A SHABBY WAYFARER.
In Sussex the situation was now most critical. The struggle between the
French invaders and the line of Volunteers defending London was long and
desperate, but our civilian soldiers were bearing their part bravely,
showing how Britons could fight, and day after day repelling the
repeated assaults with a vigour that at once proved their efficiency.
Three days after the battle at Manchester had been fought and won, a man
with slouching gait and woeful countenance, attired in a cheap suit of
shabby grey, stood on the steps of the Granton Hotel, at Granton, and
with his hands thrust into his pockets gazed thoughtfully out over the
broad waters of the Firth of Forth, to where the Fifeshire hills loomed
dark upon the horizon. Slowly his keen eyes wandered away eastward to
the open sea, an extensive view of which he obtained from the flight of
steps whereon he stood, and then with a sigh of disappointment he
buttoned his coat, and, grasping his stick, descended, and walked at a
leisurely pace along the road through Newhaven to Leith.
"To-night. To-night at sundown!" he muttered to himself, as he bent his
head to the wind.
Involuntarily he placed his hand to his hip to reassure himself that a
letter he carried was still safe.
"Bah!" he continued, "I declare I feel quite timid to-night. Everything
is so quiet here; the houses look deserted, and everybody seems to have
left the place. Surely they can have no suspicion, and--and if they had?
What does it matter?--eh, what?"
Quickening his pace, he passed down the long, quaint street of Newhaven,
lined on each side by ancient fishermen's cottages, and then, crossing
the railway, passed under the wall of Leith Fort, whereon a couple of
sentries were pacing. Glancing up at the two artillerymen, with the
half-dozen obsolete guns behind them, and their background of
grass-grown mounds and buildings, the wayfarer smiled. He was thinking
how different would be the scene at this spot ere long.
Leith Fort was a sort of fortified back-garden. The railway ran close to
the sea, parallel with which was the highway, and upon higher ground at
the back was a block of buildings, before which a few black old cannon
were placed in formidable array, and in such a position as to be fully
exposed to any destructive projectiles fired from the sea.
On went the down-at-heel wayfarer, his shifty eyes ever on the alert,
viewing with suspicion the one or two persons he met. Apparently he was
expecting the arrival of some craft, for his gaze was constantly turned
towards the wide expanse of grey water, eager to detect the smallest
speck upon the horizon. Any one who regarded him critically might have
noticed something remarkable about his appearance, yet not even his most
intimate friends would have recognised in this broken-down, half-starved
clerk, who had arrived at Granton that morning, after tramping over from
Glasgow, the popular man-about-town, the Count von Beilstein!
"Those fools will soon be swept away into eternity," he muttered to
himself, as he glanced back in the direction of the fort. "They will
have an opportunity of tasting Russian lead, and of practising with
their guns, which are only fit for a museum. They mount guard to defend
an attack! Bah! They seek their own destruction, for no force can
withstand that which will presently appear to give them a sudden
rousing. They will be elevated--blown into the air, together with their
miserable guns, their barracks, and the whole of their antiquated
paraphernalia. And to me the world owes this national catastrophe! I am
the looker-on. These British have a proverb that the looker-on sees most
of the game. _Bien! that is full of truth._"
And he chuckled to himself, pursuing his way at the same pace, now and
then glancing back as if to assure himself that no one dogged his
footsteps. Darkness had crept on quickly as he passed along through the
open country at Fillyside and entered Portobello, the little
watering-place so popular with holiday makers from Edinburgh during the
summer. Along the deserted promenade he strolled leisurely from end to
end, and passing out of the town through Joppa, came at length to that
rugged shore between the Salt Pans and Eastfield. The tide was out, so,
leaving the road, he walked on in the darkness over the shingles until
he came to a small cove, and a moment later two men confronted him.
A few sentences in Russian were rapidly exchanged between the spy and
the men, and then the latter at once guided him to where a boat lay in
readiness, but concealed. Five minutes later the Count was being rowed
swiftly but silently away into the darkness by six stalwart men
belonging to one of the Tsar's battleships.
The oars dipped regularly as the boat glided onwards, but no word was
exchanged, until about twenty minutes later the men suddenly stopped
pulling, a rope thrown by a mysterious but vigilant hand whistled over
their heads and fell across them, and then they found themselves under
the dark side of a huge ironclad. It was the new battleship, _Admiral
Orlovski_, which had only just left the Baltic for the first time.
Without delay the spy climbed on board, and was conducted at once by a
young officer into the Admiral's private cabin.
A bearded, middle-aged man, in handsome naval uniform, who was poring
over a chart, rose as he entered. The spy, bowing, said briefly in
Russian--
"I desire to see Prince Feodor Mazaroff, Admiral of the Fleet."
"I am at your service, m'sieur," the other replied in French, motioning
him to a chair.
The Count, seating himself, tossed his hat carelessly upon the table,
explaining that he had been sent by the Russian Intelligence Department
as bearer of certain important documents which would materially assist
him in his operations.
"Yes," observed the Prince, "I received a telegram from the Ministry at
Petersburg before I left Christiansand, telling me to await you here,
and that you would furnish various information."
"That I am ready to do as far as lies in my power," replied the Count,
taking from his hip pocket a bulky packet, sealed with three great daubs
of black wax. This he handed to the Prince, saying, "It contains maps of
the country between Edinburgh and Glasgow, specially prepared by our
Secret Service, together with a marked chart of the Firth of Forth, and
full detailed information regarding the troops remaining to defend this
district."
The Admiral broke the seals, and glanced eagerly through the contents,
with evident satisfaction.
"Now, what is the general condition of the south of Scotland?" the
Prince asked, lounging back, twirling his moustache with a
self-satisfied air.
"Totally unprepared. It is not believed that any attack will be made.
The military left north of the Cheviots after mobilisation were sent
south to assist in the defence of Manchester."
"Let us hope our expedition to-night will meet with success. We are now
one mile east of Craig Waugh, and in an hour our big guns will arouse
Leith from its lethargy. You will be able to watch the fun from deck,
and give us the benefit of your knowledge of the district. Is the fort
at Leith likely to offer any formidable resistance?" continued the
Admiral. "I see the information here is somewhat vague upon that
point."
"The place is useless," replied the spy, as he stretched out his hand
and took a pencil and paper from the Prince's writing-table. "See! I
will sketch it for you. In the character of a starving workman who
desired to volunteer I called there, and succeeded in obtaining a good
view of the interior. They have a few modern guns, but the remainder are
old muzzleloaders, which against such guns as you have on board here
will be worse than useless." And as he spoke he rapidly sketched a plan
of the defences in a neat and accurate manner, acquired by long
practice. "The most serious resistance will, however, be offered from
Inchkeith Island, four miles off Leith. There has lately been
established there a new fort, containing guns of the latest type. A plan
of the place, which I succeeded in obtaining a few days ago, is, you
will find, pinned to the chart of the Firth of Forth."
The Admiral opened out the document indicated, and closely examined the
little sketch plan appended. On the chart were a number of small squares
marked in scarlet, surrounded by a blue circle to distinguish them more
readily from the dots of red which pointed out the position of the
lights. These squares, prepared with the utmost care by von Beilstein,
showed the position of certain submarine mines, a plan of which he had
succeeded in obtaining by one of his marvellous master-strokes of
finesse.
"Thanks to you, Count, our preparations are now complete," observed the
Prince, offering the spy a cigarette from his silver case, and taking
one himself. "Our transports, with three army corps, numbering nearly
60,000 men and 200 guns, are at the present moment lying 12 miles north
of the Bass Rock, awaiting orders to enter the Firth, therefore I think
when we land we shall"--
A ray of brilliant white light streamed for a moment through the port of
the cabin, and then disappeared.
The Prince, jumping to his feet, looked out into the darkness, and saw
the long beam sweeping slowly round over the water, lighting up the
ships of his squadron in rapid succession.
"The search-lights of Inchkeith!" he gasped, with an imprecation. "I had
no idea we were within their range, but now they have discovered us
there's no time to be lost. For the present I must leave you. You will,
of course, remain on board, and land with us"; and a moment later he
rushed on deck, and shouted an order which was promptly obeyed.
Suddenly there was a low booming, and in another second a column of dark
water rose as the first shot ricochetted about five hundred yards from
their bows. Orders shouted in Russian echoed through the ship, numbers
of signals were exchanged rapidly with the other vessels, and the sea
suddenly became alive with torpedo boats.
Time after time the British guns sounded like distant thunder, and shots
fell in the vicinity of the Russian ships. Suddenly, as soon as the men
were at their quarters, electric signals rang from the conning-tower of
the _Admiral Orlovski_, and one of her 56-tonners crashed and roared
from her turret, and a shot sped away towards where the light showed.
The noise immediately became deafening as the guns from nine other ships
thundered almost simultaneously, sending a perfect hail of shell upon
the island fort. In the darkness the scene was one of most intense
excitement.
For the first time the spy found himself amidst the din of battle, and
perhaps for the first time in his life his nerves were somewhat shaken
as he stood in a convenient corner watching the working of one of the
great guns in the turret, which regularly ran out and added its voice to
the incessant thunder.