The Riddle of the Sands
appreciable sea on the shoal spaces we were traversing. In the matter
of our bearings, I set myself doggedly to overcome that paralysing
perplexity, always induced in me by night or fog in these intricate
waters; and, by screwing round and round, succeeded so far as to
discover and identify two flashing lights—one alternately red and
white, far and faint astern; the other right ahead and rather stronger,
giving white flashes only. The first and least familiar was, I made
out, from the lighthouse on Wangeroog; the second, well known to me as
our beacon star in the race from Memmert, was the light on the centre
of Norderney Island, about ten miles away.
I had no accurate idea of the time, for I could not see my watch, but I
thought we must have started about a quarter past eleven. We were
travelling fast, the funnel belching out smoke and the bow-wave curling
high; for the tug appeared to be a powerful little craft, and her load
was comparatively light.
So much for the general situation. As for my own predicament, I was in
no mood to brood on the hazards of this mad adventure, a hundredfold
more hazardous than my fog-smothered eavesdropping at Memmert. The
crisis, I knew, had come, and the reckless impudence that had brought
me here must serve me still and extricate me. Fortune loves rough
wooing. I backed my luck and watched.
The behaviour of the passengers struck me as odd. They remained in a
row at the taffrail, gazing astern like regretful emigrants, and
sometimes, gesticulating and pointing. Now no vestige of the low land
was visible, so I was driven to the conclusion that it was the lighter
they were discussing; and I date my awakening from the moment that I
realised this. But the thread broke prematurely; for the passengers
took to pacing the deck, and I had to lie low. When next I was able to
raise my head they were round Grimm at the wheel, engaged, as far as I
could discover from their gestures, in an argument about our course and
the time, for Grimm looked at his watch by the light of a hand-lantern.
We were heading north, and I knew by the swell that we must be near the
Accumer Ee, the gap between Langeoog and Baltrum. Were we going out to
open sea? It came over me with a rush that we _must,_ if we were to
drop this lighter at Memmert. Had I been Davies I should have been
quicker to seize certain rigid conditions of this cruise, which no
human power could modify. We had left after high tide. The water
therefore was falling everywhere; and the tributary channels in rear of
the islands were slowly growing impassable. It was quite thirty miles
to Memmert, with three watersheds to pass; behind Baltrum, Norderney,
and Juist. A skipper with nerve and perfect confidence might take us
over one of these in the dark, but most of the run would infallibly
have to be made outside. I now better understood the protests of Herr
Schenkel to Grimm. Never once had we seen a lighter in tow in the open
sea, though plenty behind the barrier of islands; indeed it was the
very existence of the sheltered byways that created such traffic as
there was. It was only Grimm’s _métier_ and the incubus of the lighter
that had suggested Memmert as our destination at all, and I began to
doubt it now. That tricky hoop of sand had befooled us before.
At this moment, and as if to corroborate my thought, the telegraph rang
and the tug slowed down. I effaced myself and heard Grimm shouting to
the man on the lighter to starboard his helm, and to the look-out to
come aft. The next order froze my very marrow; it was “lower away”.
Someone was at the davits of my boat fingering the tackles; the forward
fall-rope actually slipped in the block and tilted the boat a fraction.
I was just wondering how far it was to swim to Langeoog, when a strong,
imperious voice (unknown to me) rang out, “No, no! We don’t want the
boat. The swell’s nothing; we can jump! Can’t we, Böhme?” The speaker
ended with a jovial laugh. “Mercy!” thought I, “are _they_ going to
swim to Langeoog?” but I also gasped for relief. The tug rolled
lifelessly in the swell for a little, and footsteps retreated aft.
There were cries of “Achtung!” and some laughter, one big bump and a
good deal of grinding; and on we moved again, taking the strain of the
tow-rope gingerly, and then full-speed ahead. The passengers, it
seemed, preferred the lighter to the tug for cruising in; coal-dust and
exposure to clean planks and a warm cuddy. When silence reigned again I
peeped out. Grimm was at the wheel still, impassively twirling the
spokes, with a glance over his shoulder at his precious freight. And,
after all, we _were_ going outside.
Close on the port hand lay a black foam-girt shape, the east spit of
Baltrum. It fused with the night, while we swung slowly round to
windward over the troubled bar. Now we were in the spacious deeps of
the North Sea; and feeling it too in increase of swell and volleys of
spray.
At this point evolutions began. Grimm gave the wheel up to the
look-out, and himself went to the taffrail, whence he roared back
orders of “Port!” or “Starboard!” in response to signals from the
lighter. We made one complete circle, steering on each point of the
wind in succession, after that worked straight out to sea till the
water was a good deal rougher, and back again at a tangent, till in
earshot of the surf on the island beach. There the manœuvres, which
were clearly in the nature of a trial trip, ended; and we hove to, to
transship our passengers. They, when they came aboard, went straight
below, and Grimm, having steadied the tug on a settled course and
entrusted the wheel to the sailor again, stripped off his dripping
oilskin coat, threw it down on the cabin skylight, and followed them.
The course he had set was about west, with Norderney light a couple of
points off the port bow. The course for Memmert? Possibly; but I cared
not, for my mind was far from Memmert to-night. _It was the course for
England too._ Yes, I understood at last. I was assisting at an
experimental rehearsal of a great scene, to be enacted, perhaps, in the
near future—a scene when multitudes of seagoing lighters, carrying full
loads of soldiers, not half loads of coals, should issue
simultaneously, in seven ordered fleets, from seven shallow outlets,
and, under escort of the Imperial Navy, traverse the North Sea and
throw themselves bodily upon English shores.
Indulgent reader, you may be pleased to say that I have been very
obtuse; and yet, with humility, I protest against that verdict.
Remember that, recent as are the events I am describing, it is only
since they happened that the possibility of an invasion of England by
Germany has become a topic of public discussion. Davies and I had
never—I was going to say had never considered it; but that would not be
accurate, for we had glanced at it once or twice; and if any single
incident in his or our joint cruise had provided a semblance of
confirmation, he, at any rate, would have kindled to that spark. But
you will see how perversely from first to last circumstances drove us
deeper and deeper into the wrong groove, till the idea became
inveterate that the secret we were seeking was one of defence and not
offence. Hence a complete mental somersault was required, and, as an
amateur, I found it difficult; the more so that the method of invasion,
as I darkly comprehended it now, was of such a strange and
unprecedented character; for orthodox invasions start from big ports
and involve a fleet of ocean transports, while none of our clues
pointed that way. To neglect obvious methods, to draw on the obscure
resources of an obscure strip of coast, to improve and exploit a
quantity of insignificant streams and tidal outlets, and thence,
screened by the islands, to despatch an armada of light-draught barges,
capable of flinging themselves on a correspondingly obscure and
therefore unexpected portion of the enemy’s coast; that was a
conception so daring, aye, and so quixotic in some of its aspects, that
even now I was half incredulous. Yet it must be the true one. Bit by
bit the fragments of the puzzle fell into order till a coherent whole
was adumbrated. [The reader will find the whole matter dealt with in
the Epilogue.]
The tug surged on into the night; a squall of rain leapt upon us and
swept hissing astern. Baltrum vanished and the strands of Norderney
beamed under transient moonlight. Drunk with triumph, I cuddled in my
rocking cradle and ransacked every unvisited chamber of the memory,
tossing out their dusty contents, to make a joyous bonfire of some, and
to see the residue take life and meaning in the light of the great
revelation.
My reverie was of things, not persons; of vast national issues rather
than of the poignant human interests so closely linked with them. But
on a sudden I was recalled, with a shock, to myself, Davies, and the
present.
We were changing our course, as I knew by variations in the whirl of
draughts which whistled about me. I heard Grimm afoot again, and,
choosing my moment, surveyed the scene. Broad on the port-beam were the
garish lights of Norderney town and promenade, and the tug, I
perceived, was drawing in to enter the See Gat. _[See Chart B.]_
Round she came, hustling through the broken water of the bar, till her
nose was south and the wind was on the starboard bow. Not a mile from
me were the villa and the yacht, and the three persons of the
drama—three, that is, if Davies were safe.
Were we to land at Norderney harbour? Heavens, what a magnificent
climax!—if only I could rise to it. My work here was done. At a stroke
to rejoin Davies and be free to consummate our designs!
A desperate idea of cutting the davit-tackles—I blush to think of the
stupidity—was rejected as soon as it was born, and instead, I
endeavoured to imagine our approach to the pier. My boat hung on the
starboard side; that would be the side away from the quay, and the tide
would be low. I could swarm down the davits during the stir of arrival,
drop into the sea and swim the few yards across the dredged-out
channel, wade through the mud to within a short distance of the
_Dulcibella_, and swim the rest. I rubbed the salt out of my eyes and
wriggled my cramped legs.... Hullo! why was Grimm leaving the helm
again? Back he went to the cabin, leaving the sailor at the helm.... We
ought to be turning to port now; but no—on we went, south, for the
mainland.
Though one plan was frustrated, the longing to get to Davies, once
implanted, waxed apace.
Our destination was at last beyond dispute. _[See Chart.]_ The channel
we were in was the same that we had cut across on our blind voyage to
Memmert, and the same my ferry-steamer had followed two days ago. It
was a _cul-de-sac_ leading to one place only, the landing stage at
Norddeich. The only place on the whole coast, now I came to think of
it, where the tug could land at this tide. There the quay would be on
the starboard side, and I saw myself tied to my eyrie while the
passengers landed and the tug and lighter turned back for Memmert; at
Memmert, dawn, and discovery.
There was some way out—some way out, I repeated to myself; some way to
reap the fruit of Davies’s long tutelage in the lore of this strange
region. What would _he_ do?
For answer there came the familiar _frou-frou_ of gentle surf on drying
sands. The swell was dying away, the channel narrowing; dusky and weird
on the starboard hand stretched leagues of new-risen sand. Two men only
were on deck; the moon was quenched under the vanguard clouds of a
fresh squall.
A madcap scheme danced before me. The time, I _must_ know the time!
Crouching low and cloaking the flame with my jacket I struck a match;
2.30 a.m.—the tide had been ebbing for about three hours and a half.