"Indeed it would," said von Mueller gravely, and glanced at his fellow officers. "Had you heard that Pope Pius X is dead?"
"Oh, no! This is news indeed!" cried the manager. "But what about yourselves? You have not told me what brings you here."
Von Mueller looked almost doubtful. "You will not spread the word?" he said.
"The word?" the manager looked startled.
"The word." Von Mueller nodded. "You see, the principal navies of the world, British and French and German and Italian, Austrian, and even the Americans, have all recently been taking part in sort of joint maneuvers—war games, they are called—throughout the world. Our own theater of operations has been the Indian Ocean. A few days ago, far south of here, we met with a terrific typhoon that damaged us— well, as you can see. We had no choice except to put into some harbor. But any regular port in this part of the world is hostile to our side of the same, so that we would be forced to surrender and allow ourselves to become idle. Here we are safe from such restrictions, can put our own house in order, and then put out again—perhaps to capture or, figuratively, of course, sink some of the other team."
The manager looked wise. Clearly he would be only too happy to have a hand in any such game—since it was only a game. "Mum's the word!" he assured von Mueller. "I hope you and your people will honor us for a feast on shore. We don't often have the opportunity to spread it down for guests!"
Von Mueller shook his head regretfully. This time, at least, he had no need to pretend or dissemble. "I am sorry" he replied. "We are still on active duty, you know, and to all intents and purposes, on an actual war footing. I am afraid we cannot take time out for sociability. We will have to work the clock around and then put back to sea as quickly as we can."
The manager sighed, but shrugged resignedly. "Well, perhaps some other time." Then he brightened as a thought came to him. "But, ?}wn Capitaine, perhaps there is one small favor you can do for me."
"If it is within my power," said von Mueller. The manager beamed with both inspiration and relief. "Ah, that is good of you! You see, I have here a small motor launch that I use for my official visits. It is a good boat, but my island boys are so clumsy that it has broken down, and there is no mechanic among us. I am sure that the matter is nothing serious. It is just that we do not know what is wrong. For two months now I have had to do without it, and I would appreciate it if one of your engineers or machinists or someone would see what can be done."
Von Mueller smiled with relief. "Of course! If it can be fixed, it will be done."
The visit ended on that amiable note. The manager and his assistant were effusive in their leave-taking and almost ludicrously grateful when Mashinistmaat Kluge and several of the Emden's launch crew were ordered ashore to effect such repairs as were possible on the island boat. Kluge and his companions were only too delighted with the turn of events, and they went weighted down with enough tools for a major overhaul, each with a secret dream of delectable island maidens and possibly an opportunity for a brief romp in the jungle with one before they returned to the ship.
Alas for both illusions! The launch proved to be in excellent shape save for a matter of minor mechanical adjustment which not even the most diligent gold-bricking could build into an excuse for delay. At the end of an hour they had the engine purring as evenly as Herman's kittens, and there was nothing left but to return to the Emden and resume their work with the coaling, painting, and scraping details. As for the local damsels, those few whom they managed to sight on shore—from the seaward end of the long dock, where they worked on the launch—promptly shattered their most cherished notions. The women of Diego Garcia, it was obvious, would never be noted even for dusky beauty. The fact saddened the sailors, but it did have one beneficial effect. It enabled them to return to the ship with no trace of that reluctance they might otherwise have felt.
Meantime, the work aboard both the Emden and the Buresk got under way quickly. The cruiser was snubbed short forward on two cables, and several of the forward compartments portside were flooded, so that the ship was given a list that raised her stem in the air and exposed a considerable portion of her bottom. As soon as that was done, all hands save a few who had been assigned to help ready the Buresk for the coaling operations went to work from scaffolds slung over the side. Some scraped away the barnacles, some chipped at rusted spots, and some others painted. At the same time, the ship's divers, of whom there were several, went to work on those parts of the ship's bottom that could not be thus lifted out of the water. Properly it was a dry-dock job, and the bottom should actually have been painted, too. But under the circumstances this was impossible, and all things considered, the men did a remarkably efficient and rapid job.
Underwater the work went more slowly than it did above. But at least there was only one operation to be done. Above, as each section was finished, the flooded compartments were pumped dry and others flooded, bringing a different section well up, out of the water, and this in turn was quickly tackled, scraped, and painted by swift-working gangs of sailors.
With more than half the crew working at a time, the entire task was finished as thoroughly as possible by early afternoon. Then as soon as she was righted and riding once more upon an even keel, the anchors were weighed. The Emden was warped in, made fast alongside the Buresk, and coaling commenced. The work went slowly, and though they continued steadily until midnight only some four hundred tons had been transshipped by that hour, when they ceased for the night.
At dawn they turned to again. It was cooler by several degrees, and even such short rest as they had been able to snatch had refreshed them, so that they were able to work more steadily and swiftly. By midmorning the Emden's thousand-ton capacity was filled, and they were beginning swabbing-down operations when there came a hail from overside. It was George, the Singhalese assistant, in the smoothly purring launch, followed by three large native pirogues heaped high with island produce.
''Capitanie, Sahib?" he called.
"Come aboard," invited von Muecke, and sent word to the Captain that he had a visitor.
Von Mueller himself greeted the newcomer.
"Capitanie, Sahib," said the swarthy George in what was obviously a hastily prepared speech, "Spender Sahib, our Manager"—he said it as if it were synonymous with "Our Lord"—"is most grateful to you for repairing the launch. He asks that you accept these few small items of our island's produce in token of his thanks."
He waved his hand downward toward the waiting pirogues. One was filled to the gunwales with an incredible variety of fish, while the others were piled high with native fruits, and from the cockpit of the launch came the squealing protests of a brace of fine large pigs—for the wardroom, George explained.
Von Mueller looked at von Muecke questioningly. "Is it proper, do you think, Helmuth?"
Von Muecke looked doubtful. But George interrupted. "Please, Capitaine, Sahib. If you cannot come ashore to feast with us, then at least we can send you the materials for a feast of your own on board."
Von Mueller capitulated. "Very well," he replied, speaking slowly and carefully so that the man would understand. "We accept with thinks. But not without return!" He turned to von Muecke. "Helmuth, have Vogel get these supplies on board. Then let him fetch up a case of whisky, two cases of Rhenish wine, and two boxes of our best Havanas for the Governor."
"Zum Befehl, Kapitan!" von Muecke said almost reluctantly. He was not at all sure that such rarities should be offered in such lavish quantities. But he had no choice.