Von Eckenstein's Surprise
The speaker was Charles Stirling, now lieutenant and Acting-commander
of H.M.S. _Crustacean_.
Stirling had literally fallen on his feet after he had been rescued by
H.M.S. _Actaeon_. Owing to his intimate knowledge of the East Coast of
Africa and the Mozambique Channel, and having more than a nodding
acquaintance with the troublesome raider now known to be in hiding in
the Mohoro River, he had been given temporary command of the smallest
of the three monitors sent from England to assist in the operations
against German East Africa.
Notwithstanding his natural anxiety to learn how his former shipmates
came to be adrift in a canoe in the Indian Ocean, Stirling insisted on
Denbigh, O'Hara, and Armstrong being put into the sick-bay. All three
men were almost exhausted. Even Denbigh's indomitable spirit had
outworn his physical strength, while the Irishman was found to be
affected with partial indistinctness of vision owing to prolonged
exposure to the glare of the sun.
"You take it easy," was Stirling's parting injunction. "I promise I'll
turn you out directly we sight the Mohoro Lagoon."
Reassured, Denbigh and his comrades in peril capitulated. Eighteen
hours' solid sleep worked wonders, and although the Irishman was still
suffering from painful inflammation of the optic nerve, the three
officers had bathed, shaved, and changed into borrowed plumage before
breakfast-time on the following morning.
After scraps of mutual experiences had been exchanged Stirling invited
his chums to the bridge.
"The rummiest packet I ever set foot on," he admitted, "but she's a
clinker. We've as fine a pair of 14-inch guns as a fellow could wish
for. British made, too; they were manufactured in Canada. The old
_Crustacean_ does not belie her name. She has a decided tendency to
crawl crabwise, and she's as unhandy as a balsa-raft in a gale of wind."
"Not very good points," remarked O'Hara.
"But she has her qualifications, Pat. She's said to be
torpedo-proof----"
"Do you want a practical test, old man?" asked Denbigh.
"Um--no; that is, not particularly if it can be avoided. Why?"
"Because there are a pair of 60-centimetre tubes waiting to have a slap
at you when you ascend the Mohoro River."
"Steady, old man," protested Stirling with a hearty laugh. "The
river's not broad enough for the _Pelikan_ to be lying athwart the
stream. She must be quite twenty miles up the river."
"Say ten and you'll be nearer the mark," declared Denbigh. "She's
trapped, and we have to thank Mr. Armstrong for doing the trick."
"Good man!" exclaimed the young skipper of the _Crustacean_, bringing
his hand down upon the shoulder of the bashful mate of the _Myra_,
after Denbigh had related the circumstances in which the _Pelikan_ was
prevented from ascending farther up the river. "I'll have to inform
Holloway, our senior officer. He's under the same impression that I
was. But what did you say about those torpedo-tubes?"
Concisely Denbigh explained the position and nature of the German shore
defences.
"It strikes me pretty forcibly that you'll come in most handy," said
Stirling. "It's not the _Pelikan_ that is now our principal objective.
She, apparently, is done for, unless the river forms a fresh bed round
the hull of the sunken tramp. The batteries are our pigeon."
"You were saying that the _Crustacean_ is practically torpedo-proof,"
Denbigh reminded him. "In what way?"
"She's of very shallow draught. Unless a torpedo were set to travel
only a few feet beneath the surface--in which case much of the bursting
power of the war-head would be wasted--the 'tin-fish' would pass
harmlessly under her bottom. If, however, a torpedo did explode,
there's a cellular space of more than twenty feet between the outer and
inner hulls. These compartments are stuffed with something. I can't
tell you because I don't know myself what the stuff is. All I know is
that it's fireproof and its specific gravity is approximately the same
as sea-water. Hence, in the event of a hole being blown in the shell
of the outer hull our stability will hardly be affected."
At that moment a signalman approached and saluted.
"Senior officer reports approach of sea-plane parent ship _Simplicita_,
sir."
"Very good," replied Stirling, then addressing his companions he added,
"That's excellent. We are having a couple of sea-planes to spot for
us. The _Simplicita_, an old light cruiser, has been fitted out as a
floating base for aerial work. With luck they've managed to stow a
couple of 'planes on her."
Before the _Simplicita_ joined the flotilla the senior ship hoisted
another signal. It ran:
"Boat under sail four miles S.S.W. _Crustacean_ to proceed and
investigate."
At her utmost speed, a bare six knots, the little monitor altered helm
and stood off in the indicated direction. The sea was now calm, and
there was hardly a breath of wind.
At Stirling's suggestion Denbigh, O'Hara, and Armstrong ascended to the
fire-control platform. From this lofty perch a considerable expanse of
sea could be swept by the aid of powerful glasses.
Away on the starboard hand could be discerned the faint outlines of the
African coast, almost hidden in a pale-blue haze. Astern, but on a
diverging course, were the monitors _Paradox_ and _Eureka_, the former
flying the broad pendant of the senior officer, Captain Holloway.
Ahead, a small patch of greyish-white canvas marked the position of the
boat to which the _Crustacean_ was proceeding.
"That's not a Service rig," declared Denbigh, proffering his binoculars
to O'Hara.
The Irishman waved them aside.
"No, thanks, old man," said he. "I'll wait. I don't want to crock my
eyes any more than they are at present. I'll take your word for it
that she's not one of our boats."
"She's a merchantman's cutter," asserted Armstrong. "I wouldn't mind
laying odds that she's one of the _Pelikan's_ boats making for Latham
Island."
The mate was right, for on discovering the approach of the monitor the
cutter altered her course, lowering her canvas and resorting to her
oars in the vain hope that she had been unnoticed.
Twenty minutes later, the difference in speed of the monitor and her
quarry being very small, Stirling ordered one of the four quick-firers
to be discharged. The projectile, falling within fifty yards of the
boat, had the desired result, for the men boated their oars and hoisted
a square of white cloth as a signal of surrender.
"We seem fated to fall in with our friends the Huns," remarked Denbigh.
"Armstrong has scored a palpable hit; they are some of the _Pelikan's_
crowd. I recognize that fellow with a bandaged head as Major von
Eckenstein."
Most docilely the boat's crew came over the side. There were, in
addition to the major, a junior lieutenant of the _Pelikan_ and seven
seamen; the rest, to the number of about a dozen, were reservists
transhipped from the _San Matias_. The military section had discarded
their uniform and wore a motley collection of civilian garb. They were
unarmed, having thrown overboard their rifles and ammunition upon the
shot being fired to compel them to abandon flight.
The unter-leutnant had previously rehearsed a most plausible story with
which to gull the Englishmen, but a look of comical dismay overspread
his features when he recognized the officers who a short while ago had
been prisoners on board the raider.
At last he mustered up sufficient courage to demand, somewhat
haughtily, that he and his men should be accorded honourable treatment
as prisoners of war.
"Certainly," replied Stirling blandly. "I am sorry that you should
imagine otherwise. But, of course, the fact that Major von Eckenstein
and his men have adopted civilian attire tends to put them on a
different footing."
Von Eckenstein's face, or as much of it as was visible between the
swathed bandages, grew pale. He remembered the incident when he
slashed O'Hara across the face. Visions of reprisals rendered him
terror-stricken.
"Forgive me, Herr O'Hara!" he almost shouted.
The Irishman smiled affably.
"Forgive?" he echoed. "There is nothing to forgive. You gave O'Hara a
cut across the face. It raised quite a small weal. Judging by the
state of your figurehead, I'm afraid my treatment of you on the shore
of the lagoon rather disturbed the balance of exchange."
"You did this?" asked the major, dumbfounded at the information.
"Donnerwetter! I thought----"
Sheer astonishment rendered him incapable of completing the sentence.
He could not understand why the British officer received him with
unperturbed courtesy. Evidently here was something adrift with the
Teutonic gospel of hate.
"So you were making for Latham Island to resurrect the hidden stores?"
asked Denbigh, addressing the unter-leutnant.
The young German officer was also completely taken aback.
"Yes," he admitted. "But how came you to know that we had stores
buried there?"
"That's a secret," replied the sub. "But I'll tell you this. You
would have found yourselves forestalled. Some of the _Pelikan's_ men
made a dash for the island, fitted out the whaler, and left the place
as bare as an empty house. They did not get far. The boat was
capsized and all on board perished, except one man, who is now a
prisoner on board this vessel."
"Now, gentlemen," broke in Stirling briskly, addressing the major and
the unter-leutnant, "I must ask you to go below, but before doing so I
will take the liberty of examining the contents of Major von
Eckenstein's pockets."
"Himmel!" gasped the major. "For why? According to the rights of
belligerents my personal property is not liable to be confiscated."
"Your personal property--yes," replied Stirling. "Come, sir, no fuss,
if you please."
Sullenly the German permitted a petty officer to remove the contents of
his pockets. There was an order-book, containing a few pencilled
memoranda; a pocket-book in which were papers seemingly of purely
personal interest; some notes on a South American bank.
"Kindly remove your waistcoat," continued the inexorable Stirling.
Von Eckenstein shrugged his shoulders. If black looks could kill,
Stirling was as good as booked to Davy Jones.
"This is a needless indignity," almost howled the Hun.
"On the contrary, a necessary precaution on our part," corrected the
skipper of the _Crustacean_.
Sullenly von Eckenstein removed his waistcoat and threw it on the deck.
Deliberately opening a penknife Stirling ripped open the back and
removed an envelope of oiled silk.
"Thank you," he said gravely. "That is all we require for the present,
Herr Major."
Gathering up the rest of his possessions, the major followed his
companions in misfortune and disappeared below.
"Confidential orders from Potsdam to the German Governor of the East
African Colony," announced Stirling. "Here, Denbigh, have a squint at
it and see if I'm not right."
"How ever did you discover this?" asked O'Hara.
"Intuition, my dear old sport," replied Stirling with a laugh. "You
told me about the cache on Latham Island. Also, you may remember
relating a conversation between this von Eckenstein and Kapitan von
Riesser, just before the stores were landed. Von Eckenstein
objected--why? Because he thought the hiding-place ought to be on the
mainland. He had a rooted objection to making a voyage in a smallboat.
Hence it was reasonable to suppose that the Latham Island depot was for
the major's particular benefit. The fact that he was forestalled has
nothing to do with the main case. The _Pelikan_ is in difficulties.
Direct communication with the rest of the German land forces is out of
the question. So the major is sent off to Latham Island with the
Imperial dispatches in his possession. Then the unter-leutnant's
instructions are to revictual and replenish stores, and take the major
to the mainland, most likely to the Rufigi River. There there is, I
believe, fairly easy communication with Tabora, the head-quarters of
the German Colonial forces. Seeing us approach, von Eckenstein ought
to have destroyed his paper, but he didn't--he trusted to his belief in
our natural stupidity. I wouldn't mind betting that now he's bemoaning
his fate and admitting that Englishmen are not the fools he supposed
them to be."
Which was exactly what the battered and dejected von Eckenstein _was_
doing.