To the west, the direction of the prevailing wind, the island of Helgoland formed a welcome bulwark. Less forbidding from this eastern aspect, the tableland inclined slightly towards them. Along the beach were situated a row of wooden buildings, some under construction. From among them a road climbed the rising land to a neat village surrounding the church spire whose cruciform finial Drinkwater had spotted from the far side of the island. On the beach, fronting the row of wooden buildings, a beacon with a conical topmark was in transit with the lighthouse beyond.
'Well, sir,' said Browne after dismissing the boats, 'you could show your appreciation in the usual way.'
Littlewood nodded as Browne rubbed a giant paw across his lips.
'Come below, Mr Browne,' said Littlewood, relief plain on his face, 'and you as well, Cap'n Waters, you've been on your pins since the alarm was raised.'
They went below and Browne's eyes gleamed when he saw the mellow glow of rum.
'Good Jamaica rumbullion, Mr Browne,' said Littlewood, handing the harbour-master a brimming glass.
'The best, sir,' said Browne expansively now that the job was done. 'You will have to clear your cargo, Cap'n Littlewood. I will take you ashore later,' he went on, indicating there was no hurry and edging his empty glass forward across the table with the fingers of his huge hands.
'I should be obliged, Mr Browne, if you would favour me by arranging an interview with the Governor,' put in Drinkwater. Browne turned his gaze upon Littlewood's supercargo.
'The Governor's only concerned with military affairs, Cap'n ...'
'Waters.'
'Cap'n Waters, if either of you have commercial matters to discuss, Mr Ellerman, chairman of the Committee of Trade will be able to assist.' He turned back to Littlewood. 'If you want to discharge your cargo, Cap'n Littlewood, he's the man to consult.'
'But where can we store it?'
'Them wooden shacks they're puttin' up all along the foreshore,' Browne said, draining his second tumbler of rum, 'they call warehouses. Most are empty ... speculation,' Browne said the word with a certain disdain. 'Someone'll rent you sufficient space, I'm sure.'
'I'd still appreciate your arranging an interview with the Governor, Mr Browne,' Drinkwater said with quiet insistence.
Browne looked at Littlewood who nodded. 'Oblige Cap'n Waters, Mr Browne, if you please.'
'God's strewth,' growled the King's harbour-master, 'this ain't another cargo on the bleeding secret service, is it?'
'Well sir?'
The officer seated behind the desk looked up from a sheaf of papers and regarded Drinkwater over a pair of pince-nez. From the expression on his face Drinkwater expected an intolerant reception. He had been led to believe, during the stiff climb up through the village to the old Danish barracks in the company of Mr Browne, that the Governor was plagued by the merchant fraternity who seemed to regard the island as more a large warehouse than a military outpost. Some of this disdain had rubbed off on Browne, who railed against the ever-increasing number of 'commercial gennelmen' who were littering his foreshore with their hastily erected warehouses. By the time Drinkwater was shown into the Governor's presence by a young adjutant, he was more than a little irritable himself.
'You are Colonel Hamilton, the Governor?' Drinkwater asked, pointedly ignoring the fidgeting adjutant at his elbow who had just told him the Governor's name. Hamilton's face darkened.
'You sir!' he snapped. 'Who the deuce are you?'
'This is Captain Waters, sir, supercargo aboard the barque Galliwasp — the disabled vessel I reported to you earlier, sir,' the subaltern explained.
'I wish to see you alone, Colonel,' Drinkwater said, ignoring the two soldiers who exchanged glances.
'Do you now,' said Hamilton, leaning back in his chair so that the light from the windows glittered on the gilt buttons of his undress scarlet, 'and upon what business, pray?'
'Business of so pressing a nature that it is of the utmost privacy.'
Drinkwater turned a withering eye on the junior officer, unconsciously assuming his most forbidding quarterdeck manner.
'Captain Waters,' drawled Hamilton as he removed the pince-nez and laid them on the papers before him. 'Every confounded ship, and every confounded master, and every confounded supercargo, agent, merchant and countin' house clerk, comes here bleatin' about private business. I am a busy man and Mr Browne will do all he can to assist your ship and her cargo ...' Hamilton leaned forward, picked up and repositioned the pince-nez on his nose and bent over his paperwork.
'No, Colonel. You will assist me ...'
'Come sir.' Drinkwater felt the adjutant's hand on his arm but he pressed on.
'You will assist me by obliging me with a private interview at once.' As Hamilton looked up, his face as red as his coat,
Drinkwater turned to the adjutant. 'And you will wait outside.'
'Damn it, sir,' said the young man, 'have a care ...'
'OUT!' Drinkwater roared, suddenly furiously glad to cast off the mantle of pretence. 'I demand you obey me, damn you!'
The adjutant put his hand to his hanger and Hamilton leapt to his feet. 'By God ...'
'By God, sir, get this boy out of here. I've a matter to discuss with you in private, sir, and you will hear me out.' Hamilton hesitated, and Drinkwater pressed on. 'After which, Colonel, you may do as you please, but you are a witness that your adjutant laid a hand upon me. On a quarterdeck, that would be a grave offence.'
Hamilton's mouth shut like a trap. As Drinkwater caught and held his eyes a glimmer of comprehension showed through the outrage. Still standing he nodded a dismissal to the fuming adjutant.
'Well, sir,' Hamilton said once again, his voice strained with the effort of self-control, 'perhaps you will give me an explanation?'
'My name is not Waters, Colonel Hamilton, but Drinkwater, Captain Drinkwater, to be precise, of the Royal Navy. I am employed upon a secret service with a cargo destined elsewhere than Helgoland, and I am in need of your assistance.'
Hamilton eased himself down into his chair, made a tent of his fingers and put them to his lips.
'And what proof do you have for this claim?'
'None, Colonel, apart from my vehemence just now, but if it sets your mind at rest, the name of Dungarth may not be unknown to you. It is Lord Dungarth's orders that I am executing; or at least, I was until overcome by the recent tempestuous weather.'
'I see.' Hamilton beat his finger tips gently together, considering. Lord Dungarth's name was not well known except to officers in positions of trust, and Hamilton, for all the obscurity of his half-colonelcy in the 8th Battalion of Royal Veterans, was among such men in his capacity as Governor of Helgoland.
Hamilton appeared to make up his mind. He leant forward, picked up a pen, dipped it and wrote a note. Sanding the note he sealed it with a wafer, scribbled a superscription and sat back, tapping his lips with the folded paper. For a moment longer he regarded Drinkwater, then he called out: 'Dowling!'
The adjutant flew through the door, 'Sir?'
'Take this to Nicholas.'
The junior officer's tone was crestfallen. It was clear he would rather have leapt to the rescue of his beleagured commander.
'Take a seat, Captain,' said Hamilton after Dowling had gone.
'Obliged.'
The two men sat in absolute silence for a while, then Hamilton asked, 'Are you personally acquainted with his Lordship, Captain Drinkwater?'
'I have that honour, Colonel Hamilton.'
'For a long while?'
'He was first lieutenant when I was a midshipman aboard the Cyclops.'