Colonel Mercier-Milon reported from Brussels that he had arrested Countess Arselaarts and thought he had made a valuable capture. The Countess was deeply in debt and lived very extravagantly. A little time ago she had been assisted financially by an exalted personage, who had left the country. Since then her resources had become exhausted, and it was supposed that she had acted as a spy for the English at a high salary. He added that he was on the point of discovering a widespread network of espionage in France and Belgium.
Herr van Spranekhuizen and Hinnerk Brodersen of Schleswig had also been arrested the same morning.
“I wish we had trustworthy information as to the strength of the British fleet,” said the Lieutenant-Colonel, who had communicated the above report to Heideck. “Sometimes I am really inclined to believe that this fleet is not so effective as all the world has hitherto assumed. It is almost impossible for outsiders to get a clear insight into the condition of the English navy. So far as I can remember, false reports are systematically published about the fleet—officially, semi-officially, and privately. From time to time a speaker is put up in Parliament by the Government to deliver a violent attack on the naval administration. He is contradicted by a representative of the Admiralty, and dust is again thrown in the eyes of the world. On one of Queen Victoria’s last birthdays a powerful squadron, as it was called, was assembled for review off Spithead. But no foreigner was allowed a close inspection of these imposing fleets, and I am greatly inclined to think that it was another case of the famous movable villages, which Potemkin showed the Russian Empress on her journey to the Crimea. Official statements give the number of English warships as more than four hundred, not including torpedo-boats, but amongst them is a large number of obsolete and inefficient vessels.”
Heideck nodded.
“If the English fleet were really so efficient as is believed, it would be difficult to understand why it has not attempted any decisive action up till now.”
“That is also my view. The Copenhagen fleet would have attacked Kiel harbour long ago. It was said that it was to hold the Russian fleet in check. But that would be superfluous to start with, as long as the Gulfs of Bothnia and Finland were blocked with ice and the Russian squadrons were unable to move. This way of making war reminds me forcibly of the state of things in the Crimean War, when a powerful English fleet set out with a great flourish of trumpets against Cronstadt and St. Petersburg, but did nothing except bombard Bomarsund, a place nobody cared about. The English Press had great difficulty in excusing the fiasco of its world-renowned fleet.”
Returning to the previous subject of conversation, Heideck said to the Lieutenant-Colonel: “I don’t think we need trouble ourselves any more about the communications of Countess Arselaarts and Messrs. Amelungen and Co. The court-martial may settle with them. I attach incomparably greater importance to skipper Brandelaar, whom I hold in my hand, and through whom—perhaps with the help of Camille Penurot—I hope to obtain information about the British fleet and its proposed employment. Brandelaar’s vessel should now be off Ternenzen. I will ask you, Herr Lieutenant-Colonel, to have the man and his crew arrested to-day.”
“But how does that agree with your intention of using him as a spy in our interest?”
“I forgot to tell you that it is an agreement between Brandelaar and myself. He himself thought it necessary for his own safety; he was afraid of the crew. Of course it will only be a sham examination, and the man must be released as soon as possible, on the ground of insufficient evidence, so that he can return to England to-morrow.”
The Lieutenant-Colonel promised to do as the Major desired.
The same evening Heideck met Penurot by arrangement at a tavern.
“Our business is somewhat complicated,” said Heideck. “There must be some more people working for your father, hitherto unknown to us.”
“Why do you think that, Herr major?”
“Your father had some letters from Admiral Hollway, which were not brought by Brandelaar.”
“Yes, yes, I know. I can imagine that.”
“Do you know who brought them over?”
“I don’t know for certain, but I can guess.”
“Can’t you get me more certain information?”
“I will try.”
“How will you set about it?”
“There are some sailors’ taverns here, where I hope to get on the track. But they are desperate fellows, and it is dangerous to meddle with them.”
“If you will point out the taverns to me, I will have all the customers arrested to-night.”
“For Heaven’s sake, don’t, Herr major! We should ruin everything by that. These men would let themselves be cut to pieces rather than betray anything to you. If anyone can get them to speak, it is myself.”
“Wouldn’t you be trusting them too much?”
“No, no. I know best how to deal with them, and I know many ways of making them open their mouths.”
“Well, do what you can. The matter is important. I am very anxious to find someone to obtain trustworthy information about the British fleet, and you know we don’t spare money.”
Penurot was ready to attempt his difficult task at once, and took leave of Heideck, promising to meet him soon after midnight at the same tavern. Heideck left the restaurant soon after him, and walked along the quay Van Dyck, to cool his heated brow. In time of war the town presented a strangely altered appearance. There was a swarm of German soldiers in the streets; the usual busy traffic at the harbour had entirely ceased. There had been no trade since the German warships, like floating citadels, had been lying in the Schelde. And yet it was almost incomprehensible, how the change had come about so rapidly. Antwerp was an almost impregnable fortress, if the flooding of the surrounding country was undertaken in time. But the Belgian Government had not even made an attempt at defence, when the vanguard of the seventh and eighth army corps had appeared in the neighbourhood of the town. It had surrendered the fortress at once, with all its strong outer forts, to the German military commanders and had withdrawn its own army. The Imperial Chancellor was certainly right in attaching such importance to the possession of Antwerp by Germany. The population was almost exclusively Flemish, and Antwerp was thus in nationality a German town.
From the general political situation Heideck’s thoughts returned to Edith and her letter, and at last he decided to write to her that very evening.
To carry out his intention, he went back to the restaurant where he had met Penurot, and called for ink and paper. When he had finished his letter, he looked over the words he had written, in which, contrary to his usual practice, he had given utterance to his real feelings:—
“MY DEAR EDITH,—In the exercise of my duty, I accidentally came into possession of your letter to Frau Amelungen. I was looking for something quite different at the time, and you can imagine how great was my surprise at the unexpected discovery.
“From the hour when we were obliged to separate and you, possibly not without resentment and reproach, held out your hand at parting, I have felt more and more how indispensable you are to me. I treasure every word you have said to me, every look you have bestowed upon me, and your image is before my mind, ever brighter, ever more beautiful. I have never met a woman whose mind was so beautiful, so refined, so keen as yours. I must confess that your ideas at first sometimes terrified me. Your views are often so far removed from the commonplace, so far above the ordinary, that it needs time to estimate them correctly. If I now recall to mind what formerly seemed strange to me, it is only with feelings of admiration. From day to day the impression you made upon me at our first conversation has sunk deeper into my mind, and the comforting certainty, that love for you will fill my entire life in the future, grows more and more unshakable.
“Nevertheless, I may not regret that I had the strength to leave you at Naples. The beautiful dream of our life together would have been disturbed too soon by the rude reality. My duty calls me from one place to another, and as long as this war lasts I am not my own master for an hour. We must have patience, Edith. Even this campaign cannot last for ever, and if Heaven has decreed that I shall come out of it alive, we shall meet again, never more to part.
“You may not be able to answer this letter, for communication with Frau Amelungen is interrupted. But I know you will answer me if it is possible, and I am happy to think that, by letting you know I am alive, I have given you a pleasure, soon, I hope, to be followed by the still greater happiness of meeting again. Let us wait patiently and confidently for that hour!”
He sealed the letter and put it in his pocket, in order to hand it over to Brandelaar on the following day. He then waited for the reappearance of Penurot, who had promised to be back at midnight. But although he waited nearly an hour over the time in the tavern, he waited in vain. The terms in which Herr Amelungen’s natural son had spoken of the people he intended to look for that evening made the Major anxious about his fate. Before returning to his quarters, he paid a visit to the town police office, requesting that a search might be made in the less reputable sailors’ taverns near the harbour for M. Camille Penurot, of whose appearance he gave a careful description.
As there was no news of him on the following morning, Heideck felt almost certain that the affair had turned out disastrously for Penurot. However, for the moment, he could not stop to investigate the young man’s whereabouts.
He was informed by the Lieutenant-Colonel that Brandelaar, whose vessel actually lay off Ternenzen, had been arrested with his crew, examined, and liberated during the course of the night, as had been agreed between the two officers.
Heideck now set out for Ternenzen to give Brandelaar the information for Admiral Hollway that had been collected at his office, together with the private information that was of such importance to him.
At last, having paid Brandelaar a thousand francs on account, Heideck also gave him the letter to Edith, with careful instructions as to its delivery. The skipper, whose zeal for the cause of Germany was now undoubtedly honourable, repeatedly promised to carry out his orders conscientiously and to the best of his power.
On returning to Antwerp at noon, Heideck found a communication at his office from the police to the effect that Camille Penurot’s body had been found in one of the harbour basins, stabbed in several places in the breast and neck. A search for the assassins had been immediately set on foot, but up to the present no trace of them had been discovered.
According to the agreement with Heideck, Brandelaar, on his return from Dover, was to put in at Flushing, and the Major had instructed the guardships at the mouth of the West Schelde to allow the smack to pass unmolested without detention. But he waited for the skipper from day to day in vain. The weather could not have been the cause of his delay; certainly it had not been too bad for a man of Brandelaar’s daring. A moderate north wind had been blowing nearly the whole time, so that a clever sailor could have easily made the passage from Dover to Flushing in a day.
Consequently, other reasons must have kept him in England. Heideck began to fear that either his knowledge of men, so often tried, had deceived him on this occasion, or that Brandelaar had fallen a victim to some act of imprudence in England.
A whole week having passed since Brandelaar had started, Heideck at least hoped for his return to-day. The north wind had increased towards evening; there was almost a storm, and the blast rattled violently at the windows of the room in the hotel, in which Heideck sat still writing at midnight.
A gentle knock at the door made him look up from his work. Who could have come to see him at this late hour? It was certainly not an orderly from his office, which was open day and night, for soldiers’ fingers as a rule knocked harder.
“Come in!” he said. The door opened slowly, and Heideck saw, in the dimly-lighted corridor, a slender form in a long oilskin cape and a large sailor’s hat, the brim of which was pressed down over the forehead.
A wild idea flashed through Heideck’s mind. He sprang up, and at the same moment the pretended young man tore off his hat and held out his arms with a cry of joy.
“My dear—my beloved friend!”
“Edith!”
At this moment all other thoughts and feelings were forgotten by Heideck in the overpowering joy of seeing her again. He rushed to Edith and drew her to his breast. For a long time they remained silent in a long embrace, looking into each other’s eyes and laughing like merry children.
At last, slowly freeing herself from his arms, Edith said—
“You are not angry with me, then, for coming to you, although you forbade it? You will not send me away from you again?”
Her voice penetrated his ear like sweet, soothing music. What man could have resisted that seductive voice?
“I should like to be angry with you, my dear, but I cannot—Heaven knows I cannot!”
“I could not have lived any longer without you,” whispered the young woman. “I was obliged to see you again, or I should have died of longing.”
“My sweet, my only love! But what is the meaning of this disguise? And how did you manage to cross the Channel?”
“I took the way you showed me. And is my disguise so very displeasing to you?”
She had thrown off the ugly, disfiguring cape and stood before him in a dark blue sailor’s dress. Even in her dress as an Indian rajah he had not thought her more enchanting.
“The only thing that displeases me is that other eyes than mine have been allowed to see you in it. But you still owe me an explanation how you got here?”
“With your messenger of love, your postillon d’amour, who was certainly rather uncouth and awkward for so delicate a mission.”
“What! did you come with Brandelaar?” cried Heideck, in surprise.
“Yes. The moment I received your letter from his clumsy sailor’s fist, my mind was made up. I asked him whether he was returning to Flushing, and when he said yes, I declared he must take me with him, cost what it would. I would have paid him all I possessed, without hesitation, to take me across. But the good fellow did it for much less.”
“You foolish girl!” said Heideck reprovingly. But pride in his beautiful, fearless darling shone brightly from his eyes. “I shall have to take Brandelaar seriously to task for playing so reckless a game. But what made him so long in returning?”
“I believe he had all kinds of private business to see after. And he was not the only one—I had my business too. I did not want to come to you empty-handed, my friend.”
“Empty-handed? I don’t understand.”
“I puzzled my brains how I could please you, and appease your anger at my sudden appearance—that terrible anger, of which I felt so afraid. And as I heard from Brandelaar that it is your duty to discover military secrets—”
“The worthy Brandelaar is a chatterer. It seems as if your beautiful eyes have tempted him to open his whole heart to you.”
“And if it had been the case,” she asked, with a roguish smile, “would you not have every reason to be grateful to him as well as myself? But really—you don’t even know what I have brought for you. Aren’t you the least curious?”
“No military secret, I suppose?”
He spoke jestingly, but she nodded seriously.
“Yes—a great secret. Chance helped me, or I should hardly have got hold of it. There it is! But be sure I shall claim an adequate reward for it.”
She handed him a sealed envelope, which she had kept concealed under her dress. When Heideck, with growing excitement, spread out the paper it contained, he recognised at the first glance the blue stamped paper of the English Admiralty.
No sooner had he read the first lines than he started up in the most violent excitement. His face had become dark red, a deep furrow showed itself between his eyebrows.
“What is this?” he ejaculated. “For God’s sake, Edith, how did you come by this paper?”
“How did I come by it? Oh, that’s quite a secondary consideration. The chief thing is, whether it is of any value to you or not. But aren’t you pleased with it?”
Heideck was still staring like one hypnotised at the paper covered with the regularly formed writing of a practised clerk’s hand.
“Incomprehensible!” he murmured. Then, suddenly looking at Edith almost threateningly, he repeated—
“How did you come by it?”
“You are questioning me like a magistrate. But you may know, for all I care. The brother of the lady with whom I was staying in Dover is private secretary to the Admiralty—a poor fellow, suffering from disease of the lungs, whose one desire was to go to Egypt or Madeira, to get relief from his sufferings. By finding him the means for this I have done an act of philanthrophy. I asked him, in return for a further present of money, to give me the copy of an important document connected with his department.”
She suddenly broke off, and Heideck burst out into a short, sharp laugh which filled her with surprise and alarm.
“An act of philanthrophy!” he repeated in a tone of unspeakable bitterness. “Did you know what this man was selling to you?”
“He said it was the English fleet’s plan of attack, and I thought it would interest you.”
“But surely you must have known how far-reaching would be the consequences of your act? Had you no suspicion that irreparable harm might overtake your country, if this plan came to the knowledge of its enemies?”
His voice quivered with fearful anxiety, but Edith did not seem to understand his excitement.
“I understand you less and less,” she said impatiently. “It can only be one of two things. Either this paper is of importance to you, and then you ought to feel the more grateful to me, the more important it is. Or the secretary has deceived me as to its value. Then it isn’t worth the trouble of saying any more about it.”
“Do you look at it in that light, Edith?” he said, mournfully. “Only in that light? Did you only think of yourself and me, when you bribed an unfortunate wretch to commit the most disgraceful of all crimes?”
“Oh, my dearest, what strong language! I was not prepared for such reproaches. Certainly I was only thinking of you and me, and I am not in the least ashamed to confess it, for there is nothing in the world of more importance for me than our love.”
“And your country, Edith? is that of no account?”
“My country—what is it? A piece of earth with stones, trees, animals, and men who are nothing to me, to whom I owe nothing and am indebted for nothing. Why should I love them more than the inhabitants of any other region, amongst whom there are just as many good and bad people as amongst them? I am an Englishwoman: well, but I am also a Christian. And who would have the right to condemn me, if the commandments of Christianity were more sacred to me than all narrow-minded, national considerations? If the possession of this paper really made you the stronger—if it should bring defeat upon England, instead of the hoped-for victory which would only endlessly prolong the war—what would mankind lose thereby? Perhaps peace would be the sooner concluded, and, justly proud of my act, I would then confess before all the world.”
Heideck had not interrupted her, but she saw that her words had not convinced him. With gloomy countenance he stood before her, breathing hard, like one whose heart is oppressed by a heavy burden.
“Forgive me, but I cannot follow your train of thought,” said he, with a melancholy shake of the head. “There are things which cannot be extenuated however we may try to palliate them.”
“Well, then, if you think what I have done so monstrous, what is there to prevent us from undoing it? Give me back the paper; I will tear it up. Then no one will be injured by my treachery.”
“It is too late for that. Now that I know what this paper contains, my sense of duty as an officer commands me to make use of it. You have involved me in a fearful struggle with myself.”
“Oh, is that your logic? Your sense of honour does not forbid you to reap the fruits of my treachery, but you punish the traitress with the full weight of your contempt.”
He avoided meeting her flaming eyes.
“I did not say I despised you, but—”
“Well, what else do you mean?”
“Once again—I do not despise you, but it terrifies me to find what you are capable of.”
“Is not that the same thing in other words? A man cannot love a woman if he is terrified at her conduct. Tell me straight out that you can no longer love me.”
“It would be a lie if I said so, Edith. You have killed our happiness, but not my love.”
She only heard the last words of his answer, and with brightening eyes flung herself on his breast.
“Then scold me as you like, you martinet! I will put up with anything patiently, if only I know that you still love me, and that you will be mine, all mine, as soon as this terrible war no longer stands between us like a frightful spectre.”
He did not return her caresses, and gently pushed her from him.
“Forgive me, if I must leave you now,” he said in a singularly depressed voice, “but I must be in Antwerp by daybreak.”
“Is it really so urgent? May I not go with you?”
“No, that is impossible, for I shall have to travel on an engine.”
“And when will you return?”
Heideck turned away his face.
“I don’t know. Perhaps I shall be sent on further, so that I shall have no opportunity of saying good-bye to you.”
“In other words, you don’t mean to see me again? You are silent. You cannot have the heart to deceive me. Must I remind you that you have sworn to belong to me, if you survive this war?”
“If I survive it—yes!”
The tone of his reply struck her like a blow. She had no need to look at him again, to know what was passing in his mind. Now for the first time she understood that there was no further hope for her. Heideck had spoken the truth, when he said he still loved her, and the horror which he felt at her conduct did not, according to his conscience, release him from his word. But as he at the same time felt absolutely certain that he could never make a traitress to her country his wife, his idea of the honour of a man and officer drove him to the only course which could extricate him from this fearful conflict of duties.
He had sworn to marry her, if he survived the war. And since he could no more keep his oath than break it, he had at this moment decided to put an end to the struggle by seeking death, which his calling made it so easy for him to find. With the keen insight of a woman in love Edith read his mind like an open book. She knew him so well that she never for a moment cherished the illusion that she could alter his mind by prayers or tears. She knew that this man was ready to sacrifice everything for her—everything save honour. Her mind had never been fuller of humble admiration than at the moment when the knowledge that she had lost him for ever spread a dark veil over all her sunny hopes of the future.
She did not say a word; and when her silence caused him to turn his face again towards her, she saw an expression of unutterable pain in his features, usually so well controlled. Then she also felt the growing power of a great and courageous resolution. Her mind rose from the low level of selfish passion to the height of self-sacrificing renunciation. But it had never been her way to do by halves what she had once determined to carry out. What was to be done admitted no cowardly delay, no tender leave-taking must allow Heideck to guess that a knowledge of his intentions had decided her course of action.
With that heroic self-command of which, perhaps, only a woman is capable in such circumstances, she forced herself to appear outwardly calm and composed.
“Then I am no longer anxious about our future, my friend,” she said after a long silence, smiling painfully. “I will not detain you any longer now; for I know that your duties as a soldier must stand first. I am happy that I have been permitted to see you again. Not to hinder your doing your duty in this serious time of war, I give you your freedom. Perhaps your love will some day bring you back to me of your own accord. And now, farewell.”
Her sudden resolution and the calmness with which she resigned herself to this second separation must have seemed almost incomprehensible to Heideck after what had passed. But her beautiful face betrayed so little of the desperate hopelessness she felt, that, after a brief hesitation, he regarded this singular change in the same light as the numerous other surprises to which her mysterious nature had already treated him. She had spoken with such quiet firmness, that he could no longer look upon her resolution as the suggestion of a perverse or angry whim.
“For God’s sake, Edith, what do you intend to do?”
“I shall try to return to Dover to-morrow. I should only be in your way here.”
“In that case, we should not see each other again before you leave?”
“You said yourself that there was little chance of that.”
“I am not my own master, and this information—”
“No excuse is necessary; no regard for me should hinder you in the performance of your official duties. Once again then, good-bye, my dear, my beloved friend! May Heaven protect you!”
She flung herself on his breast and kissed him; but only for a few seconds did her soft arm linger round his neck. She did not wish to give way, and yet she felt that she would not be able to control herself much longer. She hurriedly picked up her oilskin cape from the floor and seized her fisherman’s hat. Heideck fervently desired to say something affectionate and tender, but his throat seemed choked as it were by an invisible hand; he could only utter, in a voice that sounded cold and dry, the words, “Farewell, my love! farewell!”
When he heard the door close behind her, he started up impetuously, as if he meant to rush after her and call her back. But after the first step he stood still and pressed his clenched left hand upon his violently beating heart. His face, as if turned to stone, wore an expression of inflexible resolution, and the corners of his mouth were marked by two deep, sharp lines, as if within this single hour he had aged ten years.
Skipper Brandelaar had given Edith the name of the inn near the harbour, where he expected a message from Heideck in the course of the night; for he felt certain that the Major would be anxious to speak to him as soon as possible.
But he was considerably surprised when, instead of the messenger he expected, he saw his beautiful disguised passenger enter the low, smoke-begrimed taproom. He went to meet Edith with a certain clumsy gallantry, to shield her from the curiosity and importunities of the men seated with him at the table, whose weatherbeaten faces inspired as little confidence as their clothing, which smelt of tar and had suffered badly from wind and weather.
Utterly surprised, he was going to question Edith, but she anticipated him.
“I must get back to Dover to-night,” she said hurriedly, in a low tone. “Will you take me across? I will pay you what you ask.”
The skipper shook his head slowly, but resolutely.
“Impossible. Even if I could leave again, it couldn’t be done in such weather.”
“It must be done. The weather is not so bad, and I know you are not the man to be afraid of a storm.”
“Afraid—no! Very likely I have weathered a worse storm than this with my smack. But there is a difference between the danger a man has to go through when he cannot escape it, and that to which he foolishly exposes himself. When I am on a journey, then come what pleases God, but—”
“No more, Brandelaar,” interrupted Edith impatiently. “If you cannot, or will not go yourself, surely one of your acquaintances here is brave and smart enough to earn a couple of hundred pounds without any difficulty.”
The skipper’s little eyes twinkled.
“A couple of hundred pounds? Is it really so important for you to leave Flushing to-day? We have hardly landed!”
“Yes, it is very important. And I have already told you that I don’t care how much it costs.”
The skipper, who had evidently begun to waver, rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
“H’m! Anyhow, I couldn’t do it myself. I have important information for the Herr major, and he would have a right to blame me, if I went away without even so much as speaking to him. But perhaps—perhaps I might find out a skipper who would take the risk, provided that I got something out of it for myself.”
“Of course, of course! I don’t want a favour from you for nothing. You shall have fifty pounds the moment I set foot in the boat.”
“Good! And two hundred for the skipper and his men? The men are risking their lives, you mustn’t forget that. Besides, they will have to manage confoundedly cleverly to get past the German guardships unnoticed.”
“Yes, yes! Why waste so much time over this useless bargaining? Here is the money—now get me a boat.”
“Go in there,” said Brandelaar, pointing to the door of a little dark side room. “I will see whether my friend Van dem Bosch will do it.”
Before complying with Brandelaar’s suggestion, Edith glanced at the man whom he had indicated with a movement of his head. Externally this robust old sea-dog was certainly not attractive, but his alarming appearance did not make Edith falter in her resolution for a moment.
“Good—talk to your friend, Brandelaar! And mind that I don’t have to wait too long for his consent.”
. . . . . . .
The gallant Brandelaar must have found a very effective means of persuasion, for in less than ten minutes he was able to inform Edith that Van dem Bosch was ready to risk the journey on the terms offered. He said nothing more about the danger of the undertaking, as if he were afraid of frightening the young Englishwoman from her plan, so profitable to himself. From this moment nothing more was said about the matter. It was not far to the place where the cutter lay at anchor, and Edith struggled on bravely between the two men, who silently walked along by her side, in the face of the hurricane from the north, roaring in fitful gusts from the sea. They rowed across to the vessel in a yawl, and when Brandelaar returned to the quay he had his fifty pounds all right in his pocket.
“If the Herr major asks after me, you may tell him the whole truth with confidence,” Edith had said to him. “And greet him from me—greet him heartily. Don’t forget that, Brandelaar.”
. . . . . . .
The skipper’s two men, who had been lying fast asleep below deck in the cutter, were considerably astonished and certainly far from pleased at the idea of the nocturnal passage. But a few words from the skipper in a language unintelligible to Edith speedily removed their discontent. They now readily set to work to set sail and weigh anchor. The skipper’s powerful hands grasped the helm; the small, strongly-built vessel tacked a little and then, heeling over, shot out into the darkness.
It passed close by the Gefion, and had it by accident been shown up by the electric light which from time to time searched the disturbed surface of the water, the nocturnal trip would in any case have experienced a very disagreeable interruption. But chance favoured the rash undertaking. No signal was made, no shout raised from the guardship, and the lights of Flushing were soon lost in the darkness.
Since the start Edith had been standing by the mast, looking fixedly backwards to the place where she was leaving everything which had hitherto given all its value and meaning to her life. The skipper and his two men, whom the varying winds kept fully occupied with their sails, did not seem to trouble about her, and it was not till a suddenly violent squall came on that Van dem Bosch shouted to her that she had better go below, where she would at least be protected against the wind and weather.
But Edith did not stir. For her mind, racked by all the torments of infinite despair, the raging of the storm, the noise of the rain rattling down, and the hissing splash of the waves as they dashed against the planks of the boat, made just the right music. The tumult of the night around her harmonised so exactly with the tumult within her that she almost felt it a relief. The close confinement of a low cabin would have been unbearable. She could only hold out by drinking in deep draughts of air saturated with the briny odour of the sea, and by exposing her face to the storm, the rain, and the foam of the waves. It was a kind of physical struggle with the brute forces of Nature, and its stirring effect upon her nerves acted as a tonic to a mind lacerated with sorrow.
She had no thought for time or space. Only the hurricane-like rising of the storm, the increasingly violent breaking of the waves, and the wilder rocking of the boat, told her that she must be on the open sea. In spite of her oilskin cape, she was completely wet through, and a chill, which gradually spread over her whole body from below, numbed her limbs. Nevertheless, she never for a moment thought of retiring below. She had no idea of danger. She heard the sailors cursing, and twice the skipper’s voice struck her ears, uttering what seemed to be an imperious command. But she did not trouble herself about this. As if already set free from everything earthly, she remained completely indifferent to everything that was going on around her. The more insensible her body became, paralysed by the penetrating damp and chill, the more indefinite and dreamlike became all the impressions of her senses. She seemed to have lost all foothold, to be flying on the wings of the storm, free from all restrictions of corporeal gravity, through unlimited space. All the rushing, howling, rattling, and splashing of the unchained elements seemed to her to unite in one monotonous, majestic roar, which had no terrors for her, but a wonderfully soothing influence. As her senses slowly failed, the tumult became a lofty harmony; she felt so entirely one with mighty, all-powerful Nature that the last feeling of which she was conscious was a fervent, ardent longing to dissolve in this mighty Nature, like one of the innumerable waves, whose foam wetted her feet in passing.
. . . . . . .
A loud sound, like the sharp report of a gun, was heard above the confusion of noises—a loud crash—some wild curses from rough sailors’ throats! The boat suddenly danced and tossed upon the waves like a piece of cork, while the big sail flapped in the wind as if it would be torn the next minute into a thousand pieces.
The peak-halyard was broken, and the gaff, deprived of its hold, struck with fearful force downwards. With all the might of his arms, strong as those of a giant, the skipper pulled at the helm to bring the vessel to the wind. The two other men worked desperately to make the sail fast.
In these moments of supreme danger none of the three gave a thought to the disguised woman in the oilskin cape, who had stood so long motionless as a statue by the mast. Not till their difficult task was successfully finished did they notice that she had disappeared. They looked at each other with troubled faces. The skipper at the helm said—
“She has gone overboard. The gaff must have hit her on the head. There is no more to be done. Why would she stay on deck?”
He cleared his throat and spat into the sea, after the fashion of sailors.
The other two said nothing. Silently they obeyed the orders of the skipper, who made for the mouth of the Schelde again.
They made no attempt to save her. It would have been a useless task.
The last ordinary train to Antwerp had gone long before Heideck reached the station. But a short interview with the railway commissioner sufficed, and an engine was at once placed at the Major’s disposal. When he had mounted to the stoker’s place the station-master saluted and signalled to the driver to start. For a moment Heideck felt a sharp pain in his heart like a knife when the grinding engine started. It was his life’s happiness that he was leaving behind him for ever. A dull, paralysing melancholy possessed his soul. He seemed to himself to be a piece of lifeless mechanism, like the engine puffing ceaselessly onwards, subject and blindly obedient to the will of another. All his actions were decided, no longer by his own resolutions, but by an inexorable, higher law—by the iron law of duty. He was no longer personally free nor personally responsible. The way was marked out for him as clearly and distinctly as the course of the engine by the iron lines of rails. With tightly compressed lips he looked fixedly before him. What lay behind was no longer any concern of his. Only a peremptory “Forward” must henceforth be his watchword.
About six o’clock in the morning he stood before the royal castle on the Place de Meix, where the Prince-Admiral had fixed his quarters, King Leopold having offered him the castle to reside in.
In spite of the early hour Heideck was at once conducted to the Prince’s study.
“Your Royal Highness,” said Heideck, “I have a report of the utmost importance to make. These orders of the English Admiralty have fallen into my hands.”
The Prince motioned him to a seat by his desk. “Be good enough to read the orders to me, Herr major.”
Heideck read the important document, which ran as follows:—
“The Lords of the Admiralty think it desirable to attack the German fleet first, as being the weaker. This attack must be carried out before the Russian fleet is in a position to go to its assistance in Kiel harbour. Therefore a simultaneous attack should be made on the two positions of the German fleet on the 15th of July.”
“On the 15th of July?” repeated the Prince, who had risen in great excitement. “And it is the 11th to-day! How did you get possession of these orders, Herr major? What proof have you that this document is genuine?”
“I have the most convincing reasons for believing it genuine, your Royal Highness. You can see for yourself that the orders are written on the blue stamped paper of the English Admiralty.”
“Very well, Herr major! But that would not exclude the idea of a forgery. How did you come into possession of this paper?”
“Your Royal Highness will excuse my entering into an explanation.”
“Then read on.”
Heideck continued—
“On the day mentioned the Copenhagen fleet has to attack Kiel harbour. Two battleships will take up a position before the fortress of Friedrichsort and Fort Falkenstein on the west side, two more before the fortifications of Labo and Moltenort on the east side of Kiel inlet; they will keep up so hot a fire on the fortifications that the rest of the fleet will be able to enter the harbour behind them under their protection.
“In the harbour of Kiel there are about a hundred transports and some older ironclads and cruisers, which cannot offer a serious resistance to our fleet. All these ships must be attacked with the greatest rapidity and vigour. It is of the utmost importance to send a battleship to the entrance of the Kaiser Wilhelm Canal, in order to cut off the retreat of the German ships. All the German ships in the harbour are to be destroyed. The attack is to be commenced by some cruisers from the rest of the fleet, which will enter the inlet in advance, without any consideration of the chance of their being blown up by mines. These vessels are to be sacrificed, if necessary, in order to set the entrance free.
“For the attack on the German fleet in the Schelde, which must also take place on the 15th of July, Vice-Admiral Domvile will form a fleet of two divisions from the Channel squadrons and the cruiser fleet.
“The first division will be formed of the following battleships: Bulwark (Vice-Admiral Domvile’s flagship), Albemarle, Duncan, Montagu, Formidable, Renown, Irresistible, and Hannibal.
“The cruisers Bacchante (Rear-Admiral Walker), Gladiator, Naiad, Hermione, Minerva, Rainbow, Pegasus, Pandora, Abukir, Vindictive, and Diana.
“The destroyers Dragon, Griffin, Panther, Locust, Boxer, Mallard, Coquette, Cygnet, and Zephyr.
“Two torpedo flotillas.
“Two ammunition ships, two colliers, and a hospital ship are to be allotted to the division.
“The second division will be formed of the following battleships: Majestic (Vice-Admiral Lord Beresford), Magnificent (Rear-Admiral Lambton), Cornwallis, Exmouth, Russell, Mars, Prince George, Victorious, and Caesar.
“The cruisers St. George (Captain Winsloe), Sutlej, Niobe, Brilliant, Doris, Furious, Pactolus, Prometheus, Juno, Pyramus, and Pioneer.
“The destroyers Myrmidon, Chamois, Flying Fish, Kangaroo, Desperate, Fawn, Ardent, Ariel, and Albatross.
“Two torpedo flotillas.
“Two ammunition ships, two colliers, and a hospital ship are to be alloted to the division.
“A squadron under Commodore Prince Louis of Battenberg (flagship, Implacable) will remain in reserve to watch for the possible approach of a French fleet. In case one is seen, the first division is to unite with this reserve squadron under the supreme command of Vice-Admiral Domvile, and to attack the French fleet vigorously, it being left to the second division to give battle to the German fleet. The general orders given to the fleet for the attack will then only apply to the second division. His Majesty’s Government expects that the division will be able to defeat the enemy, even without the help of the first division. As soon as the scouts of the second division have driven the German guardships from the mouth of the West Schelde, the left wing of the fighting ships will open fire on Flushing, the right on the land fortifications of the south bank. The wings are not to stop, but to advance with the rest of the fleet, and the entire division will press on to Antwerp or until it meets the German fighting fleet, which must be attacked with the greatest vigour.
“The precise details of the manner of attack are left to Vice-Admiral Domvile.
“If, contrary to expectation, the German fleet, at the beginning of the attack in the mouth of the Schelde, should decide upon an advance, the admiral commanding must act upon his own judgment, according to circumstances; but, above all, it should be remembered that it is of more importance to capture as many German ships as possible than to destroy them, so that the captured ships may be used by us during the further course of the war.”
The Prince-Admiral had listened in silence while Heideck was reading. The excitement which what he had heard had caused him was plainly reflected in his features.
“There seems a strong internal probability that these orders are genuine,” he said thoughtfully; “but I should like to have further and more positive proof of it; for it is quite possible that it is intentionally designed to mislead us. Where does this document come from, Herr major?”
“I have already most humbly reported to your Royal Highness that I have induced the skipper Brandelaar, whom I arrested as an English spy, to act for the future in our interest. Brandelaar’s boat brought this order.”
“Where is this man?”
“His boat lies in Flushing harbour.”
“And how did Brandelaar get possession of it?”
“I did not get it from Brandelaar himself, but from a lady, an Englishwoman, who crossed with him from Dover. My honour imposes silence upon me. I must not mention this lady’s name, but I am firmly convinced and believe that I can guarantee that the document in Admiral Hollway’s office has been copied word for word.”
“We can soon find means of convincing ourselves whether the British fleet is preparing to carry out these orders. Then at last the time for energetic action would have arrived. His Majesty has foreseen some such advance on the part of the British fleet, and we have now to carry out the plan of the supreme commander. I thank you, Herr major!”
Heideck bowed and turned to go. He felt that he could endure it no longer, and it was only with an effort that he maintained his erect, military bearing.
When he reached the threshold, the Prince turned to him again, and said, “I think I shall be doing you an honour, Herr major, if I give you the opportunity of witnessing, by my side, the events of that great and glorious day in the life of our youthful fleet. Report yourself to me on the morning of the 15th of July on board my flagship. I will see that your present post is provided for.”
“Your Royal Highness is very gracious.”
“You have a claim on my thanks. Au revoir, then, Herr major.”
The Prince immediately summoned the adjutant on duty, and ordered him to have several copies of the English naval plan of attack prepared at once.
One of these was intended for the admiral in command of the French fleet at Cherbourg. The Prince gave the imperial messenger, who was to convey the document to him, an autograph letter in which he urged upon the admiral to do his utmost to reach Flushing on the morning of the 15th with as strong a fighting fleet as possible, so as to assist the German fleet in its engagement with the numerically superior fleet of the English.