THE OBER-LEUTNANT'S JAUNT
MIDNIGHT, somewhere off the North Cornish coast. To be more
accurate, the position was, according to observations made by
Ober-leutnant Otto von Loringhoven commanding H.I.M. unterseeboot
254, was Hatstone Point south-south-east 1/4 east, and Polgereen
Point south by west 1/4 west. The rugged coast was all but hidden in
the low-lying mist, only the loftier headlands being visible against
the starlit sky. There was little or no wind, but shorewards a
continual rumble betokened the presence of ground-swell--the
"fag-end" of enormous waves generated hundreds of miles away in the
vast Atlantic.
U 254 was proceeding dead slow towards the shore. The steady beat of
her muffled exhausts was only just audible above the lap of the
water against her blunt bows and the ripple in the wake of her
triple propellers.
The ober-leutnant was standing on a raised platform that surrounded
the elongated conning-tower. He was a tall, heavily built
man--massive-looking in his long double-breasted coat and sea-boots.
On his head he wore a black sou'-wester that, with the turned-up
collar of his greatcoat and the dark muffler round his neck, left
only a small portion of his face exposed: pale pasty features,
shaggy beetling brows, small beady eyes, a large nose, flattened at
the tip, and a loose mouth partly hidden by a closely trimmed
moustache.
Close behind him stood the unter-leutnant, Hans Kuhlberg, a typical,
loose-limbed, weak-chinned Prussian. No further description of this
young swashbuckler is necessary. A British schoolboy was once asked
by an examiner to describe the manners and customs of a certain
savage tribe of Central Africa. His reply, "Manners none; customs
beastly," would be equally applicable to Hans Kuhlberg.
A quartermaster at the steering-wheel on deck and a couple of hands
using the lead-line were the only members of the piratical Hun crew
visible; the others, eighty worthy upholders of the debased cult of
German sea-power, were stowed away within the three hundred feet of
steel hull.
"Report when you find fifty metres," ordered von Loringhoven for the
twentieth time, addressing the leadsmen in harsh yet restrained
tones, for acting under instructions they refrained from announcing
the "cast" lest the sound of their voices would carry to the ears of
an alert British patrol-boat's crew.
"Are you really going ashore, Herr Kapitan?" asked the
unter-leutnant, who was vigorously engaged in chewing an apple--part
of the spoils from a captured topsail schooner that had been sunk
off Lundy a couple of days previously.
"I said so, Hans," replied von Loringhoven, "and I mean to go.
Himmel! A little less noise with your throat. One would think you
were drinking soup."
"Sorry, Herr Kapitan," exclaimed Hans Kuhlberg humbly. "It is a
juicy--and I forgot."
U 254 was having a "day off." It was not her fault but her
misfortune. Eighteen hours earlier she had approached a possible
victim--a large cargo boat lying at anchor off Cardiff. Von
Loringhoven was quite under the impression that the outlines of a
destroyer showing up against her side was mere camouflage; but when
the shadow became substance in the form of a very aggressive unit of
the British Navy, U 254 was only too glad to dive. Even then it was
a very narrow shave, for a four-inch shell whistled within a few
inches of the periscopes. For the time being von Loringhoven
prudently decided to keep away from the recognised trade routes and
find a less unhealthy spot in order to charge batteries. Closing
with the Cornish coast the ober-leutnant took it into his head to
have a jaunt ashore on English soil.
"Fifty metres, Herr Kapitan, and a sandy bottom," reported the
leadsman.
"Good!" ejaculated von Loringhoven. "See that the collapsible boat
is launched, Kuhlberg. I am leaving you in charge. Keep awash,
unless you sight anything of a suspicious nature, until dawn. Then
rest on the bottom. At one o'clock--twenty-five hours from now--send
a boat for me. Is there anything you want me to bring back?"
"Tobacco and cigarettes, Herr Kapitan," replied the unter-leutnant.
"These English are swine, but they manage to get excellent tobacco.
I was in hopes that when we sent that Dutch vessel to the bottom we
might find good tobacco, but, ach! the stuff we found was
intolerable."
His superior officer laughed.
"There is a box of cigars in my cabin," he remarked. "Mind they
don't turn your head. I go and change in order to meet Englishmen as
one of themselves."
Von Loringhoven disappeared below, to return in a quarter of an
hour's time dressed in civilian clothes.
"Is it wise, Herr Kapitan?" asked Kuhlberg. "Your get-up is superb;
yet, if you should be detected, you will be shot as a spy."
"I doubt it," rejoined the ober-leutnant. "These English are not
thorough like us. They would hesitate before condemning to death a
German naval officer; rather they would make much of him. An account
of his adventures would appear in the British newspapers....
Nevertheless, don't think, Kuhlberg, that I want to desert you
indefinitely. It is only for a few hours. Boat ready?" he inquired,
dropping his bantering tone.
With muffled oars the boat approached the shore, von Loringhoven
handling the yoke-lines with the air of a man who is well acquainted
with his surroundings. Less than four years previously he had spent
a month in North Cornwall, ostensibly to indulge in "surf-bathing."
There was hardly a cove betwixt Hartland Point and St. Ives that he
had not explored, aiding his trained memory by means of photographic
and business-like sketches.
"Lay on your oars!" ordered the ober-leutnant, as the boat glided
under the overhanging cliffs of a bold headland.
Von Loringhoven produced a powerful pair of Zeiss binoculars from
his coat pocket, and focussed them upon a ledge of rocks that formed
a breakwater, partly natural, partly artificial, to a tidal harbour.
"H'm," he muttered. "I thought so. They have patrols out. No matter,
I must take the Fisherman's Stairs. Give way gently, men."
Protected by an outlying ledge the cove for which the boat was
making was uninfluenced by the sullen ground swell. Noiselessly and
unseen von Loringhoven stepped ashore, gave a few whispered
instructions to the coxswain, and sent the boat back to the lurking
submarine.
The ober-leutnant waited until the faint plash of the oars failed to
reach his ears, then treading softly he made his way over the rough
slippery causeway along the base of the cliffs. At intervals he
stopped to listen intently, but only the low rumble of the surf and
the occasional call of a belated sea-bird broke the silence.
It required a considerable amount of nerve to ascend or descend
Fishermen's Stairs, even in broad daylight. The darkness, doubtless,
modified much of the forbidding appearance of the precipitous way,
but on the other hand it seemed to hide many of the otherwise
visible dangers.
Von Loringhoven counted the steps as he climbed. He knew the exact
number, unless, since his last visit, a landslide had altered the
natural features of the place. Once he muttered a curse as his feet
slipped, yet, hardly deigning to make use of the rusty iron chain
that served as a rough handrail, he gained the summit of the cliffs.
Perfectly aware of the regulations that no unauthorised person must
use the cliff-path between sunset and sunrise, the ober-leutnant
proceeded cautiously until he gained a narrow lane leading towards
the little town. Here, throwing off his secretive manner, he started
off at a brisk walk until he reached a row of semi-detached
villas on fairly lofty ground overlooking the harbour.
Noisily opening the gate of one of the houses von Loringhoven strode
up the path with deliberate footsteps. A timorous step would, he
argued with himself, give rise to suspicion. At the front door he
knocked loudly and waited.
Although the heavy dark curtains over the upstairs windows allowed
no strong beam of light to penetrate von Loringhoven knew by the
metallic click of a switch that the electric light had just been put
on. Then came the shuffling noise of slippered feet descending the
stairs and the unbolting of the door.
"Hullo, Tom!" exclaimed von Loringhoven, as the door was thrown
open, revealing in the faint starlight the tall, burly figure of a
man in a long dressing jacket.
"Hullo, James!" was the equally boisterous reply. "You're late.
Missed the last train, eh? Come in."
These histrionic greetings completed, the occupier closed the door
and switched on the light, and the ober-leutnant was ushered into a
well-furnished room opening out of the hall.
"You risked it, then," remarked the ober-leutnant's companion,
speaking in German. "I am not surprised, von Loringhoven. Karl told
me.... Business brisk?"
Ernst von Gobendorff, German by birth and upbringing, but,
unfortunately, Anglo-Saxon in appearance, was one of the vast Hun
espionage organisation now admitted by the most sceptical to
flourish on British soil. With Teutonic thoroughness, and hitherto
without the crass blundering that has oft-times wrecked the
deep-laid plans of kultur, von Gobendorff had gained a high position
in the ranks of the Kaiser's emissaries in hostile lands. He, like
many others, was paid by results, although he drew a small fixed
salary from his Hunnish paymasters. For the last eighteen months
Cornwall had been the scene of his labours, most of his work
consisting of transmitting information of the movements of shipping
to the U-boat commanders operating off the coast. He looked English;
he spoke English with a faultless Midland accent; he had an English
registration card, which, though easy to obtain, is generally
sufficient to satisfy the curiosity of the average county policeman.
Under the assumed name of Thomas Middlecrease, and posing as a
commercial traveller to a London house, he "worked" the length and
breadth of the Delectable Duchy with a zeal that was the envy and
admiration of genuine Knights of the Road.
Von Gobendorff was not merely a spy: he was a desperado, whenever
opportunity occurred, under the distinguished patronage of the
German High Command. His system of communicating with Berlin was so
skilfully manipulated that unless all telegraphic and mail
dispatches between Great Britain and neutral countries were
suspended, he could rely upon his reports reaching the
Admiralty-strasse within forty-eight hours.
"Business," replied von Loringhoven, leaning back in a lounge chair
and thrusting his feet close to an electric radiator--"business is
as usual. And yours?"
"Rather slack of late," admitted von Gobendorff. "However, I am
expecting a coup. How is your brother, the Zeppelin commander?"
The ober-leutnant shrugged his shoulders.
"Julius burnt his fingers when he kidnapped von Eitelwurmer by
mistake," he replied. "You may hear of him again, as I believe there
is to be another intensity on the part of our aerial cruisers. By
the by, how is von Eitelwurmer?"
"Ask me another question, Otto," replied the spy. "All I know is
that he's dead; an accident, according to a North Country paper. I
did not think it prudent to make further inquiries."
"At any rate," remarked von Loringhoven, "he did something to the
honour and glory of the Fatherland. But what is this coup to which
you referred?"
"I hear on excellent authority that a train load of American
troops--curse them!--leaves Trecurnow to-morrow; or rather, I should
say, to-day," said von Gobendorff, glancing at the clock.
The ober-leutnant nodded thoughtfully.
"Fairly safe?" he queried. "Well, I'll ask no more questions on that
subject. You must be tired, and to do one's work properly rest is
essential. I'm going to be your guest, von Gobendorff, for just
about twenty-four hours, but in the circumstances I will excuse your
absence. By the by, you'll be returning about six, I hope? Dine with
me at the Imperial Hotel. I suppose," he added reminiscently, "that
the food is not quite so good nor so plentiful as when last I
visited Cornwall?"
"There is a difference," replied von Gobendorff, "but nothing like
to the extent we Germans hoped. This starving-out campaign seems to
hang fire."
"Our U-boats will bring England to her knees yet," declared the
ober-leutnant. "They say these English never know when they are
beaten, but they'll find out soon."
"One might also say that they never know when they are winning,"
added the spy. "Much as I hate to have to say it I must admire the
matter-of-fact way in which these English take ill-news."
"They get plenty of that," retorted von Loringhoven ironically.
"Every week, and down go twenty merchant ships. How long can England
stand that?"
"And how many of our unterseebooten vanish while doing the good
work?" asked von Gobendorff. "I am afraid, von Loringhoven, that
even you cannot answer the question. It is these Englanders'
mule-headed contempt for frightfulness that is making Germany's task
doubly--nay, trebly hard. But we must argue no longer, Otto," he
added, seeing indications of a rising temper in his guest. "We'll go
to bed. I will be off before you are up, so, until to-night at the
Imperial Hotel, _auf Wiedersehen_."