The Riddle of the Sands Part 16

'We weighed anchor at one o'clock, and in pa.s.sing the anch.o.r.ed galliot took a good look at her. 'Kormoran' was on her stern; otherwise she was just like a hundred others. n.o.body was on deck.

'We spent the whole afternoon till dark exploring the Harle, or gap between w.a.n.geroog and Spiekeroog; the sea breaking heavily on the banks outside ... Fine as the day was, the scene from the offing was desolate to the last degree. The naked spots of the two islands are hideous in their sterility: melancholy bits of wreck-wood their only relief, save for one or two grotesque beacons, and, most _bizarre_ of all, a great church-tower, standing actually _in_ the water, on the north side of w.a.n.geroog, a striking witness to the encroachment of the sea. On the mainland, which was barely visible, there was one very prominent landmark, a spire, which from the chart we took to be that of _Esens,_ a town four miles inland.

'The days are growing short. Sunset is soon after five, and an hour later it is too dark to see booms and buoys distinctly. The tides also are awkward just now.

(I exclude all the technicalities that I can, but the reader should take note that the tide-table is very important henceforward.)

'High-water at morning and evening is between five and six--just at twilight. For the night, we groped with the lead into the Muschel Balge, the tributary channel which laps round the inside of Spiekeroog, and lay in two fathoms, clear of the outer swell, but rolling a little when the ebb set in strong against the wind.

'A galliot pa.s.sed us, going west, just as we were stowing sails; too dark to see her name. Later, we saw her anchor-light higher up our channel.

'The great event of the day has been the sighting of a small German gunboat, steaming slowly west along the coast. That was about half-past four, when we were sounding along the Harle.

'Davies identified her at once as the Blitz, Commander von Bruning's gunboat. We wondered if he recognized the 'Dulcibella', but, anyway, she seemed to take no notice of us and steamed slowly on. We quite expected to fall in with her when we came to the islands, but the actual sight of her has excited us a good deal. She is an ugly, cranky little vessel, painted grey, with one funnel. Davis is contemptuous about her low freeboard forward; says he would rather go to sea in the Dulce. He has her dimensions and armament (learnt from Bra.s.sey) at his fingers' ends: one hundred and forty feet by twenty-five, one 4.9 gun, one 3.4, and four maxims--an old type. Just going to bed; a bitterly cold night.

'_17th Oct._--Gla.s.s falling heavily this morning, to our great disgust. Wind back in the SW and much warmer. Starting at _5.30_ we tacked on the tide over the "water-shed" behind Spiekeroog. So did the galliot we had seen last night, but we again missed identifying her, as she weighed anchor before we came up to her berth. Davies, however, swore she was the 'Kormoran'. We lost sight of her altogether for the greater part of the day, which we spent in exploring the Otzumer Ee (the gap between Langeoog and Spiekeroog), now and then firing some perfunctory shots at seals and sea-birds... (nautical details omitted). . . In the evening we were hurrying back to an inside anchorage, when we made a bad mistake; did, in fact, what we had never done before, ran aground on the very top of high water, and are now sitting hard and fast on the edge of the Rute Flat, south of the east spit of Langeoog. The light was bad, and a misplaced boom tricked us; kedging-off failed, and at 8 p.m. we were left on a perfect Ararat of sand, and only a yard or two from that accursed boom, which is perched on the very summit, as a lure to the unwary.

It is going to blow hard too, though that is no great matter, as we are sheltered by banks on the sou'-west and nor'-west sides, the likely quarters. We hope to float at _6.15_ to-morrow morning, but to make sure of being able to get her off, we have been transferring some ballast to the dinghy, by way of lightening the yacht--a horrid business handling the pigs of lead, heavy, greasy, and black. The saloon is an inferno, the deck like a collier's, and ourselves like sweeps.

'The anchors are laid out, and there is nothing more to be done.

'_18th Oct._--Half a gale from the sou'-west when we turned out, but it helped us to float off safely at six. The dinghy was very nearly swamped with the weight of lead in it, and getting the ballast back into the yacht was the toughest job of all. We got the dinghy alongside, and Davies jumped in (nearly sinking it for good), balanced himself, fended off, and, whenever he got a chance, attached the pigs one by one on to a bight of rope, secured to the peak halyards, on which I hoisted from the deck. It was touch and go for a few minutes, and then easier.

'It was nine before we had finished replacing the pigs in the hold, a filthy but delicate operation, as they fit like a puzzle, and if one is out of place the floor-boards won't shut down. Coming on deck after it, we saw to our surprise the Blitz, lying at anchor in the Schill Balje, inside Spiekeroog, about a mile and a half off. She must have entered the Otzumer Ee at high-water for shelter from the gale: a neat bit of work for a vessel of her size, as Davies says she draws nine-foot-ten, and there can't be more than twelve on the bar at high-water neaps. Several smacks had run in too, and there were two galliots farther up our channel, but we couldn't make out if the 'Kormoran' was one.

'When the banks uncovered we lay more quietly, so landed and took a long, tempestuous walk over the Rute, with compa.s.s and notebooks.

Returning at two, we found the gla.s.s tumbling down almost visibly.

'I suggested running for Bensersiel, one of the mainland villages south-west of us, on the evening flood, as it seemed just the right opportunity, if we were to visit one of those "siels" at all. Davies was very lukewarm, but events overcame him. At 3.30 a black, ragged cloud, appearing to trail into the very sea, brought up a terrific squall. This pa.s.sed, and there was a deathly pause of ten minutes while the whole sky eddied as with smoke-wreaths. Then an icy puff struck us from the north-west, rapidly veering till it reached north-east; there it settled and grew harder every moment.

'"Sou'-west to north-east--only the worst sort do that," said Davies.

'The s.h.i.+ft to the east changed the whole situation (as s.h.i.+fts often have before), making the Rute Flats a lee sh.o.r.e, while to windward lay the deep lagoons of the Otzumer Ee, bounded indeed by Spiekeroog, but still offering a big drift for wind and sea. We had to clear out sharp, to set the mizzen. It was out of the question to beat to windward, for it was blowing a hurricane in a few minutes. We must go to leeward, and Davies was for running farther in well behind the Jans sand, and not risking Bensersiel. A blunder of mine, when I went to the winch to get up anchor, settled the question. Thirty out of our forty fathoms of chain were out. Confused by the motion and a blinding sleet-shower that had come on, and forgetting the tremendous strain on the cable, I cast the slack off the bitts and left it loose. There was then only one turn of the chain round the drum, enough in ordinary weather to prevent it running out. But now my first heave on the winch-lever started it slipping, and in an instant it was whizzing out of the hawse-pipe and overboard. I tried to stop it with my foot, stumbled at a heavy plunge of the yacht, heard something snap below, and saw the last of it disappear. The yacht fell off the wind, and drifted astern. I shouted, and had the sense to hoist the reefed foresail at once. Davies had her in hand in no time, and was steering south-west. Going aft I found him cool and characteristic.

'"Doesn't matter," he said; "anchor's buoyed. (Ever since leaving the Elbe we had had a buoy-line on our anchor against the emergency of having to slip our cable and run. For the same reason the end of the chain was not made permanently fast below.) We'll come back to-morrow and get it. Can't now. Should have had to slip it anyhow; wind and sea too strong. We'll try for Bensersiel. Can't trust to a warp and kedge out here."

'An exciting run it was, across country, so to speak, over an unboomed watershed; but we had bearings from our morning's walk.

Shoal water all the way and a hollow sea breaking everywhere. We soon made out the Bensersiel booms, but even under mizzen and foresail only we travelled too fast, and had to heave to outside them, for the channel looked too shallow still. We lowered half the centre-board and kept her just holding her own to windward, through a most trying period. In the end had to run for it sooner than we meant, as we were sagging to leeward in spite of all, and the light was failing. Bore up at _5.15_, and raced up the channel with the booms on our left scarcely visible in the surf and rising water. Davies stood forward, signalling--port, starboard, or steady--with his arms, while I wrestled with the helm, flung from side to side and flogged by wave-tops. Suddenly found a sort of d.y.k.e on our right just covering with sea. The sh.o.r.e appeared through scud, and men on a quay shouting. Davies brandished his left arm furiously; I ported hard, and we were in smoother water. A few seconds more and we were whizzing through a slit between two wood jetties. Inside a small square harbour showed, but there was no room to round up properly and no time to lower sails. Davies just threw the kedge over, and it just got a grip in time to check our momentum and save our bowsprit from the quayside. A man threw us a rope and we brought up alongside, rather bewildered.

'Not more so than the natives, who seemed to think we had dropped from the sky. They were very friendly, with an undercurrent of disappointment, having expected salvage work outside, I think. All showed embarra.s.sing helpfulness in stowing sails, etc. We were rescued by a fussy person in uniform and spectacles, who swept them aside and announced himself as the customhouse officer (fancy such a thing in this absurd mud-hole!), marched down into the cabin, which was in a fearful mess and wringing wet, and producing ink, pen, and a huge printed form, wanted to know our cargo, our crew, our last port, our destination, our food, stores, and everything. No cargo (pleasure); captain, Davies; crew, me; last port, Brunsb.u.t.tel; destination, England. What spirits had we? Whisky, produced. What salt? Tin of Cerebos, produced, and a damp deposit in a saucer. What coffee? etc. Lockers searched, guns fingered, bunks rifled. Meanwhile the German charts and the log, the d.a.m.ning clues to our purpose, were in full evidence, crying for notice which they did not get. (We had forgotten our precautions in the hurry of our start from the Rute.) When the huge form was as full as he could make it, he suddenly became human, talkative, and thirsty; and, when we treated him, patronizing. It seemed to dawn on him that, under our rough clothes and crust of brine and grime, we were two mad and wealthy aristocrats, worthy _proteges_ of a high official. He insisted on our bringing our cus.h.i.+ons to dry at his house, and to get rid of him we consented, for we were wet, hungry, and longing to change and wash.

He talked himself away at last, and we hid the log and charts; but he returned, in the postmaster's uniform this time before we had finished supper, and haled us and our cus.h.i.+ons up through dark and mud to his cottage near the quay. To reach it we crossed a small bridge spanning what seemed to be a small river with sluice-gates, just as we had thought.

'He showed his prizes to his wife, who was quite fl.u.s.tered by the distinguished strangers, and received the cus.h.i.+ons with awe; and next we were carried off to the Gasthaus and exhibited to the village circle, where we talked ducks and weather. (n.o.body takes us seriously; I never felt less like a conspirator.) Our friend, who is a feather-headed chatterbox, is enormously important about his ridiculous little port, whose princ.i.p.al customer seems to be the Langeoog post-boat, a galliot running to and fro according to tide. A few lighters also come down the stream with bricks and produce from the interior, and are towed to the islands. The harbour has from five to seven feet in it for two hours out of twelve! Herr Schenkel talked us back to the yacht, which we found resting on the mud--and here we are. Davies pretends there are harbour smells, and says he won't be able to sleep; is already worrying about how to get away from here.

Ash.o.r.e, they were saying that it's impossible, under sail, in strong north-east winds, the channel being too narrow to tack in. For my part I find it a huge relief to be in any sort of harbour after a fortnight in the open. There are no tides or anchors to think about, and no b.u.mping or rolling. Fresh milk to-morrow!'

XVI. Commander von Bruning

TO RESUME my story in narrative form.

I was awakened at ten o'clock on the 19th, after a long and delicious sleep, by Davies's voice outside, talking his unmistakable German.

Looking out, in my pyjamas, I saw him on the quay above in conversation with a man in a long mackintosh coat and a gold-laced navy cap. He had a close-trimmed auburn beard, a keen, handsome face, and an animated manner. It was raining in a raw air.

They saw me, and Davies said: 'Hullo, Carruthers! Here's Commander von Bruning from the Blitz--that's "meiner Freund" Carruthers.'

(Davies was deplorably weak in terminations.)

The commander smiled broadly at me, and I inclined an uncombed head, while, for a moment, the quest was a dream, and I myself felt unutterably squalid and foolish. I ducked down, heard them parting, and Davies came aboard.

'We're to meet him at the inn for a talk at twelve,' he said.

His news was that the Blitz's steam-cutter had come in on the morning tide, and he had met von Bruning when marketing at the inn. Secondly, the 'Kormoran' had also come in, and was moored close by. It was as clear as possible, therefore, that the latter had watched us, and was in touch with the Blitz, and that both had seized the opportunity of our being cooped up in Bensersiel to take further stock of us. What had pa.s.sed hitherto? Nothing much. Von Bruning had greeted Davies with cordial surprise, and said he had wondered yesterday if it was the 'Dulcibella' that he had seen anch.o.r.ed behind Langeoog. Davies had explained that we had left the Baltic and were on our way home; taking the shelter of the islands.

'Supposing he comes on board and asks to see our log?' I said.

'Pull it out,' said Davies, 'It's rot, this hiding, after all, I say.

I rather funk this interview; what are we to say? It's not in my line.'

We resolved abruptly on an important change of plan, replaced the log and charts in the rack as the first logical step. They contained nothing but bearings, courses, and the bare data of navigation. To Davies they were hard-won secrets of vital import, to be lied for, however hard and distasteful lying was. I was cooler as to their value, but in any case the same thing was now in both our minds.

There would be great difficulties in the coming interview if we tried to be too clever and conceal the fact that we had been exploring. We did not know how much von Bruning knew. When had our surveillance by the 'Kormoran' begun? Apparently at w.a.n.geroog, but possibly in the estuaries, where we had not fired a shot at duck. Perhaps he knew even more--Dollmann's treachery, Davies's escape, and our subsequent movements--we could not tell. On the other hand, exploration was known to be a fad of Davies's, and in September he had made no secret of it.

It was safer to be consistent now. After breakfast we determined to find out something about the 'Kormoran', which lay on the mud at the other side of the harbour, and accordingly addressed ourselves to two mighty sailors, whose jerseys bore the legend 'Post', and who towered conspicuous among a row of stolid Frisians on the quay, all gazing gravely down at us as at a curious bit of marine bric-a-brac. The twins (for such they proved to be) were most benignant giants, and asked us aboard the post-boat galliot for a chat. It was easy to bring the talk naturally round to the point we wished, and we soon gained some most interesting information, delivered in the broadest Frisian, but intelligible enough. They called the 'Kormoran' a Memmert boat, or 'wreck-works' boat. It seemed that off the western end of Juist, the island lying west of Norderney, there lay the bones of a French war-vessel, wrecked ages ago. She carried bullion which has never been recovered, in spite of many efforts. A salvage company was trying for it now, and had works on Memmert, an adjacent sand-bank.

'That is Herr Grimm, the overseer himself,' they said, pointing to the bridge above the sluice-gates. (I call him 'Grimm' because it describes him exactly.) A man in a pilot jacket and peaked cap was leaning over the parapet.

'What's he doing here?' I asked.

They answered that he was often up and down the coast, work on the wreck being impossible in rough weather. They supposed he was bringing cargo in his galliot from Wilhelmshaven, all the company's plant and stores coming from that port. He was a local man from Aurich; an ex-tug skipper.

We discussed this information while walking out over the sands to see the channel at low water.

'Did you hear anything about this in September?' I asked.

'Not a word. I didn't go to Juist. I would have, probably, if I hadn't met Dollmann.'

What in the world did it mean? How did it affect our plans?

'Look at his boots if we pa.s.s him,' was all Davies had to suggest.

The channel was now a ditch, with a trickle in it, running north by east, roughly, and edged by a d.y.k.e of withies for the first quarter of a mile. It was still blowing fresh from the north-east, and we saw that exit was impossible in such a wind.

So back to the village, a paltry, bleak little place. We pa.s.sed friend Grimm on the bridge; a dark, clean-shaved, saturnine man, wearing _shoes._ Approaching the inn:

'We haven't settled quite enough, have we?' said Davies. 'What about our future plans?'

'Heaven knows, we haven't,' I said. 'But I don't see how we can. We must see how things go. It's past twelve, and it won't do to be late.'

'Well, I leave it to you.'