'One of these boats coming close, sir,' growled Wells, sitting beside him.
'Take no notice,' Drinkwater muttered.
The officers above them came to a conclusion. 'Ja. You come aboard!'
'Lay her alongside.'
'Aye, aye, sir.'
Drinkwater ascended the frigate's tumblehome, reached the level of the rail, threw his leg over and descended to the deck. With no boats on her booms the frigate's waist was wide open and the contents of her gundeck and berth deck were exposed. The bundles of sabres and muskets, boxes, bales and barrels that she carried could not be disguised. They were being hoisted out and lowered over the farther side where the boats of the combined ships were obviously loading them. His appearance had stopped the labour but, at a command, the watching men returned to work.
A tall man with a blue, red-faced coat and cocked hat stepped forward. He wore hessian boots whose gold tassels caught the sunshine, and dragged what looked like a cavalry sabre on the deck behind him.
'Kaptajn Dahlgaard of de Danske ship Odin. We haf met in battle, ja? I see you haf a wound.' Dahlgaard gestured to the large, dark scab on Drinkwater's cheek.
'Indeed, sir, a scratch. I am Captain Drinkwater of His Britannic Majesty's frigate Andromeda, at your service.' Drinkwater shot a glance at the officers behind Dahlgaard. Most were wearing the blue and red of the Danish sea service. Two were not. They were wearing blue broadcloth and insolent grins. He knew them for Americans. 'And these gentlemen are from the United States, are they not?' he added, side-stepping Dahlgaard and executing an ironic half-bow at the American commanders. He was gratified to see them lose a little of their composure.
He turned his heel on them and confronted Dahlgaard, addressing him so that the Americans could not hear.
'Captain Dahlgaard, you have, I know, no reason to love my country and, from your actions yesterday, I judge you, as I judged your countrymen at Copenhagen in 1801, to be a brave and courageous officer, but I beg you to consider the consequences of what you are doing. These arms are to spread destruction in a country of peace-loving people ...' 'I haf my orders, Kaptajn. Please not to speak of this.' Drinkwater shrugged as though unconcerned. 'Very well, then it is necessary that I tell you my admiral will be happy to let your vessel pass, if you permit us to take the American ships as prizes.'
Drinkwater had rehearsed the speech and was watching Dahlgaard carefully. The tiny reactive muscles round the man's eyes betrayed the Dane's understanding. Here before him stood a British captain claiming to be from the frigate he had engaged yesterday. Having extricated his frigate, this man was now back in a small man-of-war cutter, hinting at the presence of an admiral in the offing. The British officer emanated an air of unmistakable confidence. Now he had the effrontery to press Dahlgaard further.
'Come, sir, what do these men mean to you? What do the French mean to you? They have occupied your country and compelled us to make war upon you. They have forced us to destroy your navy ... would you be known as the officer who lost the last frigate possessed by King Frederick ...?'
The King's name seemed to rouse Dahlgaard. 'The King of Denmark is good ally of France. I haf my duty, Kaptajn, like you. You have no reason to be in Danske waters. No right to demand I surrender these American ships which are', Dahlgaard waved a hand above his head as though drawing Drinkwater's attention to the swallowtail ensigns at the fort and at the Odin's stern, 'under the protection of my flag.'
'Please yourself, Captain Dahlgaard,' Drinkwater shrugged, feigning an indifference he did not feel. The Danish commander impressed him as a resolute character, not one to be easily intimidated by Drinkwater's affectation of bombast. He turned to the Americans. 'I shall see you again, gentlemen.'
'I shouldn't be too sure of that if I were you, Captain,' remarked one.
'He's bluffing, Dahlgaard,' added the second. 'There ain't no British ships in the offing.'
Dahlgaard cocked his head, shrewdly weighing up Drinkwater. 'You think no?'
'No. I'm damn certain of it.'
Dahlgaard drew himself up. 'You are not welcome, Kaptajn.'
Aware that his bluff had failed, Drinkwater bowed to Dahlgaard. 'Until we meet again, Captain.' He stared about him, casting his eyes aloft and into the crowded waist. 'A very fine ship, sir. A damn pity to risk losing her.'
'We'll see about that,' drawled one of the Americans, 'there'll be three of us, you know.'
Close-hauled, Kestrel beat back down the fiord to meet Andromeda. As ordered, Quilhampton had brought the frigate through the narrows an hour after noon, cleared for action and with her upper studding sails set. A mile short of her, Drinkwater transferred to the gig and left Frey to gill about until he had exchanged places with Quilhampton. With considerable skill, Wells manoeuvred the gig under the bow of the advancing frigate so that Quilhampton had only to haul round and shiver his square sails for the gig to dash alongside.
Drinkwater met Quilhampton at the rail. 'She's cleared for action, sir,' Quilhampton said. 'Birkbeck has the con.'
'Did you clap a cable on a bower anchor?'
'Cables on both bowers, sir. And I've led two light springs outside everything.'
'Very good, James, I didn't notice them. Thank you. No dice with the Dane, but she's a formidable ship. The Yankees are privateers and spoiling for a fight, so keep out of their range. There's a deal of lumber about their decks, arms and the like, but they'll make as much trouble as they can. Try and sink their boats, but James, for God's sake keep out of trouble. I need you alive, not covered in death and glory!'
'Don't worry ...' Quilhampton smiled, his eyes sparkling.
And then he was gone, swung one-handed down into the gig, and Drinkwater was once again absorbed into the business of his own ship.
'Don't wait for the gig, Mr Birkbeck, Kestrel will tow her. Let's crack on and surprise 'em. Oh, and keep her close inshore.'
'Aye, aye, sir.'
'I'm going below to shift my linen.'
He stared across the water to where the gig was rounding to under Kestrels counter. The white table-cloth was fluttering down from the cutter's bare topsail yardarm. The truce was at an end.
Captain Drinkwater was back on deck in fifteen minutes. For the second time within two hours, the bluff loomed above him as Birkbeck held the frigate's course close under the rocky prominence. This time the battery opened fire as Andromeda approached. Shot plunged on either bow, pierced the upper sails and parted a brace of ropes, but did no real damage. The rate of fire was slow but steady, a fact Birkbeck remarked upon.
'I fancy most of the gunners are assisting in transferring cargo out of the Odin into the boats,' Drinkwater observed. The next salvo, fired as they drew ever closer, passed overhead.
'Good lord, sir, they're firing over us. They can't depress their pieces!'
'Quite,' said Drinkwater smiling, hoping to heaven his confidence in deep water existing up to the foot of the bluff was correct.
A glance astern showed Kestrel coming up hand over fist and then they were past the point and the bay was opening up under their lee with the rising pine forest behind, and the muzzles of Andromeda's cannon were pointing at the Odin.