The Men Who Wrought

by Ridgwell Cullum

The owner? Of course. It was Prince Frederick von Berger. Did they not have to pay for the tenancy of their miserable hovels to his steward, who lived in the castle itself? Oh, yes. He was a great man—a very great man. This was only one of his estates, and one which he never visited. One could not blame him. It was scarcely attractive to a man who owned a palace in Berlin. Then the storming of the cruel Baltic, which robbed them of comrades every year. Who would live on its bitter, desolate shores unless tied there by the stress of existence? No, he never came, they would tell the enquirer with a shrug. A man who enjoyed the friendly patronage of the supreme War Lord had no call to visit Kuhlhafen, even though the whole of the countryside belonged to him.

This was the spoken attitude of the people towards their over-lord. Maybe, deep in their hearts, other feelings prevailed. But these poor folks had been bred to the discipline of an iron Prussian rule, and it is just possible that they had no power to think or feel otherwise than authority taught them.

But had these simple fisher-folk been less absorbed in the struggle for their frugal existence; had they sufficient initiative to go seek out information for themselves; had they, in fact, been human rather than Prussian peasantry, they might have discovered that their over-lord was a different person from the ease-loving creature of wealth they so fondly supposed.

They would indeed have found that it was by no means his habit to spend idle days in the gilded courts of Berlin. On the contrary, it seemed suspiciously as if it were his lot to have to work very hard indeed. Work which even the cleverest amongst the fishers could never have hoped to achieve.

Frederick von Berger was by no means an ordinary man. Amongst even his intimates he was something of an enigma. These knew that he occupied an exalted position in official life. They knew he was on the best of terms with the Supreme War Lord. This was all patent enough. But the nature of his work was doubtful. His name never appeared in the official lists, although it was understood that he was entitled to the rank of "General" placed before his name. Nor did he attempt to offer the least enlightenment on the subject.

But then he was a silent, even morose, man. He was harsh; a man devoid of any lighter side to his nature. There were even some who looked upon him as a sort of restless evil spirit whom it was very much best to avoid. But, like most men of genuinely strong purpose, public opinion left Frederick von Berger cold. He came and went as it suited him quite regardless of anything but his own objects, and he never failed to avail himself of every ounce of the power which the favor of the German monarch endowed him with.

Kuhlhafen, however, was not kept up in its present condition without having uses in its princely owner's scheme of things. Although the humble fisher-folk remained in ignorance of anything that went on within its austere precincts, it was not so much abandoned by their over-lord as they believed.

Thus it was that, one night, long after the village had been wrapped in slumber, a powerful automobile, with blazing head-lights, flashed through its single main street, and passed on up the heights towards the dour silhouette above. Later, a second automobile passed over the same route. And, with the coming of the second car, there was a tumult of bustle raised amongst the resident staff at the castle.

Later on still, there was even a stranger happening. A single white eye flashed out its searching rays from the sea and settled its focus upon the castle. Then, as though satisfied with its inspection, it turned its gaze upon the surface of the restless waters, and discovered a small motor-driven boat heading towards the fishing-quay of the village. Then, as though in answer to a signal, the blackness of the castle hill was lit by a pair of eyes less dazzling than the eye from the sea, and an automobile made its way towards the quay for which the little sea-boat was heading.

The great secret council-chamber of Kuhlhafen possessed all the air of a dungeon or crypt. It suggested no other for its original purpose. But as long as the present house had ruled within its walls this great underground apartment had been known as the secret council-chamber. It was probably the oldest portion of the whole castle, for it certainly dated back to the days somewhere before the earliest occupation of the territory by the Romans.