In ordinary circumstances he would have thought of his own English and French friends in that distant corner of the world. But as matters stood, he could hardly be blamed for resenting anything that interfered with his personal life—or with hers. It was a moment in a man's own career that should be his alone. Why would he not be upset that it had been interrupted? Why would he not try to blame them?
Through the gloom of the night and the dark, smoky fog he thought he caught a glimmer of light. It was not bright enough to identify, but there was no doubt it was a ship. Probably it was a Jap, since it seemed to be bearing generally toward Shimonoseki Strait, between the islands of Honshu and Kushu, the usual route to the major ports of eastern Japan. But under the circumstances it was his duty to investigate—and be ready. He stepped into the wheelhouse and punched the buzzer that sounded general quarters and went the crew spewing out of their hammocks to battle stations. Over the speaker he sent the terse announcement:
"This is no drill! Repeat! This is no drill!"
All at once he remembered that he had forgotten one all-important thing. He glanced at the helmsman, who still held the ship on her original course.
"Full right rudder!" he commanded. "Bring her around to a heading of one fifteen degrees!"
"One hundred fifteen degrees! Jawohl, Herr Leutnant!" replied the man automatically, and spun the wheel.
At the same time, Lange jabbed at the engine-room signal, calling for full speed ahead, and even as he did so the buzzer from the Captain's cabin shattered the night with its shrill clatter.
"Good Lord, forgive me!" he muttered as he jumped toward the intercom telephone. "So many things to remember at a moment like this! Bridge, Kapitan!"
"What's going on?" came von Mueller's voice curtly.
"I was just about to call you, Kapitan," Lange replied, forgetting the cardinal rule of no excuses. "We have just sighted a vessel bearing east by south, one hundred fifteen degrees. She appears to be trying to reach neutral waters north and east of Okinoshima toward Shimonoseki Strait. I thought it best to alter course and alert the crew."
"Can we overtake her?" Von Mueller's tone was crisp.
"It depends on her speed, Kapitan." Lange held his breath. "But I think we should."
"Very good! I will be right up!" von Mueller said.
"Jawohl, Herr Kapitan!" replied Lange smartly, and hung up with a sigh of relief. The worst was over now, at least until they came up with the stranger. Of course, it could be that he had caught a Tartar—no pun intended so far as he was concerned. The French armored cruisers Montcalm and Dupleix, and the Russian cruiser Jemtschug, all of which out-gunned the Emden, were known to be in the vicinity. At the same time, it was believed, but not known certainly, that an English squadron was on its way to Yokohama from Wei-haiwei; a cruise that would bring them into much the same course. In any case, the sighted ship could mean trouble—not that Bunte was afraid of trouble, but he did hope for one quick return to Tsingtao before matters grew too serious.
Down below, Karl von Mueller dragged himself out of his berth reluctantly. He had been late on the bridge and it was still not yet dawn, though the early-morning darkness was beginning to mm gray. He pulled on his trousers and slipped into his coat. Thank goodness, with the high-hooked collar, it was not necessary to wear a shirt! In less than sixty seconds he was clambering up the ladder to the bridge.
Lange saluted dutifully. "I took the liberty of running ahead of her, sir," he reported, "and forcing her back out to sea. She has still not responded to signals and laid to. Should I order a shot across her bows?"
Von Mueller tapped the boy's arm approvingly. "Let's try that, Bunte. If she's a Russian she's a legitimate prize of war. If she's a Jap, she should heave to and show us her papers. In the first instance you will probably be the first to capture an enemy vessel in this war. In the second no blame can attach to you provided they have not reached neutral waters."
"They've half a dozen miles to go, sir, before they can do that," the lieutenant replied.
"Then head them and start shooting," von Mueller said. "A shot or two, close alongside, with no real damage, should make them stop and think twice. On the high seas even the English maintain that a nation at war is justified in challenging all strangers."
The lieutenant replied by pressing the firing button.
In immediate response the guns of the forward turret slammed. From the bridge they could hear the shells scream outward and see the white geysers of salt spray that they flung up beyond and beside the stranger's bow. The other ship's siren blasted a cloud of steam into the dawn air, followed seconds later by the frantic groan of her whistle.
"Nicely done, Leutnant," von Mueller said. "I think we'll have no more trouble with her. Get a boat away for boarding and find out who she is. If she's neutral, we'll have to let her go, of course. But if she's what I think she is, we'll take her back to Tsingtao for adjudication. You wouldn't mind that, would you?"
"Nein! Jawohl, Herr Kapitan!" Lange exclaimed.
"Then hop to it!" von Mueller ordered.
But Bunte Lange had already anticipated him and was well down the ladder.
Karl von Mueller's guess was scarcely a long shot. In those waters Greek or Italian ships were few and far between. Americans ran north or south, but rarely through the straits. Chinese were principally junk-rigged, and most steam traffic was either Russian or Japanese. Since the Russians operated the major ferry lanes, it was a fair guess that this was one of theirs.
The thought proved sound. The stranger was the steamer Rjasan: big, new, fast, and German-built only a few years earlier at the Schichau yards to the specifications of her Russian owners. The fact that she was fully stressed and even partially armored, that she carried as ballast under a false flooring in her holds all the weapons and munitions of war necessary to convert her to an auxiliary cruiser, more than suggested that the Russians were not as blandly guileless as they pretended to be. Since she was fast and nearly twice the size of the little Emden, she was an invaluable prize, and Karl von Mueller decided to take her in immediately to Tsingtao, where she could be libeled and condemned as quickly as possible, and added to the scant German forces in the East.
There were no protests.
As it happened, however, it was hardly that simple. For one thing, despite the prize crew von Mueller sent on board under Lauterbach's command, the Captain of the Rjasan was difficult. The most elementary steps, of course, were taken. The wireless was carefully rendered inoperative—not smashed, for it would be a valuable instrument in German hands later on—but all keys were removed and the power was shut off. Armed guards were placed on the bridge, in the engine room and fireroom, in the forecastle, at the lookouts, and all similar points of vantage, while armed patrols roved through the corridors and decks at odd hours so that no routine pattern could be set. Nevertheless, the task was not easy. Unless he was watched like a hawk, the Russian helmsman, under the spur of patriotism, tended to sheer off course little by little in the hope of being able to shake off the German cruiser in a sudden white squall, or under the cover of darkness, and several times the Russian engineer was caught opening his drafts to pour a thick cloud of oily black smoke into the air. Some smoke, of course, could hardly be avoided. But the Russian deliberately attempted to send up smoke signals.