(HYPHENATED NEUTRAL).
(_Concluded._)
Beneath us--beneath, in a manner of speaking, the iron heel of the
all-conquering Fatherland--lay perfidious England. I, as a mere
layman, had, of course, not the vaguest idea as to precisely what
vital portion of the doomed island was immediately below us. Not so my
host, the Captain Sigismund von Muenchhausen, who suddenly snapped
together the stethoscope through which he had been gazing and rapped
out a monosyllabic order down the speaking tube at his right hand.
"We are now," he said, turning courteously to me, "diametrically above
the entrenched camp of Little Tillingham-under-Hill." A fearful crash
sounded from the depths below and a voice muttered something through
the speaking tube. "A hit!" cried the Captain without emotion.
"Ober-Leutnant von Dachswurst reports that the Arsenal, three
munitions factories and two infant schools are in flames. Ah! Now we
have reached Birmingham!" Another crash rent the abysm. "Now Glasgow!"
A third terrific explosion was audible.
"But," I cried, "we can't have got from Birmingham to Glasgow in
thirty-five seconds." For a moment the Captain's eyes flashed angrily.
He clenched his feet, and, remembering the horrible fate of the
seasick sailor, I crouched against the bulwark. With an effort,
however, the man mastered himself. I was relieved to see an enigmatic
smile overspread his countenance.
"It is plain," he said, in the voice of one patiently rebuking a
child, "that you do not know what a German airship can do. Ah! ha!
There goes Bristol!" he added, as further detonations smote upon our
ears.
And so the hideous carnage proceeded. Grasmere, Aberystwith,
Stratford-on-Avon, Freshwater Bay and the Lizard--with dreadful
precision these teeming hives of English industry were laid waste,
incinerated, scattered to the winds in fine impalpable dust. I thought
sadly of the brave men in khaki that were being cut off by the
thousand in their prime (for the gallant Captain had taken the utmost
precaution not to drop any of his bombs in the neighbourhood of
non-combatants). But, after all, I mused, they will soon be replaced
by intelligent Germans, a blessing that civilization will not be slow
to appreciate.
At this moment the Captain approached me with an object in his hand.
"You neutrals," he said, "have been deceived before now by the
ridiculous reports disseminated by our enemies as to the results of
these raids. But here is the proof." He then explained to me that to
every Zeppelin was attached a large sinker or plummet, which was
covered with grease and lowered from a drum to a few yards above the
spot where the bomb was destined to fall. To this plummet adhered
fragments of various objects, animate or other, which the explosion of
the missile hurled into the air. Such a fragment the Captain was now
extending for my observation. I admitted that to my uninitiated eye it
closely resembled a portion of the outer surface of a cow or some
kindred animal. "You are indeed ignorant," said my host, smiling in
the same enigmatic way. "The object is undoubtedly a fragment of the
propeller shaft of a large vessel, which satisfies me that at Swanage,
where our last bomb was dropped, a portion of the High Seas Fleet was
anchored. And as a matter of fact," he added, producing a small dark
object from his pocket, "here is a part of Sir JOHN JELLICOE'S
necktie. Notice how precisely it tallies with the descriptions
furnished by our secret agents, one of whom is actually engaged about
the Admiral's person disguised as a pastry-cook."
Here, then, was the proof. One could not doubt the evidence of one's
senses. But mine had been subjected to an unusual test that night, and
when the Captain, well satisfied with his night's work, courteously
invited me to have another glass of schnapps with him I accepted with
alacrity. The glass was hardly at my lips when an orderly announced
that we were at anchor in the shed. Thanking the brave Captain for the
most wonderful experience of a not uninteresting lifetime, I hurried
away to my hotel and fell into a deep slumber. When I awoke late that
afternoon my manservant placed in my hand the last edition of the
London _Times_. It stated that there had been a Zeppelin raid, and
that 19 civilians, three cows, four churches, two rows of cottages,
one omnibus, and no soldiers had been destroyed.