There were other items of interest or amusement. One of the papers, a Sunday edition out of Hong Kong, carried a very detailed background story on the commerce raider telling not only where and when she had been built, how long she had been stationed in the East, and her armor, armament, and complement, but also giving brief sketches and even some photographs of Karl von Mueller and his officers. Of Kapitanleutnant Helmuth von Muecke, for instance, it reported that at the outbreak of hostilities he had been betrothed to an Englishwoman, though it did not mention her by name.
Von Muecke gasped when he saw that. "How could they know? I was not even certain of it myself!"
"In that case you were the only one on board who was not!" said von Mueller.
"But—but how? " von Muecke persisted.
"She probably told them herself," von Mueller replied. "After all, it is quite likely that she went on to Hong Kong from Shanghai. It would be a more likely place to find a ship for home."
"Ummm," von Muecke agreed absently. His attention was on the article. "Well, wherever they got their information, they haven't missed much. Here's quite a long bit about Rudi and Trudi. And it says here that Use and her mother arrived safely in Hawaii more than a month ago."
Lange looked almost as pleased as if he had received a letter from the girl, but Rudi Voss seemed disturbed.
They pushed on slowly west-northwest, not exactly retracing their former course, but running almost parallel with it, some fifty or sixty miles distant. At the same time, because once again the weather was perfect for the purpose, von Mueller availed himself of the opportunity to refuel at sea, this time from the Markomannia, with good Shantung coal, much to the engineers' delight. Thus with bunkers filled once more, they all felt fit and ready for whatever task they might be called upon to tackle.
Well below their former course through the North Channel von Mueller hauled about due westward and ordered speed for a darkened midnight dash through the Preparis South Channel, back once more into the Bay of Bengal.
Their eastward passage, a few nights before, had been ridiculously easy. The return, however, was not so uneventful.
They had scarcely entered the channel when von Guerard appeared on the darkened bridge.
"Herr Kapitan?" he asked.
Von Mueller's dim figure detached itself from the group at the end of the starboard wing. "Here, Anton," he said.
"Herr Kapitan, we are intercepting messages from an English heavy cruiser. I think she is the Hampshire —at least she is using her code letters."
"Where away, Leutnant?" von Mueller asked sharply.
"I cannot say exactly, Kapitan," replied von Guerard. There were no direction finders in those early days of the war, and in the dark, narrow waters of the channel it was out of the question to swing the ship sufficiently to affect the strength of the incoming signals—the only means that they had of obtaining an approximate fix. "I should guess that she was in the North Channel. She is talking mostly with Rangoon."
"Probably looking for us," said the Captain dryly. "The Mattheisson's people have reached port by now and had time to give the alarm. How far distant, Leutnant? Can you tell?"
"From the strength of her signals I would say she is not more than ten sea miles away."
"The chase grows warm, eh? Kapitanleutnant von Muecke! Full war watches, and have all hands alerted immediately to stand by for action stations. This ship is big and fast and more heavily armed than we are. If we meet her in these narrow waters, we'll have our hands full."
"Jawohl, Herr Kapitan!"
The hours that followed were filled with the tension of waiting, and even, von Mueller sensed, with a certain hope. If they met the Hampshire, everyone on board knew, they would be hopelessly outclassed. Yet such was the eagerness of the men for some action other than the dismal, grim routine of boarding and sinking undefended merchantmen that they welcomed any fight, no matter how great the odds against them. They went eagerly to their posts and stood by alertly, wakefully throughout the night; of them all Karl von Mueller was probably the only one who hoped to avoid a meeting.
As it happened, he need not have worried. For a time as the Emden and the Markomannia ghosted westward, the Englishman's wireless signals seemed to grow ominously loud. To the men hovering over the German keys it was an almost irresistible temptation to reach out and send a defiant challenge hurtling through the night. But the Captain's orders were strict. At all costs they must maintain absolute radio silence, and discipline was such that no man dared to disobey. Toward morning, as they passed from the narrow waters of the channel into the broad, open reaches of the Bay of Bengal and turned west by south, the signals began to grow fainter and yet more faint, as though the Hampshire were bearing northwest toward Calcutta, or even eastward toward Rangoon. In any case, whichever course she followed, the distance between them was increasing, and by dawn the full war watches were belayed and the alert secured. By midday the signals were far away, and by nightfall they had ceased.
The Emden and the Mark were alone on an empty ocean.
The day following was a bright, sunny Sunday, without alarms and without labor, affording a welcome respite for all hands. But the crack of dawn on Monday brought them tumbling from their bunks and hammocks and sent them scurrying to battle stations. Not until they had obeyed that drilled-in habit did it even occur to them that there was anything out of the ordinary about the summons.
Then Bootsmannsmaat Max Busch, in charge of the number-three gun of the second starboard forward battery, put tongue to the general surprise: "Zum Teufel!" he muttered. "There is nothing. Nothing but ocean and porpoises!"
His answer came almost as though he had been heard on the bridge above. The communications buzzer sounded.
"Stand by, all hands," said the sharp voice of the officer of the watch. "Captain's inspection!"
The hours that followed showed plainly that this was no "spit-and-polish" routine. Rather it was a working survey of the ship's battle efficiency. It could not be otherwise. After her weeks at sea and her frequent refuelings, with loose coal heaped in improvised bunkers on the forward deck, and livestock in equally hastily knocked-together pens aft, no captain in his right mind could expect to find in the Emden her customary peacetime spotlessness, and von Mueller was far from fastidious. Neither he nor his accompanying staff— von Muecke, Gaede, Gropius, Witthoeft, von Hohenzollern—wore white gloves. Nor did they search for infinitesimal matters, such as the thin film of coal dust that still coated the underside of the steam-pipe covers. Rather they looked with a critical eye at the weapons and disposition of the ammunition, and roundly rated one seaman-passer whose hoist was not fully loaded, and a gunner whose breech block did not gleam brightly enough. At the moment, it was clear, their interest was not in the shape of the ship, but in her fighting trim.
When it was done, von Mueller called all hands to muster forward, where he could address them from the bridge. When they were gathered, he leaned on the dodger and smiled down at them.
"You look as though you were anxious for action," he said. "Jawohl, Herr Kapitan!" came the response from the massed men on the deck below,
"Give us something to put our teeth into!" yelled someone bolder than the rest.
Von Mueller's smile froze. "You will have it," he replied. "Will the man who said that raise his hand?" There was a moment's hesitation. Then Bootsmaan Herman Gromke stepped forward and raised his hand. Von Mueller's eye was icy. "You are tired of this nonsense, Bootsmaan?"