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THE NARRATIVE OF LIEUTENANT VON BELKE

THE LANDING.

If any one had been watching the bay that August night , they would have seen up till an hour after midnight as lonely and peaceful a scene as if it had been some inlet in Greenland. The war might have been waging on another planet. The segment of a waning moon was just rising, but the sky was covered with clouds, except right overhead where a bevy of stars twinkled, and it was a dim though not a dark night. The sea was as flat and calm as you can ever get on an Atlantic coast--a glassy surface, but always a gentle regular bursting of foam upon the beach. In a semicircle the shore rose black, towering at either horn into high dark cliffs.

I suppose a bird or two may have been crying then as they were a little later, but there was not a light nor a sign of anything human being within a hundred miles. If one of the Vikings who used to live in those islands had revisited that particular glimpse of the moon, he could never have guessed that his old haunts had altered a tittle. But if he had waited a while he would have rubbed his eyes and wondered. Right between the headlands he would have seen it dimly:--a great thing that was not a fish rising out of the calm water, and then very stealthily creeping in and in towards the southern shore.

When we were fairly on the surface I came on deck and gazed over the dark waters to the darker shore, with--I don't mind confessing it now--a rather curious sensation. To tell the truth, I was a little nervous, but I think I showed no sign of it to Wiedermann.

"You have thought of everything you can possibly need?" he asked in a low voice.

"Everything, sir, I think," I answered confidently.

"No need to give you tips!" he said with a laugh.

I felt flattered--but still my heart was beating just a little faster than usual!

Along the middle of the bay ran a beach of sand and pebbles, with dunes and grass links above, but at the southern end the water was deep close inshore, and there were several convenient ledges of rock between the end of this beach and the beginning of the cliffs. The submarine came in as close as she dared, and then, without an instant's delay, the boat was launched. Wiedermann, myself, two sailors, and the motor-bicycle just managed to squeeze in, and we cautiously pulled for the ledges.

The tide was just right , and after a minute or two's groping along the rocks, we found a capital landing. Wiedermann and I jumped ashore as easily as if it had been a quay, and my bicycle should have been landed without a hitch. How it happened I know not, but just as the sailors were lifting it out, the boat swayed a little and one of the clumsy fellows let his end of it slip. A splash of spray broke over it; a mere nothing, it seemed at the time, and then I had hold of it and we lifted it on to the ledge.

Wiedermann spoke sharply to the man, but I assured him no harm had been done, and between us we wheeled the thing over the flat rocks, and pulled it up to the top of the grass bank beyond.

"I can manage all right by myself now," I said. "Good-bye, sir!"

He gave my hand a hard clasp.

"This is Thursday night," he said. "We shall be back on Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday nights, remember."

"The British Navy and the weather permitting!" I laughed.

"That suits him?" I laughed. "Say rather that suits Providence!"

"Well," he repeated, "I'll be here anyhow. Good luck!"

We saluted, and I started on my way, wheeling my bicycle over the grass. I confess, however, that I had not gone many yards before I stopped and looked back. Wiedermann had disappeared from the top of the bank, and in a moment I heard the faint sounds of the boat rowing back. Very dimly against the grey sea I could just pick out the conning tower and low side of the submarine. The gulls were still crying, but in a more sombre key, I fancied.

So here was I, Conrad von Belke, lieutenant in the German Navy, treading British turf underfoot, cut off from any hope of escape for three full days at least! And it was not ordinary British turf either. I was on the holy of holies, actually landed on those sacred, jealously-guarded islands , where the Grand Fleet had its lair. As to the mere act of landing, well, you have just seen that there was no insuperable difficulty in stepping ashore from a submarine at certain places, if the conditions were favourable and the moment cunningly chosen; but I proposed to penetrate to the innermost sanctuary, and spend at least three days there--a very different proposition!

I had been chosen for this service for three reasons: because I was supposed to be a cool hand in what the English call a "tight place"; because I could talk English not merely fluently, but with the real accent and intonation--like a native, in fact; and I believe because they thought me not quite a fool. As you shall hear, there was to be one much wiser than I to guide me. He was indeed the brain of this desperate enterprise, and I but his messenger and assistant. Still, one wants a messenger with certain qualities, and as it is the chief object of this narrative to clear my honour in the eyes of those who sent me, I wish to point out that they deliberately chose me for this job--I did not select myself--and that I did my best.

It was my own idea to take a motor-bicycle, but it was an idea cordially approved by those above me. There were several obvious advantages. A motor-cyclist is not an uncommon object on the roads even of those out-of-the-way islands, so that my mere appearance would attract no suspicion; and besides, they would scarcely expect a visitor of my sort to come ashore equipped with such an article. Also, I would cover the ground quickly, and, if it came to the worst, might have a chance of evading pursuit. But there was one reason which particularly appealed to me: I could wear my naval uniform underneath a suit of cyclist's overalls, and so if I were caught might make a strong plea to escape the fate of a spy; in fact, I told myself I was not a spy,--simply a venturesome scout. Whether the British would take the same view of me was another question! Still, the motor-cycle did give me a chance.

My first task was to cover the better part of twenty miles before daybreak and join forces with "him" in the very innermost shrine of this sanctuary--or rather, on the shore of it. This seemed a simple enough job; I had plenty of time, the roads, I knew, were good, nobody would be stirring at that hour, and the arrangements for my safe reception were, as you shall hear, remarkably ingenious. If I once struck the hard main road, I really saw nothing that could stop me.

The first thing was to strike this road. Of course I knew the map by heart, and had a copy in my pocket as a precaution that was almost superfluous, but working by map-memory in the dark is not so easy when one is going across country.

The grassy bank fell gently before me as the land sloped down from the cliffs to the beach, and I knew that within a couple of hundred yards I should find a rough road which followed the shore for a short way, and then when it reached the links above the beach, turned at right angles across them to join the highroad. Accordingly I bumped my motor-cycle patiently over the rough grass, keeping close to the edge of the bank so as to guide myself, and every now and then making a detour of a few yards inland to see whether the road had begun. The minutes passed, the ground kept falling till I was but a little above the level of the glimmering sea, the road ought to have begun to keep me company long ago, but never a sign of it could I find. Twice in my detours I stumbled into what seemed sand-holes, and turned back out of them sharply. And then at last I realised that I had ceased to descend for the last hundred yards or more, and in fact must be on the broad stretch of undulating sea links that fringed the head of the bay. But where was my road?

I stopped, bade myself keep quite cool and composed, and peered round me into the night. The moon was farther up and it had become a little lighter, but the clouds still obscured most of the sky and it was not light enough to see much. Overhead were the stars; on one hand the pale sea merged into the dark horizon; all around me were low black hummocks that seem to fade into an infinity of shadows. The gulls still cried mournfully, and a strong pungent odour of seaweed filled the night air. I remember that pause very vividly.

I should have been reckless enough to light a cigarette had I not feared that our submarine might still be on the surface, and Wiedermann might see the flash and dub me an idiot. I certainly needed a smoke very badly and took some credit to myself for refraining . And then I decided to turn back, slanting, however, a little away from the sea so as to try and cut across the road. A minute or two later I tumbled into a small chasm and came down with the bicycle on top of me. I had found my road.

The fact was that the thing, though marked on the large-scale map as a road of the third, fourth, or tenth quality , was actually nothing more or less than three parallel crevasses in the turf filled with loose sand. It was into these crevasses that I had twice stumbled already. Now with my back to the sea and keeping a yard or two away from this wretched track, but with its white sand to guide me, I pushed my motor-cycle laboriously over the rough turf for what seemed the better part of half an hour. In reality I suppose it was under ten minutes, but with the night passing and that long ride before me, I never want a more patience-testing job. And then suddenly the white sand ceased. I stepped across to see what was the matter, and found myself on a hard highroad. It was a branch of the main road that led towards the shore, and for the moment I had quite forgotten its existence. I could have shouted for joy.

"Now," I said to myself, "I'm off!"

And off I went, phut-phut-phutting through the cool night air, with a heart extraordinarily lightened. That little bit of trouble at the start had made the rest of the whole wild enterprise seem quite simple now that it was safely over.

I reached the end of this branch, swung round to the right into the highroad proper and buzzed along like a tornado. The sea by this time had vanished, but I saw the glimmer of a loch on my left, and close at hand low walls and dim vistas of cultivated fields. A dark low building whizzed by, and then a gaunt eerie-looking standing stone, and then came a dip and beyond it a little rise in the ground. As I took this rise there suddenly came upon me a terrible sinking of the heart. Phut-phut! went my cycle, loudly and emphatically, andetliche M?rker nicht ankommen lassen wird. >>Sch?n,<< sagte ich, >>und damit Ihr seht, dass ich nicht so bin, lade ich Euch s?mmtlich zu einer Sitzung in dem Siechen-Ausschank ein mit Anblick der Spree und Blasorchester. Ueberhaupt werden wir gemeinsame Wallfahrten unternehmen, davon verspreche ich mir etwas.<<

Ich behielt jedoch bei mir, was ich im Sinn habe. Ich denke mir n?mlich, wenn wir ein gr?sserer Anhang zusammen sind, die Krausen mit bei und Andere aus der Bekanntschaft und wir gehen so herum, dann deichsle ich die Fortbewegung unmerklich, dass wir ungeahnt an dem Pavillon des Lokal-Anzeigers vorbeikommen, der sie wegen seiner Vornehmheit anh?lt. W?hrend sie ihn betrachten, l?se ich mich von ihnen ab und gehe die Treppe hinauf. Sie fragen dann: >>Herrjeh, Frau Buchholz, wo wollen Sie hin?<<

Ich wende mich zu ihnen und sage: >>Entschuldigen Sie mich einen Momang, ich habe Gesch?ftliches: ich bin Presse.<<

Ich verweile einen Augenblick auf der Treppe, schneide ihnen eine gn?dige Verbeugung zu und verschwinde redactionell.

Das Gesicht von der Krausen will ich sehen, wenn ich so dastehe gewissermassen als Schwiegermutter der siebenten Grossmacht -- denn das ist und bleibt die Presse -- in meinem Strohgelben oder falls der Wetterbericht es r?th, in meinem neuen Marineblauen mit Cr?me. Sie soll merken, dass man Gewicht hat, trotz ihres nasl?cherigen Betragens, weil ihr Mann Studirter ist und sie sich in jeder Gesellschaft das Meiste d?nkt. Wenn ich wieder erscheine, thu ich ganz wie gew?hnlich mit Schlichtheit und Selbstverst?ndlichkeit. Und sie hat den Aerger intus. Den hat sie reichlich an mir verdient mit fr?heren Pikanterien und Ueberhebung, sogar ?ber meinen Mann, der doch ganz anders einzubrocken hat als ihr Mann mit den dicken griechischen B?chern und dem d?nnen Gehalt.

So verspreche ich mir viel Interessantes und Erhebendes von der Ausstellung schon jetzt, wo sie aus dem Gr?bsten heraus den letzten Schmuck angelegt kriegt. Wie viel tausend H?nde sich regen, das muss man sehen, und Alle von dem einen Gedanken beseelt, ^dass es sch?n wird^.

Solcher Anblick erfreut, wo so viel Zerst?ren in der Welt ist, so viel Hader und H?ssliches. Hier soll es sch?n werden. Und das wird's auch.

Allein blos die Natur. Der Berliner ist ja schon vergn?gt, wenn er einen Baum sieht. Desto gr?ner er ist, desto besser, dass er ihm gef?llt, und nun im Park die massenhaften Anlagen mit B?umen und Geb?schen, Teichen, Kan?len, Rasenfl?chen und Beeten, wie wird ihm dies Alles zu Herzen sprechen.

Und in dem Waldartigen die verschlungenen Pfade und die einzelnen Fachgeb?ude, freundlich und lustig, bunt bemalt und fr?hlich geziert, so im Gr?nen darin, als h?tte der Osterhase sie versteckt. Welche Ueberraschung, wenn man immer wieder Neues entdeckt, wenn man beinahe vorbeigetrabt w?re und nach und nach inne wird, wie gross und bedeutend die Ausstellung wirklich ist, und wie riesig mannigfaltig. Man m?sste schon vier Beine haben und ein Dutzend Augen.

Bald f?ngt es an zu bl?hen, der grosse Park wird zu einem Garten, zu einem Paradies des Fleisses und der Arbeit. Die Springbrunnen pl?tschern, die Maschinen wirbeln, Fahnen flattern, Blumen duften, auf dem Gew?sser wiegen sich Gondeln, die Wilden lagern in Kairo, Alt-Berlin wird lebendig. Musik erschallt, die Thore ?ffnen sich und jubelnd ziehen wir ein, wir Alle miteinander aus Nah und Fern.

Und die V?gel sitzen auf den Zweigen und singen dazu.

Mein Karl fing aber noch einmal an: >>Wilhelmine, es werden Sachverst?ndige ?ber die Ausstellung schreiben -- wo bleibst Du?<<

>>Dar?ber beunruhige Dich nicht, viel eher f?rchte zu viel Sachkenntniss. Du willst wissen wie und weshalb? Das bleibt vorl?ufig mein Geheimnis. Ich nenne Dir nur den einen Namen: Ottilie.<<

Er sah mich ganz perplex an der gute Karl.

>>Du wirst es schon erfahren!<<

Sommer-Aussichten.

Das merkw?rdigste von allen Organen des Menschen ist sein Ged?chtniss. Ich habe bis vor Kurzem keinen rechten Begriff davon gehabt, aber ich stelle mir es vor wie fr?her Bellachini's Hut -- Nichts ist darin und ohne dass man daraus klug wird, kommt die erstaunungsw?rdigste F?llung zum Vorschein: Laternen, B?lle, Becher und zuletzt ein Wickelkind, das einen Heiterkeitserfolg erntet. Oeffentliche Wickelkinder sind immer von durchschlagender Wirkung.

Ich muss mich an diesen Vergleich halten, um mir zu erkl?ren, wieso mein Karl und ich mit einem Male in dem Kopfe so sehr Vieler auftauchten, die sich erinnern, dass wir sie gebeten haben, uns zu besuchen, wenn der Weg sie nach Berlin f?hrte, und mit unserem Fremdenst?bchen vorlieb zu nehmen.

Da sind Verwandte von meinem Karl, die mit ihm blos durch h?chst zweifelhafte Urgrossm?tter zusammenh?ngen und es vor Gott und der Welt unverantwortlich finden, intimere Beziehungen so lange vernachl?ssigt zu haben und ihre Saumseligkeit nur dadurch tilgen k?nnen, dass sie w?hrend der Ausstellung einige Tage bei uns weilen. Ablehnung meinerseits ist nicht angebracht, denn keine Behandlung schmerzt den Mann mehr, als wenn die Gattin seinen Angeh?rigen und Freunden das Haus zum Eiskeller macht, und ausserdem bin ich durch meine Seitenlinien in gleiche Lage gedr?ngt. Als damals die Tante in B?tzow starb, habe ich mitgeerbt, und Erben legt Verpflichtungen auf. Sollen die Leute sagen: >>den Draht schluckt die Buchholz, aber trotzdem sind die Familienbande zerrissen.<< -- Nein!

Und dann die Gesch?ftsfreunde, theils mit, theils ohne H?lften, die sich bei unserer Silberhochzeit f?rmlich f?rstlich angestrengt haben -- die eine Servante ist geradezu ein Sch?tzentempel werthvollster Metallgaben -- und Jeder, der sich darin verewigte, ist zum Ehrenmitgliede unseres Hauses ernannt, und die Ruppigkeit, die einmal zuerkannte Ehre hinterher zu verweigern, haben wir nicht, selbst, wenn sich Einiges auch blos als plattirt herausstellt. Beim Putzen schimmert der Verdacht an den Kanten manchmal durch.

Bei jedem neuen Briefe mit dem Wunsche des Wiedersehens und der jetzt erst m?glichen Annahme der ?beraus liebensw?rdigen Einladung vom so und sovielten, Anno so und so, sagen wir >>Sehr sch?tzbar, aber wo unterbringen<

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