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

CHAPTER 14 Altona

'How many of you are there?' asked Drinkwater eagerly, his mood transformed by the meeting with Frey. 'No, wait.' He turned to the grinning seaman who had first recognized him. 'I'd be obliged if you'd warn the men not to use my name.' He lowered his voice. 'I'm here incognito, d'you see.'

The man laid a finger beside his nose, winked and grinned lopsidedly, exposing his foul teeth. 'Aye aye, sir, I understands, we'll hold our tongues, don't you worry.'

'Very well then, be off and see to it!'

'Aye, aye, sir.'

Drinkwater turned his attention back to Frey. 'So, how many of you are there?'

Frey looked away. 'Eleven.'

'Eleven? God's bones, is that all?'

'That excludes the badly wounded, sir; there are seven of them, plus the Captain, Lieutenant Quilhampton. They took him to Hamburg last night.'

'Last night?' Drinkwater frowned. Had Quilhampton been somewhere within the Rathaus at the same time as he and Gilham? Had Davout summoned him for questioning in connection with the discovery of that damned portrait?

'He's badly wounded, sir,' Frey said, breaking his train of thought.

'How badly?'

'He took a sword thrust, sir, in his left arm, above the stump. It was gangrenous when we arrived here and Doctor Castenada had to perform a second amputation. Mr Quilhampton was in a high fever when they took him last night.'

'God damn!' Drinkwater blasphemed impotently. For a moment his thoughts were with his friend, lying delirious in the hands of the French, then he mastered himself. 'Is there somewhere less exposed that we can talk? This is Captain Gilham, by the way, the master of the Ocean, transport. Mr Gilham, a protege of mine, Mr Frey.'

The two men shook hands perfunctorily.

'They are very lax here, sir. There is talk about a new Governor having arrived ...'

'We know,' Drinkwater cut Frey short, 'but somewhere to talk, for the love of God, it's too cold here ...'

Frey led them into a barrack hut that appeared to be a sort of officers' mess. It was full of Spaniards, the remnants of Romana's Army Corps, left behind when Rear-Admiral Keats evacuated the bulk of the Spanish forces from Denmark.

Frey indicated a table and two benches reserved for the Tracker's pitifully small number of surviving officers.

'You had better make your verbal report, Mr Frey.'

Frey nodded, rubbing his hands over his pinched face. Drinkwater noted the grime of his cuffs and neck linen. His hollow cheeks had not been shaved for several days and his eyes were red rimmed and sunken.

'You recall the night of the tempest, sir?'

'Yes, very well.'

'We lost our foretopmast within the first hour. It was badly sprung and the stays slipped at the cap. As we strove to clear the wreckage we were continually swept by the sea and lost several men in the confusion, both aloft and from the deck. We burnt bengal fires for assistance, but were not certain of your whereabouts by then ...'

'We saw them and put about, but were unable to find you. Soon afterwards we were in like condition and drove ashore on Helgoland, but pray go on.'

'We were less fortunate, sir. By daylight we had three feet of water below and in so small a vessel it damned near had us foundering. We had precious little freeboard and were wallowing abominably. Mr Q., sir, was a tower of strength. Though we had lost a deal of our company, including both the bosun and carpenter, we got sail on her and strove to make northing ...'

'But the wind backed and drove you east.'

'Aye sir, you were in like case no doubt?'

'Aye.'

'We fetched upon a bank, drove over it and anchored in its lee. When the gale abated we began to set things to rights. We had men at the pumps three hours out of every four and one fell dead from the labour. But Mr Q. drove us near as hard as he drove himself; we found the leak, clapped a fothered sail over it and began to gain on the water in the hold. We planned to empty half our water casks and wing 'em out in the hold for buoyancy, but the Danes came out in their confounded gunboats. They lay off and simply shot us to pieces with long twenty four pounders. We didn't stand a chance until they boarded us. Then we gave them cold steel, for there was scarce a grain of dry powder in the ship and that had been spent in the carronades. I think there were about forty of us when the action began ...'

'And James was wounded when the Danes boarded?' Drinkwater prompted.

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 pharmacopoeia, 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, se#241;or, 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.

From the rear Drinkwater could see Frey massing his men about the door. They appeared like dark sacks until, at a signal, they moved forward amid a few shouts.

Suddenly the gates were open and Drinkwater caught a glimpse of the guardroom and half a dozen trussed and gagged men. He began to run.

Beyond the gate the road swung to the right and Drinkwater almost collided with Frey.

'Good luck, sir. Two cables down this road there is a junction. It is the road between Hamburg, Altona and Blankenese. We turn right for the river, you must go left for Hamburg.'

'I know, Castenada told me. Good luck.'

'I could only find you a sword bayonet.' Frey thrust the weapon at him. The steel was bitterly cold to the touch. When he looked up he was alone. In the snow he could hear no sound of the retreating men, nor of the struggling guards. The loom of the hospital wall threw a dark shadow and he experienced a pang of intense fear and loneliness. A moment later he was walking swiftly south to the junction with the main road.

He had no trouble locating Herr Liepmann's house. It was set back off the road behind a brick wall, but the iron gates were open and the light in the porch beyond the formal garden gave the impression that it had been illuminated for his benefit.

It was, he thought as he felt the scrunch of gravel below the snow, a welcoming sight.

There were signs of wheel tracks in the snow, a recent arrival or departure, he judged, for they had not yet been covered. Perhaps the generous lighting was for the carriage, not for him. The thought made him pause. Should he simply walk up to the front door?

At his tentative knock it was opened, and guiltily he flung aside the sword bayonet.

'Kapitan, Wilcomm ... please ... you come ...'

Liepmann held out his hand and drew Drinkwater inside. The warmth and opulence of Liepmann's house seemed like the fairyland pictures of his children's books. He had not realized how cold he had been, nor, now that the heat made him perspire and his flesh crawl, how filthy he was.

'I have clothes and wasser, come ...'

It was ironic, he thought, that he should again clean himself in the house of a Jew, but he did not object. Liepmann led him to a side chamber where a servant waited upon him, standing impassively while, casting dignity aside in the sheer delight of washing off the past, Drinkwater donned a clean shirt and underdrawers. Silk breeches and stockings were produced, together with an embroidered waistcoat. Finally, the man servant held out a low-collared grey coat of a now unfashionable cut which reminded him of the old undress uniform coat of the British naval officer. As he threw his newly beribboned queue over the collar and caught sight of himself in the mirror, he caught the eye of the servant.

The man made a small, subservient gesture of approval, stood aside and opened the door. Ushering Drinkwater back into the hall, he scuttled round him and reaching the door of a withdrawing room leading from it, threw it open.

Drinkwater was disoriented by the luxury of his surroundings and entered the room seeking Liepmann to thank him for the splendour of his reception. But Liepmann was not in the room. As the door was opened a woman rose from a chair set before a blazing fire. She turned.

He was confronted by Hortense Santhonax.