"He did his duty," argued Wiebe. "He obeyed his instructions. It was to sink that liner that we came out here into the open sea. The whole thing was planned and arranged weeks ago. The owners of the ship were warned. The passengers were told before they left America that they would sail in that steamer at their own risk. The captain could have escaped us if he had taken a different course. Why did not the British Navy protect her by sending a cruiser convoy with her?"
"Because," Max reported, "the British Navy trusted that Germany had still a little honour and humanity left, and that no German submarine commander would be so brutal and cowardly as to fire a torpedo into an unarmed passenger steamer, carrying neutral Americans and women and little children. But that is where Great Britain and all other civilised nations have made the mistake. They have given Germany more credit than she deserved. She has no honour and no humanity, but only deceit and falsehood and cruelty."
"Be careful what you are saying," cautioned Lieutenant von Wiebe. "Remember that we are at war, and that our whole existence as a nation depends upon our conquest of Great Britain."
"War?" rejoined Max. "But war has its laws as well as peace. We Germans have broken those laws. Our enemies—Russia, France, and Great Britain—are playing the game fairly and honestly; but we are not. You know this as well as I do, only you shut your eyes to it all. From the very start, when we invaded Belgium, we've been worse than savages, robbing and murdering peaceful citizens, destroying their beautiful cathedrals, wrecking their homes. We've gone out of our way to bombard unfortified towns; we've hit below the belt. When we couldn't break through our enemies' lines, we have forced them back by using poison gas; when we've been too cowardly to engage their battleships in open fight we have sunk their merchant vessels and helpless fishing boats. And now there is this greatest crime of all—the sinking of the Ruritania. I tell you, Adolf, I am sick of it all, and I hope, as I firmly believe, that Germany will be beaten."
Adolf von Wiebe forced himself to laugh.
"You are hoping for the impossible," he said. "Germany can never be beaten. Do you think that we have been preparing for this war all these years only to be defeated in the end? Why, this very sinking of the liner—one of the biggest ships that ever sailed the seas—is a proof of our power. As for Great Britain—she is not worth talking about. You, who have lived in England, should know better than to imagine that she could have a ghost of a chance against so mighty an empire as ours! Sooner than you suppose, Great Britain will have ceased to exist."
"It is because I have lived in England that I am so sure that she will be victorious," persisted Max. "And if I could escape——"
"Escape? Escape from a submarine? Oh, no, I shall see to it that you don't escape, my fine fellow! You are as safe here as if you were imprisoned in a fortress. And since you cannot escape, there is no need to put you in irons. I will allow you to continue with your duties, and, notwithstanding your silly prejudices and scruples, I shall trust you not to put any obstacles in our way when it is a question of sinking a few more ships. We still have some torpedoes left, and I intend to use them."
"We shall need more petrol," Max told him sullenly.
"That will be forthcoming," returned Lieutenant von Wiebe. "A supply ship will meet us."