The night was rather dark, but the flash from the guns showed fairly the position of the enemy, which became perfectly clear, when a searchlight from the Arethuse played over the surface of the water with dazzlingly clear light. The huge hulks of two battleships, white and glittering, emerged from the darkness. In addition, there were to be seen five smaller warships and several small, low vessels, the torpedo-boats of the British squadron, which was advancing to meet the French. Then, bright as a miniature sun, a searchlight was turned on also by the English. It was an interesting spectacle to notice how the two electric lights, slowly turning round, as it were lugged each ship out of the darkness, showing the guns where to aim.
The French squadron, whose commander was well aware of the enemy’s superiority, began to bestir itself rapidly. All the vessels, the Caledonia included, turned round and retreated at full speed. But the heavy English shells from the guns of the battleships were already beginning to fall amongst them, although the distance might have been three knots. Suddenly, when the Caledonia, in the course of a turning manoeuvre, showed a broadside to the British fire, a sharp, violent shock was felt, followed by the report of a violent explosion. The Caledonia stopped dead, and loud cries of agony were heard from the engine-room. The passengers, frightened to death, ran about the deck. It could not be concealed from them that the ship had been struck by a shell, which had exploded.
But it proved that the Caledonia, although badly injured, was in no immediate danger. Only her speed and manoeuvring capacity had suffered considerably owing to a steampipe having been hit.
The French warships retired as rapidly as possible, leaving the Caledonia and the prize crew on board to their fate, since it was impossible to take her with them. They were obliged to abandon the valuable prize and rest content with their great success in the destruction of the Royal Arthur and the capture of the O’Hara. The Caledonia, being recognised by the searchlight thrown upon her, had no fear of being shot at again. She moved slowly northwards, and in the early morning was overtaken by two British cruisers. An officer came on board, declared the French prize crew prisoners of war, and was informed by the third officer, who was now in command, of the events of the last twenty-four hours.
While the British squadron followed the French ships the Caledonia, only travelling eight knots an hour, made for Naples, which was reached without further incidents. The passengers were disembarked, the large sum of money was deposited in the Bank of Naples to the credit of the English Government, and only the cargo of cotton, carpets, and embroidered silkstuffs was left on board.
The Kennedys and Mrs. Irwin went to the Hotel de la Riviera. They were accompanied by Heideck, who intended to stay only one day at Naples, and then to take the through train to Berlin.
Although he had said nothing to her about going to Berlin Edith suspected his intention. A few hours later she spoke to him in the reading-room, where he was eagerly studying the papers.
“Any news of importance?”
“Everything is new to me. Up to the present we have only had a glimpse of what has been going on; these papers have given me a comprehensive view of events for the first time.”
“And now, of course, your only desire is to see your colours again? I know that it is only ambition that guides you.”
“Can you reproach an officer for that?”
“Yes, if he forgets humanity as well. But make your mind easy, I shall not attempt to hinder you. I will not stand in the way of your ambition, but neither will I sacrifice myself to it.”
“Certainly you should not do so. We shall be happy when the war is over. I will be as true to you as to my duty. If I return alive my existence shall be devoted to making you happy.”
“Love is like a bird; it must not be allowed too much freedom. Remember, I have always told you I will never leave you.”
“But, dearest Edith, that is utterly impossible! Have you any idea what war is like?”
“I should have thought I had seen enough of it.”
“Yes, in India and on sea. But in Europe war is carried on somewhat differently. Every seat in the trains is calculated exactly; it is the same in barracks, cantonments, and bivouacs. There is no room for a woman. What would my comrades say of me if I appeared in your company?”
“You can say I am your wife.”
“But, Edith, the idea is not to be seriously thought of. As a Prussian officer I need permission before I can marry. How can I join my regiment in the company of a lady? Or how could I now get leave to marry?”
“Quite easily. Many officers marry at the beginning of a war.”
“Well, but even if I get leave now, according to the law we could not be married for some months. I have already proposed that you should go to my relatives at Hamburg and wait there till the war is over, and I still think that is the only right thing to do.”
“But I will not go to your relatives at Hamburg.”
“And why not?”
“Do you think that I, an Englishwoman, would go and live in a German family to be stared at? Do you think I could bear to read all the lies about England in the German newspapers?”
“My uncle and aunt are people of great tact, and my cousins will show you due respect.”
“Cousins! No, thank you! I should be out of place in the midst of the domestic felicity of strangers.”
“If you won’t go there, you might stop at a pension in Berlin.”
“No, I won’t do that either. I will stay with you.”
“But, dearest Edith, how do you think this could be managed?”
“I will have nothing to do with conventionalities; otherwise life in Germany would be intolerable. I should die of anxiety in a pension, thinking every moment of the dangers to which you are exposed. No, I couldn’t endure that. I have lived through too much—seen too much that is terrible. My nerves would not be strong enough for me to vegetate in a family or a Berlin pension in the midst of the trivialities of everyday life. Have pity on me, and don’t leave me! Your presence is the only effectual medicine for my mind.”
“Ah! dearest Edith, my whole heart is full of you, and I would gladly do as you wish. But every step we take must be practical and judicious. If you say you will stay with me, you must have some idea in your mind. How, then, do you think we can manage to be together? Remember that on my return I shall be an officer on service, and shall have to carry out the orders I receive.”
“I have already thought of a way. Prince Tchajawadse had a page with him; I will be your page.”
“What an absurd idea! Prussian officers don’t take pages with them on active service.”