"We can't ignore it, can we, Helmuth?" von Mueller demanded.
"I'm afraid not, Karl," replied von Muecke tautly, and went off to attend this new duty.
At the sound of the ship's bell, an hour later, the Emden's siren set the echoes dancing in the hills. At the same rime, the bosun's pipes twittered in the 'tween decks, and crew came tumbling out to their review stations on the foredeck. As they formed ranks, the band, led by Uberhoboistenmaat Wecke, filed primly between them to the fo'c'sle, where the playing would not interfere with operations.
The bosun's pipes signaled for the raising of the ladder. The lines tautened, and the well-oiled blocks offered no protest as the steps lifted. Von Hohenzollern, on duty at the gangway, looked up to where the Captain stood waiting on the wing of the bridge and saluted in signal that they were all clear at the gangway.
Von Mueller acknowledged, then spoke into the transmitter. "Cast off aft! Cast off forrard!"
"Cast off aft, Herr Kapitan!" came the response from the stem.
It took a few seconds longer in the bows. Uberhoboistenmaat Wecke rapped on the cover of the nearby winch with his baton, signaling the musicians to get ready. Almost as if the signal had been intended for the machine, it began to chatter, dragging in the bow cable.
"Cast off forrard, Herr Kapitan!" reported von Braun.
As the lines snaked up, a sort of sighing, sobbing sound went up from the dock. At the same time, the cymbals clashed and the brasses broke abruptly into the soul-stirring strains of "Die Wacht am Rhein," drowning out the clang of the engine-room telegraph.
The crowd on shore broke into a half-moaning, half-jubilant cheer.
"Good-by! Good-by! God bless you all! Come soon back!"
Outside the galley Herman lifted his cat almost like a child onto the railing and helped her wave farewell.
On the fo'c'sle von Wecke continued to play "The Watch on the Rhine," and the crew joined in: " 'Das Vaterland! Das Vaterland . . ."
On the bridge von Mueller felt a lightening of the throat. "Slow astern; a quarter port," he commanded. Steps sounded on the bridge ladder. He turned "you are a sight for sore eyes, Herr Mattheissen," he said. "I was beginning to fear you would not arrive."
The chief pilot, an old friend, never seemed to laugh. At this moment he was more somber than ever. "I always arrive, Herr Kapitan," he retorted humorlessly.
"Take it then!" von Mueller commanded. "We'll anchor for an hour in the outer roads. After that we'll be away.
"You're unhappy?" Mattheissen looked surprised.
"Would you like it?" asked von Mueller. "Look at them, cheering, singing!"
"You've leading them to glory."
"Glory! For God's sake, Mattheissen! Do you really believe?''
"What does it matter what I believe?" the pilot replied. "It's what they believe. For their own sake you can't disillusion them.''
Von Mueller looked grim. "No," he replied, "I can't, can You? Nor can French captains or Russian captain or English captains who sail today or tomorrow from different ports-the cheers and the music and the excitement. We each think that we are going to win. We, here, are sure of it, but win or lose, many on both sides will die.''
The pilot turned away and bent over his charts. "That may be, Kapitan," he said. "Was any man ever happy with his lot? What better than to die in the service of the Emperor?"
Von Mueller grunted.
"You question it, Kapitan?" . .
Von Mueller glanced at him coldly. "I do not question it for myself, Herr Mattheissen. If it were for me only!-'°^^ be content. But it is for those others, for those on the deck and the mole, that I am concerned. For myself and my men who go with me with their eyes open, I have only the feeing that we have made our bargain with Destiny, and we will be true to our agreement. We will not, we cannot, cheat Fate— and I don't mean death, Mattheissen. Destiny can deal us scurvier lots than that!"
Mattheissen gave him a skeptical look. "Hummmph!" he grumbled. "Half speed forward! Full port rudder!"
"Full port rudder!" repeated the helmsman. Von Mueller rang the engine room.
The Emden swung back in almost a full quarter circle from the Imperial dockyard, then slowly churned to a halt and began her forward way. Along the end of the dockyard wharf the crowd that had gathered alongside shifted to watch her in the stream. The band finished "The Watch on the Rhine" and paused a moment before swinging into the next number.
"A little more port rudder, if you please, Herr Mattheissen," von Mueller suggested, thoroughly aware that the only time a captain is not altogether king on his own deck is when a pilot is on board. He nodded toward the mole. "I realize that the regular channel is directly out, but we can scarcely slight our friends, can we?"
Mattheissen nodded his understanding and respect, and the Emden slid out close along the mole, so close that her screws churned up the mud on the bottom of the harbor and the faces of the men on ship and shore were clearly visible to one another. Along the roadway the infantry, drawn up in ranks, presented arms smartly as the ship swept past, then broke into cheers, waving spiked helmets on their bayonet points. On the seaward side two batteries of field artillery fired salvo after salvo of blank salutes, ignoring all protocol regarding the correct number of guns for such a vessel on such an occasion. At the end of the mole the massed bands of the garrison again played "Die Wacht am Rhein," to which Uberhoboistenmaat Wecke responded with "Deutschland uber Alles." The men crowding the rails and rigging swung their caps and cheered vigorously—organized cheers, to be sure, following the lead of the CPO's navy style: "Hip-hip-hooray! Hip-hip-hooray! Hip-hip-hooray!" Just as it would have been done in any navy of the day. But now, all at once, there seemed to be a spontaneity and wild enthusiasm that caught at the throat and brought tears to the eyes, a spirit that would not be denied. And as they swept past, the crew of the Emden could plainly see the tears that streaked the cheeks of officers and men alike as they stood and watched their friends put out to sea.
As the end of the mole fell away aft and the band broke off and started back to their quarters, the men were dismissed and broke into knots and groups that drifted either toward their own mess or toward their upcoming duty stations. On the deck below, von Mueller heard one seaman pause and remark to another, " 'Come back soon,' they said! I've a feeling it will be a long time before we see Tsingtao again. Max!"
"You're right, mate," was the response. "A long time—if ever! But do you know something, Fritz? If we don't make it —if we're sunk or such, I don't think it will matter too much to us. We'll have gone down fighting, and isn't that what we agreed to do? We'll have done our share!"
Von Mueller smiled thinly. At least there was something comforting in the thought. He hoped everyone aboard felt the same way.
The Emden dropped her hook briefly in the outer roads, at the entrance to the mined channel, and lay there while the captains of the other vessels that she was to convoy came on board for their instructions. After the meeting was over and all the rest had returned to their ships, von Mueller passed the order to weigh anchor once more. Slowly as the setting sun crowned the Shantung Hills with gold and cast a soft pink light over the city behind them, the Emden, with the other ships following, picked her way through the zigzag channel. On the outer side of the mine field Mattheissen dropped down into the waiting pilot boat and saluted his farewell. Von Mueller looked down into his upturned face with a ghost of a smile and returned the salute.
After that the engine-room telegraph jangled sharply in the evening air. The accommodation ladder was swung up and taken inboard and lashed against the rail, where it would be available for use in case of need, which could be frequent if the idea that was beginning to take shape in Karl von Mueller's mind were brought to fruition; or it could be quickly jettisoned if they should be abruptly called into action. Slowly she circled, reaching far out to port, while the Printz Eitel Friedrich followed a similar maneuver to starboard and the rest of the convoy formed a double line heading out into the swift, darkening waters of the Yellow Sea. When the last of the colliers had waddled through and steamed off to the east, a blinker spoke from the Emden's bridge, to be answered from the Eitel Friedrich. For a few moments the two ships talked across the dusk. Then they fell into place, in echelon, slightly astern and outside of each column, so that from their rear-flank position they could watch and guard. In this position they sailed, east by a little south, into the night.