shall have fifty pounds the moment I set foot in the boat.”
“Good! And two hundred for the skipper and his men? The men are risking
their lives, you mustn’t forget that. Besides, they will have to manage
confoundedly cleverly to get past the German guardships unnoticed.”
“Yes, yes! Why waste so much time over this useless bargaining? Here is
the money--now get me a boat.”
“Go in there,” said Brandelaar, pointing to the door of a little dark
side room. “I will see whether my friend Van dem Bosch will do it.”
Before complying with Brandelaar’s suggestion, Edith glanced at the
man whom he had indicated with a movement of his head. Externally
this robust old sea-dog was certainly not attractive, but his alarming
appearance did not make Edith falter in her resolution for a moment.
“Good--talk to your friend, Brandelaar! And mind that I don’t have to
wait too long for his consent.”
. . . . . . .
The gallant Brandelaar must have found a very effective means of
persuasion, for in less than ten minutes he was able to inform Edith
that Van dem Bosch was ready to risk the journey on the terms offered.
He said nothing more about the danger of the undertaking, as if he
were afraid of frightening the young Englishwoman from her plan, so
profitable to himself. From this moment nothing more was said about the
matter. It was not far to the place where the cutter lay at anchor,
and Edith struggled on bravely between the two men, who silently walked
along by her side, in the face of the hurricane from the north, roaring
in fitful gusts from the sea. They rowed across to the vessel in a yawl,
and when Brandelaar returned to the quay he had his fifty pounds all
right in his pocket.
“If the Herr major asks after me, you may tell him the whole truth with
confidence,” Edith had said to him. “And greet him from me--greet him
heartily. Don’t forget that, Brandelaar.”
. . . . . . .
The skipper’s two men, who had been lying fast asleep below deck in the
cutter, were considerably astonished and certainly far from pleased at
the idea of the nocturnal passage. But a few words from the skipper in a
language unintelligible to Edith speedily removed their discontent.
They now readily set to work to set sail and weigh anchor. The skipper’s
powerful hands grasped the helm; the small, strongly-built vessel tacked
a little and then, heeling over, shot out into the darkness.
It passed close by the Gefion, and had it by accident been shown up
by the electric light which from time to time searched the disturbed
surface of the water, the nocturnal trip would in any case have
experienced a very disagreeable interruption. But chance favoured
the rash undertaking. No signal was made, no shout raised from the
guardship, and the lights of Flushing were soon lost in the darkness.
Since the start Edith had been standing by the mast, looking fixedly
backwards to the place where she was leaving everything which had
hitherto given all its value and meaning to her life. The skipper and
his two men, whom the varying winds kept fully occupied with their
sails, did not seem to trouble about her, and it was not till a suddenly
violent squall came on that Van dem Bosch shouted to her that she had
better go below, where she would at least be protected against the wind
and weather.
But Edith did not stir. For her mind, racked by all the torments
of infinite despair, the raging of the storm, the noise of the rain
rattling down, and the hissing splash of the waves as they dashed
against the planks of the boat, made just the right music. The tumult
of the night around her harmonised so exactly with the tumult within her
that she almost felt it a relief. The close confinement of a low cabin
would have been unbearable. She could only hold out by drinking in
deep draughts of air saturated with the briny odour of the sea, and by
exposing her face to the storm, the rain, and the foam of the waves. It
was a kind of physical struggle with the brute forces of Nature, and
its stirring effect upon her nerves acted as a tonic to a mind lacerated
with sorrow.
She had no thought for time or space. Only the hurricane-like rising
of the storm, the increasingly violent breaking of the waves, and the
wilder rocking of the boat, told her that she must be on the open sea.
In spite of her oilskin cape, she was completely wet through, and a
chill, which gradually spread over her whole body from below, numbed her
limbs. Nevertheless, she never for a moment thought of retiring below.
She had no idea of danger. She heard the sailors cursing, and twice the
skipper’s voice struck her ears, uttering what seemed to be an imperious
command. But she did not trouble herself about this. As if already set
free from everything earthly, she remained completely indifferent to
everything that was going on around her. The more insensible her body
became, paralysed by the penetrating damp and chill, the more indefinite
and dreamlike became all the impressions of her senses. She seemed to
have lost all foothold, to be flying on the wings of the storm, free
from all restrictions of corporeal gravity, through unlimited space. All
the rushing, howling, rattling, and splashing of the unchained elements
seemed to her to unite in one monotonous, majestic roar, which had no
terrors for her, but a wonderfully soothing influence. As her senses
slowly failed, the tumult became a lofty harmony; she felt so entirely
one with mighty, all-powerful Nature that the last feeling of which she
was conscious was a fervent, ardent longing to dissolve in this mighty
Nature, like one of the innumerable waves, whose foam wetted her feet in
passing.
. . . . . . .
A loud sound, like the sharp report of a gun, was heard above the
confusion of noises--a loud crash--some wild curses from rough sailors’
throats! The boat suddenly danced and tossed upon the waves like a piece
of cork, while the big sail flapped in the wind as if it would be torn
the next minute into a thousand pieces.
The peak-halyard was broken, and the gaff, deprived of its hold, struck
with fearful force downwards. With all the might of his arms, strong as
those of a giant, the skipper pulled at the helm to bring the vessel to
the wind. The two other men worked desperately to make the sail fast.
In these moments of supreme danger none of the three gave a thought
to the disguised woman in the oilskin cape, who had stood so long
motionless as a statue by the mast. Not till their difficult task was
successfully finished did they notice that she had disappeared. They
looked at each other with troubled faces. The skipper at the helm said--
“She has gone overboard. The gaff must have hit her on the head. There
is no more to be done. Why would she stay on deck?”
He cleared his throat and spat into the sea, after the fashion of
sailors.
The other two said nothing. Silently they obeyed the orders of the
skipper, who made for the mouth of the Schelde again.
They made no attempt to save her. It would have been a useless task.
XXXI
THE STOLEN DOCUMENT
The last ordinary train to Antwerp had gone long before Heideck reached
the station. But a short interview with the railway commissioner
sufficed, and an engine was at once placed at the Major’s disposal.
When he had mounted to the stoker’s place the station-master saluted and
signalled to the driver to start. For a moment Heideck felt a sharp pain
in his heart like a knife when the grinding engine started. It was
his life’s happiness that he was leaving behind him for ever. A dull,
paralysing melancholy possessed his soul. He seemed to himself to be
a piece of lifeless mechanism, like the engine puffing ceaselessly
onwards, subject and blindly obedient to the will of another. All
his actions were decided, no longer by his own resolutions, but by
an inexorable, higher law--by the iron law of duty. He was no longer
personally free nor personally responsible. The way was marked out for
him as clearly and distinctly as the course of the engine by the iron
lines of rails. With tightly compressed lips he looked fixedly before
him. What lay behind was no longer any concern of his. Only a peremptory
“Forward” must henceforth be his watchword.
About six o’clock in the morning he stood before the royal castle on
the Place de Meix, where the Prince-Admiral had fixed his quarters, King
Leopold having offered him the castle to reside in.
In spite of the early hour Heideck was at once conducted to the Prince’s
study.
“Your Royal Highness,” said Heideck, “I have a report of the utmost
importance to make. These orders of the English Admiralty have fallen
into my hands.”
The Prince motioned him to a seat by his desk. “Be good enough to read
the orders to me, Herr major.”
Heideck read the important document, which ran as follows:--
“The Lords of the Admiralty think it desirable to attack the German
fleet first, as being the weaker. This attack must be carried out before
the Russian fleet is in a position to go to its assistance in Kiel
harbour. Therefore a simultaneous attack should be made on the two
positions of the German fleet on the 15th of July.”
“On the 15th of July?” repeated the Prince, who had risen in great
excitement. “And it is the 11th to-day! How did you get possession of
these orders, Herr major? What proof have you that this document is
genuine?”
“I have the most convincing reasons for believing it genuine, your Royal
Highness. You can see for yourself that the orders are written on the
blue stamped paper of the English Admiralty.”
“Very well, Herr major! But that would not exclude the idea of a
forgery. How did you come into possession of this paper?”
“Your Royal Highness will excuse my entering into an explanation.”
“Then read on.”
Heideck continued--
“On the day mentioned the Copenhagen fleet has to attack Kiel harbour.
Two battleships will take up a position before the fortress of
Friedrichsort and Fort Falkenstein on the west side, two more before
the fortifications of Labo and Moltenort on the east side of Kiel inlet;
they will keep up so hot a fire on the fortifications that the rest
of the fleet will be able to enter the harbour behind them under their
protection.
“In the harbour of Kiel there are about a hundred transports and some
older ironclads and cruisers, which cannot offer a serious resistance to
our fleet. All these ships must be attacked with the greatest rapidity
and vigour. It is of the utmost importance to send a battleship to the
entrance of the Kaiser Wilhelm Canal, in order to cut off the retreat
of the German ships. All the German ships in the harbour are to be
destroyed. The attack is to be commenced by some cruisers from the
rest of the fleet, which will enter the inlet in advance, without any
consideration of the chance of their being blown up by mines. These
vessels are to be sacrificed, if necessary, in order to set the entrance
free.
“For the attack on the German fleet in the Schelde, which must also take
place on the 15th of July, Vice-Admiral Domvile will form a fleet of two
divisions from the Channel squadrons and the cruiser fleet.
“The first division will be formed of the following battleships:
Bulwark (Vice-Admiral Domvile’s flagship), Albemarle, Duncan, Montagu,
Formidable, Renown, Irresistible, and Hannibal.
“The cruisers Bacchante (Rear-Admiral Walker), Gladiator, Naiad,
Hermione, Minerva, Rainbow, Pegasus, Pandora, Abukir, Vindictive, and
Diana.
“The destroyers Dragon, Griffin, Panther, Locust, Boxer, Mallard,
Coquette, Cygnet, and Zephyr.
“Two torpedo flotillas.
“Two ammunition ships, two colliers, and a hospital ship are to be
allotted to the division.
“The second division will be formed of the following battleships:
Majestic (Vice-Admiral Lord Beresford), Magnificent (Rear-Admiral
Lambton), Cornwallis, Exmouth, Russell, Mars, Prince George, Victorious,
and Caesar.
“The cruisers St. George (Captain Winsloe), Sutlej, Niobe, Brilliant,
Doris, Furious, Pactolus, Prometheus, Juno, Pyramus, and Pioneer.
“The destroyers Myrmidon, Chamois, Flying Fish, Kangaroo, Desperate,
Fawn, Ardent, Ariel, and Albatross.
“Two torpedo flotillas.
“Two ammunition ships, two colliers, and a hospital ship are to be
alloted to the division.
“A squadron under Commodore Prince Louis of Battenberg (flagship,
Implacable) will remain in reserve to watch for the possible approach of
a French fleet. In case one is seen, the first division is to unite with
this reserve squadron under the supreme command of Vice-Admiral Domvile,
and to attack the French fleet vigorously, it being left to the second
division to give battle to the German fleet. The general orders given
to the fleet for the attack will then only apply to the second division.
His Majesty’s Government expects that the division will be able to
defeat the enemy, even without the help of the first division. As soon
as the scouts of the second division have driven the German guardships
from the mouth of the West Schelde, the left wing of the fighting ships
will open fire on Flushing, the right on the land fortifications of the
south bank. The wings are not to stop, but to advance with the rest of
the fleet, and the entire division will press on to Antwerp or until
it meets the German fighting fleet, which must be attacked with the
greatest vigour.
“The precise details of the manner of attack are left to Vice-Admiral
Domvile.
“If, contrary to expectation, the German fleet, at the beginning of the
attack in the mouth of the Schelde, should decide upon an advance,
the admiral commanding must act upon his own judgment, according to
circumstances; but, above all, it should be remembered that it is of
more importance to capture as many German ships as possible than to
destroy them, so that the captured ships may be used by us during the
further course of the war.”
The Prince-Admiral had listened in silence while Heideck was reading.
The excitement which what he had heard had caused him was plainly
reflected in his features.
“There seems a strong internal probability that these orders are
genuine,” he said thoughtfully; “but I should like to have further
and more positive proof of it; for it is quite possible that it is
intentionally designed to mislead us. Where does this document come
from, Herr major?”
“I have already most humbly reported to your Royal Highness that I have
induced the skipper Brandelaar, whom I arrested as an English spy,
to act for the future in our interest. Brandelaar’s boat brought this
order.”
“Where is this man?”
“His boat lies in Flushing harbour.”
“And how did Brandelaar get possession of it?”
“I did not get it from Brandelaar himself, but from a lady, an
Englishwoman, who crossed with him from Dover. My honour imposes silence
upon me. I must not mention this lady’s name, but I am firmly convinced
and believe that I can guarantee that the document in Admiral Hollway’s
office has been copied word for word.”
“We can soon find means of convincing ourselves whether the British
fleet is preparing to carry out these orders. Then at last the time for
energetic action would have arrived. His Majesty has foreseen some such
advance on the part of the British fleet, and we have now to carry out
the plan of the supreme commander. I thank you, Herr major!”
Heideck bowed and turned to go. He felt that he could endure it no
longer, and it was only with an effort that he maintained his erect,
military bearing.
When he reached the threshold, the Prince turned to him again, and said,
“I think I shall be doing you an honour, Herr major, if I give you the
opportunity of witnessing, by my side, the events of that great and
glorious day in the life of our youthful fleet. Report yourself to me
on the morning of the 15th of July on board my flagship. I will see that
your present post is provided for.”
“Your Royal Highness is very gracious.”
“You have a claim on my thanks. Au revoir, then, Herr major.”
The Prince immediately summoned the adjutant on duty, and ordered him
to have several copies of the English naval plan of attack prepared at
once.
One of these was intended for the admiral in command of the French fleet
at Cherbourg. The Prince gave the imperial messenger, who was to convey
the document to him, an autograph letter in which he urged upon the
admiral to do his utmost to reach Flushing on the morning of the 15th
with as strong a fighting fleet as possible, so as to assist the German
fleet in its engagement with the numerically superior fleet of the
English.
XXXII
NEWS OF AN OLD FRIEND
“Dear Friend and Comrade,--Although it is still painful for me to write,
I cannot deny myself the pleasure of being the first to congratulate you
on receiving the Order of St. Vladimir. A friend in the War Office has
just informed me that the announcement has appeared in the Gazette. I
hope that this decoration, which you so fully earned by your services at
the occupation of Simla, will cause you some satisfaction. You are aware
that the Vladimir can only be bestowed on Russians or foreigners in the
service of Russia, and thus you will be one of the few German officers
whose breast is adorned with this mark of distinction so highly prized
in this country.
“You will be surprised that my congratulations are sent from St.
Petersburg; no doubt you thought of me as still in sunny India, the
theatre of our mutual adventures in the war. I should certainly have
remained there till the end of the campaign, had not an English bullet
temporarily put an end to my military activity--all too soon for my
ambition, as you can imagine. Uninjured in two great battles and
a number of trifling skirmishes, I was unhappily destined to be
incapacitated in quite an unimportant and inglorious encounter. Had I
not been saved by an heroic woman, you would have heard no more of your
old friend Tchajawadse, except that he was one of those who had remained
on the field of honour.
“Can you guess the name of this woman, comrade? I do not think you can
have entirely forgotten my supposed page Georgi, and I am telling you
nothing new to-day in lifting the veil of the secrecy, with which for
obvious reasons I was obliged to shroud his relations to me in India.
Georgi was a girl, and for years she has been dearer to me than anyone
else. She was of humble birth, and possessed little of what we call
culture. But, nevertheless, she was to me the dearest creature that
I have ever met on my wanderings through two continents; a wonderful
compound of savagery and goodness of heart, of ungovernable pride and
unselfish, devoted affection--a child and a heroine. She had given
herself to me, and followed me on my journeys from pure inclination, not
for the sake of any advantage. It had been her own wish to play the part
of a servant. I do not, however, mean to say that she never made use
of the power she possessed over me, for she was proud, and knew how to
govern.
“Once, at the beginning of our Indian journey, extremely irritated by
her obstinate pride, I raised my hand against her. One look from her
brought me to my senses before the punishment followed. Afterwards, when
my blood had long cooled, she said to me, her eyes still blazing with
anger, ‘If you had really struck me I should have left you at once, and
no entreaties would ever have induced me to return to you.’ I laughed
at her words, but from that time exercised more control over myself.
We lived in perfect harmony till the day when Georgi saved your life in
Lahore, my valued comrade. It was she who brought me the terrible news
that you were being led away to death. I had never seen the girl
so fearfully excited before. Her eyes glistened and her whole frame
trembled. It seemed as if she would have driven me forward with the
lash, that I might not be too late. I myself was too anxious to worry
my head much about the girl’s singular excitement. But after you were
happily saved, when you were concealed in my tent, and I looked for
Georgi to tell her of the result of my intervention, she fell into such
a paroxysm of joy that my jealous suspicions were aroused. Carried away
by excitement I flung an insult at her, and then, when she answered me
defiantly--to her misfortune and mine I had my riding-whip in my hand--I
committed a hateful act, which I would rather have recalled than any of
my other numerous follies. She received the blow in silence. The next
moment she had disappeared, and I waited in vain for her return. Till we
left Simla I had her searched for everywhere, but no trace of her
could be found. I myself then gave her up for lost. After our return
to Lahore, when we were marching on to Delhi, I occasionally heard of a
girl wearing Indian dress who had appeared in the neighbourhood of our
troop and resembled my lost page Georgi. But as soon as I made inquiries
after this girl it seemed as if the earth had swallowed her up, and
under the rapidly changing impressions of the war her image gradually
faded from my mind.
“During a reconnaissance near Lucknow, which I had undertaken with my
regimental staff and a small escort, my own carelessness led us into
an ambuscade set by the English, which cost most of my companions their
lives. At the beginning of the encounter a shot in the back had unhorsed
me. I was taken for dead, and those few of my companions who were able
to save themselves by flight had no time to take the fallen with them.
After lying for a long time unconscious, I saw, on awaking, a number of
armed Indians plundering the dead and wounded. One of the brown devils
approached me. When he saw me lifting myself up to grasp my revolver, he
rushed upon me brandishing his sword. I parried the first thrust at my
head with my right arm. Defenceless as I was, I was already prepared for
the worst. But at the moment, when the rascal was lifting up his arm
for another thrust, he reeled backwards and collapsed without uttering a
sound. It was Georgi, who had saved my life by a well-directed shot.
“She had accompanied the dragoons sent from our camp to recover the dead
and wounded, and had got considerably in advance of the horsemen. Hence
it had been possible for her to save me.
“I was too weak to ask her many questions, and my memory is a blank as
to the few moments of this meeting.
“For a week I lay between life and death. Then my iron constitution
triumphed. You can imagine, my dearest friend, how great my desire was
to see Georgi again. But she was no longer in the camp, and no one could
tell me where she was. She disappeared again as suddenly as she had
appeared on that day. This time I must make up my mind to the conviction
that I have lost her for ever. While on my sick bed I received a command
to repair to St. Petersburg. At the same time I was highly flattered to
learn that I had been promoted, and as soon as my condition permitted
it, I started on my journey.
“Pardon me, dear friend, for lingering so long over a personal matter,
which, after all, can have very little interest for you.
“You are as well informed as myself of the manifold changes of this war,
which has already destroyed the value of untold millions, and has cost
hundreds of thousands of promising human lives. I could almost envy you
for being still spared to be an eyewitness of the great events, while I
am condemned to the role of an inactive spectator. But I do not believe
the struggle will last much longer. The sacrifices which it imposes on
the people are too great to be endured many months longer. Everything is
pressing to a speedy and decisive result, and I have no doubt what that
result will be. For although the defeats and losses sustained by the
English are partly compensated by occasional successes, one great naval
victory of the allies would finally decide the issue against Great
Britain. Hitherto, both sides have hesitated to bring about this
decisive result, but all here are convinced that the next few weeks will
at last bring those great events on the water, so long and so eagerly
expected.