Beneath the aurora

'Give them this,' Drinkwater commanded, holding up a knotted handkerchief. Sommer took the small bundle and tossed it into the nearer boat as it wallowed below them. There were expressions of thanks and Sommer dropped down on deck, taking off the captain's cloak and hat. Drinkwater took them and, in doing so, thrust a guinea into Sommer's rough hand.

'Thank you, Sommer. What did they say?'

'Two American ships, sir, sailed into Vikkenfiord three days ago.'

'Very good. If we take them I shall rate you a quartermaster for prize money.'

Thank you, Captain.' The Dane knuckled his forehead and shuffled forward.

'Haul the mainyards, Mr Mosse! Mr Birkbeck, the chart...'

They had located the Vikkenfiord as a long inlet which once, in primeval times, had been formed by the erosion of a mighty glacier. It appeared like a long finger reaching, with a slight crook in it, into the mountainous interior. Its entrance was very narrow.

'For a moment I thought it was not going to be on our chart,' Drinkwater confided.

"Twould have to be well enough known for the Americans to find, sir,' replied Birkbeck.

'Yes,' Drinkwater agreed, feeling a little foolish, for that was an obvious point and the entire ship knew by now that they were seeking Yankee privateers. 'We could do with better visibility before closing the coast, but I fear we are more likely to encounter fog.'

'Aye, I was thinking much the same. This can be a damnable spot...'

'Well, there is no point in dwelling on the matter. Lay us a course to Utsira. We can afford a little further delay and if the Americans were anchored three days ago, it seems unlikely they have left already…'

'They could have slipped out yesterday,' said Birkbeck.

'True.' Drinkwater could not tell the master why he was certain they had not left, but his own heart quickened, for he was sure they lay within the fastness of the fiord. The weather they had endured would not have encouraged the passage of a ship from Denmark with French arms, having been contrary for a passage out of the Skagerrak, for whereas the Norwegian coast north of Utsira was fissured with sheltered inland passages, the area to the south was not.

'We will pass another night on the rendezvous,' Drinkwater said firmly, 'and then, if the weather serves, we will run into this Vikkenfiord and take a look.'

Drinkwater slept well that night and woke in optimistic mood. To his unutterable joy the wind had hauled south-east and Utsira was dead astern, no more than three or four leagues distant. Such a wind shift seemed like an augury of good luck. He shaved, dressed and hurried on deck. The change in the weather had encouraged more of the local fisherfolk to venture forth, and Drinkwater saw this as additional proof of providential approval.

He had not expected to find Kestrel in the offing but such was his mood that he would not have been surprised had she been in sight, and he privately dared to hope that she and her company were safe.

Although it was not his watch, the master was on deck, taking bearings and hurrying below to lay them off on the chart. When he returned to the deck he approached Drinkwater.

'With your permission, sir, a course for the entrance to the fiord?'

'If you please, Mr Birkbeck.'

So they bore up and, with their yards braced to catch the steady beam breeze from the south-east, Andromeda headed north-east again, dropping the isolated outcrop of Utsira astern and soon afterwards raising the grey ramparts of the coast of Norway.

It had escaped anyone's notice that Mr Templeton had not quitted his cabin since the morning of the great dousing. Anyone of significance, that is, for the wardroom messman was aware of the captain's secretary's 'indisposition', and catered for him until, on the morning they departed Utsira, he passed word to the surgeon.

Templeton himself had fallen victim to a conflict of emotion. Unaware of the captain's preoccupations, he was somewhat affronted that Drinkwater had not sent for him. He was also concerned, for reasons of his own, as to what Drinkwater now intended to do. On the other hand, he found himself unable to resist submitting to wild and beguiling fantasies which washed over him in waves of sensual anticipation, so that he dared not leave his cabin to confront a world of reality in which, he felt sure, his guilt would be written plain upon his face. He had not counted upon the world of reality visiting him.

Mr Kennedy knocked and immediately opened the cabin's flimsy door unannounced. 'Now what in the world is the matter with you, Templeton?'

Templeton was shocked at the intrusion. He expected his shut door to be respected as if it were that of his home. He had no concept of ship-board manners, or prerogatives, something that Kennedy had quickly assimilated. Caught off guard and guilty, he forgot his 'illness' and was merely outraged.

'How dare you come bursting in like this ...'

'There's nothing wrong with you,' said Kennedy, well practised in detecting the vapours among the so-called well-to-do. 'Come, turn out! What would become of us if we all lay about in such a manner?'

'I've caught an ague from the cold water ...'

'Rubbish! Salt water never gave a man an ague! You are malingering, sir!' Kennedy snapped, 'And I have work to do!'

'I didn't summon you,' protested Templeton, adding, as he saw the baleful look in Kennedy's eyes, 'nor has Captain Drinkwater sent for me.'

'I think he is far too busy. Do you know where we are?'

'Off Norway, I shouldn't wonder.'

'Almost upon it, in fact. There's talk of American ships and action before the day's done.'

'Action?' Templeton's face grew ashen.

'Aye, Templeton, action. You had better be out of bed by then, cowardice in the face of the enemy's a hanging offence!'

There were a lot of men on deck, Templeton thought, the same men he had last seen naked; men on and off duty, for the vista about them was such as to stun the dullest mind. They ran through a narrow strait in which the sea bore the colour and smoothness of a sword-blade. Upon either side rose precipitous heights, great dark cliffs, deeply fissured, their snowcapped summits wreathed in veils of cloud. As they passed the gorge, the land fell back, to reveal the fiord itself, opening ahead of them. The ground-willow and scrub of the littoral gave way to pines and firs whose dark cladding moved in waves with the breeze, accompanied by gentle susurrations. These trees climbed the slopes, finally dwindling to concede the rising ground to bare rock and, here and there, patches of scree. Above the talus, solitary snow-encrusted crags stood out against the sky, about the peaks of which an occasional eagle could be seen wheeling.

"Tis wonderful, sir,' a voice said, and Templeton turned to see his sea-mentor Greer, the boatswain's mate, standing awestruck.

'Sublime, Greer, sublime,' Templeton whispered, suddenly aware of an overpowering breathlessness.

'I've never seen nought like it, Mr Templeton, 'cept in a picture-book once, when I was a boy, like.'

The revelation of childhood wonder combined with so manly an appreciation of nature's bounty to make Templeton turn to Greer. Their eyes met and Templeton knew for a certainty that Greer had similar inclinations, though not a word passed between them and they regarded again the dark shores of the Vikkenfiord. Templeton felt quite deleriously free of all his cares.

A few yards away Lieutenant Mosse nudged his scarlet-clad colleague Walsh. 'There, sir, I do declare I was right and you owe me a guinea.'

'You may be right, Stephen, but that ain't proof!'

'What proof d'you want?'

'Just proof,' said Walsh enigmatically, leaving Mosse shaking his head, amused.

You have no need to worry about the depth,' Drinkwater said to Birkbeck, 'though it will not hurt to take an occasional cast of the lead. These fiords are uncommon deep.'