Under False Colours

by Richard Woodman

  Frey nodded. 'Aye, sir. He did his damndest ...'

  'Mr Frey,' Drinkwater said after a moment, drawing Frey from the introspection he had lapsed into on recounting the fate of the Tracker. 'I would not have you think I ask this question from meanness of spirit, but what became of my personal effects?'

  'We took some care of those, sir. Mr Q. had your chest sown into canvas and the whole tarred over. They weren't in the hold, d'you see, Mr Q. had 'em stowed in his cabin. When the Danes took the Tracker, they looted her of anything moveable. I'm afraid, sir,' Frey admitted, lowering his eyes, 'your chest was seized along with the ship's orders, sir.' He paused and looked Drinkwater full in the face. 'That was my fault, sir. I had forgotten about them in the heat of the action, sir, after Mr Q. was wounded ...'

  Drinkwater looked at the crestfallen Frey. After Quilhampton had fallen the command of Tracker would have devolved to him, and in the bitter moment of surrender Frey had forgotten to destroy the brig's secret orders.

  'So the enemy know we were bound for Russia?'

  'Yes sir, and the private signals for the ...'

  'Yes, yes, I realize that!' said Drinkwater sharply, aware of the irony.

  'I'm mortified, sir, there's no excuse ...'

  'I'm sorry, I spoke hastily, I implied no reproach, it's just that... well, never mind. You will have to admit these things in your written report, but I do not think you need concern yourself over much.'

  'Sir?' Frey looked puzzled.

  'No court martial will condemn an officer who has been through what you went through, Mr Frey and, by your account, gallantly defended his ship. You must submit to the court's judgement, of course.'

  'I have already written my report, sir,' Frey said gloomily.

  'Well, no matter of that now,' Drinkwater said. He was impatient to reassure Frey and though both he and Quilhampton — if he survived — would have to appear before a court martial, such considerations were in the future and Drinkwater was more urgently pressed by the present.

  'Just one thing more, Mr Frey, before we decide what is to be done.' He noticed Frey's expression change, responding to the positive note in Drinkwater's voice. 'What happened after you submitted to the Danes? By what authority were you brought to Altona?'

  'Oh, the French appear to control the Danes, sir. As soon as we got ashore, after the Tracker was looted and burned — for she was hulled and aground by the time we struck — we were turned over to the French garrison at a place called Tonning. The Danes, though willing to fight us at sea — for revenge on our attack on Copenhagen three years ago I reckon — seem to lack independence ashore. There are French troops quartered upon them. It was the French that finally took the ship's orders ... and your effects, sir,' Frey added as an apologetic afterthought. But what of you, sir?'

  Drinkwater looked at Frey. He had been wondering about the precise circumstances in which the portrait had come to light and compromised Hortense. He would never know, of course, and there were far more immediate things to consider.

  'Me? Oh, I will tell you one day, Mr Frey, when we are in better spirits and have put these present misfortunes behind us. Come, sir, tell me something about this place. You spoke — ah, Gilham, you have found something with which to break your fast.' Drinkwater looked up at the merchant shipmaster.

  'This is for you: burgoo, though a thin stuff compared with our usual British fare, but 'twill warm you.'

  'I'm obliged to you.'

  'I will get some for your young friend if you'll hatch some way out of this damnable place.'

  'You'll take your turn with us, not wait for Thiebault?'

  'I don't trust that lizard, damn him, not now he's under the thumb of Marshal What's-his-name.'

  Drinkwater could not resist a grin. 'Very well, now Mr Frey ...'

  'Well, 'tis a hospital really, as you doubtless guessed. We were brought here because so many of us were wounded.'

  'Were you one of them?'

  'Only a trifle, sir, a scratch, that's all. Several men have died since we arrived, but we have been tolerably well treated, allowed to bury our dead, and the commissioned officers permitted, on parole, to walk on the river bank.'

  'Ah, that's good. Have you given your parole?'

  'I wouldn't, sir.'

  'Why not?'

  'Mr Quilhampton forbade it, sir. He said 'twas enough to lose his ship, but he would not surrender his honour.'

  'A Quixotic notion, but I apprehend he had ideas of escape, eh?'

  'He did not know how ill he was.'

  'I see,' Drinkwater paused, 'and are visits permitted to Altona itself?'

  'Oh yes, we sent a man in to purchase foodstuffs ... before we ran out of money.'

  'D'you think it possible to send a message to Altona? Do any of the villagers enter the hospital at all?'

  Frey's brow creased in a frown. 'Well there is a boy that comes up with fresh bread and the Commandant has some intercourse with the place for his table ... Doctor Castenada would be the man to ask, sir. He is a remarkable fellow.'

  'Is he to be trusted?'

  'Aye, sir, as far as I can judge. He professes a dislike of the French.'

  Drinkwater grunted and rubbed a hand across his stubbled chin. 'I used,' he said, 'to have some sneaking regard for 'em — unpatriotic, don't you know — but it seems to me that the Rights of Man was a not entirely dishonourable banner to fight under. Then last night Gilham and I saw a boy shot for hoardin' sugar ...'

  'We hang smugglers, sir,' Frey said.

  'That's rather why I had a sneakin' regard for the Frogs,' grinned Drinkwater. 'Now tell me, if I asked you to plan the seizure of a boat large enough to take two dozen men down stream, what would you say?'

  Frey's face was transformed by sudden enthusiasm. 'I've thought about it, sir! There is little time, for the ice is already forming along the reed beds, but there's a ballast bed just below the village and they bring barges down from Hamburg and fill 'em there. They've sails and sweeps, a dozen of us could easily ...'

  'How the devil d'you know all this if you refused your parole?'

  'I didn't say I hadn't had a walk along the river bank, sir!'

  'I think, Captain Gilham,' Drinkwater said, 'that we may have discovered an exit from our impasse.'

  'I hope to heaven you're right, my dear fellow, for if your friend chooses to denounce you, well ... I don't think we have much time.'

  Drinkwater needed no reminding that time was pressing. For all he knew Davout might have despatched a galloper that very morning with a message to Altona to have a certain 'Captain Waters' placed under close arrest.

  Even if Hortense had not recognized him — and he was certain in his heart that his face had stirred some memory — it was likely that when confronted with the portrait and the story of its being found aboard a British man-of-war, the connection was inevitable.

  Seeking a quiet corner, Frey took him to consult Castenada. The worthy surgeon provided ink and paper, nodding when Frey explained the new prisoner wished to communicate with someone in Altona.

  For his own part, Drinkwater carefully wrote out the lines of Dante and encoded his message to Liepmann. It told briefly of their seizure in the warehouse, the interview with Davout and the suspected duplicity of Thiebault. Drinkwater also informed him of the fate of Johannes. Finally he made his request: I ask that you find the whereabouts of Lieutenant Quilhampton, commander of the British ship seized at Tanning.

  'Do you know of a Herr Liepmann, Doctor Castenada?' Drinkwater asked, 'I believe he lives in Altona.'

  'Si ... yes, yes. He is well known. You want that I, er, convey that message?' Castenada pointed at the final draft Drinkwater had copied out.

  'Yes, is it possible, without risk?'

  'Yes ... I will take it myself,' Castenada held out his hand and took the paper and stared at it. 'This is not English?'

  'No ...' said Drinkwater cautiously, unsure of the Spaniard's trustworthiness.

  'It is like the pharmacopoe
ia, eh?' Castenada smiled and folded the paper. 'Fortunately, Herr Liepmann is supplying me sometimes, my, er,' he frowned and scratched his head, failing to find the right word and ending his unfinished sentence with a shrug.

  'Ah, medicines!' offered Frey.

  'Yes, yes, of course, medicines.' Castenada smiled with satisfaction.

  'How soon can you go into Altona?' Drinkwater asked.

  'Today, I go today. In hospital like this I always want more of the, er, medicines, no?'

  Drinkwater nodded. 'Very well ...'

  He and Frey walked back across the parade ground where the snow was falling again. 'If he brings me a reply I shall know I can trust him, but it is better that I am not seen talking to him, for his sake as much as mine. Do you watch him, Mr Frey, and when he returns question him. This man Liepmann knows me and will reply in code. If Castenada plays his part, you may offer to get him and the twelve fittest Spaniards out of this place in your barge. Promise them that they will be repatriated to Spain at the expense of the British Government, d'you understand?'

  'Perfectly, sir.'

  'Now, have you given any thought as to how to get out of this place?'

  'The main gate is locked at sunset, early at this time of year, after which a general curfew is imposed upon us all. It is never broken — there has been no need to break it ...'

  'Did you not think of escape before now?' Drinkwater broke in.

  'I have thought of little else, sir, as I told you,' said Frey in an aggrieved tone and looking askance at Drinkwater, 'but I did not contemplate it without Mr Quilhampton, sir.'

  'Of course, my dear fellow, forgive me, I have a lot on my mind. Pray go on, do.'

  'The party to leave will break out on a given signal. When the guards shut the gates they invariably congregate in the guardhouse for a hot drink — chocolate if they can get it — after which they take up their night duties. They are very slack, most of them, being invalids themselves recuperating from wounds or sickness. Castenada tells me several have a disgusting and intractable disease, others are malingerers. If we secured them, I estimate we have an hour before the alarm is raised, time enough to get to the river and seize a barge.'

  'And the keys of the gates are kept in the guardroom?'

  'The corporal of the guard has them.'

  'What of the officers? Don't they make rounds?'

  'The Commandant has a German mistress in Hamburg, Captain Chatrian is fond of the bottle and Lieutenant Blanchard is not known for his zeal. They make their rounds before turning in, but we have at least an hour. Immediately after curfew has been sounded the officers go to dinner.'

  'The virtues of military routine, eh?' said Drinkwater drily. 'I think you can rely on some revision of this regime if Marshal Davout hears of it.'

  'I don't think anyone was perturbed, sir, as long as it was only the Spanish that were held here.'

  'Well, Davout may be a new arrival in Hamburg, but he ain't ignorant of the fact that a British brig was taken; my personal effects were in his possession.'

  'What?' Frey was incredulous, but Drinkwater hurried on without amplifying the statement. 'I want you to leave tonight, Mr Frey.'

  'Tonight, sir?'

  'Yes, tonight, that is what I said. You have objections?'

  'Only insofar as Mr Q. is concerned, sir.'

  'I shall attend to James, Mr Frey. I am not coming with you. You will take Captain Gilham as pilot and make for Helgoland. Keep your eyes open for a Dutch cutter of the Imperial Customs Service, otherwise drop downstream by night if possible. On arrival at Helgoland you will deliver a message to the Foreign Service agent, Mr Nicholas, and report to the senior British naval officer. Is that clear?'

  'Yes, sir ... but what about you, sir?'

  'Exactly what happens to me rather depends on the news Castenada brings from Herr Liepmann. One thing is certain, however, I have no intention of staying here a moment longer than you. I have had my fill of hanging around waiting upon events. I shall break out with you and require only that when you secure the guards you seize a pistol, some ball, flints and powder. A sword would be useful ...'

  Drinkwater wished he had the sword cane with which he had terrified the frightful whore in Ma Hockley's flop-house. 'A French sword bayonet will do.' He smiled at Frey. 'Very well, Mr Frey, any questions?'

  'No sir.'

  'Until tonight then. I leave you to make all arrangements, muster your men, and so forth. Let us say our farewells now and as inconspicuously as possible. Good luck my dear young fellow.'

  Drinkwater nodded abruptly at Frey, then turned on his heel. It was going to be a damnably long day and at any moment, he thought, glancing at the sentries lounging at the gate, Lieutenant Dieudonne, or the overworked staff officer, or, God forbid, Hortense Santhonax herself, might appear at the entrance, demanding his further presence in Hamburg.

  Castenada proved as good as his word; nor did Liepmann abandon him. His message was both coded and cryptic; translated it read: This thing already known. I am your servant.

  Drinkwater frowned over the last sentence, recalling Liepmann's competence as an English speaker. Was it a mere awkward formality, or did he imply a more sincere and pragmatic attachment? Castenada, in whose quarters Drinkwater had deciphered the message, caught his eye.

  'I speak with Herr Liepmann, Captain. Your friend Mr Frey he tells me he is to leave this place tonight; he asks me to find some of my men to go with him. I ask him how he is to escape and, after him not telling me, I, er, persuade him that my men will not make a foolish try. He tells me by barge. I know all the barges belong to Herr Liepmann ...'

  'Yes ... go on.'

  'I tell Herr Liepmann . . .'

  'You what?' Drinkwater snapped.

  'Of course, Herr Liepmann say you must take. He will not report the barge missing.' Castenada smiled. 'You understand? Herr Liepmann is your friend.'

  For a moment Drinkwater felt an ungracious, xenophobic suspicion, but the value of Castenada's helpful intervention could not be denied. Besides, he had no time to waste.

  'I am indebted to you, Doctor Castenada, perhaps in happier times I will be permitted the honour of repaying you.' Drinkwater felt the stiff formality of the stilted phrases sounded insincere, but Castenada bowed with equal courtesy.

  'There is one other thing, sir,' Castenada said. 'Herr Liepmann suggested a possibility of helping you, señor, if you made your way to his house.'

  Drinkwater tried to recall if he had said anything in front of Castenada to indicate whether or not he himself intended to escape with the others — and decided he had not. Perhaps Liepmann guessed from the question in the note that Drinkwater would remain behind; perhaps it was a simple offer, an expansion of that coded phrase, I am your servant. Drinkwater had no way of knowing, but Liepmann was one of the confraternity of Isaac Solomon, and, oddly, he inspired in Drinkwater the same confidence. He nodded at Castenada. 'Thank you.'

  Castenada told him the whereabouts of Liepmann's house. 'You will find the house, it is not difficult.'

  'I am most grateful.' Drinkwater paused, then added, 'Doctor Castenada, I am aware that things may be made very difficult for you after we have escaped.'

  Castenada shrugged. 'After the Marquis de la Romana escaped it was difficult, but I live. A doctor can always live, especially in war.'

  'Is there anything I can do for you, after I return to England. Do you have a wife to whom I can pass a message? If you do not already know, there is a British army in Spain now ...'

  'I know, Captain, and it marches into Spain and out again, and just now it is marching out again. Like Spanish armies, Captain, eh? You have a piece of song they tell to me when I am speaking English for the first time: The Grand Old Duke of York, yes? He had ten thousand men, he march them up to the top of the hill, eh, Captain? And he march them down again.'

  Castenada began to laugh and Drinkwater found it impossible not to laugh with him.

  Well Gilham, are you ready?'

  'As
much as I ever will be. I think you're mad to stay, but good luck.'

  They shook hands and took a look round the bare room with its crude wooden beds. 'I have to admit that I am not keen to sleep here,' Drinkwater said, adding, 'you will be able to take your atmosphereological observations again soon.'

  A gleam showed in Gilham's eye and he drew a small notebook from his pocket.

  'I have not stopped, Captain.' He smiled, then asked, 'By-the-by, what is your name?'

  Drinkwater grinned. 'Ask Frey when you get to Helgoland. He'll tell you.'

  'It's Drinkwater, isn't it? That fellow called you Drinkwater.'

  'Maybe. Now let us see if the others are ready?'

  They peered across the parade ground. A thick fall of snow obscured the far side and they could see nothing. Curfew had already been sounded and the 'patients' had all been locked in their wooden billets. They did not have long to wait. The stolen pick, a trophy of latrine digging, split hasp and staple from the pine planks of the building.

  'You're the last,' hissed Frey.

  'Privilege of rank,' murmured Drinkwater, feeling the old, almost forgotten thrill of action. Outside he and Gilham joined the crouching column of silent men sheltering in the lee of the hospital wards.

  'I'd be obliged if you'd bring up the rear, sir. That's where the Spanish are.' Frey whispered in his ear then motioned his men on. Even in the snow and darkness Drinkwater recognized faces. Men he had flogged, men he had sailed with round Cape Horn and into the Pacific, men who had fought the Russian line-of-battle ship Suvorov to a standstill. Some of them saw him and grinned. With a pang of conscience he realized his clerk Derrick was not among them. He had not asked after Derrick and the omission bothered him. Then Gilham was tapping him on the shoulder and the faces passing him were no longer familiar. Drinkwater and Gilham fell in at the rear of the column.

  Like a snake they moved round the perimeter of the parade ground. By the gate they could see a yellow loom in the snow where the guardroom door stood open. It was suddenly cut out and a man's silhouette appeared. With wonderful unity, the crouching, loping column froze, every man watching the guard pitch a cigar to the ground. A faint hiss came to their straining ears and the guard turned back amid the sound of laughter. The yellow light shone out illuminating the snow again.