STRASBOURG
A Mile or two back from the Rhine, on the banks of the Ill, stands the
fair city of Strasbourg. Once she was proud as well as fair; but her
pride has been trailed in the dust. For four centuries a free city,
defending herself virgin-like against all comers, for two centuries more
the happy capital of the loveliest of French provinces, she has borne
for forty years the chain of the conqueror and bowed her head beneath
the lash. But she is French still--French to the very core of her; and
though her hands are bound, her soul is free!
The oldest part of the town has changed but little with the centuries.
There are the narrow crooked streets, the tall half-timbered houses with
their many-dormered roofs, and there is the grey Minster, which has
looked down on the city through all her fortunes. To the north lie the
newer quarters of the town, spick and span, and to the south are great
arsenals and barracks, guarded by a mighty fortification.
For Strasbourg is now one of the great strongholds of the German Empire.
Haunted by the fear that France may one day come pouring up from the
south to regain her lost city, the engineers of the Kaiser have
laboured with their every talent for her defence. Far-flung, a circle of
fourteen forts girdles her round, and within them rampart follows
rampart, culminating in the mighty citadel.
What hope can an army, however great, have of capturing such a place? In
the mind of every German engineer there is but one adjective, and always
one, associated with it--impregnable.
And yet, in this mid-month of October, there was in the air a feeling of
uneasiness, impalpable, not to be defined or even spoken of--but
present, ever-present. From far-distant posts of the Empire, troops had
been hurried southward, until the usual garrison of fifteen thousand men
had been more than doubled. Every rampart was manned, every wall had its
sentry, and through the streets patrols moved constantly, their gaze
directed at the house-tops. Their orders were to see that no one
stretched a wire to any building; to arrest any one found doing so, and
send him at once to Berlin, under guard.
The restaurants, the hotels, the cafes--every place where crowds
assembled--swarmed with strangers, speaking French, it is true, but with
an accent which, to acute ears, betrayed their origin and made one
wonder at their pro-Gallic sentiments. The French and German residents
of the town drew imperceptibly apart, grew a little more formal, ceased
the exchange of friendly visits. No one knew what was about to happen,
but every one felt that a crisis of some sort was at hand.
The commandant changed, in those days, from a bluff, self-confident and
brave soldier to a shrunken craven, trembling at shadows. If he had
known where the danger lay, or what it was, he would have met it
valiantly enough; but he knew scarcely more than did his humblest
soldier. He knew that the peril was very great; he knew that at any
moment his magazines might blow up beneath his feet; he knew that what
he had to guard against was the stringing of wires, the establishment of
a wireless plant. Every stranger must be watched, his registration
investigated, his baggage at all times kept under surveillance. A
stranger carrying a bundle in the streets must always be followed. Every
resident receiving a roomer, a boarder, or even a guest from another
city must make immediate return to the police.
How many times had the commandant read these instructions! And always,
at the last, he read twice over the paragraph at the bottom of the
sheet, underlined in red:
"At all hours of the day or night, two operators will be on
duty at every wireless station, their receivers at their
ears, their instruments adjusted. Should they perceive any
signal which they are unable to explain, especially a series
of measured dashes, they will report the same immediately
to the commandant, who will turn out his entire command and
cause a thorough search to be made at once of all
house-tops, hills and eminences of every sort within a
radius of five miles. All wires whose use is not fully
apparent will be torn down and all persons having access to
such wires will be arrested and held for interrogation.
SHOULD THE SERIES OF SIGNALS BEGIN A SECOND TIME, ALL
MAGAZINES WILL AT ONCE BE FLOODED."
This last sentence, printed in capitals to give it emphasis, the
commandant at Strasbourg could not understand. To flood the magazines
meant the loss of a million marks; besides, why should it be necessary?
What possible danger could threaten those great ammunition store-houses,
buried deep beneath walls of granite, protected from every conceivable
mishap, and whose keys hung always above his desk? He was completely
baffled; worse than that, he felt himself shaken and unnerved in face of
this mysterious peril.
* * * * *
A copy of this order was sent to every fortress in Germany, and it is
therefore not remarkable that, three days after it was issued, it should
be in the hands of M. Delcasse. He read it with a lively pleasure. He
was beginning to enjoy life again. He knew that the tone of his
ultimatum had astonished the German ambassador; but he also knew that,
while the German press still talked of the national honour and of
Germany's duty to Morocco, the inner circle about the Emperor was
distinctly ill at ease. The Emperor himself had been invisible for some
days, and was reported to be suffering with a severe cold.
After reading the order, Delcasse summoned Marbeau.
"How do your plans shape themselves?" he asked.
"Admirably, sir," answered the wireless chief. "We shall be ready to
start to-morrow."
"When is the test to take place?"
"If everything goes well, one week from yesterday, at noon."
"You must use great care. The Germans are on their guard. Here is
something that will interest you."
Marbeau took the order and read it carefully.
"If the magazines are flooded," Delcasse pointed out, "we can do
nothing."
"It will be something to have occasioned the destruction of so much
ammunition," Marbeau rejoined; "but we are not taking that chance. All
our instruments will be tuned and tested before we start. The Germans
will hear those signals but once."
A little tremour passed across Delcasse's face.
"You believe in this invention?" he asked. "You have investigated it?"
Marbeau shrugged his shoulders.
"I know nothing more of it than you do, sir. M. Vard tells me nothing,
shows me nothing, persists in working alone. He is most jealous of it.
But yes--I believe; when I remember the twenty-fifth of September, I
cannot but believe!"
Delcasse was pacing to and fro, his hands behind him.
"Sometimes I doubt, Marbeau," he said. "Sometimes I doubt. The
destruction of _La Liberte_ may have been one of those strange
coincidences which sometimes happen. And sometimes I hesitate; sometimes
I draw back before the idea of this demonstration. For Morocco we no
longer need it; I have in my possession a paper which will win that
battle for us. But then, when I falter, the thought of France's future
nerves me. So I stand aside and let the test proceed. But I warn you
again, Marbeau, to be most careful. Do not neglect to provide a way of
escape. Failure this time is of little consequence--we can always try
again; but under no circumstances must this machine fall into the hands
of Germany; and for you and for Vard it must be death before capture. He
must not be taken alive."
"I understand, sir," said Marbeau, quietly.
"If you think Strasbourg too difficult, it is not too late to draw
back. It was, perhaps, unwise for me to select it."
"The more difficult it is, the more will it dismay the enemy," Marbeau
pointed out. "Let us try Strasbourg, at least. If we fail there, we can
try again somewhere else."
"Well, I agree. Remember, you are not to spare expense."
"We have had to purchase two houses in order to be quite secure."
"Purchase a dozen, if you need them. The date, you say--"
"Is one week from yesterday."
"And the hour?"
"The hour of noon."
Delcasse turned to the day on his desk calendar, and wrote a large "12"
upon it.
"Adieu, then, Marbeau," he said, and held out his hand. "My prayers go
with you!"
* * * * *
Fronting on the Zurichstrasse, some half mile from the arsenal at
Strasbourg, stands a great tobacco manufactory, covering two blocks and
employing a thousand people. These men and women and children live for
the most part in the crooked little streets of the neighbourhood, for
the hours of work are long, and to walk back and forth from a distance
not to be thought of. When a family has managed to scrape together a
little capital, more often than not the head of it opens a tiny shop,
while the younger members keep on working at the factory until the
business has established itself. Then the family takes a step upward in
social grade.
In a little room back of such a shop in the Hennenstrasse, on the
morning of a day late in October, three men sat down to breakfast. It
was a silent meal, for each of the three was preoccupied. They were
roughly dressed in the blouses and coarse trousers of labourers, and
their faces were covered with a week's stubble of beard. One was
white-haired, old, and seemingly very feeble; but the other two were in
the prime of life. At last the meal was finished, and the two younger
men pushed back their chairs and looked at each other; then they looked
at their companion, who, with vacant eyes, was staring at the opposite
wall so intently that the other two involuntarily glanced around at it.
"It is time for you to go, Lieutenant," said one of the men, in a low
voice. "Tell me again what you have to do, so that I may be sure there
is no mistake."
"What I have to do is this, General," said the other: "from here, I go
to the house we know of, taking a circuitous route, loitering on the
way, and making certain that I am not followed. If I find myself
followed, I will pass this shop, dropping my handkerchief in front of
it and then turning back to pick it up. If I am not followed, I enter
the other house, mount to the roof and make sure that everything is in
order. At ten minutes to twelve, I hoist into place the two arms to
which our wires are secured, stretching them tight by means of the winch
which we have provided, and then I at once start the clockwork. I then
descend, make my way to the tram-station, and take a third-class ticket
to Colmar, where I will await you at Valentin's cabaret. If you do not
arrive by sundown, I am to go on to Paris to make my report."
"That is right. You have your passport?"
"Yes."
"Let me see your watch."
They compared watches and found that they both showed twenty minutes
past ten.
"Adieu, then," said the elder man; "and let there be no failure."
"Trust me, General!" and the Lieutenant saluted and went out through the
shop.
"And now, M. Vard," said Marbeau, in a low tone, "the hour has come."
The old man nodded, and together they left the room. Marbeau stopped to
secure the door, then followed Vard up to the first landing, where there
was another heavy door, which the Frenchman also bolted; so with the
next landing and the next. He smiled grimly as he thought of M.
Delcasse's warning to leave open a road of escape! He had, indeed,
provided such a road, but he carried it in his pocket.
At last they stood in a tiny room under the ridge of the roof. It was
lighted by a single dormer, and, looking out through this, one could see
over the house-tops, half a mile away, the grim wall of the arsenal.
Before the dormer stood a table, to which was bolted a metal framework,
supporting the box, with its sides of glass half-covered with tin-foil.
It was mounted on a pivot, and from it two heavy wires ran to a key such
as telegraphers use, and then down to a series of powerful batteries
standing on the floor.
"You are sure it is all right?" asked Marbeau, almost in a whisper.
For answer, Vard closed a switch, opened the key and then depressed it
slowly. There was a crackle of electricity, and a low humming like that
of a giant top.
"No, no!" gasped Marbeau, and snatched the switch open.
The inventor smiled.
"There is no danger," he said, "until the other current is turned on."
Marbeau's face was livid and beaded with perspiration. He wiped it with
a shaking hand.
"Nevertheless you startled me," he said. "The sound the machine makes
has a frightful menace in it!" Then he looked at his watch. "It is now
eleven."
Vard nodded, and bent again above his apparatus, touching it here and
there with the touch of a lover--tightening a wire, examining a contact,
testing the vibrator....
His usual pale face was flaming with excitement, and his eyes shone with
a strange fire.
Marbeau glanced at him uneasily, then stared out at the grey wall of the
arsenal. Upon its summit a sentry walked to and fro with the precision
of a machine. High above him flapped the imperial flag of Germany,
displaying its eagles and complacent motto. Marbeau, like every
Frenchman, considered that flag an insult, for the lower arm of its
cross bore the date "1870," and he stared out at it now, dreaming of the
future, dreaming of the day when France should tear it down....
Vard touched him on the arm.
"I should like to see the plan of the fort again," he said.
Marbeau opened his shirt, and from a little oilskin bag produced a
square of tracing-paper. He unfolded it and handed it to the inventor.
"This is the side toward us," he said. "There are the magazines, the
main one being here in the centre."
With a nod of understanding, Vard carried the drawing to the window and
compared it carefully with the stretch of wall, swinging his pivoted
machine from side to side to be sure that its range was ample. Then he
refolded the map and returned it to Marbeau.
"It must be almost the hour," he said.
With a start, Marbeau pulled out his watch. It showed fifteen minutes to
twelve. Then, watch in hand, he stood gazing out at the bastion. Four
minutes passed, five, six, seven....
Suddenly from the fort came the deep boom of an alarm gun. A minute
later, a file of men appeared upon the summit of the bastion; a gate,
away to the right, swung open and an armed battalion marched out at the
double-quick.
"The signal!" gasped Marbeau. "It is the signal! Their wireless men have
picked it up!"
Again the alarm gun boomed sullenly, and they could hear the faint,
shrill calling of a bugle. Then came the distant thunder of the
answering guns from the forts about the town; from the streets rose
excited voices, the clatter of running feet....
One minute--two--three--
"Now!" said Marbeau, snapped shut his watch and thrust it into his
pocket.
Vard, his face twitching, closed the switch and touched the key. Again
came the sharp crackle of flame, the deep hum of the vibrator. Marbeau,
the marrow frozen in his bones but with the sweat pouring from his face,
stared out--and then, close beside him, came a white burst of flame--the
horrible odour of burning flesh--
He jerked around to see Vard fallen forward above the table, while about
his hands played those livid tongues of fire....
* * * * *
Half an hour before midnight of that day, a man, roughly dressed, with a
stubble of beard masking his face, appeared at the Ministry of Marine,
was passed at once by the guard at the entrance and made his way quickly
to the office of M. Delcasse. He tapped at the door, which was instantly
opened by the Minister himself.
"Ah, Marbeau," he said, quietly. "Come in. We have failed, then?"
"Yes, we have failed," groaned Marbeau, and sank into a chair.
Delcasse touched him gently on the shoulder.
"Do not take it so much to heart," he said. "There was something wrong,
perhaps. We can try again--"
"No, we cannot try again," and Marbeau's face was piteous.
"Vard is not captured!"
"No; he is dead."
"But his instrument--his invention?"
"Is destroyed, fused, burnt to a mere mass of metal," and Marbeau told
the story of that last moment.
"But what happened? What occurred?" asked the Minister dazedly.
"I do not know--I was staring at the fort. He may have had a seizure and
fallen across his instrument, or he may have broken the circuit in some
way--displaced a wire, perhaps--and received the full shock himself. It
was over in an instant. He was dead when I dragged him away."
For some time Delcasse walked thoughtfully up and down.
"You could not, by any possibility, reconstruct it?" he asked at last.
"I fear not, sir; he told me nothing. I do not even know the principle
involved."
Again Delcasse paced back and forth; then he sat down before his desk,
with a gesture of acquiescence.
"So that dream is ended," he said. "It was too great, no doubt, to be
accomplished. God willed otherwise. But at least we are richer than we
were. From time to time we will terrify these Germans with a little
blast of wireless. That will be amusing, and it may cost them some
ammunition. And in the struggle over Morocco France wins! That is
assured! Good night, General. You need rest."
All the world knows now, of course, that France did win. On November
fourth, the question of her supremacy in Morocco was settled once for
all by the treaty signed at Berlin. When Europe learned the terms of
that treaty, it was shaken with amazement. For Germany had receded,
after swearing that she would never recede; had guaranteed to France a
free hand in Morocco, with the right to establish a protectorate if she
thought proper;--and in exchange for all this received a small strip of
the French Congo! Yes, there was one other thing she received of which
the treaty made no mention. When Herr von Kiderlen-Waechter had affixed
his signature, Ambassador Cambon, who acted for France, gave him
silently an envelope sealed with a black seal. He glanced at the
signature of the paper it contained, and placed it carefully in his
pocket. An hour afterwards, he handed it to his Emperor.
And two days later, Admiral Heinrich Pachmann, returning from an
audience with the Emperor, went quietly to his quarters. At the usual
hour, his aide, coming for orders, rapped at his door. There was no
answer, and, opening the door, the aide glanced inside. Pachmann lay
sprawled across the floor, a bullet in his heart. His stiff hand gripped
a duelling-pistol--a handsome weapon, which bore, chased along its
barrel, the motto of his house, "I love and I obey!"
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| Typographical errors corrected in the text: |
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| Page 326 "of" added to "this side of the water?" |
| Page 364 Hohenzvollerns changed to Hohenzollerns |
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End of Project Gutenberg's The Destroyer, by Burton Egbert Stevenson