, though it was difficult to imagine what form this 'trouble' might take.

As he leaned on Galliwasp's rail and watched the beefy German lightermen swinging out the ground tier of bales with their heavy grey greatcoats hidden under the dull burlap, Drinkwater told himself he was becoming old and jittery, apprehensive that as a disguised sea-officer in enemy territory, he ran the risk of being shot as a spy.

Reinke left them that forenoon, removed now that the services of neither a pilot nor an interpreter were required. The authorities, having permitted the discharge of the cargo to commence, were content to keep the crews of the two ships in mid-stream quarantine. The work progressed slowly. Only one lighter per ship was allowed them, clear proof, Littlewood asserted, that the stores were being carefully housed under lock and key in some well-guarded warehouse.

Drinkwater waited impatiently, pacing Galliwasp's poop. Pancakes of ice began 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 the British. Is that not so, M'sieur?'

Thiebault let his breath out with an audible hiss.

'Well?' Gilham persisted, 'what d'you say to that?'

'Yesterday,' said Thiebault resignedly, 'the Prince of Eckm#252;hl arrived in Hamburg.'

'And who in the name of Beelzebub might he be?' asked Gilham sharply.

'Marshal Davout, gentlemen,' said Thiebault, adding under his breath, 'le marechal de fer ...'