The Meeting
This terrible life had now gone on for twelve long years. Most of the
actors in the drama had become grey. Several had died, and the total
number in the tower had now fallen to forty. Even the master-spirit of
Dago had snow-white hair, and seemed some twenty years older than he
really was.
During that time some six hundred vessels had been shattered on the
rocks of Dago. Some eighteen thousand men had perished, and a fortune
of a hundred millions of thalers had been destroyed.
But still the demon of revenge and destruction was unsatisfied. Twelve
years of blood had not sufficed to quench the fire of hate that
consumed his heart.
All those whose bodies lay scattered among the rocks beneath him were
men quite unknown to him. He never even learnt their names, nor was he
present when they were struck down.
But one thing he still yearned for--of one thing he was ever dreaming.
His sole remaining wish was to hold in his destroying power those who
had made him so miserable; to meet them for a moment face to face;
then to drink in the curses of their despair as they were thrust down
into their graves. That, indeed, would be the very crown of his
life-work!
During summer the work was discontinued. In northern regions
lighthouses are of little service in the short and light summer
nights. During these months of inactivity the Master, as became a
dutiful father, instructed his son in all those arts whereby the
mighty powers of Nature are made serviceable to man. He exercised him
also in the use of arms--not in true knightly fashion, but with all
the tricks approved of bandits and corsairs. He took the boy with him
in his boat among the reefs along the shore, so that he should learn
early to be reckless and defiant of all danger. Many a time he would
throw the lad from the boat right out into the eddy. At first he was
unable to get out without help, and then the father would leap in
after him and bring him back by the hair of the head. In a little
time, however, the lad was expert enough to dispense with all help,
and would swim in and out of the most dangerous positions alone.
About the end of autumn in the twelfth year an imperial Russian
gunboat was wrecked upon the rocks of Dago. Among the papers found in
the cabin by the plunderers was an Admiralty order addressed to all
the commanders of war vessels. This document stated that during the
past twelve years a vast number of maritime disasters had occurred in
the Baltic, and particularly (so, at least, it was believed) in the
passage between Faro and Gustavsvarn. As not a single soul was known
to have survived, the general voice of terror and exasperation had at
length decided the ruling powers to move in the matter. The order went
on to express the opinion that these seas must be the haunt of some
piratical vessel which captured ships in stormy nights, and sent them
to the bottom after slaughtering their crews. For, strangely enough,
no one had ever found a single fragment of any of the missing vessels.
Seamen (it was stated) were in the habit, when a disaster was
imminent, of committing a short account of the catastrophe to the
waves in a sealed bottle which, in all likelihood, would one day be
picked up by fishermen. But out of some six hundred missing vessels no
such memorial had ever made its appearance. Human hands, it was
therefore concluded, must be at work, and search for them must be
diligently made. The document, therefore, required the commander of
every man-of-war and gunboat to take every possible step to track out
the mysterious destroyer.
How the Apostle of Dago laughed sardonically as he read the order.
"So they are coming at last!" he cried; "those for whom I have waited
so long! Right well shall they be received!"
At that season of the year dense fogs begin to be prevalent in the
Baltic. These are of the utmost danger to seamen, for the rays from
the lighthouses cannot penetrate the atmosphere, and the attention of
vessels can only be attracted by the sound of bells.
On one such hazy and sultry night the Master of the Tower of Dago rang
the bell for evening "service." That night, surely, they should hold
high festival. Vessels of war were certainly scouring the seas all
around. One such vessel was still wanting on the rocks of Dago.
Smaller ships, such as gunboats, brigs and corvettes, were lying there
in plenty, forming excellent places of retreat for the hydra and
nautilus. To them the company of a full three-decker could not but be
welcome.
Presently, in response to the sounds which had so often proved a
mariner's death-knell, an answering signal was borne in from the open
sea. It was the familiar, long-drawn tones of a great sea-horn, which
can be heard many miles off in foggy weather.
They were coming, then, at last!
Only a little while ago, no doubt, they had thought that they had lost
their way. But now, thank God! they were sailing towards a safe
harbour. By daybreak they should be beyond all danger!
"Not God in Heaven can save them now!" muttered the Master, as with
such thoughts he gazed intently into the gloom.
But, nevertheless, it appeared that He could save them.
Just as the approaching sound of the fog-signal indicated that the
vessel could now be scarcely a mile distant from the tower, the fog
suddenly lifted, and the rays of the rising sun disclosed the outline
of a ship of the line.
She immediately dropped her anchor. For, now that the fog had cleared,
the seamen perceived the danger of their position, and arrested their
vessel's course. And that not a moment too soon. She lay-to about a
gunshot from the tower, and presently hoisted the Russian colours. In
response, the Master of the tower at once saluted her by running up
the corresponding flag.
The vessel's long-boat was now lowered. The Commodore, a midshipman,
and four and twenty marines and seamen took their places. All were
fully armed.
They steered for the entrance facing the sea. Although well concealed,
they had soon discovered it with the aid of their powerful glasses.
They succeeded in making their way safely through all the rocks and
breakers which threatened their approach.
The strangers were received at the lower door by an old, hunch-backed
porter, who was, to all appearance, nearly stone deaf. The Commodore
had to shout with all his might into the fellow's ears before he could
be made to hear anything. Then he gave an answer of which not a word
could be understood, for the old man spoke the purest Platt-Deutsch.
By means of signs, however, he at length gave them to understand that
he was the only servant in the establishment, and that if the
gentlemen would like to speak to any one they might go upstairs and
see "Mynheer."
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The Commodore ordered his men to land, and the entire company then
followed the old porter. At each door which they passed on their way
the officer took the precaution of stationing two armed men. When he
reached the observatory floor only the coxswain and the
midshipman--the latter quite a lad--remained with him. But these were
evidently more than sufficient. For the Master of the tower was quite
alone in his study and had beside him no other weapons than those of
science.
The Commodore saluted him in good French:
"You are the Master of this tower, I believe?"
"At present, indeed, I am."
"And for what purpose did you have it built, pray?"
The Master glanced sharply at his questioner.
"May I first inquire," said he, "what entitles you to ask such a
question?"
"You shall hear," replied the officer. "You see, of course, by my
uniform that I am Commodore on a ship of the line in the service of
his Majesty the Tsar of all the Russias. The three-decker lying out
there is my vessel the _St. Thomas_. Of late years an enormous number
of ships have been lost in the Baltic, and that in the most mysterious
circumstances. I have therefore received orders to stop and search
every suspicious vessel on the high seas, as well as to make any
investigations upon the coast which I may consider advisable. My name
is Count Zeno von Ungern."
Surely the Master's features must long ago have assumed the repose of
death itself not to have been convulsed with every evil passion at the
very mention of that name--the worst passion of all being joy.
It was his brother who stood before him.
The two sons had never seen each other since their earliest childhood.
Zeno had visited his elder brother's house only in Feodor's absence at
sea, while Feodor had never once appeared in the brilliant salons of
the court. The elder brother, moreover, now looked much older than he
really was. It was impossible, therefore, for Zeno to recognise him.
Feodor acknowledged his visitor's mission with a polite bow.
"I am delighted," he said, "to have this pleasure. My name is Baron
Helmford."
"Ah!--a Swede?"
"My ancestors may have been so. I am from Friesland."
"And for what purpose do you live here?"
"I live here," answered the Master calmly, "mainly for scientific
pursuits. There is, indeed," he added hesitatingly, "another reason as
well, but one which, after all, I have really little reason to conceal
from you."
"Why, then, do you not inform me of it at once?"
"Because a child might also hear it."
The Master here glanced significantly at the young midshipman who was
also in the room.
"Oh, that is my son Paul," said the Commodore, with fatherly pride.
"He is anything but a child. He is a midshipman on his Majesty's ship
the _St. Thomas_, and has already been through many a deadly fray."
"I do not doubt it. And yet, he can hardly be more than--ah!--thirteen
years old?"
"That is, in fact, exactly his age."
"I also have a son," said the Master. "He is sixteen years of age, and
he too has seen and heard many fearful things. But one thing, you
know, he must not hear--tales in which a woman----"
"Ah! you are right," said the Commodore hastily. "If it is a question
of that sort I need ask no more."
"Now, Commodore, if you wish it, I will myself show you all the rooms
and passages in the building. Be good enough to accompany me."
Feodor led the way down the stone steps connecting one floor with
another. The smallness of the rooms into which each story was divided
easily made the stranger imagine that he was seeing the whole of the
space between the walls, whereas he really saw only about two-thirds
of it. A vertical partition, running from the vaults beneath up to the
upper story, shut off a portion of the space. It was here that all the
plundered treasure, ammunition and guns were carefully concealed.
Through this section a secret passage led down to the rooms in which
the provisions were stored, and to the subterranean "chapel" in which
the armed men were hidden, waiting for the signal to force their way
by means of a trap-door into the upper portions of the tower.
The living rooms through which the Commodore was conducted had quite
the appearance of such as might be used by some contemplative and
learned recluse. They contained naturalists' collections, shell-fish
and corals, antiquities, and book-cases filled with yellow-edged
folios.
Presently the officer glanced out of a window in one of the rooms and
saw away beneath him the flower garden with the asters and
chrysanthemums blooming in the autumn sun.
"Ah!" he exclaimed; "that garden tells plainly enough that this tower
has also a mistress."
"I am very sorry that I cannot conduct you thither, Count von Ungern,"
said the Master; "we should have to pass through the lady's boudoir."
"The lady is your wife, is she not?" inquired the Commodore.
"It is ill answering that question. Yes, and yet No."
"Ah! A secret, I perceive."
"Yes, Count. But to show you that the secret is in no way a suspicious
one, I will make a suggestion. Where a man may not enter, a guest who
is still a child may fitly enough be seen."
So saying, he opened a door and called:
"Alexander!"
In response, a tall sunburnt lad stepped from the adjacent room. His
face betrayed much perplexity upon perceiving the strangers.
Feodor gently pushed him towards the younger youth.
"See," he said; "this is Count Paul von Ungern, a midshipman. Take him
with you to see your mother; and be sure that you make good friends
with each other."
Alexander gazed in wonder with his great dark eyes, first at his
father and then at the strange lad. He then silently held out his hand
to Paul, drew him towards him, and embraced him. Finally he linked his
arm in Paul's and led him away to see his--mother.
The frank wonder expressed by the boy's flushed face quite disarmed
the Commodore's suspicions. He began to believe that, after all, those
walls might merely conceal the secret of some tragedy of passion. One
might well have grounds, he imagined, for shutting oneself off from
the world along with a woman whose face no one might look upon except
a child no older than the tower itself.
And yet, had he but known it, the woman might have been safely seen by
any one on earth except Zeno von Ungern alone. Had he seen her, he
must at once have recognised the nurse of his brother's child--the
girl he had so often seen when visiting Feodor's castle. The features
of women, too, do not alter like those of men. Had Zeno seen her,
therefore, he must at once have guessed who the Master of the tower
really was.
The party had just stopped at the entrance to the dining-room. The
little table was laid and luncheon was ready. A small cask of fresh
beer stood tapped on the floor. Everything seemed most inviting.
"We might, perhaps, remain here," suggested the Master. "Your coxswain
can examine the other rooms and the stores. There is nothing very
remarkable about them. My old porter will open all the lockfast places
for him. He can then report the result of his inspection on his
return."
He laughed lightly as he concluded, and the Commodore laughed also.
Their laughter seemed to be echoed by the voices of the two boys which
sounded from the garden below. As Count Zeno again looked down through
the window he saw that the lads were playing together. They were
having a trial of strength. The clear voice of a woman, which seemed
to sound through an open door, admonished them to be careful not to
injure each other. But she apparently did not dream of admonishing
them for trampling down all her flowers in their struggles.
As he looked on at the havoc caused by the lads, Count Zeno could not
but feel that the inhabitants of the tower appeared to be quite the
most hospitable and complaisant people he had ever met.
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