The Riddle of the Sands

by Erskine Childers

  XVIII. Imperial Escort

  MEMMERT gripped me, then, to the exclusion of a rival notion whichhad given me no little perplexity during the conversation with vonBr?ning. His reiterated advice that we should lose no time in pickingup our anchor and chain had ended by giving me the idea that he wasanxious to get us away from Bensersiel and the mainland. At first Ihad taken the advice partly as a test of our veracity (as I gave thereader to understand), and partly as an indirect method of lullingany suspicions which Grimm's midnight visit may have caused. Then itstruck me that this might be over-subtlety on my part, and the idearecurred when the question of our future plans cropped up, andhampered me in deciding on a course. It returned again when vonBr?ning offered to tow us out in the evening. It was in my mind whenI questioned him as to his business ashore, for it occurred to methat perhaps his landing here was not solely due to a wish to inspectthe crew of the _Dulcibella_. Then came his perfectly frank explanation(with its sinister _double entente_ for us), coupled with aninvitation to me to accompany him to Esens. But, on the principle of_timeo Danaos_ etc., I instantly smelt a ruse, not that I dreamtthat I was to be decoyed into captivity; but if there was anythinghere which we two might discover in the few hours left to us, it wasan ingenious plan to remove the most observant of the two till thehour of departure.

  Davies scorned them, and I had felt only a faint curiosity in theseinsignificant hamlets, influenced, I am afraid, chiefly by ahankering after _terra firma_ which the pitiless rigour of histraining had been unable to cure.

  But it was imprudent to neglect the slightest chance. It was threeo'clock, and I think both our brains were beginning to be addled withthinking in close confinement. I suggested that we should finish ourcouncil of war in the open, and we both donned oilskins and turnedout. The sky had hardened and banked into an even canopy of lead, andthe wind drove before it a fine cold rain. You could hear the murmurof the rising flood on the sands outside, but the harbour was highabove it still, and the _Dulcibella_ and the other boats squatted lowin a bed of black slime. Native interest seemed to be at lastassuaged, for not a soul was visible on the bank (I cannot call it aquay); but the top of a black sou'wester with a feather of smokecurling round it showed above the forehatch of the 'Kormoran'.

  'I wish I could get a look at your cargo, my friend,' I thought tomyself.

  We gazed at Bensersiel in silence.

  'There can't be anything _here_?' I said.

  'What _can_ there be?' said Davies.

  'What about that dyke?' I said, with a sudden inspiration.

  From the bank we could see all along the coast-line, which is dykedcontinuously, as I have already said. The dyke was here a substantialbrick-faced embankment, very similar, though on a smaller scale, tothat which had bordered the Elbe near Cuxhaven, and over whose summitwe had seen the snouts of guns.

  'I say, Davies,' I said, 'do you think this coast could be invaded?Along here, I mean, behind these islands?'

  Davies shook his head. 'I've thought of that,' he said. 'There'snothing in it. It's just the very last place on earth where a landingwould be possible. No transport could get nearer than where the _Blitz_is lying, four miles out.'

  'Well, you say every inch of this coast is important?'

  'Yes, but it's the _water_ I mean.'

  'Well, I want to see that dyke. Let's walk along it.'

  My mushroom theory died directly I set foot on it. It was the mostinnocent structure in the world--like a thousand others in Essex andHolland--topped by a narrow path, where we walked in single file witharms akimbo to keep our balance in the gusts of wind. Below us laythe sands on one side and rank fens on the other, interspersed withsquares of pasture ringed in with ditches. After half a mile wedropped down and came back by a short circuit inland, following amazy path--which was mostly right angles and minute plank bridges,till we came to the Esens road. We crossed this and soon after foundour way barred by the stream I spoke of. This involved a _d?tour_ tothe bridge in the village, and a stealthy avoidance of thepost-office, for dread of its garrulous occupant. Then we followedthe dyke in the other direction, and ended by a circuit over thesands, which were fast being covered by the tide, and so back to theyacht.

  Nobody appeared to have taken the slightest notice of our movements.

  As we walked we had tackled the last question, 'What are we to do?'and found very little to say on it. We were to leave to-night (unlessthe Esens police appeared on the scene), and were committed tosailing direct to Norderney, as the only alternative to duck shootingunder the espionage of a 'trustworthy' nominee of von Br?ning's.Beyond that--vagueness and difficulty of every sort.

  At Norderney I should be fettered by my letter. If it seemed to havebeen opened and it ordered my return, I was limited to a week, ormust risk suspicion by staying. Dollmann was away (according to vonBr?ning), 'would probably be back soon'; but how soon? BeyondNorderney lay Memmert. How to probe its secret? The ardour it hadroused in me was giving way to a mortifying sense of impotence. Thesight of the 'Kormoran', with her crew preparing for sea, was a pointedcomment on my diplomacy, and most of all on my ridiculous survey ofthe dykes. When all was said and done we were _prot?g?s_ of vonBr?ning, and dogged by Grimm. Was it likely they would let ussucceed?

  The tide was swirling into the harbour in whorls of chocolate froth,and as it rose all Bensersiel, dominated as before by Herr Schenkel,straggled down to the quay to watch the movements of shipping duringthe transient but momentous hour when the mud-hole was a seaport. Thecaptain's steam-cutter was already afloat, and her sailors busy withsidelights and engines. When it became known that we, too, were tosail, and under such distinguished escort, the excitementintensified.

  Again our friend of the Customs was spreading out papers to sign,while a throng of helpful Frisians, headed by the twin giants of thepost-boat, thronged our decks and made us ready for sea in their ownconfused fashion. Again we were carried up to the inn and overwhelmedwith advice, and warnings, and farewell toasts. Then back again tofind the _Dulcibella_ afloat, and von Br?ning just arrived, cursing theweather and the mud, chaffing Davies, genial and _d?bonnaire_ asever.

  'Stow that mainsail, you won't want it,' he said. 'I'll tow you rightout to Spiekeroog. It's your only anchorage for the night in thiswind--under the island, near the _Blitz_, and that would mean a deadbeat for you in the dark.'

  The fact was so true, and the offer so timely, that Davies's faintprotests were swept aside in a torrent of ridicule.

  'And now I think of it,' the Commander ended, 'I'll make the tripwith you, if I may. It'll be pleasanter and drier.'

  We all three boarded the _Dulcibella_, and then the end came. Ourtow-rope was attached, and at half-past six the little launch jumpedinto the collar, and amidst a demonstration that could not have beenmore hearty if we had been ambassadors on a visit to a friendlypower, we sidled out through the jetties.

  It took us more than an hour to cover the five miles to Spiekeroog,for the _Dulcibella_ was a heavy load in the stiff head wind, andDavies, though he said nothing, showed undisguised distrust of ourtug's capacities. He at once left the helm to me and flung himself onthe gear, not resting till every rope was ready to hand, the mainsailreefed, the binnacle lighted, and all ready for setting sail oranchoring at a moment's notice. Our guest watched these precautionswith infinite amusement. He was in the highest and most mischievoushumour, raining banter on Davies and mock sympathy on me, laughing atour huge compass, heaving the lead himself, startling us withimaginary soundings, and doubting if his men were sober. I offeredentertainment and warmth below, but he declined on the ground thatDavies would be tempted to cut the tow-rope and make us pass thenight on a safe sandbank. Davies took the raillery unmoved. His workdone, he took the tiller and sat bareheaded, intent on the launch,the course, the details, and chances of the present. I brought upcigars and we settled ourselves facing him, our backs to the wind andspray. And so we made the rest of the passage, von Br?ning cuddledagainst me and the cabin-hatch, alternately shouti
ng a jest to Daviesand talking to me in a light and charming vein, with just that shadeof patronage that the disparity in our ages warranted, about my timein Germany, places, people, and books I knew, and about life,especially young men's life, in England, a country he had nevervisited, but hoped to; I responding as well as I could, striving tomeet his mood, acquit myself like a man, draw zest instead ofhumiliation from the irony of our position, but scarcely able to makeheadway against a numbing sense of defeat and incapacity. A queerthought was haunting me, too, that such skill and judgement as Ipossessed was slipping from me as we left the land and faced againthe rigours of this exacting sea. Davies, I very well knew, was underexactly the opposite spell--a spell which even the reproach of thetow-rope could not annul. His face, in the glow of the binnacle, wasbeginning to wear that same look of contentment and resolve that Ihad seen on it that night we had sailed to Kiel from Schlei Fiord.Heaven knows he had more cause for worry than I--a casual comrade inan adventure which was peculiarly his, which meant everything onearth to him; but there he was, washing away perplexity in the saltwind, drawing counsel and confidence from the unfailing source of allhis inspirations--the sea.

  'Looks happy, doesn't he?' said the captain once. I grunted that hedid, ashamed to find how irritated the remark made me.

  'You'll remember what I said,' he added in my ear.

  'Yes,' I said. 'But I should like to see her. What _is_ she like?'

  'Dangerous.' I could well believe it.

  The hull of the _Blitz_ loomed up, and a minute later our kedge wassplashing overboard and the launch was backing alongside.

  'Good-night, gentlemen,' said our passenger. 'You're safe enoughhere, and you can run across in ten minutes in the morning and pickup your anchor, if it's there still. Then you've a fair wind west--toEngland if you like. If you decide to stay a little longer in theseparts, and I'm in reach, count on me to help you, to sport oranything else.'

  We thanked him, shook hands, and he was gone.

  'He's a thundering good chap, anyhow,' said Davies; and I heartilyagreed.

  The narrow vigilant life began again at once. We were 'safe enough'in a sense, but a warp and a twenty-pound anchor were poor securityif the wind backed or increased. Plans for contingencies had to bemade, and deck-watches kept till midnight, when the weather seemed toimprove, and stars appeared. The glass was rising, so we turned inand slept under the very wing, so to speak, of the ImperialGovernment.

  'Davies,' I said, when we were settled in our bunks, 'it's only aday's sail to Norderney, isn't it?'

  'With a fair wind, less, if we go outside the islands direct.'

  'Well, it's settled that we do that to-morrow?'

  'I suppose so. We've got to get the anchor first. Good-night.'