The passengers were paralysed by overwhelming horror. The captain
ordered all the boats to be launched to go to the assistance of the crew
of the Royal Arthur. The Chanzy also was seen to be letting down boats.
The O’Hara fled, to avoid falling into the hands of the superior French
forces, and withdrew from the scene of action in an easterly direction,
pursued by the Forbin, which sent shot after shot after her. If the
captain of the Caledonia had abandoned all idea of flight, he was not
only following the dictates of humanity, but obeying the signals of the
destroyer, ordering him to bring to. He knew that there was no longer
any chance of escape for the steamer entrusted to his care, since the
shells of the Royal Arthur had ceased to threaten the enemy.
The struggles of the unhappy men, who had reached the surface from the
gloomy depths, and were now making desperate efforts to save themselves,
presented an affecting sight. Those who could not swim soon went under,
unless they succeeded in getting hold of some floating object. Every
second more of the numerous heads, which had been seen above the water
immediately after the sinking of the cruiser, disappeared, and there was
no doubt that the crews of the boats, though working heroically, would
only be able to save a small part of the crew.
Meanwhile the commander of the Chanzy’s gig lay to at the gangway of the
Caledonia. The first officer, with four marines and a non-commissioned
officer, boarded the steamer and saluted the captain with naval
politeness.
“I greatly regret, sir, to be compelled to inconvenience you and your
passengers. But I am acting under orders, and must ask you to show me
your papers and to allow me to search the ship.”
“It is yours to command, as things are,” replied the Englishman
gloomily.
He then went down with the Frenchman into the cabin, while the
non-commissioned officer remained with the soldiers on the gangway. The
proceedings lasted nearly two hours, during which the work of rescuing
the crew of the Royal Arthur was continued unremittingly. A hundred and
twenty soldiers and sailors and five officers, besides the commander,
were saved. Most of the officers and crew were lost.
Unusual steps were taken to secure the prize. The captain, with the
first and second officers, was taken on board the Chanzy. The first
officer of the Chanzy took command of the ship, and two lieutenants
and fifty men were transferred to the Caledonia. These precautions were
sufficiently justified by the great value of the cargo. According to
the ship’s papers, the Caledonia carried no less than 20,000,000 rupees,
some in specie, others in silver bars, consigned from Calcutta to
England. The French commander was naturally very anxious to take so
valuable a cargo safely to Toulon.
A further triumph fell to the lot of the French. The British gunboat,
flying the tricolour in place of the Union Jack, was brought back to the
scene of action by the Forbin. All four French ships accompanied the two
captive vessels on the voyage to Toulon--full steam ahead.
XXIV
THE ADVENTURES OF THE CALEDONIA
The passengers of the Caledonia were in a state of hopeless dejection
and violent exasperation. An attempt was made to throw the blame of
their misfortune on the unpardonable carelessness of the responsible
military authorities, rather than attribute it to an accident that could
not have been reckoned upon.
“Here we have another striking example of English lack of foresight,”
said Mr. Kennedy. “The idea of allowing the Caledonia to travel without
protection! Think of all the men-of-war lying idle at Bombay, Aden, and
Port Said! And yet nobody thought there was any occasion to send one
or more of them to escort this splendid ship, with nearly a thousand
Englishmen on board, and a cargo worth more than a million. Had our
commanders no suspicion that the French ships were so near?”
“Our commanders relied upon there being enough English ships cruising in
the Mediterranean to prevent such enterprises,” said the General.
But this excuse was not accepted, and bitter were the reproaches hurled
at the English way of managing the war. When night came on the majority
of the passengers, utterly exhausted by the exciting events they had
gone through, retired to their cabins. But Heideck remained on deck for
some time, cooling his heated forehead in the delightful night breeze.
The squadron quickly pursued its course through the gently rushing
waves, the position of each ship being clearly defined by the
sidelights. On the right was the Chanzy, on the left the Arethuse, in
the rear the Forbin and the O’Hara, manned by a French crew. Nothing
could be seen of the destroyer. At length Heideck, tired of hearing the
regular steps of the French sentries pacing up and down the deck, went
down to his cabin. He was soon asleep, but his rest was broken by uneasy
dreams. The battle, of which he had been a spectator, was fought again.
His dreams must have been very vivid, for he thought he heard, without
cessation, the dull roar of the guns. He rubbed his eyes and sat up in
his narrow berth. Was it a reality or only a delusion of his excited
senses? The dull thunder still smote on his ear; and, having listened
intently for a few moments, he jumped up, slipped on his clothes, and
hurried on deck. On the way he met several passengers, who had also been
woke by the report of the guns. As soon as he reached the deck, he saw
that another violent naval engagement was in progress.
The night was rather dark, but the flash from the guns showed fairly the
position of the enemy, which became perfectly clear, when a searchlight
from the Arethuse played over the surface of the water with dazzlingly
clear light. The huge hulks of two battleships, white and glittering,
emerged from the darkness. In addition, there were to be seen five
smaller warships and several small, low vessels, the torpedo-boats of
the British squadron, which was advancing to meet the French. Then,
bright as a miniature sun, a searchlight was turned on also by the
English. It was an interesting spectacle to notice how the two electric
lights, slowly turning round, as it were lugged each ship out of the
darkness, showing the guns where to aim.
The French squadron, whose commander was well aware of the enemy’s
superiority, began to bestir itself rapidly. All the vessels, the
Caledonia included, turned round and retreated at full speed. But the
heavy English shells from the guns of the battleships were already
beginning to fall amongst them, although the distance might have been
three knots. Suddenly, when the Caledonia, in the course of a turning
manoeuvre, showed a broadside to the British fire, a sharp, violent
shock was felt, followed by the report of a violent explosion. The
Caledonia stopped dead, and loud cries of agony were heard from the
engine-room. The passengers, frightened to death, ran about the deck.
It could not be concealed from them that the ship had been struck by a
shell, which had exploded.
But it proved that the Caledonia, although badly injured, was in no
immediate danger. Only her speed and manoeuvring capacity had suffered
considerably owing to a steampipe having been hit.
The French warships retired as rapidly as possible, leaving the
Caledonia and the prize crew on board to their fate, since it was
impossible to take her with them. They were obliged to abandon the
valuable prize and rest content with their great success in the
destruction of the Royal Arthur and the capture of the O’Hara. The
Caledonia, being recognised by the searchlight thrown upon her, had no
fear of being shot at again. She moved slowly northwards, and in the
early morning was overtaken by two British cruisers. An officer came on
board, declared the French prize crew prisoners of war, and was informed
by the third officer, who was now in command, of the events of the last
twenty-four hours.
While the British squadron followed the French ships the Caledonia,
only travelling eight knots an hour, made for Naples, which was reached
without further incidents. The passengers were disembarked, the large
sum of money was deposited in the Bank of Naples to the credit of
the English Government, and only the cargo of cotton, carpets, and
embroidered silkstuffs was left on board.
The Kennedys and Mrs. Irwin went to the Hotel de la Riviera. They were
accompanied by Heideck, who intended to stay only one day at Naples, and
then to take the through train to Berlin.
Although he had said nothing to her about going to Berlin Edith
suspected his intention. A few hours later she spoke to him in the
reading-room, where he was eagerly studying the papers.
“Any news of importance?”
“Everything is new to me. Up to the present we have only had a glimpse
of what has been going on; these papers have given me a comprehensive
view of events for the first time.”
“And now, of course, your only desire is to see your colours again? I
know that it is only ambition that guides you.”
“Can you reproach an officer for that?”
“Yes, if he forgets humanity as well. But make your mind easy, I shall
not attempt to hinder you. I will not stand in the way of your ambition,
but neither will I sacrifice myself to it.”
“Certainly you should not do so. We shall be happy when the war is over.
I will be as true to you as to my duty. If I return alive my existence
shall be devoted to making you happy.”
“Love is like a bird; it must not be allowed too much freedom. Remember,
I have always told you I will never leave you.”
“But, dearest Edith, that is utterly impossible! Have you any idea what
war is like?”
“I should have thought I had seen enough of it.”
“Yes, in India and on sea. But in Europe war is carried on somewhat
differently. Every seat in the trains is calculated exactly; it is the
same in barracks, cantonments, and bivouacs. There is no room for a
woman. What would my comrades say of me if I appeared in your company?”
“You can say I am your wife.”
“But, Edith, the idea is not to be seriously thought of. As a Prussian
officer I need permission before I can marry. How can I join my regiment
in the company of a lady? Or how could I now get leave to marry?”
“Quite easily. Many officers marry at the beginning of a war.”
“Well, but even if I get leave now, according to the law we could not be
married for some months. I have already proposed that you should go to
my relatives at Hamburg and wait there till the war is over, and I still
think that is the only right thing to do.”
“But I will not go to your relatives at Hamburg.”
“And why not?”
“Do you think that I, an Englishwoman, would go and live in a German
family to be stared at? Do you think I could bear to read all the lies
about England in the German newspapers?”
“My uncle and aunt are people of great tact, and my cousins will show
you due respect.”
“Cousins! No, thank you! I should be out of place in the midst of the
domestic felicity of strangers.”
“If you won’t go there, you might stop at a pension in Berlin.”
“No, I won’t do that either. I will stay with you.”
“But, dearest Edith, how do you think this could be managed?”
“I will have nothing to do with conventionalities; otherwise life in
Germany would be intolerable. I should die of anxiety in a pension,
thinking every moment of the dangers to which you are exposed. No, I
couldn’t endure that. I have lived through too much--seen too much that
is terrible. My nerves would not be strong enough for me to vegetate
in a family or a Berlin pension in the midst of the trivialities of
everyday life. Have pity on me, and don’t leave me! Your presence is the
only effectual medicine for my mind.”
“Ah! dearest Edith, my whole heart is full of you, and I would gladly do
as you wish. But every step we take must be practical and judicious.
If you say you will stay with me, you must have some idea in your mind.
How, then, do you think we can manage to be together? Remember that on
my return I shall be an officer on service, and shall have to carry out
the orders I receive.”
“I have already thought of a way. Prince Tchajawadse had a page with
him; I will be your page.”
“What an absurd idea! Prussian officers don’t take pages with them on
active service.”
“Never mind the name. You must have servants, like English officers; I
will be your boy.”
“With us soldiers are told off for such duties, my dear Edith.”
“Then I will go with you as a soldier. I have already gone as a rajah.”
Heideck knitted his brows impatiently. The young woman, whose keen eyes
had noticed it, went on impetuously: “Although it seems you are tired
of me, I will not leave you. Distance is love’s worst enemy, and you are
the only tie that binds me to life.”
Heideck cast down his eyes, so as not to betray his thoughts. Since
he had read the papers, which gave him a clearer idea of the political
situation, his mind was fuller than before of warlike visions. He loved
Edith, but love did not fill his life so completely as it did hers. The
news in the Italian and French papers had put him into a regular fever
after his long absence from Europe. The dissolution of the Triple
Alliance, and Germany’s new alliance with France and Russia, had caused
a complete alteration in the political horizon. He heard the stamping
of horses, the clash of arms, the thunder of cannon. The war was full of
importance and boundless possibilities.
It was a question of Germany’s existence! Her losses up to the present
were estimated at more than three milliards. All the German colonies had
been seized by the English, hundreds of German merchant-men were lost,
German foreign trade was completely paralysed, German credit was shaken.
Unless Germany were finally victorious, the war meant her extinction as
a great Power.
He sprang up.
“It must be, dearest Edith; we must soon part!”
She turned pale. With a look of anguish she caught at his hand and held
it fast.
“Do not leave me!”
“I must have perfect freedom--at present. After the war I belong
entirely to you.”
“No, no, you cannot be so cruel! You must not leave me!”
“We shall meet again! I love you and will be true to you. But now I ask
a sacrifice from you. I am a German officer; my life now belongs to my
country.”
She slid from her chair to the ground and clasped his knees.
“I cannot leave you; it will bring you no happiness, if you destroy me.”
“Be strong, Edith. I always used to admire your firm, powerful will.
Have you all at once lost all sense, all reason?”
“I have lost everything,” she cried, “everything save you. And I will
not give you up!”
“Mrs. Irwin!” cried a voice of horror at this moment, “can it be
possible?”
Edith got up hurriedly.
Mrs. Kennedy and her daughter had entered unobserved. They had witnessed
the singular situation with utter astonishment and heard Edith’s last
words.
“Good Heavens, can it be possible?” stammered the worthy lady; then,
turning to her daughter, she added, “Go, my child.”
Edith Irwin had quickly recovered her composure. Standing up, her head
proudly raised, she faced the indignant lady.
“I beg you to remember, Mrs. Kennedy, that no one should pass judgment
without knowing the real state of things.”
“I think what I have seen needs no explanation.”
“If there is anything blameworthy in it, I alone am responsible,”
interposed Heideck. “Spare me a few minutes in private, Mrs. Kennedy,
and I will convince you that no blame attaches to Mrs. Irwin.”
“I want no one to defend me or intercede for me!” cried Edith
passionately. “Why should we any longer conceal our love? This man,
Mrs. Kennedy, has saved my life and honour more than once, and it is no
humiliation for me to go on my knees before him.”
Perhaps there was something in her face and the tone of her voice that
touched the Englishwoman’s heart, in spite of her outraged sense of
propriety. The stern expression disappeared from her features, and she
said with friendly, almost motherly gentleness--
“Come, my poor child! I have certainly no right to set up for a judge of
your actions. But I am certainly old enough for you to trust in me.”
Edith, overcome by this sudden kindness, leaned her head on Mrs.
Kennedy’s shoulder. Heideck felt it would be best to leave the two
ladies to themselves.
“If you will permit me, ladies, I will leave you for the present.”
With a rapid movement Edith laid her hand upon his arm.
“You give me your word, Captain Heideck, that you will not leave without
saying good-bye to me?”
“I give you my word.”
He left the room in a most painful state of mind. It seemed as if, in
the fulfilment of his duty, he would have to pass over the body of the
being who was dearest to him on earth.
In the evening Mrs. Kennedy’s maid brought him a short note from Edith,
asking him to come to her at once. He found her in her dimly-lighted
room on the couch; but as he entered she got up and went to meet him
with apparent calmness.
“You are right, my friend; I have in the meantime come to my senses
again. Nothing else is possible--we must part.”
“I swear to you, Edith--”
“Swear nothing. The future is in God’s hands alone.”
She drew from the ring-finger of her left hand the hoop-ring, set
in valuable brilliants, which had given rise to their first serious
conversation.
“Take this ring, my friend, and think of me whenever you look at it.”
Tears choked her utterance. “Have no anxiety for me and my future. I am
going with the Kennedys to England.”
XXV
A SUSPICIOUS FISHING-SMACK
A raw north wind swept over the island of Walcheren and the mouth of the
West Schelde, ruffling into tiny waves the water of the broad stream,
which in the twilight looked like a shoreless sea. Only those acquainted
with the ground knew that the flashing lights of the beacons at Flushing
on the right and at Fort Frederik Hendrik on the left marked the limits
of the wide mouth of the harbour. Here, in 1809, when Holland was under
the rule of Napoleon Bonaparte, a powerful English fleet had entered
the Schelde to attack Flushing, and take the fortress. In the centre,
between the two lights, which were about three miles apart, the German
cruiser Gefion lay tossing at anchor. On the deck stood Heideck, who on
his return had been promoted to major and appointed to the intelligence
department for the coast district of Holland.
In the afternoon he had seen a vessel entering the Schelde, which the
pilot had identified as one of the fishing-smacks plying between the
Shetland Islands and the Dutch ports. Heideck had informed the captain
of the Gefion of his suspicion that the smack might be intended for
another purpose than trading in herrings. The little vessel had put
in on the left bank, between the villages of Breskens and Kadzand, and
Heideck decided to row across to it.
Six marines and four sailors, under the command of a mate, manned one
of the Gefion’s boats, and set out for the left bank in the direction of
the suspected vessel. It cost the oarsmen, struggling with the tide and
wind which came howling from the sea, nearly half an hour’s hard work
before they saw the dark hull of the smack emerging clearly outlined
before them. A hoarse voice from on board asked what they wanted.
“His Majesty’s service!” answered Heideck, and, as the boat lay to, he
threw off his cloak, so as to spring on deck more easily. Three men,
in the dark, woollen smock and tarpaulined hat of coast fishermen,
approached him and, in answer to his inquiry for the master, told him,
in an unintelligible mixture of Dutch and German, that he had gone
ashore.
“His name?”
“Maaning Brandelaar.”
“What is the name of this vessel?”
“Bressay.”
The answers were given with hesitation and sullenly, and the three men
showed such evident signs of irritation that Heideck felt they would
have gladly thrown him overboard had it not been for the respect
inspired by his uniform.
“Where from?” he asked.
“From Lerwick.”
“Where to?”
“We are going to sell our herrings. We are respectable people, Herr
major.”
“Where are you going to sell your herrings?”
“Where we can. The skipper has gone to Breskens. He intended to be back
soon.”
Heideck looked round. The smack had put to in a little bay, where the
water was quiet. The village of Breskens and the little watering-place,
Kadzand, were both so near that the lighted windows could be seen. It
was nine o’clock--rather late for the business which Maaning Brandelaar
intended to transact at Breskens.
Heideck sent the marines on deck with orders to see that no one left
the ship before the captain returned. He then ordered a lantern to be
lighted to examine below. It was a long time before the lantern was
ready, and it burned so dully that Heideck preferred to use the electric
lamp which he always carried with him as well as his revolver. He
climbed down the stairs into the hold and found that the smell of
pickled herrings, which he had noticed on deck, was sufficiently
explained by the cargo. In the little cabin two men were sitting,
drinking grog and smoking short clay pipes. Heideck greeted them
courteously and took a seat near them. They spoke English with a broad
Scotch accent, and used many peculiar expressions which Heideck did not
understand. They declared they were natives of the island of Bressay.
Heideck gathered from their conversation that the smack belonged to a
shipowner of Rotterdam, whose name they appeared not to know or could
not pronounce. They were very guarded and reserved in their statements
generally. Heideck waited half an hour, an hour--but still no signs of
the captain. He began to feel hungry, and throwing a piece of money on
the table, asked whether they could give him anything to eat.
The fishermen opened the cupboard in the wall of the cabin and brought
out a large piece of ham, half a loaf of black bread, and a knife and
fork. Heideck noticed two small white loaves in the cupboard amongst
some glasses and bottles. “Give me some white bread,” said he. The man
who had brought out the eatables murmured something unintelligible to
Heideck and shut the cupboard again without complying with his request.
His behaviour could not help striking Heideck as curious. He had, as a
matter of fact, only asked for white bread because the black was old,
dry, and uncommonly coarse; but now the suspicion forced itself upon
him that there was some special meaning behind the rude and contemptuous
manner in which his request had been received.
“You don’t seem to have understood me,” he said. “I should like the
white bread.”
“It belongs to the captain,” was the reply; “we mustn’t take it.”
“I will pay for it. Your captain will certainly have no objection.”
The men pretended not to hear.
Heideck repeated his request in a stern and commanding tone. The men
looked at each other; then one of them went to the cupboard, took out
the white bread, and set it on the table. Heideck cut it and found it
very good. He ate heartily of it, wondering at the same time why the
men had been so disobliging about it at first. When he took up the bread
again to cut himself off a second piece, it occurred to him that it was
remarkably heavy. He cut into the middle and, finding that the blade
of the knife struck on something hard, he broke the loaf in two. The
glitter of gold met his eyes. He investigated further and drew out,
one after the other, thirty golden coins with the head of the Queen
of England upon them. Thirty pounds sterling had been concealed in the
loaf.
“Very nourishing bread of yours,” said he, looking keenly at the men,
who merely shrugged their shoulders.
“What has it to do with us how the captain keeps his money?” said one of
them.
“You are quite right. What has it to do with you? We will wait till
the captain comes. There, put the bread and the money back into the
cupboard, and then make a nice glass of grog for my men, the poor
fellows will be frozen. Here are three marks for you.”
The men did as they were asked. One of them went upstairs with the
smoking jug, bringing it back empty some time afterwards, with the
thanks of the Herr major’s men.
A few minutes later one of the soldiers appeared at the cabin door and
announced that two men were approaching from land. “Good,” said Heideck;
“keep quiet, till they are on deck; then don’t let them go down again,
but tell them to come here.”
Almost immediately steps and voices were heard above, and in a few
minutes two men entered the cabin. The first, who wore the dress of a
skipper, was of unusually powerful build, broad-shouldered, bull-necked,
with a square weather-beaten face, from which two crafty little
eyes twinkled. The second, considerably younger, was dressed rather
foppishly, and wore a beard trimmed in the most modern style.
“Mynheer Brandelaar?” queried Heideck.
“That’s me,” replied the man with the broad shoulders, in a brusque,
almost threatening tone.
“Very glad to see you, mynheer. I want to speak to you on a matter of
business; I have been waiting for you more than an hour. May I ask you
to introduce me to this gentleman?”