The Riddle of the Sands

by Erskine Childers

  XVI. Commander von Br?ning

  TO RESUME my story in narrative form.

  I was awakened at ten o'clock on the 19th, after a long and delicioussleep, by Davies's voice outside, talking his unmistakable German.Looking out, in my pyjamas, I saw him on the quay above inconversation with a man in a long mackintosh coat and a gold-lacednavy cap. He had a close-trimmed auburn beard, a keen, handsome face,and an animated manner. It was raining in a raw air.

  They saw me, and Davies said: 'Hullo, Carruthers! Here's Commandervon Br?ning from the _Blitz_--that's "meiner Freund" Carruthers.'(Davies was deplorably weak in terminations.)

  The Commander smiled broadly at me, and I inclined an uncombed head,while, for a moment, the quest was a dream, and I myself feltunutterably squalid and foolish. I ducked down, heard them parting,and Davies came aboard.

  'We're to meet him at the inn for a talk at twelve,' he said.

  His news was that the _Blitz_'s steam-cutter had come in on the morningtide, and he had met von Br?ning when marketing at the inn. Secondly,the 'Kormoran' had also come in, and was moored close by. It was asclear as possible, therefore, that the latter had watched us, and wasin touch with the _Blitz_, and that both had seized the opportunity ofour being cooped up in Bensersiel to take further stock of us. Whathad passed hitherto? Nothing much. Von Br?ning had greeted Davieswith cordial surprise, and said he had wondered yesterday if it wasthe _Dulcibella_ that he had seen anchored behind Langeoog. Davies hadexplained that we had left the Baltic and were on our way home;taking the shelter of the islands.

  'Supposing he comes on board and asks to see our log?' I said.

  'Pull it out,' said Davies, 'It's rot, this hiding, after all, I say.I rather funk this interview; what are we to say? It's not in myline.'

  We resolved abruptly on an important change of plan, replaced the logand charts in the rack as the first logical step. They containednothing but bearings, courses, and the bare data of navigation. ToDavies they were hard-won secrets of vital import, to be lied for,however hard and distasteful lying was. I was cooler as to theirvalue, but in any case the same thing was now in both our minds.There would be great difficulties in the coming interview if we triedto be too clever and conceal the fact that we had been exploring. Wedid not know how much von Br?ning knew. When had our surveillance bythe 'Kormoran' begun? Apparently at Wangeroog, but possibly in theestuaries, where we had not fired a shot at duck. Perhaps he kneweven more--Dollmann's treachery, Davies's escape, and our subsequentmovements--we could not tell. On the other hand, exploration wasknown to be a fad of Davies's, and in September he had made no secretof it.

  It was safer to be consistent now. After breakfast we determined tofind out something about the 'Kormoran', which lay on the mud at theother side of the harbour, and accordingly addressed ourselves to twomighty sailors, whose jerseys bore the legend 'Post', and who toweredconspicuous among a row of stolid Frisians on the quay, all gazinggravely down at us as at a curious bit of marine bric-?-brac. Thetwins (for such they proved to be) were most benignant giants, andasked us aboard the post-boat galliot for a chat. It was easy tobring the talk naturally round to the point we wished, and we soongained some most interesting information, delivered in the broadestFrisian, but intelligible enough. They called the 'Kormoran' a Memmertboat, or 'wreck-works' boat. It seemed that off the western end of_Juist_, the island lying west of Norderney, there lay the bones of aFrench war-vessel, wrecked ages ago. She carried bullion which hasnever been recovered, in spite of many efforts. A salvage company wastrying for it now, and had works on Memmert, an adjacent sandbank.'That is Herr Grimm, the overseer himself,' they said, pointing tothe bridge above the sluice-gates. (I call him 'Grimm' because itdescribes him exactly.) A man in a pilot jacket and peaked cap wasleaning over the parapet.

  'What's he doing here?' I asked.

  They answered that he was often up and down the coast, work on thewreck being impossible in rough weather. They supposed he wasbringing cargo in his galliot from Wilhelmshaven, all the company'splant and stores coming from that port. He was a local man fromAurich; an ex-tug skipper.

  We discussed this information while walking out over the sands to seethe channel at low water.

  'Did you hear anything about this in September?' I asked.

  'Not a word. I didn't go to Juist. I would have, probably, if Ihadn't met Dollmann.'

  What in the world did it mean? How did it affect our plans?

  'Look at his boots if we pass him,' was all Davies had to suggest.

  The channel was now a ditch, with a trickle in it, running north byeast, roughly, and edged by a dyke of withies for the first quarterof a mile. It was still blowing fresh from the north-east, and we sawthat exit was impossible in such a wind.

  So back to the village, a paltry, bleak little place. We passedfriend Grimm on the bridge; a dark, clean-shaved, saturnine man,wearing _shoes._ Approaching the inn:

  'We haven't settled quite enough, have we?' said Davies. 'What aboutour future plans?'

  'Heaven knows, we haven't,' I said. 'But I don't see how we can. Wemust see how things go. It's past twelve, and it won't do to belate.'

  'Well, I leave it to you.'

  'All right, I'll do my best. All you've got to do is to be yourselfand tell one lie, if need be, about the trick Dollmann played you.'

  The next scene: von Br?ning, Davies, and I, sitting over coffee andK?mmel at a table in a dingy inn-parlour overlooking the harbour andthe sea, Davies with a full box of matches on the table before him.The Commander gave us a hearty welcome, and I am bound to say I likedhim at once, as Davies had done; but I feared him, too, for he hadhonest eyes, but abominably clever ones.

  I had impressed on Davies to talk and question as freely andnaturally as though nothing uncommon had happened since he last sawvon Br?ning on the deck of the 'Medusa'. He must ask aboutDollmann--the mutual friend--at the outset, and, if questioned aboutthat voyage in his company to the Elbe, must lie like a trooper as tothe danger he had been in. This was the one clear and essentialnecessity, where much was difficult. Davies did his duty withprecipitation, and blushed when he put his question, in a way thathorrified me, till I remembered that his embarrassment was due, andwould be ascribed, to another cause.

  'Herr Dollmann is away still, I think,' said von Br?ning. (So Davieshad been right at Brunsb?ttel.) 'Were you thinking of looking him upagain?' he added.

  'Yes,' said Davies, shortly.

  'Well, I'm sure he's away. But his yacht is back, I believe--andFr?ulein Dollmann, I suppose.'

  'H'm!' said Davies; 'she's a very fine boat that.'

  Our host smiled, gazing thoughtfully at Davies, who was miserable. Isaw a chance, and took it mercilessly.

  'We can call on Fr?ulein Dollmann, at least, Davies,' I said, with ameaning smile at von Br?ning.

  'H'm!, said Davies; 'will he be back soon, do you think?'

  The Commander had begun to light a cigar, and took his time inanswering. 'Probably,' he said, after some puffing, 'he's never awayvery long. But you've seen them later than I have. Didn't you sail tothe Elbe together the day after I saw you last?'

  'Oh, part of the way,' said Davies, with great negligence. 'I haven'tseen him since. He got there first; outsailed me.'

  'Gave you the slip, in fact?'

  'Of course he beat me; I was close-reefed. Besides----'

  'Oh, I remember; there was a heavy blow--a devil of a heavy blow. Ithought of you that day. How did you manage?'

  'Oh, it was a fair wind; it wasn't far, you see.'

  'Grosse Gott! In _that_.' He nodded towards the window whence the_Dulcibella_s' taper mast could be seen pointing demurely heavenwards.

  'She's a splendid sea-boat,' said Davies, indignantly.

  'A thousand pardons!' said von Br?ning, laughing.

  'Don't shake my faith in her,' I put in. 'I've got to get to Englandin her.'

  'Heaven forbid; I was only thinking that there must have been somesea round the Scharhorn that day; a tame affa
ir, no doubt, HerrDavies?'

  'Scharhorn?' said Davies, who did not catch the idiom in the lattersentence. 'Oh, we didn't go that way. We cut through the sands--bythe Telte.'

  'The Telte! In a north-west gale!' The Commander started, ceased tosmile, and only stared. (It was genuine surprise; I could swear it.He had heard nothing of this before.)

  'Herr Dollmann knew the way,' said Davies, doggedly. 'He kindlyoffered to pilot me through, and I wouldn't have gone otherwise.'There was an awkward little pause.

  'He led you well, it seems?' said von Br?ning.

  'Yes; there's a nasty surf there, though, isn't there? But it savessix miles--and the Scharhorn. Not that I saved distance. I was foolenough to run aground.'

  'Ah!' said the other, with interest.

  'It didn't matter, because I was well inside then. Those sands aredifficult at high water. We've come back that way, you know.'

  ('And we run aground every day,' I remarked, with resignation.)

  'Is that where the 'Medusa' gave you the slip?' asked von Br?ning,still studying Davies with a strange look, which I strove anxiouslyto analyze.

  'She wouldn't have noticed,' said Davies. 'It was very thick andsqually--and she had got some way ahead. There was no need for her tostop, anyway. I got off all right; the tide was rising still. But, ofcourse, I anchored there for the night.'

  'Where?'

  'Inside there, under the Hohenh?rn,' said Davies, simply.

  'Under the _what_?'

  'The Hohenh?rn.'

  'Go on--didn't they wait for you at Cuxhaven?'

  'I don't know; I didn't go that way.' The Commander looked more andmore puzzled.

  'Not by the ship canal, I mean. I changed my mind about it, becausethe next day the wind was easterly. It would have been a dead beatacross the sands to Cuxhaven, while it was a fair wind straight outto the Eider River. So I sailed there, and reached the Baltic thatway. It was all the same.'

  There was another pause.

  'Well done, Davies,' I thought. He had told his story well, using nosubtlety. I knew it was exactly how he would have told it to anyoneelse, if he had not had irrefutable proof of foul play.

  The Commander laughed, suddenly and heartily.

  'Another liqueur?' he said. Then, to me: 'Upon my word, your friendamuses me. It's impossible to make him spin a yarn. I expect he had abad time of it.'

  'That's nothing to him,' I said; 'he prefers it. He anchored me theother day behind the Hohenh?rn in a gale of wind; said it was saferthan a harbour, and more sanitary.'

  'I wonder he brought you here last night. It was a fair wind forEngland; and not very far.'

  'There was no pilot to follow, you see.'

  'With a charming daughter--no.'

  Davies frowned and glared at me. I was merciful and changed thesubject.

  'Besides,' I said, 'we've left our anchor and chain out there.' And Imade confession of my sin.

  'Well, as it's buoyed, I should advise you to pick it up as soon asyou can,' said von Br?ning, carelessly; 'or someone else will.'

  'Yes, by Jove! Carruthers,' said Davies, eagerly, 'we must get out onthis next tide.'

  'Oh, there's no hurry,' I said, partly from policy, partly becausethe ease of the shore was on me. To sit on a chair upright issomething of a luxury, however good the cause in which you havecrouched like a monkey over a table at the level of your knees, witha reeking oil-stove at your ear.

  'They're honest enough about here, aren't they?' I added. While thewords were on my lips I remembered the midnight visitor at Wangeroog,and guessed that von Br?ning was leading up to a test. Grimm (if hewas the visitor) would have told him of his narrow escape fromdetection, and reticence on our part would show we suspectedsomething. I could have kicked myself, but it was not too late. Itook the bull by the horns, and, before the Commander could answer,added:

  'By Jove! Davies, I forgot about that fellow at Wangeroog. The anchormight be stolen, as he says.'

  Davies looked blank, but von Br?ning had turned to me.

  'We never dreamed there would be thieves among these islands,' Isaid, 'but the other night I nearly caught a fellow in the act. Hethought the yacht was empty.'

  I described the affair in detail, and with what humour I could. Ourhost was amused, and apologetic for the islanders.

  'They're excellent folk,' he said, 'but they're born with predatoryinstincts. Their fathers made their living out of wrecks on thiscoast, and the children inherit a weakness for plunder. WhenWangeroog lighthouse was built they petitioned the Government forcompensation, in perfect good faith. The coast is well lighted now,and windfalls are rare, but the sight of a stranded yacht, with theowners ashore, would inflame the old passion; and, depend upon it,someone has seen that anchor-buoy.'

  The word 'wrecks' had set me tingling. Was it another test?Impossible to say; but audacity was safer than reserve, and mightsave trouble in the future.

  'Isn't there the wreck of a treasure-ship somewhere farther west?' Iasked. 'We heard of it at Wangeroog' (my first inaccuracy). 'Theysaid a company was exploiting it.'

  'Quite right,' said the Commander, without a sign of embarrassment.'I don't wonder you heard of it. It's one of the few things folk haveto talk about in these parts. It lies on Juister Riff, a shoal offJuist. _[see Map B]_ She was a French frigate, the _Corinne_, boundfrom Hamburg to Havre in 1811, when Napoleon held Hamburg as tight asParis. She carried a million and a half in gold bars, and was insuredin Hamburg; foundered in four fathoms, broke up, and there lies thetreasure.'

  'Never been raised?'

  'No. The underwriters failed and went bankrupt, and the wreck cameinto the hands of your English Lloyd's. It remained their propertytill '75, but they never got at the bullion. In fact, for fifty yearsit was never scratched at, and its very position grew doubtful, forthe sand swallowed every stick. The rights passed through varioushands, and in '86 were held by an enterprising Swedish company, whichbrought modern appliances, dived, dredged, and dug, fished up a lotof timber and bric-?-brac, and then broke. Since then, two Hamburgfirms have tackled the job and lost their capital. Scores of liveshave been spent over it, all told, and probably a million of money.Still there are the bars, somewhere.'

  'And what's being done now?'

  'Well, recently a small local company was formed. It has a dep?t atMemmert, and is working with a good deal of perseverance. An engineerfrom Bremen was the principal mover, and a few men from Norderney andEmden subscribed the capital. By the way, our friend Dollmann islargely interested in it.'

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Davies's tell-tale face growingtroubled with inward questionings.

  'We mustn't get back to him,' I said, laughing. 'It's not fair to myfriend. But all this is very interesting. Will they ever get thosebars?'

  'Ah! that's the point,' said von Br?ning, with a mysterious twinkle.'It's an undertaking of immense difficulty; for the wreck is whollydisintegrated, and the gold, being the heaviest part of it, has, ofcourse, sunk the deepest. Dredging is useless after a certain point;and the divers have to make excavations in the sand, and shore themup as best they can. Every gale nullifies half their labour, andweather like this of the last fortnight plays the mischief with thework. Only this morning I met the overseer, who happens to be ashorehere. He was as black as thunder over prospects.'

  'Well, it's a romantic speculation,' I said. 'They deserve a returnfor their money.'

  'I hope they'll get it,' said the Commander. 'The fact is, I hold afew shares myself.'

  'Oh, I hope I haven't been asking indiscreet questions?'

  'Oh, dear no; all the world knows what I've told you. But you'llunderstand that one has to be reticent as to results in such a case.It's a big stake, and the _title is none too sound._ There has beenlitigation over it. Not that I worry much about my investment; for Ishan't lose much by it at the worst. But it gives one an interest inthis abominable coast. I go and see how they're getting on sometimes,when I'm down that way.'

  'It _is_ an abominabl
e coast,' I agreed heartily, 'though you won'tget Davies to agree.'

  'It's a magnificent place for sailing,' said Davies, lookingwistfully out over the storm-speckled grey of the North Sea.

  He underwent some more chaff, and the talk passed to our cruisingadventures in the Baltic and the estuaries. Von Br?ningcross-examined us with the most charming urbanity and skill. Nothinghe asked could cause us the slightest offence; and a responsivefrankness was our only possible course. So, date after date, andincident after incident, were elicited in the most natural way. As wetalked I was astonished to find how little there was that was worthconcealing, and heartily thankful that we had decided on candour. Myfluency gave me the lead, and Davies followed me; but his ownpersonality was really our tower of strength. I realized that as Iwatched the play of his eager features, and heard him struggle forexpression on his favourite hobby; all his pet phrases translatedcrudely into the most excruciating German. He was convincing, becausehe was himself.

  'Are there many like you in England?' asked von Br?ning once.

  'Like me? Of course--lots,' said Davies.

  'I wish there were more in Germany; they play at yachtingover here--on shore half the time, drinking and loafing; paid crews,clean hands, white trousers; laid up in the middle of September.'

  'We haven't seen many yachts about, said Davies, politely.

  For my part, I made no pretence of being a Davies. Faithful to mylower nature, I vowed the Germans were right, and, not without asecret zest, drew a lurid picture of the horrors of crewlesscruising, and the drudgery that my remorseless skipper inflicted onme. It was delightful to see Davies wincing when I described my firstnight at Flensburg, for I had my revenge at last, and did not sparehim. He bore up gallantly under my jesting, but I knew very well byhis manner that he had not forgiven me my banter about the 'charmingdaughter'.

  'You speak German well,' said von Br?ning.

  'I have lived in Germany,' said I.

  'Studying for a profession, I suppose?'

  'Yes,' said I, thinking ahead. 'Civil Service,' was my preparedanswer to the next question, but again (morbidly, perhaps) I saw apitfall. That letter from my chief awaiting me at Norderney? My namewas known, and we were watched. It might be opened. Lord, how casualwe have been!

  'May I ask what?'

  'The Foreign Office.' It sounded suspicious, but there it was.'Indeed--in the Government service? When do you have to be back?'

  That was how the question of our future intentions was raised,prematurely by me; for two conflicting theories were clashing in mybrain. But the contents of the letter dogged me now, and 'when at aloss, tell the truth', was an axiom I was finding sound. So Ianswered, 'Pretty soon, in about a week. But I'm expecting a letterat Norderney, which may give me an extension. Davies said it was agood address to give,' I added, smiling.

  'Naturally,' said von Br?ning, dryly; the joke had apparently ceasedto amuse him. 'But you haven't much time then, have you?' he added,'unless you leave your skipper in the lurch. It's a long way toEngland, and the season is late for yachts.'

  I felt myself being hurried.

  'Oh, you don't understand,' I explained; '_he's_ in no hurry. He's aman of leisure; aren't you, Davies?'

  'What?' said Davies.

  I translated my cruel question.

  'Yes,' said Davies, with simple pathos.

  'If I have to leave him I shan't be missed--as an able seaman, atleast. He'll just potter on down the islands, running aground andkedging-off, and arrive about Christmas.'

  'Or take the first fair gale to Dover,' laughed the Commander.

  'Or that. So, you see, we're in no hurry; and we never make plans.And as for a passage to England straight, I'm not such a coward as Iwas at first, but I draw the line at that.'

  'You're a curious pair of shipmates; what's your point of view, HerrDavies?'

  'I like this coast,' said Davies. 'And--we want to shoot some ducks.'He was nervous, and forgot himself. I had already satirized oursporting armament and exploits, and hoped the subject was disposedof. Ducks were pretexts, and might lead to complications. Iparticularly wanted a free hand.

  'As to wild fowl,' said our friend, 'I would like to give yougentlemen some advice. There are plenty to be got, now that autumnweather has set in (you wouldn't have got a shot in September, HerrDavies; I remember your asking about them when I saw you last). Andeven now it's early for amateurs. In hard winter weather a child canpick them up; but they're wild still, and want crafty hunting. Youwant a local punt, and above all a local man (you could stow him inyour fo'c'sle), and to go to work seriously. Now, if you really wishfor sport, I could help you. I could get you a trustworthy----'

  'Oh, it's too good of you,' stammered Davies, in a more unhappyaccent than usual. 'We can easily find one for ourselves. A man atWangeroog offered----'

  'Oh, did he?' interrupted von Br?ning, laughing. 'I'm not surprised.You don't know the Frieslanders. They're guileless, as I said, butthey cling to their little perquisites.' (I translated to Davies.)'They've been cheated out of wrecks, and they're all the moresensitive about ducks, which are more lucrative than fish. A strangeris a poacher. Your man would have made slight errors as to time andplace.'

  'You said they were odd in their manner, didn't you, Davies?' I putin. 'Look here, this is very kind of Commander von Br?ning; buthadn't we better be certain of my plans before settling down toshoot? Let's push on direct to Norderney and get that letter of mine,and then decide. But we shan't see you again, I suppose, Commander?'

  'Why not? I am cruising westwards, and shall probably call atNorderney. Come aboard if you're there, won't you? I should like toshow you the _Blitz_.'

  'Thanks, very much,' said Davies, uneasily.

  'Thanks, very much,' said I, as heartily as I could.

  Our party broke up soon after this.

  'Well, gentlemen, I must take leave of you,' said our friend. 'I haveto drive to Esens. I shall be going back to the _Blitz_ on the eveningtide, but you'll be busy then with your own boat.'

  It had been a puzzling interview, but the greatest puzzle was stillto come. As we went towards the door, von Br?ning made a sign to me.We let Davies pass out and remained standing.

  'One word in confidence with you, Herr Carruthers,' he said, speakinglow. 'You won't think me officious, I hope. I only speak out of keenregard for your friend. It is about the Dollmanns--you see how theland lies? I wouldn't encourage him.'

  'Thanks,' I said, 'but really----'

  'It's only a hint. He's a splendid young fellow, but if anything--youunderstand--too honest and simple. I take it you have influence withhim, and I should use it.'

  'I was not in earnest,' I said. 'I have never seen the Dollmanns; Ithought they were friends of yours,' I added, looking him straight inthe eyes.

  'I know them, but'--he shrugged his shoulders--'I know everybody.'

  'What's wrong with them?' I said, point-blank.

  'Softly! Herr Carruthers. Remember, I speak out of pure friendlinessto you as strangers, foreigners, and young. You I take to havediscretion, or I should not have said a word. Still, I will add this.We know very little of Herr Dollmann, of his origin, his antecedents.He is half a Swede, I believe, certainly not a Prussian; came toNorderney three years ago, appears to be rich, and has joined invarious commercial undertakings. Little scope about here? Oh, thereis more enterprise than you think--development of bathing resorts,you know, speculation in land on these islands. Sharp practice? Oh,no! he's perfectly straight in that way. But he's a queer fellow, ofeccentric habits, and--and, well, as I say, little is known of him.That's all, just a warning. Come along.'

  I saw that to press him further was useless.

  'Thanks; I'll remember,' I said.

  'And look here,' he added, as we walked down the passage, 'if youtake my advice, you'll omit that visit to the 'Medusa' altogether.' Hegave me a steady look, smiling gravely.

  'How much do you know, and what do you mean?' were the questions thatthrobbed in my thoughts; but
I could not utter them, so I saidnothing and felt very young.

  Outside we joined Davies, who was knitting his brow over prospects.

  'It just comes of going into places like this,' he said to me. 'Wemay be stuck here for days. Too much wind to tow out with the dinghy,and too narrow a channel to beat in.'

  Von Br?ning was ready with a new proposal.

  'Why didn't I think of it before?' he said. 'I'll tow you out in mylaunch. Be ready at 6.30; we shall have water enough then. My menwill send you a warp.'

  It was impossible to refuse, but a sense of being personallyconducted again oppressed me; and the last hope of a bed in the innvanished. Davies was none too effusive either. A tug meant a pilot,and he had had enough of them.

  'He objects to towage on principle,' I said.

  'Just like him!' laughed the other. 'That's settled, then!' A dogcartwas standing before the inn door in readiness for von Br?ning. I wascurious about Esens and his business there. Esens, he said, was theprincipal town of the district, four miles inland.

  'I have to go there,' he volunteered, 'about a poaching case--aDutchman trawling inside our limits. That's my work, you know--policeduty.'

  Had the words a deeper meaning?

  'Do you ever catch an Englishman?' I asked, recklessly.

  'Oh, very rarely; your countrymen don't come so far as this--except onpleasure.' He bowed to us each and smiled.

  'Not much of that to be got in Bensersiel,' I laughed.

  'I'm afraid you'll have a dull afternoon. Look here. I know you can'tleave your boat altogether, and it's no use asking Herr Davies; butwill _you_ drive into Esens with me and see a Frisian town--for whatit's worth? You're getting a dismal impression of Friesland.'

  I excused myself, said I would stop with Davies; we would walk out overthe sands and prospect for the evening's sail.

  'Well, good-bye then,' he said, 'till the evening. Be ready for thewarp at 6.30.'

  He jumped up, and the cart rattled off through the mud, crossed thebridge, and disappeared into the dreary hinterland.