Arrested
THE bump of some heavy object against the yacht's side caused both
sleepers to wake simultaneously. It was day; a dull light filtered
through the skylight, though not strong enough to be caused by the
sun. The _Diomeda_ was rocking sluggishly in the slight swell as she
rode to her cable.
"Eight o'clock, by Jove!" exclaimed Hamerton drowsily; "and
drizzling with rain, I fancy. What was that noise?"
"We won't find out by lying here," said Detroit, setting the example
by springing out of his cot. As he did so came the unmistakable sound
of a boathook engaging the little craft's rigging screws, and a
peremptory voice hailed in German.
"Custom-house people. They're early," announced the Sub. "It won't do
to keep those gentlemen waiting, so I will interview them in my
pyjamas."
Pulling back the sliding hatch, and pushing open the half-doors,
Hamerton went on deck. Lying alongside was a grey cutter manned by
seamen whose cap ribbons and blue-and-white jerseys, showing between
the V-shaped opening of their jumpers, betokened them to be
man-o'-warsmen of the Kaiser's navy. In the stern sheets sat two
fair-haired officers--their chief characteristics fiercely upturned
moustaches.
"What ship is that?" asked the elder of the two officers, whose
gold-lace distinction marks showed that he was a
lieutenant-commander.
"Yacht _Diomeda_," replied Hamerton promptly.
"You are foreigners?"
"Yes, British."
"Said I not so, Heinrich?" said the senior officer to his companion
in a tone of triumph. "Ach! Why have you not your ensign hoisted on
the mainmast-head? Why, indeed, are you flying no ensign at all? Do
you know this is a forbidden anchorage?"
To reply to this battery of questions, rapped out with a harsh
guttural voice, was a matter of difficulty to Hamerton, whose
acquaintance with the German language was somewhat limited.
Accordingly he solved the difficulty by answering the last.
"I did not know this is a forbidden anchorage, Herr Lieutenant. That
being so, I will change into more suitable attire, and shift my berth
as soon as possible."
"What does he want, Jack?" asked the American, who had just appeared
from the cabin.
"We've got to clear out. By Jove, we've tumbled into the anchorage
off Heligoland!"
For a glance towards the lofty red sandstone rock, fringed with a
belt of dazzling white sand and capped by the brilliant hue of the
grass, recalled to the Sub the old Frisian rhyme--
"Gron is dat Land,
Rohd de Kant,
End witt de Sand--
Dat is dat Wapen von Helgoland"
("Green is the land,
Red the cliff,
And white the sand--
These form the arms of Heligoland")
--as shown by the colours of the old Victorian postage stamps of the
island.
"Stop!" exclaimed the German officer peremptorily. "You must not go
below."
"Why not?" asked Hamerton coolly. "It is none too warm or pleasant
standing out here in----"
And not knowing the German for "pyjamas", he pointed meaningly at the
thin pink-and-white garment he wore.
"By order. You must not go below," replied the officer. "You will
enter this boat, to be taken to be interviewed by the commandant of
the fortress."
"But----" began Detroit indignantly.
"We can explain everything," said Hamerton. "We'll come out with you
directly we get our clothes."
With that the Sub turned his back on the representatives of the
Imperial German Navy, and made a step towards the companion hatchway,
with a view to making himself more presentable and better attired for
the depressing atmospheric conditions.
This laudable intention was nipped in the bud by a couple of
bluejackets jumping out of their boat and agilely scrambling upon the
_Diomeda's_ cabin top.
For an instant Jack Hamerton's eyes glinted ominously. He was within
an ace of knocking the intruders overboard but, recalling that such
an act might be disastrous to his comrade and himself, he controlled
his feelings with a strong effort.
"It's no use resisting, old man," said he to Detroit, who was
beginning to follow the drift of things. "They have put us under
arrest for contravening some silly regulation. We've got to go ashore
in their boat. Hang it! How can a fellow stand on his dignity when
he's rigged out in pink-and-white pyjamas?"
"Enter the boat instantly," ordered the German officer. "Your clothes
will be handed to you."
The two members of the _Diomeda's_ crew stepped into the boat. One of
the officers boarded the yacht, and, accompanied by a seaman, entered
the cabin. Presently the latter reappeared bearing an assortment of
clothing.
Detroit grabbed his trousers and felt in his pockets.
"They have taken possession of my purse!" he exclaimed.
"And mine too!" added the Sub, after a hasty examination. "And my
pocketbook and cigarette case! Here, this won't do!"
"Give way!" ordered the German officer.
"Stop!" said Hamerton. "Before we go we want our purses and other
personal property that have been taken from our pockets."
"It is unnecessary," was the reply. "There will be no need for you to
have money ashore."
The oars dipped and the boat glided towards a stone pier, leaving the
junior officer and two men in possession of the _Diomeda_.
Hamerton made good use of his eyes during the passage. By a pure
fluke the _Diomeda_ had entered the newly completed artificial
harbour, and was anchored within fifty yards of the nearest of a
triple line of grey torpedo-boat destroyers. Beyond them, and closer
inshore, were more than twenty of the latest type of German
submarines, vessels of slightly over twelve hundred tons, and capable
of action within a radius of seven hundred miles. One peculiarity he
especially noticed: in addition to the twin periscopes there were
four slender cylinders of almost the same height, although inclined
at various angles with the deck.
So keen was his interest that the German officer leant forward and
tapped him on the shoulder.
"You are forbidden to look about you," he said.
"All right, my attentive fire-eater," mused the Sub. "You've caught
me napping. I ought not to have let you see that I was curious. All
the same, I think I know what those tubes are for. If they are not
pneumatic guns for discharging aerial torpedoes from a submerged
submarine, I'll eat my hat."
Nevertheless Hamerton ignored the lieutenant's order, although he
concealed to some extent the fact that he was making extraordinarily
good use of his powers of observation.
The face of the cliff was bristling with heavy ordnance, some of the
guns being at least equal to the heaviest weapons mounted on the
_Royal Sovereign_ and her sisters--the latest completed battleships
of the British Navy. As the boat drew nearer, the Sub could
distinguish numbers of quick-firers mounted on the edge of the
precipitous sides of the island, with searchlights on covered stands
a short distance in the rear of the guns; while to prevent the
possibility of unauthorized persons landing and scaling the cliffs, a
formidable barbed-wire fence, projecting at an acute angle, rendered
any attempt in that direction a total failure.
All the while Hamerton and his American friend were scrambling into
their clothes, and by the time the boat ran alongside a sheltered
stone jetty they found themselves "rigged out" in a medley of
garments. Detroit was accommodated with one of his comrade's flannel
shirts, since the German officer had not exercised any discrimination
in the hurried selection of the garments. Hamerton, unable to button
a waistcoat over his broad chest--for the two waistcoats provided
both belonged to Detroit--gave up the attempt, and devoted his
attention to his footgear. This was made up of two old tennis shoes
that the Sub used for rough work on board, and one sock that had the
day before been utilized as a "swab" for mopping up a capsized
paraffin lamp.
"Say, this is hardly the rig for Coney Island!" exclaimed Detroit.
"Guess we look like a pair of hoboes."
"I'll kick up a fuss about this, by Jove!" ejaculated the Sub
furiously. "Directly I----"
"Silence!" interrupted the German lieutenant, mistaking Hamerton's
attitude for a display of "bluff" on the part of a spy caught
redhanded. "It is forbidden!"
"Everything seems to be forbidden as far as you are concerned, my
friend," replied Hamerton. "You are certainly labouring under a
delusion. I was----"
"Silence!" repeated the officer. "Ascend this moment."
He pointed to a flight of granite steps alongside of which the boat
was being held by the bowman and the coxwain.
At the head of the steps stood a marine, dressed in a blue tunic,
white trousers, and a brightly-polished brass helmet. The man brought
his rifle smartly to the salute as the German officer passed, then,
shouldering his piece, paced the quay in the stolid manner so typical
of the Kaiser's soldiery.
Thirty or forty yards away stood another sentry; farther on there
were more. The whole place seemed crowded with marines on duty, while
every person that Hamerton could see wore either a military or a
naval uniform. The civilian element was totally lacking.
The Sub had very little time to make the observation, for from the
shelter of a stone building that served as a guardroom a file of
marines appeared. With fixed bayonets they fell in on either side of
the two members of the _Diomeda's_ crew.
"Great snakes, we're arrested!" exclaimed Detroit.
"I imagined so long ago," replied Hamerton. "No matter, they can't
bring a case against us. They've no proof. We'll be out of this mess
within the next few hours."
Even as he spoke he remembered the confidential book hidden in the
stove on board the yacht. If the officials should chance to discover
that incriminating article! The thought struck the Sub in a very
unpleasant manner, but the next instant his confidence returned.
After all, he could explain, and the seaman Pfeil would, he felt
sure, corroborate his statement.
"Now, what's going to happen?" asked Detroit, as the pair found
themselves alone in a small, whitewashed room, with a heavily barred
window several feet above their heads, and a securely locked door
between them and the open air.
"Only another exhibition of German high-handedness," replied the Sub.
"We'll spring a mine on them. They'll be rather surprised when they
learn that you are the son of a United States official in high
quarters, and that I am a British naval officer. We'll hold our
tongues till we are face to face with the commandant: then, by Jove,
we'll enjoy ourselves."
"Guess I wish I had decent things on," remarked Detroit, ruefully
surveying his disreputable attire. "Say what you like, Jack, gold
lace does not make a man, but a fellow can't stand on his dignity
like this."
"I'll have a jolly good shot at it, anyhow," retorted the Sub. "Now,
stand by, there's someone coming."
Outside, along the stone corridor, came the sound of spurs jingling
on the pavement. Then the door was thrown open, and the lieutenant
who had effected the arrest entered, accompanied by a major of
infantry.
"You are British?" began the latter in tolerably fluent English.
"What is your name, your station, your address of residence?"
"Before we go into these details, Herr Major," said Hamerton, "we
should like to know why we are brought here?"
"That is to be told some time after," replied the military officer.
"Tell me your names."
"Not at present," said the Sub sturdily. "We'll explain everything to
the commandant. We request that we be taken to him with the least
possible delay."
"Gott in Himmel!" ejaculated the major. "Do you know who I am?" and
twisting his heavy, upturned moustache, their captor tried to impress
the two prisoners with the fear of Teutonic officialdom.
"Cannot say I've met you before, Major," replied Hamerton carelessly.
"Perhaps my memory is slightly at fault?"
"Sir, I am Major Karl von Schloss."
It was on the tip of the Sub's tongue to express his ignorance of the
major's identity, but reflecting that perhaps, after all, it would be
well to exercise discretion, he replied:
"I think I can remember that name, Herr Major."
"You will have good cause to do so," retorted the German grimly.
"Now, your name?"
"Not until I see the commandant."
"And yours?" demanded the Major, addressing the American.
"Guess that can be held up a bit," replied Detroit.
"Held up? What you mean?"
"I'll explain to the commandant," said Detroit resolutely.
"Very good, if you can," remarked the Major, as he prepared to take
his departure. "I will, nevertheless, tell you. You will be charged
with espionage. You will be lucky if you get less than three years in
a fortress, for we Germans have been plagued enough with foreign
spies--especially English."