CHAPTER XXII
A Momentous Decision
At a quarter to five in the afternoon of the same day as the salvage of the derelict Zeppelin was effected, Rex Thompson, the energetic editor of The Westminster Daily Record, was superintending the final setting-up of the evening edition.
The stop-press column was being delayed until the tape machine had finished the report of the strange occurrence in the North Sea—how a British destroyer had fallen in with and had towed into Harwich one of the latest type of Zeppelins. Presently the door was flung wide open, and Gordon Stirling burst into the room.
"Heard the news?" he asked breathlessly. "The Zeppelin?"
"Hallo, where did you spring from?" demanded Thompson in even tones. "I thought you were supposed to be in Holland?"
"But the news?" demanded the young "special".
"Yes, yes, my dear Stirling. I am afraid you are a trifle late."
Stirling's face fell. It seemed hard lines, after having received Lieutenant Mallet's assurance that no information would be given to the Press representatives of Hamerton's presence on the fugitive airship, that the news should have leaked out. The knowledge that a German airship had been brought into Harwich was common property. It was impossible to hide a gasbag of nearly a million cubic feet capacity from the public gaze, but Stirling counted on Mallet's word. The details were, of course, communicated by wireless to the Admiralty, but The Westminster Record's special was to be the medium whereby the news of Hamerton's hairbreadth escape was to be given out to the great British Public.
Stirling dare not telegraph or telephone the momentous news. Instead he chartered a powerful car, and in an hour and twenty-five minutes the chauffeur drew up outside The Westminster Record's offices.
And then came the crowning disappointment. In bland tones he had been informed by his chief that the news he brought was a trifle—just a trifle—late.
"You might, however, glance at this," continued Thompson, handing him the typed transcript of the tape message. "If there's anything important to add, let me know."
The editor, mentally burying himself in a mass of papers, was suddenly startled by a tremendous crash. Stirling had, in his excitement, brought his fist down heavily upon the table, causing Thompson's fountain pen to splutter all over a nearly completed leader, while the pastepot and a bottle of red ink indiscriminately shed their contents over the latest efforts on the part of The Westminster Record's parliamentary representative.
Thompson was on the point of using language that could hardly be termed parliamentary, even in these latter days of politics, when Stirling interrupted him.
"You haven't got it," he shouted, almost carried away in his excitement. "You've missed the whole point. Hamerton's back!"
"What do you mean?"
"Hamerton—Hamerton made his escape in the Zeppelin."
"Fact?" asked Thompson coolly, raising one eyebrow as was his wont.
"Rather. I saw him."
"Interviewed him?"
"No."
"Silly owl; you've missed the chance of a life-time. Carry on. Scribble half a dozen sticks—no, half a column. I'll get the space held open."
Stirling was perfectly collected by this time. He wrote as he had never written before—at great speed, yet in a lucid, connected style.
"Here you are, sir," he announced quietly.
Thompson seized the blue pencil in anticipation. A look of mild satisfaction that quickly gave way to exuberant delight overspread his face as he read. The blue pencil was not required.
"Well done, Stirling; a straightforward piece of work, and every line full of life!" he exclaimed, betraying an unwonted enthusiasm. "Now, take my advice: go and get a good square meal, and go to bed early. There'll be nothing doing, as far as you are concerned, till to-morrow morning."
Meanwhile Sub-Lieutenant Hamerton, temporarily "rigged out" in mufti obligingly lent by the commander of the Boxer, quietly slipped ashore at Harwich, took train to town, and with the least possible delay reported himself at the Admiralty.
For over two hours he was detained by the First Lord and the First Sea Lord, both of whom happened by a pure slice of luck to be in Whitehall when the momentous cipher telegram announcing Hamerton's return in the disabled Zeppelin was received.
"There's an underhand piece of work somewhere," remarked Admiral Sir James Churcher, the First Sea Lord. "Coming on the top of the German Government's explanation to our ambassador it cannot be regarded as otherwise."
"I agree with you," said the First Lord. "This affair will ultimately be settled by the Navy, Churcher, of that I feel sure."
"Unless Germany climbs down."
"She won't; it will be a hard fight to the finish. These Teutons are of very much the same characteristics as ourselves, remember. Of course, diplomatic negotiations may put off the evil day, but after the way our Foreign Office has been utterly fooled I don't put much faith in that prospect. By the by, Mr. Hamerton, you mentioned that you found a German confidential book on torpedoes. What became of it?"
"I had it, but it was found when the yacht was searched, sir."
"H'm! I suppose that made it all the worse for you?"
"I hardly know, sir. It seemed as if they had made up their minds to condemn us long before the actual trial."
"Did you make any notes?"
"Of what, sir?"
"Of the contents of the torpedo manual."
"No, sir; there was not time."
"Unfortunate," remarked Admiral Churcher. "The range of the new-pattern Schwartz-Kopff torpedo is considerably greater than that of our improved Whitehead. There is a rumour—we cannot obtain confirmation—that its maximum range is twelve miles. It all depends upon the motive power. Of course this is an important advantage, so far as Germany is concerned, and it is a great pity that we failed to obtain the secret, once the book was in your possession, Mr. Hamerton. I realize, however, that it was due to no fault of yours."
Hamerton bowed.
"I congratulate you once again," continued the First Sea Lord, "on your escape. For the next two days you ought to rest, but I fear the exigencies of the Service will not permit. So be prepared to find your appointment posted in the course of forty-eight hours or so."
The Sub took his leave. In the anteroom he rejoined his father, who, on receipt of a telegram, had hastened to meet his son; and the two made their way towards the main entrance.
"Here is Mr. Hamerton," said the uniformed messenger, addressing a short, thick-set individual, whose face bore a smile of anticipated pleasure.
"Mr. Hamerton?" he asked.
"Yes; but you have the advantage of me."
"Oh, I'm Stirling! I've seen you at a distance, you know, only——"
"Glad to meet you, Mr. Stirling," said the Sub warmly. "I know who you are now, right enough. You're the fellow who discovered that Detroit and I were prisoners on the island of Heligoland."
"Didn't do much good, I'm afraid," added Stirling modestly. "You got away independent of that. But this is what I want to see you about," holding out a small paper parcel. "I found it stowed away on the Diomeda. It's a torpedo book."
"You did, by Jove!" exclaimed Hamerton. "Stirling, you have done a national service. I thought the book had been found by the German officer who searched the yacht. Stand by in the waiting-room for a few minutes longer, Pater; I'm going to take Mr. Stirling in to see the First Lord."
It would be no exaggeration to affirm that the whole of the English-speaking inhabitants of the globe were agitated by the astounding escape of Sub-Lieutenant Hamerton from captivity.
In America anti-German sentiments rose high, while urgent representations were made to the Capitol that an emphatic demand for Detroit's release should be instantly sent to Berlin.
Both in Great Britain and the United States it was realized that an international crisis was imminent. Consols dropped lower than they had ever been known to fall before. The American Pacific Fleet was ordered to pass through the Panama Canal and join the Atlantic Squadron at a rendezvous off Cape Hatteras, and await orders. Simultaneously the British Fleet, that for years past had been placed on a war footing, was unostentatiously mobilized; the Portsmouth, Portland, and Devonport ships being ordered to concentrate at the Nore, while the Third and Fourth Squadrons of the Home Fleet were sent to Cromarty Firth.
For the present nothing more could be done without indirectly challenging Germany to settle the matter by the arbitrament of war. Diplomatic relations were yet to be given one more chance, in the hope of allaying the enmity between the great rivals for sea supremacy.
General Heinrich von Wittelsbach had been once more hurriedly summoned to Berlin. With a heavy heart he set out to meet his imperial master. Fate had indeed treated him badly, though no less than his high-handed actions—done, according to his views, in the interest of the Fatherland—demanded. Not only had he failed to keep one of the alleged spies under lock and key; he was threatened with ignominy. It seemed impossible for him to explain satisfactorily the reason for deceiving the Emperor, who, on his assurances, had imperiously replied to the British and American Ambassadors' Note. There was also the humiliation of having lost one of the latest Zeppelins, which Great Britain was keeping under the pretext that it was unfit to be towed back to Heligoland, but in reality as a hostage.
"General, you have been over-hasty," was the Emperor's greeting, "I might say over-zealous."
"Sire, I regret deeply——"
"One moment, Von Wittelsbach," said his Imperial sovereign. "Before you start offering regrets would it not be better to give us your version of this affair—the true version, mind? What say you, Von Rhule?"
Von Rhule, the Chancellor, who was the only person present at the interview, merely inclined his head. He was a man of few words, but he had a will of which even his master stood in awe. His policy was not only "Germany for the Germans", not merely a desire for "a place in the sun", but a determination to make the German Empire the predominant nation on land and sea. Although his rise to power had been of comparatively recent date, he was beginning to be recognized as a super-Bismarck. If Bismarck were described as a man of blood and iron, Von Rhule's ambition was to be regarded as a man of brains and steel. Needless to say, he was an Anglophobe. One of the few disappointments of his hitherto brief career was the failure of his agents to provoke a quarrel between the United States and Great Britain over Mexican affairs. He placed very little reliance upon the Triple Alliance. His idea was to set Austria against Russia and engineer a war between France and Italy. Germany, standing aloof during the struggle between the two pairs of combatants, could then afford to dictate to the victors of the exhausting war.
Heinrich von Wittelsbach had the acumen to perceive that the Emperor was inclined to treat the Hamerton and Detroit incident in an indulgent way. In a blunt, soldier-like fashion the commandant of the garrison of Heligoland told his story, omitting no important point and offering no excuses.
"Now, General, your motive?" demanded the Emperor.
"Sire, my motive was simply the great desire of my career: to safeguard the output of the Empire against all attempts on the part of foreign powers to steal the results of patience and diligence on the part of the German nation. I have freely admitted that my initial act in hastily placing those men under arrest was an error."
"And therefore you hoped, by piling error upon error, to remedy your original fault?"
"Solely in the interests of Your Majesty, sire."
"And have placed me in a quandary. Germany must either become the laughing-stock of the whole world or else command respect at the point of the sword. Look at the present state of this affair. The English are clamouring for war. History will tell you that their ancestors demanded and obtained a declaration of hostilities against Spain simply on account of the loss of a man's ear. I know them; they are a peculiar nation. Their ministers of state are ever proclaiming their desire for peaceable relations with us; yet, in spite of their vaunted boast to act fairly and squarely with all the world, they would deny us the right to develop as a healthy nation ought and must. Am I not right, Von Rhule?"
"Yes, sire. Take the latest case in point—Damaraland."
The Emperor's brow darkened. He remembered the incident only too well. A few months ago two Alsatian recruits had been drafted with others to German South Africa. The men, bullied and ill-treated by their officers, deserted and escaped into Walfisch Bay. The German officer in command dispatched troops in pursuit, and the latter, possibly unwittingly, entered British territory. A native, refusing to give information, was ordered to be beaten, and in retaliation a number of Kroomen stoned the German soldiers. Meanwhile the British authorities refused to give up the deserters on the grounds that they were political refugees, and ordered them to be sent on to Cape Town.
For a few moments the Emperor looked fixedly at the Chancellor, then in low, emotional tones he asked:
"Are we ready?"
"Yes, sire; to the last——"
"Stop!" exclaimed the Emperor. "Was not a similar reply given to the Emperor of the French half a century ago? You know what that led to? Have we the Reichstag solidly at our backs?"
"All, sire, except the Socialists on the extreme left. But they need not be taken into account. Later on they will be dealt with as their stubbornness merits."
"Then there is the possibility, nay, probability, of a rupture with the United States?"
"True, sire; but give us four clear days and Great Britain will be humiliated; her navy will be almost utterly destroyed. Our destroyer flotillas could then lie in wait for the American fleet, and it will be a case of Tsuhsima over again."
"You are sanguine, Von Rhule."
"Assuredly, sire. Everything is in our favour. Take the English fleet at the present time. Nine battleships and battle-cruisers are under repair in the various dockyards, eleven battleships and their attached craft are now in the Mediterranean, eight days' steaming from the Straits of Dover. Thus we have a predominance in battleships in the North Sea, to say nothing of the surprise attack our destroyers and submarines are able to deliver. Our aerial fleet also——"
"One Zeppelin of which is at present in the hands of the English."
"True, sire, but an aerial fleet will be able to inflict enormous damage to the docks of the east coast of England; perhaps even London may be reduced to a heap of ruins."
"Your words smack too much of the word 'perhaps', Von Rhule."
"My perhaps, sire, means a certainty," said the Chancellor grimly.
"You are omitting the element of chance."
"There is no need to make allowances for chance, sire. Our preparations are made so as to be independent of that."
The Kaiser still hesitated, and Von Rhule noted his master's indecision.
"Sire," he continued, "never again will such an opportunity present itself. By next year these English will have five new battleships in commission, without counting four built for foreign Governments and which they can press into their service. Thanks to our friends the Socialists on the extreme left, our expenditure is limited to the construction of only three large ships of war. The people are groaning under the imposts: it will be unwise to press them by additional taxation. Our destiny lies on the sea. You, sire, know it well. Throw away the chance of achieving our dominant end, and never again will a like opportunity present itself."
"What say you, Von Wittelsbach?"
"Sire, I can but entirely agree with what Count von Rhule has spoken."
"So be it," concluded the Emperor. "We will summon a meeting of the Supreme War Council this afternoon."