Von Muecke went to the stall with his pistol smoking and tears m his eyes. "I am sorry, my friend, that it must be this way," he said. "Yet it is easier than drowning. Forgive me, please." When he came away, his face was green. "You have placed the explosives, Herr von Levetzow?" he asked.
Jawohl, Herr Kapitanleutnant," von Levetzow replied.
"And have the boats gone with everything of possible value?" ^
"They have cleared, Herr Kapitanleutnant."
"Very well, then, set the fuses, open the sea cocks, and order all hands to abandon ship," von Muecke commanded.
"Jawohl, Herr Kapitanleutnant!"
It is always a sad experience for any sailor to watch a ship go down. It is worse when he himself has had a part in the sinking. It is as if a piece of himself has gone with it, down and down and down, into the deeps. The Indus had yielded up rich booty. Still, it was distressing to watch her go, particularly with her cargo of horseflesh. Nor did she sink easily. A dozen shells were needed in her midships to complete the work. Only then did she turn slowly turtle and disappear beneath the waves.
Fortunately, the next morning was occupied with the distribution of the spoils; soap to all hands in abundance, linens and towels to the steward's department, spare parts to the engine room, navigation instruments to the bridge, fresh meat to the ice lockers, and ducks and hens to cages astern, so that the ship looked something like a traveling menagerie. At least the officers would have some small respite from the monotony of rice and bully beef and caviar.
The shift in their luck was almost too evident. The very next day, they intercepted the British S/S Lovat, 6012 tons.
Her crew was transferred to the Markomannia and the most recent newspapers were rescued, after which they regretfully sent the hapless vessel to the bottom.
It was not surprising that the newspapers, full as they were of Allied reports, came as a great shock. According to them, all Germans and their sympathizers were beasts and brutes. They were labeled "Hun" and "Boche" by their enemies, and all manner of atrocity and wickedness, gross lust and swinish behavior laid at their door; and they forgot that they themselves were tending to adopt much the same attitude toward the folk on the opposite side. In the case of the Emden both officers and men, isolated in their own small world as they were, were apt to lose sight of the fact that this sort of moral warfare was largely a calculated part of Allied strategy, and that specific instances were aimed directly at actual occurrences on the two Western battle fronts and the North Atlantic and North Sea. Knowing that they themselves had been guilty of nothing of the sort, they still took the charges as directed specifically at them, and they resented what they knew to be bald lies in their case. To them it seemed incredible that many of the very men who were spreading these tales of hate had been their own individual friends in days not so long past; men with whom they had stood together at bars, in whose homes they had visited, with whose wives and daughters they had danced at diplomatic and naval receptions around the world; men whom they knew to be decent and friendly if left to their own good judgment, and who just chanced to speak a different language. How, they could not help but wonder, could any reasonable person believe such rot about another—especially another whom he knew? How could they suddenly change, face about, and regard them as vicious murderers?
After studying the highly colored account von Muecke gave voice to some of their thoughts. "I wonder if anyone will remember us decently when all this is done. Will they try' to understand what we were doing? Will they recognize the fact that we were only carrying out our duties as painlessly and humanely as war will allow? Or will we just be forgotten? What effect will we have on the shape of tomorrow? "
"We're not here to influence the future," von Mueller retorted. "We have a duty to be done today, and let tomorrow take care of itself. It's not likely that many of us will be here to see or care about it."
That was something of their mood a few hours later, toward midnight, when they raised the lights of yet another steamer to northward. The night was calm and the seas sleek, with little more than a gentle swell. There was a bright moon, and a faint breeze carried the steamer's and the Emden's smoke in parallel dark ribbons away toward the southwest.
It seemed incredible that she did not see them, for even without lights every' man aboard the cruiser felt they lay etched sharply against the sea in the moonlight. But no doubt their darkened bulk blended to invisibility' against die blackness of the water. The stranger came on, obviously un^tnt-ting, until she was well within gun range. Then the Emden's blinker signal brought her to.
Despite her surprise she was docile and orderly. Lauterbach commanded the prize crew in the whaleboat that crept like a many-legged water beetle across the moon track that separated the two ships. By the same token he was first up the rope ladder that had been hung over the freighter's side.
At the gap of the gangway, as he swung his leg over, he found the ship's Captain—and rather startling, an obviously frightened wife and a very tearful child.
He glanced in their direction. Their presence certainly complicated matters. "If you please, madame," he said, "don't worry. We won't hurt you—any of you." He shot a glance at the child. "And you, young one, stop crying. You're not hurt."
The boy only howled louder. Lauterbach put his hand in his pocket, found a silver Mark, and held it out to the youngster. "I'll bet you haven't one of these in your collection."
The child stopped howling and took the coin curiously. Lauterbach smiled reassuringly at the woman. "Please don't worry, madame," he repeated.
"B-but you're—German!" the woman sputtered.
"Yes, I am," he replied, "but I really don't eat little English children." He turned to her husband. "I'm sorry, sir," he said. "I'm afraid I must ask to see your papers."
The Englishman looked belligerently unhappy. "Fat lot o' good it'd do me to refuse, eh? " he replied.
"Quite so!" said Lauterbach coldly. "We might have to sink you in that case."
"Arrv^!" protested the woman in a tone of alarm.
"No fear!" snarled the Captain in a voice of disgust. "But it'll be a cold day before I bring you two to sea with me again!"
To Lauterbach he said, "This is the S/S Kabinga, London registry, 4657 tons, Calcutta for Bombay and New York. Most of our cargo is piece goods, American-owned."
"I see," replied Lauterbach dryly. "That's a bit of luck for you, isn't it, Captain? "
The Englishman shrugged. By this time the rest of the prize and demolition crews had scrambled up to the Kabinga's deck and stood waiting instructions. According to international law, had both ship and cargo been British, Lauterbach could have ordered her sunk after removing her crew to safety. Since only the carrier was British, however, and the cargo neutral, the Emden —and through her, of course, the German Government—would be liable to the American owners for the value of the cargo thus destroyed. Moreover, there were the English Captain's wife and child to complicate matters. As the Captain himself had implied, sailors took their chances with the sea. But what should one do about them?
Lauterbach summoned the signalman, who had come with the boarding party, and ordered him to flash a brief summary of the situation to the waiting Emden.
The response was quick:
Kabinga join convoy for later disposition. Prize crew and Kommando guards remain on board under your command. Demolition crew return to Emden. Maintain alert lookout and guards at all times. Display no lights, and follow Emden.
Captain Robinson, as his name proved to be, looked unhappier than ever.
"What did all that mean?" his wife asked apprehensively.