"Thank you," said the Captain. "Pass the word, if you please, to the officer of the deck to send the Dutchman up to me as soon as he comes on board. In the meantime please ask Herr Ellenbroek to step up here."
The Dutch Commissioner was a beefy man of middle height, with a red face and a suit of crumpled white linen and a pith helmet nearly as big as he was. He had come more than halfway around the island to investigate the report of a strange man-o-war in Lingani Harbor, and he was already irritable.
"Mynheer Kapitan!" he exclaimed. "This is inexcusable!"
"Forgive me, Mynheer ?" von Mueller began, and left it hanging.
"Mailler! Mailler! I am Commissioner of this island," the Dutchman began, sputtering.
"Ah, of course, Herr Mailler," the Captain interrupted him cordially. "Welcome aboard. Perhaps we are related through the differences of language. My name is von Mueller. Perhaps I can offer you something cooling while we discuss our problem?"
"Our problem? Our problem! Did you say something cooling, Mynheer Kapitan?"
Von Mueller signaled Farber, who was standing by. "Scotch and soda. Steward, and plenty of ice for Mynheer. You'll excuse us, Herr Direktor, if we do not join you. We are, you understand, on duty."
The Dutchman began to preen himself on his sudden promotion, then turned slightly suspicious of all this flattery. "Quite! Quite!" he grumbled. "And thank you, but you understand of course that I, too, am here on official business. I have to investigate the report that you have been here for— how long did you stay?"
"I did not say, Mynheer," von Mueller replied, "but I would guess that it was about seventeen hours."
"Seventeen hours and twenty-four minutes!" the Dutchman snapped.
"So long?" von Mueller looked concerned. "Ja! And I must ask you to leave at once!" The Dutchman took a long pull at his whisky and soda. "You understand these are neutral waters—"
"Of course," said Von Mueller in a manner that was far more conciliatory than he felt. "But to leave at once—I am not sure that this is possible. I must consult my engineer." He turned to von Muecke. "Will you call Chief Ellenbroek, Herr Kapitanleutnant?" "Jawohl, Herr Kapitan!" Von Muecke joined in the play. Marine Oberingenieur Ellenbroek stepped from the wings, so to speak "You sent for me, Herr Kapitan?" he asked, saluting.
"I did," replied von Mueller solemnly. "Mynheer Mailler, here, says we must leave at once. How long will it be before we can put the port boilers to work again? "
Ellenbroek blinked, but his face remained wooden. There was nothing wrong with any of the boilers, and the Captain knew it. But he caught the cue, "It will be two hours, at least, Herr Kapitan, before we can even limp. After that we should be in fair shape."
Von Mueller glanced at the Dutchman. "You'll give us that much time, surely?" "I shouldn't."
"But you will?" said von Muecke. "Steward! Refill Mynheer Mailer's glass."
"Oh, well, where's the harm?" The Dutchman laughed and held out his glass to Farber. "Two hours! What's the difference?"
"What's the difference?" Von Mueller laughed with him and nodded to Farber, who promptly filled Mailler's glass two-thirds full of whisky.
Under the circumstances it was not possible to pass the word down to the men on the runways that time was of the essence, but somehow they understood. Perhaps it was the fat figure of the Dutchman on the bridge coupled with the enormous Dutch flag that dipped at the stem of the launch below. In any case, they seemed to redouble their efforts, and by half an hour short of noon they had transferred more than a thousand tons of coal to the Emden's bunkers. They would have continued, but Mynheer Mailer began to show signs of restlessness, and shortly before noon the Emden cast off from the Markomannia, and both ships stood out to sea.
The Dutchman, in his launch, accompanied them several miles along the way, every now and again lifting a tall glass of schnapps in their directions, as if to wish them well. But once they were beyond the reefs and into the long swell of the Indian Ocean, he lost heart and turned back to his peaceful island. Not a few aboard the Emden watched him go with more than a touch of envy.
III
SHADOW ON THE WIND
September 1914
Have you seen shadows on the wind? I have. They show like a quick flicker of substance against the mist or the fog, and then they are gone, and who's to say if they were ever there or not.
They followed their usual procedure and steamed south and half east until they were well out of sight of both the land and the beefy Dutchman. Then they swung westward and headed for the steamer track between Colombo and Kota Raja, at the western tip of Sumatra. Much of the shipping for Singapore and Hong Kong passed that way, and it seemed a likely thread to cross. In any case, it was the closest, and the richer prospects, the Rangoon and Calcutta lanes, lay in the same direction.
They were less than twelve hours out when the weather turned foul and they passed through a succession of battering white squalls, with heavy seas and slashing, soaking rains. As sailors they had met the seas before, but the rains were a true godsend, for by rigging canvas scoops and scuttles, and putting out every possible empty kettle and vessel, they were able to refill their nearly empty water butts and lay by a little store on the side for those who had thought to save their wine jugs after they were empty.
Yet when they finally reached the Colombo-Kota Raja steamer track in heavy weather late the following afternoon, is seemed to may that Dame Fortune had been dawdling by the wayside. There was nothing there though they prowled the lane until well past midnight. Next they shifted to the route between Negabatang and Kota Raja, then to the Rangoon lane, with equally negative results. Nothing! Not even a sailboat. Everywhere they searched they found only empty tumbled ocean, wet and squally.
Until then they had managed to contain themselves with some patience, but here, in the routes regularly used by the ships of all nations trading to this part of the world, it seemed to cruel that there should be nothing. It was worth noting, however, that at no time was there any shortness of temper between them. Nor did they lose sight of their mission. They made wry jokes about painted ships on painted oceans and Flying Dutchmen who preceded them with brooms.
Von Muecke was concerned, and spoke of it to the Captain. "I wish we could find something—anything. This business of endless waiting is playing hell with the men's morale."
Von Mueller smiled quietly. "I don't think so, Helmuth," he replied. "I think, rather, that a touch of disappointment will sharpen their appetites and make them more alert when the time comes. You know yourself that patience is the essence of the chase. The reward is in the game, and we will find it, mark me!"
The wisdom of his words was proved within twenty-four hours. From the Rangoon track they made a long sweep westward to the Calcutta lane, after which they adopted a zigzag course, back and forth across the general track, trending generally northward, toward Calcutta.
Heinrich Gropius had the bridge watch that night from eight to midnight, and perhaps by that chance won himself some sort of a niche in history. It was at seven bells of his watch—11:30 p.m. to most of us—that his lookout sighted the first lights of a possible prize. They bore dead ahead, and were in no way shielded. Obviously the ship assumed the area was completely protected and had no inkling of the Emden's presence.
Gropius made sure first that the lights were no mirage. Then he pressed the alarm button that sent all hands to action stations.
In some mysterious way his own excitement seemed to communicate itself through his fingers. As the bells rang, they seemed to say, "This is no drill!"