Count Otto
"By Jupiter, old man!" exclaimed little Browning, surgeon-probationer
of the destroyer, as he met Seton on the termination of the latter's
watch. "We've netted a fine bird. The skipper's as pleased as a dog
with two tails."
"One of the most recent types of U-boats?" asked Alec, as he
proceeded to divest himself of a portion of his heavy clothing, and
to kick off his sea-boots.
"Better than that, my festive," replied the medico, as he deftly
filled a tin mug with hot tea--a task not easily accomplished when a
destroyer is rolling horribly in a sea-way. "The Hun we fished out is
none other than Count Otto von Brockdorff-Giespert."
"Explain," said Alec, as he took the proffered cup and gratefully
drained its contents. It mattered nothing that the cup was old and
battered, and that the dregs left by the previous user were floating
in the highly-brewed beverage. In such circumstances one cannot be
too fastidious.
"What! Not heard of Count Otto von Brockdorff-Giespert?" asked
Browning in mock dismay. "I thought everyone in the destroyer patrol
knew of him. He's the fellow who torpedoed the _Bentali_."
"_Bentali_? Of course, I remember," replied Seton. "A hospital ship
homeward-bound from the Dardanelles. Didn't cotton on to the fellow's
tally, though. I'm jolly glad we've collared him. Wonder what they'll
do with him?"
"Do with him?" echoed the doctor. "Why, put him ashore, send him in a
comfy first-class railway carriage to a cushy home for fortunate Hun
pirates. Feed him up; let him take a daily jaunt into the nearest
town for the benefit of his health and to prevent boredom. Allow his
friends to visit him, and all that sort of tosh. My word, we English
are a rummy race! We carry our humane principles too far, and Fritz
takes it as a sign of weakness."
"It's innate chivalry, I suppose," remarked Seton.
"Innate foolishness!" corrected Browning with asperity. "If you saw a
poisonous snake lying across your path would you pick it up, wrap it
in your pocket-handkerchief, and take it out of harm's way? I'd as
soon do that as molly-coddle a Hun. I've seen them and their dirty
work, my festive, long before you took to the noble pastime of
Fritz-strafing."
Meanwhile the subject of the discussion was reclining more or less at
ease upon a settee in the _Bolero's_ ward-room. A fractured
collar-bone, several minor contusions, and a shock to the nervous
system summed up the extent of his injuries. The destroyer's
surgeon-probationer, notwithstanding his vehement denunciations of
von Brockdorff-Giespert and all his kind, had used all his skill in
mitigating the pirate's injuries; and now, slightly under the
influence of morphia, the Count was pondering over the situation and
wondering whether it would have been preferable to have perished with
his crew rather than be taken alive by enemies.
Von Brockdorff-Giespert believed, and with good reason, that he was
on the Black List of the British Admiralty. In the Fatherland he used
to boast of the fact, but different surroundings are apt to change a
fellow's tune, and now he was beginning to feel truly sorry for
himself.
The Count was a kapitan-leutnant of the unterseebooten service, and
held a staff appointment at the newly-constructed German base at
Zeebrugge. The post was given him as a reward for his zealous
services to the All-Highest having claim to the destruction of 60,000
tons of Allied mercantile shipping. Most of his victims he sank
without warning, and in several instances without leaving a trace,
while his despicable act of torpedoing the hospital ship _Bentali_ on
a dark night and in a very heavy sea was the crowning act of a long
list of piratical outrages.
While every other country regarded the act with every expression of
horror, kultured Germany hailed the deed with acclamation. It showed
the thoroughness of Teutonic frightfulness: that Germany meant
business. Count Otto received the Iron Cross with swords, and the
Ordre pour le Mérite. Nevertheless he deemed it advisable for his
health's sake to give up active submarine work, and become
permanently attached to the Zeebrugge station for shore duties.
Unfortunately for him, he had a slight difference with the naval
governor of the modern pirate base, and the latter revenged himself
by ordering von Brockdorff-Giespert to sea in U 292--not in actual
command, but as adviser to the proper kapitan-leutnant, a
swash-buckling Prussian, of the name of von Bohme.
U 292 was on her trials when the end came with dramatic suddenness.
Von Bohme had no intention of attacking until he had thoroughly
tested the sea-going and manoeuvring capabilities of his new command;
but the temptation of sinking one of the convoy of merchantmen was
too strong.
Von Brockdorff-Giespert's mental and physical activities were
completely suspended for a period of twelve minutes following the
sudden destruction of U 292. At the time of the catastrophe he was
standing in the compartment immediately under the base of the
conning-tower. On the impact of the British shell he formed the hasty
but correct impression that the strafed Englander had scored. He
attempted to gain the open air by means of the conning-tower
hatchway, but the water-tight lid in the floor was immovably shut and
secured. Water was pouring in through the started rivet-holes and
buckling plates. Below, the nerve-racked Germans were rushing
to-and-fro in blind panic, colliding with each other in the dark,
confined space, for the impact of the shell had put the
electric-lighting dynamos out of action.
It was not too much to say that von Brockdorff-Giespert was seized by
the contaminating panic. He was no longer a kapitan-leutnant of the
submarine staff, but a mere Hun struggling fiercely for life in a
wholehearted, selfish desire to avoid a death to which thousands of
his fellow-Huns had been condemned under similar circumstances.
Then came the paralysing shock, and the tremendous roar of the
exploding depth-charge. Rolling completely over, the doomed U-boat
began to fill rapidly. Struggling for life, half-immersed in the
oil-tinged swirling water, gasping in the black, petrol- and
nitric-acid-laden fumes, von Brockdorff-Giespert gave himself up for
lost. His senses deserted him.
In an insensible condition he was whirled, by a curious whim of fate,
through a gaping hole in the U-boat's bilge. While the rest of his
companions in piracy were caught like rats in a trap in their metal
tomb, the Staff-kapitan-leutnant was impelled to the surface. Well it
was for him that he wore a life-saving waistcoat. He had worn it day
and night during the trip; surreptitiously lest any of the crew
should make merry at the arrogant Junker's expense. It helped to save
his life: the _Bolero's_ boat completed the task.
Daybreak found the rescued Hun comfortably in bed in one of the
officers' cabins--comfortable as far as could be expected while
suffering from a broken collar-bone and various minor bruises and
contusions. He was glad to find himself alive, but in his innate
arrogance he could find neither means nor desire to express his
gratitude to his rescuers. Nor was he exactly comfortable in his
mind. That little incident of the hospital ship _Bentali_ persisted
in recurring. There might be awkward questions asked. But never mind:
the English would be afraid to take reprisals upon him. They looked
like losing the war, consequently they would treat their prisoners
with consideration lest vengeance overtook them.
It was a truly Prussian view, and one almost implicitly believed in
throughout Germany. It accounted for the humane treatment of German
prisoners in England. Only those who are bound to win can, according
to Prussian ideas, override all the articles of the Geneva
Convention, With them war was a demonstration of
brutality--relentless and pitiless. The vanquished was expected to
receive no mercy. When the Huns were worsted they hardly expected
clemency, and when, as prisoners of war, they received both clemency
and a certain amount of consideration they could only put it down to
the faint-heartedness of their captors, who, knowing that they were
on the losing side, were anxious to ingratiate themselves with
victorious Prussia.
"By Jove! What a pity we've hauled him out of the ditch!" exclaimed
Seton, after he had visited the prisoner and had courteously inquired
after his health. "The fellow looked at me as if I were a Boche
conscript. I'd like to have him in the ship's company for a week--no,
I wouldn't. I wouldn't like to think that my men would have to endure
his precious society for five minutes."
So for the next forty-eight hours Count Otto von Brockdorff-Giespert
was left severely alone by the officers of H.M.S. _Bolero_, the one
exception being the doctor, whose efforts for his injured enemy were
untiring.
At last the slowly-moving convoy passed Yarmouth and sighted the Cork
Lightship off the entrance to Harwich Harbour. Here the unwieldy
tramps were practically immune from hostile action, for the air was
stiff with aircraft and airships, while for miles round the sea was
dotted with swiftly-moving destroyers, M.-L.'s, and
submarine-chasers. It was no place for Fritz to show his nose, and to
his discretion, if not to his credit, he left the approaches to
Harwich severely alone.
A wireless telegraphist, holding a folded slip of buff paper, ran up
the bridge-ladder, and saluting Alec, who had just taken over as
Officer of the Watch, handed him message.
"Wireless just gone through, sir," he reported. "General signal to
the convoy."
Seton took the proffered signal-pad, read the message, and elevated
his eyebrows. Long experience in naval matters had taught him never
to show unwonted surprise at any order that might come through at any
hour of the day or night. But this, on the face of it, seemed
remarkable.
Briefly, the convoy was to be split up, the major portion going into
Harwich to await further orders. Four of the slowest tramps, escorted
by the destroyers, _Bolero_ and _Triadur_, were to proceed to the
Nord Hinder Lightship, there to stand by until instructions were sent
to the destroyers by the S.N.O.
"Wonder if the tramps are Q-boats after all," soliloquized Alec. "One
doesn't know t'other from which in these jolly old times. . . . Chance
of luring Fritz and seeing a bit of life, eh, what?"
Five minutes later the convoy acted according to orders, the two
destroyers and their sluggish charges shaping an easterly course
through the mine-infested North Sea.