CHAPTER IV
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."