Rudi Voss, already an Oberleutnant, shrugged. So far as he was concerned, the advance in pay meant little. It was only the rank that counted, and that was temporary. It was what was to happen in the next few months that really mattered.
Nevertheless, there was proper celebration in the wardroom of the Emden that night. The new stripes were first soaked in salt and then properly wet down in champagne and beer, the ship's wine lockers being fairly well stocked.
Next day, however, there were some aching heads and grim faces. The bells blasted all hands out of their hammocks before sunrise, and both officers and men were told off to their tasks. The Staatssekretar Kratke was warped alongside the Emden and close to a thousand tons of the coal she carried transferred to the warship's bunkers. Since there were no coolies here to do the work, the crews of both vessels were set to the task, and foe many, unaccustomed to that peculiar form of labor, it proved an eye-opening—if not eye-shutting—experience.
Nonetheless, they worked steadily and well, one watch wing with the other until the task was done, the officers in command offering prizes for the winning side.
In the meantime, through the day, though most of them were hardly aware of it, there were other, equally pressing, matters to cope with. Early in the morning, in response to a general summons from the flagship, Captain von Mueller went off to the Scharnhorst to a general council meeting. An hour later Herman Schultz, in a long white apron and his tall white chef's cap, knocked at the door of von Mueller's office.
The executive officer looked up. "Come in, Herman," he invited.
The cook stepped over the door coaming. "Excuse me, Herr von Muecke," he said. "I could not find the others, so I came directly to you. Can you tell me, does our mess receive supplies here?"
"Do we need them?" Von Muecke was startled.
"Kapitanleumant"—Herman looked apologetic—"we have been at sea for nearly a week. In the ice chest the space for fresh storage is not great. I have managed to maintain the table so far, but if we do not get fresh meat and vegetables soon, it will be hard to—well—keep it the same. Of course, there is plenty in the main locker, but—"
"Sit down, Herman," von Muecke interrupted him.
The big chef sat down gingerly on the edge of a chair. "Herr Kapitanleutnant—" he began tentatively.
The yellow cat came in and rubbed its side against the door, eyeing them both with a cat's complaisant calculation.
"Now, Tabby!" said Herman remonstratively.
"She's all right," said von Muecke. "We're glad to have her with us. But now you, Herman, you must realize that this is war. It is not like ordinary peacetime. We cannot go where we will and maintain our larder."
"I can get meat from the men's mess," Herman offered.
Von Muecke smiled. "I—we understand your concern, Herman, but one thing we must not do is deprive the men of their proper rations—even their better rations, if we can give them. They are all called upon, far more than we in the wardroom, to put in hours of time at heavy manual work. That is especially so of the Heizer—the black gang—the stokers. We can live on tea. They must have meat. Now tell me, what is the state of our mess-room facilities?"
"Well . . ." Herman looked doubtful. "There is perhaps enough fresh meat for a day or two. After that we will have to fall back for another two or three days on canned hams and tongues and beef. When that is gone, there will be only the fancy things that Herr von Hohenzollern has insisted upon, such as caviar, anchovies, sardines, and pate de foie gras, cheese, and the like. Of course, Herr Kapitanleutnant, I do not criticize Leutnant von Hohenzollern any more than I do myself. These things were for peacetime cruising and entertaining, and I am to blame as much as he. Bat this is the situation. Of course, Herr Kapitanleutnant, we have plenty of coffee and tea and rice, and a good supply of bouillon—"
"And these will sustain life, eh, Herman?"
"Uh—why, yes, sir."
"Very good, then. If we must, we will make do with them. If it is possible, I will try to get some more supplies on board for the officers' mess. If I cannot, you will have to make our supplies go as far as they will. Is that understood.'"
"Jawohl, Herr Kapitanleutnant!" replied Herman, and withdrew.
Scarcely was he gone when a corporal of the marine guard entered with a batch of orders in his hand, followed by two strange young officers—one tall, very thin, and rather dour; the other of medium height, wiry build, and an obviously ebullient nature. Von Muecke glanced briefly toward the papers, then looked up inquiringly at the two officers. They both saluted promptly, standing stiffly at attention. The tall one acted as spokesman for them both.
"Leutnants Adolph Gyssling and Roderich Schmidt, from Gneisenau and Scharnhorst, under orders reporting for duty aboard the Emden, Herr Kapitanleutnant!" he said.
"Ah, so?" Von Muecke nodded. A few such shifts were to be expected. "You have your orders, I presume?"
"I believe they are on your desk, sir," replied Gyssling. "The O.D. gave them to the marine when we came aboard.
Von Muecke reached out for the papers. "At ease, gentlemen, while I have a look."
He found the documents in question, glancing at them quickly before scribbling his endorsement and separating the copies to be retained by the officers themselves.
"They seem to be all in order," he remarked. "Welcome aboard, gentlemen. You will find Emden somewhat less luxurious than the floating palaces you have been on; nevertheless, I am sure you will find her a happy ship and we of the wardroom congenial. Leutnant Gyssling, you will be attached to the port watch, under command of Kapitanleutnant Gropius. Leutnant Schmidt, we will put you in the starboard watch, under command of Kapitanleumant Gaede. For the moment, you may stow your gear in the wardroom. Then report to Leutnants Schall, of the port watch, and von Hohenzollern, starboard, and assist them as they may direct. You'll find them supervising coaling operations."
"Jawohl, Herr Kapitanleutnant!" they responded almost in chorus, and left.
Von Muecke picked up the rest of the papers left by the marine guard and skimmed through them, raising his eyebrows in wry amusement at one point. He had barely finished when a commotion sounded in the passageway outside. He glanced up with a frown.
"Guard!" he called. "What's going on out there?"
As he spoke, the draperies that closed off his office door were thrust aside and Conrad Lauterbach stepped in, looking very flushed and stern.
"Why, Conrad!" von Muecke exclaimed in surprise. "I was just—"
"Forgive me, Helmuth," Lauterbach said brusquely. "I have here something I think you should see." He pulled aside the curtain and spoke to someone in the passageway outside. "Bring them in," he commanded.
An armed marine stepped in first, followed by three rather hangdog and very frightened, sullen Chinese, who in turn were followed by yet another armed guard.
Von Muecke watched them in surprise, immediately recognizing the Emden's three laundrymen, Chee Jim, Chu Fat, and Wu Shee, "What's the meaning of this?" he demanded.
"We found them stowed away aboard the Kratke," said Lauterbach.
"Stowed away!" exclaimed von Muecke. "Why, for heaven's sake?"
Lauterbach shrugged. "They say they want to go back to Tsingtao," he replied. "Someone seems to have told them that the Kratke is to return there."
"I see," said von Muecke. "Well, tell them that none of the ships anchored here will be returning to Tsingtao until the war is over. In fact, I don't even know if any of them will be returning there then, so they might as well go back to their work on board this ship. When and if we have an opportunity, we'll try to send them home."