'Boat putting off from the Dutchman.' Munsden's report made them turn their telescopes on the cutter. Both of their recent visitors were leaving, bound for the beach where a horseman rode down to meet them.
In the sunshine they could see a green uniform topped by a plumed shako.
'French officer of chasseurs,' said Drinkwater, holding the figure in his Dollond pocket-glass.
'I can see some more of them, look, behind the large cottage to the left of the church ...'
Drinkwater swung his glass to where Littlewood was indicating. He could see mounting figures pulling out of what he presumed were their horse-lines.
'I wonder why he never asked for our papers,' pondered Littlewood as the two men watched the Dutchmen leap ashore and confer with the French officer.
'I think we annoyed him too much and he was frustrated by not being able to speak to us directly. Gilham upset him and I suspect he's reporting us to his superiors. He's got us under his guns and he may be under some constraint, being a Dutchman.'
'There are some fiercely republican Dutchmen,' Littlewood said.
'Yes, I know.'
'I wonder what lingo they speak between each other?' Littlewood mused as they watched the French officer jerk his horse's head round.
'God knows,' said Drinkwater.
The French officer apparently shouted an order and four troopers, the men that had just mounted up, broke away from the horse-lines and rode after him as he set off eastwards at a canter.
'Odd that he needs an escort,' said Littlewood, lowering his glass and wiping his eye. 'Matter of waiting now,' he added.
They were compelled to wait two days before they learned of any reaction in Hamburg. Early on the morning of the first of these, however, a cloudy morning with the wind backed into the south-west, the horizon beyond the yellow scars of the exposed sandbanks to seaward was broken by the grey topsails of two ships.
In silence the observers on the decks of the Galliwasp and Ocean watched their approach with anxiety. This anxiety was real enough, for the first event of that day had been the arrival at Brunsbuttel of a jingling battery of horse artillery. The unlimbered field guns now pointed directly at them and, with the cannon of the Dutch cutter, neatly enfiladed them. Until the appearance of the distant topsails, the curious aboard Galliwasp and Ocean had occupied their enforced idleness by studying the artillerymen who, having established themselves, lounged about their pieces.
Despite the protests of their guard, Littlewood had sent Munsden aloft with the watch-glass to call down a commentary on events to seaward of them which was eagerly attended by those below.
'They are the Combatant and the Bruizer, right enough, and they're just clewin' up their main an' fores'ls.'
'Where are they?'
'Comin' up abeam of Cuxhaven ... aye, Combatant's roundin' up into the tide ...'
'Anchoring or taking a tack inshore?' Littlewood asked anxiously, for whatever he did, Combatant's commander must look as though he was making a determined effort to retake the truant merchant ships.
'She's opening fire!'
They could see the yellow flashes from the deck now, and the sloop's yards braced sharp up as she crabbed across the young flood tide.
'There won't be much resistance at Cuxhaven,' said Littlewood, 'if the last reports were correct.'
'No,' said Drinkwater, staring through his glass, his heart beating for those two distant ships. The thunder of that opening broadside rolled dully over the water even as Combatant loosed off a second and a third.
'Bruizer's standin' on,' reported Munsden, unconsciously betraying the plan, the gun-brig making directly for them while the heavier sloop occupied whatever might be at Cuxhaven in the way of artillery. And then they knew. Six yellow pin points of muzzle flashes were followed by another six.
'My God, they've got two batteries of horse-artillery there! They weren't evident the other day when we passed.'
'Moved in this morning, like our friends yonder,' Littlewood said, jerking his head at the nearer shore without lowering his glass.
'Bruizer comes too far to the north, Kapitan,' said Herr Reinke, the pilot and surveyor. 'He must be careful.'
Drinkwater transferred his attention to the gun-brig. Unaware that any resistance would be forthcoming from Cuxhaven, a pretext for the withdrawal of the two men-of-war had to be invented. To achieve this, Smithies had been ordered to incline his course so as to take the bottom on the North Ground, the sandbank opposite Cuxhaven. The resulting confusion would offer the commander of the Combatant a pretext for breaking off the action. In fact there was little risk to the shallow draft gun-brig. The tide was rising and with her anchor down, she would float off in an hour or two.
But with the Combatant engaging artillery ashore and Smithies acting over-zealously, the ruse looked as though it might be more realistic than was intended.
'If anything miscarries, Captain,' Littlewood muttered beside him, aware of Drinkwater's apprehension for the naval ships, 'don't forget to look cheerful!'
Drinkwater grunted, his throat dry. Of course, Reinke could be wrong. At this distance it was notoriously difficult to judge angles of aspect.
'Bruizer's struck sir!' Munsden called. 'And lost her foretop-mast!'
Littlewood burst into a cheer and slapped Drinkwater heartily on the back. Drinkwater staggered under the impact of the blow and coughed on his chagrin. Over the water the rolling concussions of the Combatant's guns duelling with the batteries at Cuxhaven echoed the thumping of his heart.
An answering cheer came from the men ranged on the customs cutter's deck. Littlewood rounded on the Dutch officer aboard Galliwasp, 'Why you not weigh your anchor and go and fight?' he urged. The douanier shook his head.
'Cuxhaven guns make stop your scheeps.'
And so it proved. Combatant broke off the action and tacked across the stream as the tide slackened. Bruizer refloated and swung her head seaward. A boat was seen between the two ships, then, as Combatant went about again, she drew Bruizer in her wake on an unseen towline. As she tacked back towards the Cuxhaven shore she laid a few last broadsides at the enemy. Apart from holes in her sails, she appeared unscathed.
'As neat a piece of seamanship as I've seen in a long while,' said Littlewood from the corner of his mouth.
'If she had lost a mast, then things might have turned out differently,' breathed a relieved Drinkwater. He already had cause to regret the loss of one gun-brig.
'Oh, he kept out of range of those nine-pounders ... but I'm glad to see you looking a little more cheerful at that spectacular British defeat.'
Littlewood grinned at Drinkwater, and this time Drinkwater smiled back.
'Russia? You are saying, Captain, that your cargo was consigned to Russia?'
'Yes,' said Drinkwater, staring levelly at the dark and handsome Frenchman in the sober black suit. His plain, elegant clothes reminded him of Nicholas and it was clear the two had more in common than the unaffected good taste of their dress; both were the diplomatic, and therefore the political, emissaries of their respective masters. Monsieur Thiebault had arrived from Hamburg to carry out an examination on behalf of Monsieur Reinhard, the Emperor's minister in that city. Upon Monsieur Thiebault's appraisal of the curious submission of the two British shipmasters depended the success, or otherwise, of the grand deception. And incidentally, Drinkwater thought, driving the underlying fear from the forefront of his mind, ultimately their own survival.