Cautiously she crept up beside the sleeping officer, paused, looked around her in the darkness, her cat's eyes seeing all that human eyes could not see in the intense blackout. For a moment she listened attentively to the snores. Then, finally reassured that there were no lurking dangers in the dark, she leaped gracefully into the inviting nest without so much as disturbing a hair of Leutnant Schall's leg, turned around several times as if to explore its compass, and at last fell to kneading the mattress industriously with her claws.
It had been midnight when Franz von Hohenzollern and Eric Schall had finished their tour of duty and turned in, hoping for four hours' uninterrupted sleep. Franz was the first to be roused. Out of the blackness of the night there came a sound—not a loud sound, but certainly a different one from any he had ever heard in a well-ordered wardroom before.
He lay still, listening, waiting to hear if it would be repeated. He had not long to wait. It came again almost immediately; the sudden, and by no means faint, sharp miaow! of a cat. Furthermore, if the tone of the cry meant anything at all, the beast was distinctly unhappy.
Not as unhappy, however, as Franz von Hohenzollern, who felt that his own hard-won sleep had been unfairly interrupted. It needed little ingenuity, of course, to identify the animal. No other cat could possibly have stowed away since their departure from Tsingtao. Therefore the culprit could only be Herman's "kitty"." Franz spoke to it by name, at first cajolingly in the darkness. The cat paid no attention, but continued its wailing at increasingly frequent intervals, each time more loudly, each time more plaintively.
Franz pleaded with it in whispers to go away. If it would not go, he begged, let it at least settle down to a comfortable purr and let him go back to sleep. The cat only miAAAooooOOOWed more persistently, and now, mingled with its complaints, there came other strange little squeaking sounds that Franz was utterly at a loss to identify.
Having been unsuccessful, then, in using a low and gentle tone, Franz switched to a more commanding voice. He cursed the beast and ordered it out, threatening both it and Herman with the most drastic reprisals if it did not obey at once. The cat still ignored him, and in furious exasperation he felt around for something to throw, but there was nothing within reach.
Driven by frustration, he forgot the rule of total blackout and struck a match. At first he could see nothing, though the light seemed to redouble the cat's wailing. Then he realized that the sound was coming from directly beneath him, and he thrust his head over the edge of the hammock and looked down.
For a minute he could only lie and gape at what he saw. His jaw hung open, his eyes popped. There, squarely underneath him, in the cozy nest formed by Leutnant Schall's crotch and the crook of his knee, almost as if Eric Schall himself were taking part in the business, was Herman's "kitty," giving birth to as handsome a litter of kittens as ever were born on a man-o-war.
When comprehension dawned at last, he could not contain himself. Where all of "kitty's" yowling and his own cajolery and curses had not the least effect upon his comrades, Franz's final hoot of irrepressible laughter was enough to wake the entire wardroom. Fortunately, at the same instant, the match he held aloft burned down to his fingers and was flung out into solid blackness. In the dark he could hear his shipmates stir and grumble.
Then Helmuth von Muecke swore. "Verdummt! What in hell is going on here?"
Franz crammed his face into his pillow and choked with laughter.
"What is this? What is it? I demand to know!" Von Muecke's voice cut through the uproar.
"See for yourself, Herr Kapitanleutnant," Franz finally managed to choke. "Look! Underneath my own hammock. What a papa Leutnant Schall is! I would never have suspected! Oh—oh! Forgive me, I must laugh!"
Von Muecke alone in the wardroom had the privilege of a flash; a shielded light, thinly directed so that its rays could not shine beyond the area toward which it was aimed. He turned it now toward Schall's pallet, and even he could not help joining in the resulting howl of laughter which woke Schall himself.
Eric heaved up on one elbow with a startled curse, then leaped to his feet, sputtering and fuming in anger, spilling cat and kittens on the mattress behind him. Several voices protested, warning him to be careful, and for all his irritation, his natural kindness and good nature quickly asserted itself and he insisted on organizing a raiding party which went first to the steward's locker, where a carton of tinned beef was emptied of its cans and the box brought back to the wardroom. Then since the cat was Herman's and it seemed only fair that he should contribute something, they raided the cook's cabin, rousing him, and demanded that he surrender one of his several pillows. Returning in triumph, they promptly made up a comfortable bed in the carton and "kitty" and her family were transferred to it.
Only when all this had been done did Elric Schall turn his attention to wiping up both himself and his mattress. Ten minutes later he was stretched out, sleeping as heavily as ever.
From that day on, Eric Schall was known to all his shipmates, officers and men alike, as "Papa Katz," while the kittens themselves were adopted as ship's mascots, and the officers off duty divided into port and starboard kitten watches.
It was a small episode in their lives, but it served, more than any of them realized, to relieve the mounting tension. Not that any of them were near to breaking, or even were quarrelsome, but it was not always easy to live in their little world of frustration, always hunting but never finding an enemy at whom they might strike with at least an even chance of success. In such circumstances even a brief pause for a moment of mirth was good for their hearts and their souls and their stomachs.
But the break was all too brief. By dawn coaling crews were out and scvirr\-ing back and forth again between the Emden and the Markonixnnia.
Shortly after breakfast Oberschiifskellner Farber, the chief steward, reported seriously to von Mueke that they were running short of soap in all departments.
"What did you say, Farber? We're out of soap?"
"Very nearly, Herr Kapitanleutnant. What is worse, the fresh water is getting low in the tanks."
Von Muecke pondered that. "I'm sorry, Farber," he said at length, "I'm afraid there is no soap to be had here. You'll just have to warn all hands to go easy and hoard your supplies for all you are worth until we can replenish them. As to the water, check the current gallonage immediately, and if it is necessary we will simply have to ration all hands."
"Jawohl, Herr Kapitanleutnant!" said the steward.
"And one other thing, Farber. Draw up an order to all hands, to the effect that since we are running low on both soap and fresh water, all water used for washing both persons and clothing—and see to it especially that the Chinamen understand this—must be saved with suds and used to wash down the decks. At least we can make what we have do double duty. We can rinse down with sea water."
A little later von Guerard reported the signals from the Minotaur and the Hampshire dwindling toward the east. Apparently the British ships were converging on Sunda Strait in the hope of catching the Emden there.
"Thank God for small favors, eh, Anton?" von Muecke grinned.
Von Guerard agreed.
But it appeared that one gnat was to be replaced by another. Toward midmorning a smart white launch appeared from around the point, almost buried under a huge Dutch flag. Von Mueller was on the bridge at the time.
"Company's coming," said von Muecke.
''Ja, Mynheer!" said the Captain. "I see. Helmuth, how long have we been here?"
Von Muecke calculated quickly. "Since about four o'clock yesterday afternoon, Kapitan," he replied, "say seventeen hours, more or less."