Mason eyed him with guarded caution. ‘Are you trying to humiliate me? Do you want to see me break down and weep?’ His face trembled with anger. ‘You will never see that! Not you nor any other bloody German!’

  ‘Hold your tongue!’ Heuss stepped forward, but von Steiger waved him aside.

  ‘No, Captain. I have not sent for you for that reason. I intend to give you back the Nemesis.’ He let the words sink in. ‘You will be allowed to sail where you will, without wireless of course, but free! You will be given all the prisoners, and you can land them in Brazil if you wish!’

  Mason swallowed hard, his eyes searching the German’s set face. ‘I don’t understand. Why are you doing this?’

  ‘Why? Because I am tired of carrying you about with me. When you meet with your friends you can tell them what has happened, what has really happened in this ship! About your own daring escape attempt, and of how you planned to pass the rendezvous position to the British warships through any wounded man whom I chose to put ashore!’ He nodded as he saw the surprise on Mason’s face. ‘Oh yes! I knew all about your little scheme, Mason! I am a dirty ruthless pirate. But when I risked my ship and men to save the agony of the wounded, it was you and your friend Gelb who acted as men of little charity!’

  Mason shook his head dazedly. ‘You knew? The woman must have told you.’

  He laughed shortly. ‘No, my friend, she did not! When you came aboard my ship as a prisoner, a defeated enemy, I offered to shake your hand. You thought you would withhold that privilege. You imagined that you might be showing weakness, eh?’ The gold eyes were hard and unwavering. ‘Do not delude yourself any further! I was not chosen for this task because I am a fool, or because I am a stupid sentimentalist! When you are safe once more on your own ship, Captain, just think on these things, and thank God that I am not half the swine you have imagined!’

  Mason blinked and looked at Heuss. ‘I shall never understand you Germans!’

  Von Steiger signalled to the guard. ‘Captain Mason, let me give you a word of advice. Try to learn something from all this. If you can survive a world war and still learn nothing, there is indeed no hope for mankind!’ In a calmer voice he finished, ‘Take him below!’

  Heuss waited, watching the darkening sea and the gentle corkscrewing of the black bows. ‘Will it make any difference, Captain? Will your gesture count to the enemy?’

  Von Steiger sighed. ‘It was no gesture. I just want to be rid of them. To get this ship as it was. I shall not put Frau Brett aboard the collier.’ He was going to add ‘of course’, but without looking at Heuss he knew such an addition was unnecessary.

  Ebert appeared at the wheelhouse door and von Steiger glanced at him. ‘Is she near enough to signal? Well, spit it out, man! What’s the trouble?’

  Ebert looked puzzled, unable to grasp the enormity of his knowledge. ‘The collier, sir! Damrosch reports that she is settling down!’ His face paled. ‘Captain, she’s sinking!’

  Heuss stepped towards the telephone, his eyes angry. ‘That’s impossible! He must be mistaken.’

  Von Steiger looked as if he had received a blow in the face, but recovered instantly. ‘Not impossible, Heuss. Wildermuth had my orders to scuttle the ship under certain circumstances.’

  Heuss stared at the unruffled face. ‘But only if he was stopped by a British warship, sir!’

  Von Steiger smiled. ‘Exactly!’

  Several seconds passed, and then von Steiger added, ‘Bring her about, Heuss, steer north-east and increase to fourteen knots!’

  He turned away as Heuss ran to carry out his orders, and lifted his glasses to the horizon. It was dim and almost lost in the dusk of the night sky. But not too dark for him to find the tiny black shape, the merest smudge against the encroaching sky. A small, sinking ship, already worthless, and soon to be forgotten.

  But as he swung his glasses to hold the collier’s image against the swinging turn of his own ship, he knew that it was an irreparable loss for him.

  19

  EXTRACT FROM VON Steiger’s report:

  February 15th, 1918.

  Since my failure to rendezvous with the collier Nemesis, and the subsequent avoiding action needed to outdistance whatever ship caused her to scuttle, I have tried to steer a course which would eventually bring me into a favourable position from which I could break northwards and recross the Equator. In five days we have steamed one thousand, six hundred and eighty miles, but at Noon today our estimated position was four hundred and fifty miles south of Cape Palmas on the African mainland. Repeatedly I have endeavoured to turn on a more northerly course, but on five occasions have been forced to steer an almost parallel one with the Equator, which still lies to the north. Five times we have sighted separate ships which were, without doubt, large war vessels. It would appear that a line of enemy steel extends across the Atlantic both to the north and the south of me, so that despite every manæuvre I am being forced into the Gulf of Guinea. Whether this is by accident or design I do not know, but the large extent of coded wireless signals which we have intercepted seems to show the enemy’s overwhelming pressure and eagerness to make contact with us.

  It is bitter to realise that only nine hundred miles to the north-east lies Togoland, once a proud colony of the Fatherland and now being exploited by the Allies. Even Kamerun to the east has surrendered to the enemy. There is no escape for us but to the north. But for the shortage of fuel I would be prepared to bide my time and make a wide detour. The sinking of the cargo liner Fiji Star has made such a luxury impossible, and I can only maintain my present plan and take every advantage of the night with its brief cover and protection.

  The weather has done little to help, and for days we have cruised in extreme and oppressive heat. There is no wind, and my men fall about like dead men, or creep into the shadows without a song or even a complaint to ease their wretchedness.

  Food is, of course, severely rationed, and consists of a meat diet, salt pork or some British tinned beef. Two ship’s biscuits a day and half a pint of fresh water for each man aboard.

  I have no regrets at the death of Lieutenant Dehler, which I have already explained, but only that I could not have foreseen his actions and thereby prevented them. Because of that, I blame myself for the events which followed and the increased pressure of the enemy. To sink a passenger vessel in these circumstances can only be compared to kicking a sleeping lion.

  Since leaving Kiel we have logged nearly eleven thousand miles, and maybe we must steam the same again if we are to see Germany in this ship. But without coal we will be lucky even to cross the Equator, unless I can find a break in the enemy’s line. . . .

  * * * * *

  Von Steiger placed the pen on the vibrating table and leaned far back in his chair. The air was stifling in the small cabin, and he was tempted to switch off the light and open the scuttle to the night with its velvet sky and haze-covered stars. He could feel the heavy, labouring rolls of the ship below him and tried to drag his mind back to the empty holds and fast-diminishing stocks.

  His eye fell on his empty coffee-cup and he felt the immediate longing for a fresh supply. Because of the water shortage, however, the coffee for the whole ship’s company was made only twice a day, the amount measured like gold-dust by the watchful cooks. Wine, then? He shook his head, angry with himself for being tempted. In a modern age, it somehow proved the inability of man to produce sufficient water for a ship at sea, when there was more than enough wine and spirits for every man aboard.

  The telephone above his head buzzed in its leather case and he lifted it quickly to his ear. He thought momentarily of its long wire, which now connected him with that other world of terrible heat, pounding pistons and back-breaking work at the hungry furnaces.

  The voice said, ‘Chief Engineer speaking, Captain!’

  ‘Late for you, Niklas! It is nearly midnight!’ He waited, sensing some new disaster.

  Niklas coughed. ‘I want to shut down one of the boilers, sir. It’s urgent, I am afraid!’

  Von Steiger tensed on the edge of his chair, trying to calculate what it might mean. ‘How bad is it?’

  ‘It is leaking very badly. Tube-plates damaged by the constant high speed!’ He sounded irritable, even accusing. ‘I shall have to draw the fire in it.’

  ‘How long?’ Von Steiger tried to control the anxiety in his voice.

  ‘Four or five hours maybe. It depends. No man can work inside the boiler for more than five minutes at a time, maybe less after what they have had to suffer.’

  Von Steiger tried to visualise the luckless stoker being thrust into the still smouldering ashes of the furnace, protected only by a stretcher of dampened timber and thick clothing, and fumbling with his tools to expand the faulty tubes, or as many as he could, before the intense and suffocating heat overcame him. What it was like to work under those conditions, with the furnace door shut behind him to prevent a flashback, von Steiger could only imagine, but he forced himself to concentrate on the real problem and ignore the personal discomforts of Niklas’s men.

  ‘You want to reduce speed then? What is the maximum you can give me?’

  ‘Steerage way only. Or perhaps five knots for varying periods.’ Final, definite, no room for compromise.

  ‘I see. Very well, Niklas, but for God’s sake make haste! We must be ready for instant speed!’

  ‘Don’t tell me, Captain! Tell the fool who suggested a ship like this for cruiser warfare! They never ask an engineer anything until it’s too late and everyone else has failed. Then it’s “More speed!” or “We must go faster!” I know, I’ve seen it all before.’

  Von Steiger knew it was useless to argue and it would only waste time. With a sigh he hung up the hand-set so that Niklas could make his point with the officer-of-the-watch. After a few minutes he heard the telegraph ring twice and then the steady, pulsating beat of the engine died away to the merest tremble, which oddly enough increased the vibration and nerve-jarring rattle of every loose fitting throughout the bridge.

  He rang for his messenger and sat staring at the man’s nervous face and red-rimmed eyes. They are cracking, he thought bitterly. They did not mind the idea of danger, because they thought they would be able to see and recognise it. But there is nothing to see. Only the threat and the constant fear of sudden destruction from an invisible enemy.

  ‘My compliments to the officer-of-the-watch, and tell him to pass the word to the watch on deck the reason for our reduced speed. I do not want them to think we are in trouble. That is all.’

  He watched the man’s lips moving silently as he scurried away on his errand. Probably a farm boy or a clerk in civilian life. Now a seaman in a hunted ship. He sighed again. Well, he was not alone in his misfortune.

  * * * * *

  Heuss blinked several times to stop his eyelids from drooping, and finished writing up the First Watch log. The small light which cast a circular yellow glow across the chart-table defied his efforts to concentrate, and he skimmed briefly through the coldly worded phrases which had filled a million logbooks. He creased his eyes and frowned. What was the use of estimating the wind and describing the state of the weather? It was all non-existent. He grinned crookedly. There was no weather. Nothing but darkness, a blessed cooling of the air and a brief escape from the heat and eye-burning glare off the empty sea. His ear was constantly drawn to the mumbling sound of the engine. It seemed so weak and trivial after its steady thunder, which had been a constant companion for so many thousands of miles. He wondered if Niklas had started to draw the fire yet, and whether they drew lots for the task of working inside that metal hell.

  Damrosch moved quietly into the wheelhouse and stood beside him. His jacket was open to the waist and Heuss could see his skin gleaming in the pale light from the chart-table.

  ‘Enjoying the night air, Max?’

  Damrosch nodded. It was so much more pleasant to share the watch with Heuss than with Dehler that he felt guilty for enjoying it as much as he did. For the five days following Dehler’s death he had thrown himself into his duties with such grim determination that Heuss had had to warn him. Damrosch had discovered that there was yet another side to Heuss. As an executive officer he was a pleasure to watch, and, in his own small experience, he was also unique. He never seemed to get irritable or give way to the tiredness which was so apparent in his face. He was cheerful with the men, and yet seemed so sure that his friendliness would not be abused.

  ‘It was good out on the wing,’ he answered quietly. ‘Nothing but the stars and darkness.’

  ‘I should hope so! I’d hate to think of a British ship creeping up on us right now. Barely making steerage way, one boiler out of action and coal at a minimum! I wish the Captain would have another of his intuitions about meeting a collier!’

  ‘It’s funny, Emil, but I did not think you cared about anything before. You’ve changed, you know.’

  ‘Bilge! It’s just that I’ve had no time for things which really matter.’

  ‘Seriously, Emil, you remember when you came into my cabin, after you captured the collier? When we got drunk on White Horse?’

  Heuss sighed. ‘A long time ago it seems. Yes, I remember.’

  ‘You told me about the girl, Frau Brett. Do you remember what you told me?’ He stumbled over his words, not sure of himself or Heuss’s reaction. ‘Have you got over it yet?’

  Heuss shrugged. ‘I do not think I can answer that yet. Perhaps next month, or next year. Maybe I shall never know. I suppose in my heart I knew she was made for von Steiger! It just had to be this way.’

  Damrosch swallowed hard. ‘You are not serious, surely? He would not behave like that with a prisoner?’

  Heuss patted his arm affectionately. ‘You are a gem, Max! The last of the gentlemen! Von Steiger is very human in one way, we know that now. Caryl Brett is no ordinary woman, and she is not just a prisoner. She came from the sea. She came from amongst the dead. Perhaps he saw her as retribution, or as a chance to clear his soul. Whatever it was at the beginning, it has taken them both by storm. I will go further, Max. If is had not been for her presence, I think he would have surrendered long ago.’

  ‘Surrender?’ His voice rose to an incredulous whisper. ‘Never!’

  ‘Hold on, Max! I mean it, but not to the enemy. If he could not have shown himself and his soul to someone whom he could trust, someone who had no hold over him, he would have given in to a greater foe than the British! Himself!’

  A messenger scurried into the wheelhouse, peering around for an officer. ‘Lieutenant! The prisoners’ sentry has reported a fire in Number Two!’ He stood gasping as his words electrified the bridge.

  Damrosch reached for a telephone, his mouth drier than before. ‘I will call out the fire party!’

  Heuss shook his head. ‘Never! If it is spontaneous combustion water is the last thing we want! Call the Captain!’

  Heuss walked to the open bridge-wing, his tired eyes searching the darkened foredeck. Against the pale decks he could see the black rectangles of the two holds and the imitation deck cargo which hid two of the five-point-nines. He sniffed the heavy air. No doubt about it. Quite different from the acrid funnel-fumes which occasionally invaded the bridge. This was the scent of real smouldering.

  Von Steiger was suddenly by his side. ‘Number Two, is it?’ He sounded wide awake. ‘It would be!’ The main bulk of the untouched coal lay in that hold, and all the bitterness and disappointment showed momentarily in his quiet voice.

  ‘Right, Heuss, close every ventilator and seal every grating! The only way to stop it bursting into open fire is to cut off the air!’

  ‘But the coal, sir! We need every piece!’

  ‘You can forget that particular hold, Heuss. For a while yet it will be just so much ballast.’ He banged his hand viciously on the rail. ‘Probably some of the coal we took off that drifting freighter. Too wet to be safe.’ He turned, his teeth white in the darkness. ‘Too late to complain now, eh?’

  Heuss shouted his orders to the waiting petty officers and watched them double towards the smoking hold. Von Steiger is calm but resigned, he thought.

  ‘Perhaps we shall come across another collier, sir.’

  ‘Perhaps. We can only hope.’

  * * * * *

  ‘Number Two hold sealed off, Captain!’ Heuss mounted the ladder, his limbs feeling like lead.

  Von Steiger nodded curtly and turned to the relieving officer-of-the-watch. ‘Keep a sentry posted there, Ebert, and leave word for your relief. It should be safe enough, but you can never be sure.’

  He turned his head. ‘Singing, Heuss? Who is singing down there?’

  ‘The prisoners, sir. They are making a terrible row, and our men are getting annoyed. They have been laughing and singing since we sealed off that coal! Shall I go and shut them up?’

  ‘Let them sing. If it makes our people angry, so much the better! I would rather have them that way than dispirited and indifferent!’

  Heuss frowned. ‘What has got into those prisoners?’

  ‘News travels faster than fire in a ship like this. They put two and two together and imagine that we are in dire straits! It is only natural.’

  Heuss grinned wearily. ‘They are singing “I want to go home!” They have even forgotten to sleep.’

  ‘I suppose that is how we all feel now.’

  Ebert opened the wheelhouse door. ‘Port lookout reports a red glow on the port quarter, Captain! He can’t make it out, and neither can I!’

  They ran to the small crowded wing and levelled their glasses into the night.

  Heuss settled his binoculars carefully against a stanchion and stared hard at the dim orange glare. No, there were three or four tiny lights, close together and apparently shimmering like a regimented column of comets.

  Von Steiger watched them also, his ears deaf to the murmurs and guesses of those around him. It was a long way away, but there was no mistaking that unearthly fire.