There was, he realized, no absolute guarantee that the men of the Galliwasp and the Ocean would be released, though Reinke assured him he had nothing to worry about. It was of little advantage to the French to hold merchant seamen, for they were outside the normal cartel arrangements for the exchange of prisoners and merely an expense, though their confinement did deprive the British of their services as pressed men. At a local level the pragmatic realization that their detention would deter others from bringing the desired luxuries through the blockade was a more persuasive argument in favour of letting them continue their voyaging.
'If Thiebault makes trouble,' Reinke promised, 'we will make trouble also.'
It was clearly in the interests of the Chamber of Commerce to ensure the freedom of the Britons in their midst, an action facilitated for all the parties concerned by the fiction that they were American, though it was difficult to imagine what form this 'trouble' might take.
As he leaned on Galliwasp's rail and watched the beefy German lightermen swinging out the ground tier of bales with their heavy grey greatcoats hidden under the dull burlap, Drinkwater told himself he was becoming old and jittery, apprehensive that as a disguised sea-officer in enemy territory, he ran the risk of being shot as a spy.
Reinke left them that forenoon, removed now that the services of neither a pilot nor an interpreter were required. The authorities, having permitted the discharge of the cargo to commence, were content to keep the crews of the two ships in mid-stream quarantine. The work progressed slowly. Only one lighter per ship was allowed them, clear proof, Littlewood asserted, that the stores were being carefully housed under lock and key in some well-guarded warehouse.
Drinkwater waited impatiently, pacing Galliwasp's poop. Pancakes of ice began floating sluggishly past them as the weather turned bitterly cold, the copper cupola of St Michels-kirche standing green against the dark grey of a sky pregnant with snow. The first fall occurred on the second day of their discharging and Drinkwater woke next morning to a changed scene, the roofs of the city white and the hum of the quays and bustle of the river muted under the mantle of snow. At first he thought the lack of activity due to the snowfall, but then he marked a restiveness among their guards and noticed a propensity for the French soldiers to huddle and gossip quietly amongst themselves with more animation than was usual. Again, this too might have been attributable to the change in the weather, except that he was conscious of something else, a total lack of movement on the river. It was true there was more ice than there had been, but the Elbe was a great highway and a fishing ground, and he knew from long experience that men who earned their livelihood from trade and fishing do not cease at the first flurry of snow, rather they increase their activity before the severity of the weather stops them altogether.
'There's something amiss ashore,' Littlewood said, lowering the glass with which he had been scanning the adjacent quay.
'You've noticed it too,' said Drinkwater. 'It can't be another religious holiday, the churches are silent.'
'No, but there are soldiers on the quay there.' Littlewood pointed and offered Drinkwater his glass.
Drinkwater scanned the wharves. A troop of dragoons trotted past, their long carbines tucked in stirrup-holsters.
'Can't have anything to do with us,' Littlewood remarked, though his tone lacked conviction.
'Garrison reinforcements?' Drinkwater said. 'Perhaps the arrival of a French bigwig?'
'That might explain the stoppage of work, I suppose,' said Littlewood disconsolately, 'I hope it won't detain us for long, I don't like this ice.' He gestured over the side, where larger floes, flat glistening sheets, revolved slowly in the stream, occasionally jamming athwart their hawse before tearing free and continuing their passage to the North Sea.
The following night, during the early hours, Drinkwater was shaken hurriedly awake. Littlewood, still wearing nightcap and gown and holding a lantern, stood over him.
'Cap'n Waters, get up! There's a summons from the shore! Thiebault's come aboard and he wants you and Gilham.'
'What o'clock is it?' asked Drinkwater, but Littlewood was not listening.
'Something's afoot! Two lighters will be here within the hour. That should take the remains of our cargo. Thiebault wants us and the Ocean under weigh by daylight.'
Littlewood left as hurriedly as he had come, leaving a confused Drinkwater to dress and follow him. On deck he found the French customs officer muffled in a cloak.
'Captain Waters?' Thiebault's voice was tense and his tone urgent.
'Yes? What is the meaning of this?'
'Please prepare yourself for an absence from the ship.'
'But I understand you wish us to be under weigh by dawn ...' Drinkwater protested. Thiebault interrupted him.
'I can give you five minutes, Captain, but no more.'
'I demand an explanation ...'
'I have loaded pistols which will persuade you to do as I ask,' Thiebault hissed. 'I do not wish to summon the guards, but I give you five minutes to attire yourself.'
Drinkwater spun on his heel and returned to his cabin, his mind a whirl. The dull, persistent foreboding was proved right, he thought, as he forced his feet into Dungarth's hessian boots, rolled up his shaving tackle and stuffed small clothes into a leather valise. For a moment he thought of leaping from the stern window, then dismissed the idea as stupid. He would freeze within minutes, his wracked shoulder no aid to such heroics. Wrapping himself in his boatcloak and jamming the plain tricorne on his head, he returned to the Galliwasp's poop. Thiebault was impatient to be gone.
'You are quite safe, Captain Waters, but I am under the painful necessity of securing your person, and that of Captain Gilham, as guarantors.'
'Guarantors! What the devil d'you mean?' snapped an increasingly angry Drinkwater.
'Against the compliant behaviour of the other ships whose cargoes you have promised ... come sir, I will explain, but you must attend me at once, we have not a moment to lose!'
Drinkwater turned to Littlewood, an unpleasant suspicion forming in his mind. 'Littlewood, are you a party to this knavery?'
'No sir! I shall do everything possible to expedite the arrival of the remaining ships, believe me!'
'I am compelled to, sir!' snapped Drinkwater.
'Come Captain ...' Drinkwater felt Thiebault's hand at his elbow. He shook it off angrily, then Thiebault called out in a low but authoritative voice, 'M'aider, mes amis!'
The grim infantrymen of their guard suddenly surrounded Drinkwater. He was hustled unceremoniously to the rail and down into the waiting boat. Collapsing, half-trodden on by the descending Thiebault, he found an indignant Gilham held at pistol point.
'What in God's name ...?' Drinkwater began, but he felt himself seized from behind and a hand clapped firmly over his mouth. As the boat shoved off from the side of the Galliwasp, Thiebault leaned over the two Britons.
'Not a word, gentlemen, I insist. In a moment I will explain.'
And with that they had, perforce, to be content. With a regular dip and splash, the boat was pulled obliquely across the river, dodging the ice floes and bumping gently at the foot of a flight of steps set in a stone quay. They were bundled up these and into a carriage. Its blinds were drawn and Thiebault entered after them. He set a lantern in the sconce, then turned and took a pistol from one of his assistants. The door slammed shut and the carriage jerked forward with Gilham and Drinkwater staring down the barrel of Thiebault's pistol. From time to time the Frenchman cautiously lifted the edge of the adjacent window blind and peered out. In the lantern light Drinkwater noticed an unseasonal perspiration on Thiebault's forehead.