CHAPTER VIII
BORGA
A grey, northern day devoid of all sunshine; a forbidding, rock-bound coast lost in a depressing mist; a flat, oily sea, as threatening to the mariner as the mounting hillocks of storm-swept water; a dull sense of hopelessness prevailing upon the still air. All these things marked the approach to Borga; for Nature was in a repellent mood, a thing of repugnance, of distrust and fear.
A long, low craft was approaching the gaping jaws which marked the entrance to the heart of the island, somewhere away in the distance, lost in the grey mists which seemed to envelop the whole land.
The deck was narrow, and guarded by a simple surrounding of low rails. Amidships was a curious construction which was at once the support of the periscope, the conning-tower, and the entrance to the interior of the vessel. Dotted about the deck were several sealed hatchways, and the sheen of glassed skylights. The whole thing was colored to match the surrounding grey-green waters.
Two uniformed figures were standing for'ard in the bows. One of them was beating the air with twin flags, one in each hand. The other stood by contemplating the book in his hand, and at intervals scanning the repellent shore through a pair of binoculars.
Presently the signaller spoke.
"One, six, four, seven, nine, three, two," he said, reciting the combination of numerals in German with the certainty of familiarity.
"One, six, four, seven, nine, three, two, it is," replied the observer, in a similar, ill-spoken tongue. "That's 'proceed,'" he added, referring to his book.
Forthwith the signaller produced a pocket telephone connected with the conning-tower by a long insulated "flex," and spoke over it. A moment later the throb of engines made itself felt, and, in response, the spume broke on the vessel's cut-water, and left a frothing wake astern.
The vessel passed the mist-hooded granite headlands. It left them behind, and itself became engulfed in the grey threat lying between the overshadowing heights towering upwards nearly five hundred feet towards the leaden sky.
The two men on deck gave no heed to their immediate surroundings. They were men of the sea, hard and unimaginative. They were concerned only with the safety of the vessel under them. They would drive her into the very gates of Hell, if such were their orders. But they would avoid, with all their skill, the pitfalls by the way. They knew that the secrets of this gloomy abode were many, as many perhaps as those of the very Hades they would have been willing enough to face. They knew, too, that those secrets, just as the secrets of the other place, were calculated to destroy them if they diverged one iota from the laws which governed the place. So they worked exactly, and took no chances.
The channel quickly began to narrow. The vast cliffs drew in upon them in their overpowering might. The barren shores were visible to the naked eye, and the white line of heavy surf boomed and boomed again in its incessant attack upon the grim walls. Higher up small patches of pine trees clung desperately to insecure root-holds, like the intrepid Alpini seeking to scale impossible heights.
A few minutes passed and a boat, a small petrol-driven vessel, like some cockle-shell amidst its tremendous surroundings, shot out from the shore and raced towards them. It had a high, protected prow, and its great speed threw up a pair of huge white wings of water till it had something of the appearance of an enraged swan charging to the attack of an enemy. Again the signaller spoke over his telephone, and the vessel slowed down, and finally hove-to.
The patrol boat drew alongside. Two men, amidships, in oilskins, held a brief conversation with those on board the intruder. Then their vessel passed ahead, and the bigger craft was left to amble leisurely along in its wake.
The cliffs had closed down till less than half a mile of water divided them. The narrow strip of leaden sky above looked pinched between them. For a mile and more ahead there was no change. The narrow passage, with its racing tide, was full of hidden dangers, not the least amongst which being a crowded mine-field which lined either side of the channel.
As the journey proceeded the gloom increased. Added to the natural mists the atmosphere took on a yellow tint, which suggested an overhanging pall of smoke. There was no joy in the aspect anywhere.
The end of the passage came at last, and the pilot boat dropped astern. Its work was finished, and it raced back to its watching-post.
Now a complete change came over the scene. But it was scarcely a change for the better. It was only that Nature, having done her worst, left the rest in the safe hands of human ingenuity.
The frowning cliffs abandoned their threat. They ended as abruptly as they had arisen out of the sea. They fell back on either hand, carrying the shore with them, and merged into a mist-crowned hinterland of dark woods and wide ravines, with a wide-stretching foreshore, upon which was built a great city, entirely surrounding what had developed into a miniature, landlocked sea.
Nature had certainly left her incomplete effort in capable hands. Whatever beauty a brilliant sunshine, accompanied by a smart breeze, might have discovered upon the inhospitable shores of Borga in their pristine state, man's hand had contrived to destroy it. The whole prospect was sordid, uncouth, and suggested something of a nether world of lugubrious fancy. All that could be said for it was the suggestion of feverish industry on every hand. The buildings looked all unfinished, yet they were in full work under a great strain of pressure. Borga had been built in a hurry, and all connected with it suggested only haste and industry.
There were no public buildings of classic model. There were no roads and avenues beautified by Nature's decorations. Just alleys and thoroughfares there were, and only sufficiently paved for the needs of the work in hand. The quays and docks were solid – only. The great machine shops, staring-eyed and baldly angular, suggested only the barest necessity. And though their hundreds of floors sheltered thousands of human workers, and acres of elaborate machinery, not even a cornice, or coping, or variation of brickwork had been permitted to make sightly a structure purely for utilitarian purposes. The slipways at the water's edge, and the gaunt steel skeletons they contained, were merely slipways, without other pretensions. A thousand smokestacks belched out of their fetid bowels an endless flow of yellow, sulphurous smoke upon an already overladen atmosphere. They stood up like the teeth of a broken comb, and added to the sordidness of the picture.
A faint relief might have been found for the primitive mind in the numberless blast furnaces to be detected on almost every hand by their shooting tongues of flame. Like all else in Borga they never ceased from their efforts. Theirs it was to give birth to an everlasting stream of molten metal with which to fill the crudely-wrought sand moulds for the containing of pig-iron. The rolling mills, too, might have been not without effect. Those cavernous worlds of incessant clamor rolled the hours and days away, and took no count but of the output from their soulless wombs. The homes of the deep-noted steam hammers, and the fierce puddling furnaces, where men, bare to the skin except for a loin-cloth, with greased bodies, endure under showers of flying sparks and a heat which no other living creature would face. These sights were perhaps not without inspiration. But the sordidness of it all, its crudity, its suggestion of hideous life were on every hand; in the shrieking locomotives, with their tails of laden, protesting trucks; in the beer-drinking booths; in the vast heaps of rubbish and waste lying about in every direction; even to the almost bestial type of man whose brain and muscle made such a waste of industry possible.
What Nature had left unfinished, man had surely completed for her. Borga was repellent. Its life was ugly. But ugliest of all was its purpose.
Essen had been the greatest arsenal of all time. But since the birth and maturity of Borga it had become as a village compared to a capital city. Borga was the mechanical soul of an empire. It was the iron heart of an armored giant, upon which had been wantonly lavished all the mentality and spiritual force of a nation bankrupt in every other human feeling.
The incoming vessel moved swiftly. Ahead lay a grey breakwater which formed one wall of a small harbor. An open channel clear of all shipping indicated its purpose. It was obviously the official landing-place. However, if the channel remained clear it was lined on either side by a swarm of naval craft, much of which was still in the hands of artificers; for here, no less than ashore, the din of construction was going on and the busy hive remained true to its purpose.
The men on deck remained indifferent to their surroundings. Familiarity left them free to give undivided attention to their work. So the boat glided silently in between the pierheads, and, in five minutes, was lying against the landing-stage with a gangway run aboard.
Two men emerged from the conning-tower and stepped ashore, where a small group of uniformed officers were waiting to receive them. Prince Stanislaus von Hertzwohl led the way, followed by a younger man, whose face was full of a keen intelligence, while his dark eyes were those of a dreamer. Both were dressed in the uniform of German naval officers, a uniform which particularly seemed to suit the younger man's fair hair.
But the Prince in Borga was a different man from the inventor displaying his models. Here he was an autocrat – an all-powerful, high officer in the work of the place. Therefore, with a cold acknowledgment of the salute of the junior officers, he passed them by and stepped up to a man of elevated military rank, who, in the haughty aloofness of his position, was standing well apart from the others.
The Prince addressed him with a cold sort of familiarity.
"Ha, Von Salzinger," he cried, "but you are a troublesome people here. You give us no peace. We are called to straighten out the muddles of Borga when our time can be ill spared from our workshops. Let me present my nephew, who is responsible for this damnation light. Herr Leder von Bersac – the military governor of Borga, Captain-General von Salzinger."
The two men acknowledged the presentation, and their eyes met in a steady, keen regard. Then the Prince went on —
"What is it, this light? Have your engineers no thoughts in their heads but beer, or is it that they, like the asses, have grown long ears? Come, we will go at once. You can dismiss your ceremonial," he went on, indicating the group of officers. "I have no time for that. I am an engineer, as is my nephew. Besides, I must leave here within the hour. I must be in Berlin within two days and return to my works first. So – "
"Certainly, Excellency," replied the Captain-General, unbending before the man whom he believed through his genius to be the most powerful influence in the country at the moment. "But I think the fault is not with us – this time. No doubt Herr von Bersac will be able to set the matter right. But an hour is short."
"Ach, so," cried the Prince, with irritation. "Then do not delay. Lead us to the – place."
Herr von Bersac, watching the scene with his dreamy eyes, noted the attitude of the two men towards each other. His uncle's manner was something of a surprise to him. Nor could he help but realize the other's almost slavish deference, as, in response to the older man's order, he hastily moved off shorewards.
The Governor was a typical Teuton. The broad, square back of his head surmounted a thick, fleshy neck. His blue eyes were deeply set in puffy sockets. His cheeks were full, and the chin, below his bristling moustache, was square and strong. His whole appearance, in his brilliant uniform, was of cubist inspiration, and, in spite of his high rank, and the suggestion of grey about the temples of his close-cropped head, he could not have been more than midway between thirty and forty. These things Herr von Bersac noted with almost unnecessary interest in spite of his abstracted air.
But Herr von Bersac had not had a monopoly of observation. While the Prince had been talking the military governor's small, quick eyes had not been idle. He had taken the nephew's measure to the last inch of his great height. Such observation was his habit as well as his duty. His position in the world's greatest secret arsenal demanded that every visitor must be regarded as a possible enemy until a due examination of his credentials proved him otherwise.
The Prince talked as they made their way to an execrable road by crossing a narrow-gauge railway. They skirted piles of debris almost as high as some of the adjoining buildings. And the general impression left was one of carelessness for anything but the work going on.
"This place is the worst constructed in the world," he declared, as he stubbed a toe against a pile of broken concrete. "There is no system in it. Where is the system for which we Germans are noted? It is gone, with many other things, since the war. We think so hard for the downfall of our enemies that we have no time for all that system which has made our people the greatest in the world. Ach! I hate Borga. I hate it more every time I make my visit."
Von Salzinger laughed in his heavy way.
"Ah, Excellency," he said, "the war has taught us many things. We thought we knew it all. Through that very system which was so great we wasted much money and many years, for our enemies achieved almost all which we had in less than two years. Now we work against time. Our object now is no longer system, but – result."
"I am glad," observed the Prince with some acerbity. "You will understand then why I can give you only an hour."
"Yes, Excellency," deferred the other.
He had no desire to add to his visitor's obvious ill-humor. And there were other reasons for his attitude than the mere fear of his power. He desired this man's personal favor. When war broke out in 1914, before the Prince had risen to his present power, he, Von Salzinger, had been brought into contact with his daughter Valita von Hertzwohl in the work of the Secret Service. It had fallen to his lot to endeavor to utilize her in his country's service. That his efforts had failed was not his only disaster, for, failing to enlist her coöperation, he had achieved her displeasure with himself. And her displeasure had disturbed him more than the other. He had fallen a victim to her charms in a manner which made her displeasure something of a tragedy to his vanity. But he was as vain as he was persevering, and with him effort was a continuous process, and not spasmodic.
The Prince hurried him through the wilderness of industry, and the haughty military governor lost much of his dignity in the scurry, and in his effort to pay deferential attention to his visitor's incessant complaint. An overwhelming clanging of machinery, intensified by the dull thunderous boom of adjacent steam hammers, and the machine-gun rattle of the riveting hammers, made talk almost impossible.
Herr von Bersac no longer displayed the least interest in his companions. Since he had dropped behind them, and was safe from Von Salzinger's observation, the dreaming had passed out of his dark eyes. They were alight with a keen interest, an interest almost excited, as the wonders of the place revealed themselves to him. But the works and their busy life had less effect than other things. His whole mind seemed to be absorbed in the direction of the water, and the numberless naval craft lying at their moorings. And out of all these his searching eyes selected one type, a type he could not miss, a type which seemed to be prevailing.
One of them lay so near inshore that he could observe its every detail of outward construction. It was a curious, ugly vessel of strangely vicious type. He recognized it at once as of the submersible pattern of the vessel he had arrived at Borga in. But it was so huge. It was heavily armored, as it lay there in light draught, high out of water, and on its deck, in place of the simple conning-tower and surmounting periscope, there was a central armored turret, while, fore and aft of this, two other turrets bristled, each with a pair of 12-inch guns. He had no time for a closer inspection as he was hurried along, but he made a mental note that the vessel was a submarine dreadnought, and that there were nearly fifty other such vessels lying about at their moorings.
He seemed fearful of concentrating his observation too long in any one direction. A furtive backward glance from the Governor promptly diverted his attention. It almost seemed that he had no desire to invite Captain-General von Salzinger's regard. No doubt he felt that, though his uncle's nephew, he was still only admitted to Borga on sufferance.
Finally they approached a high-walled enclosure with closed gates, and a line of sentries guarding its entrance. Immediately he became absorbed in the German characters of the large printed notice on the gates. The notice was to the effect that all entrance to this place without a Governor's permit was "verboten."
He became alert and watchful. Doubtless being the engineer responsible for the success of the new U-rays lamp he felt that he must no longer permit his interest to wander. He watched the square figure of the military governor as he took the sentry's salute. He observed the junior officer who promptly threw open one of the massive gates. Then his whole attention became absorbed in what he beheld as, with his companion, he passed within the enclosure.
It was a large dock. And moored at each of its three sides was a submarine dreadnought of even greater dimensions than the one he had seen mounting 12-inch guns.
The Prince turned to him.
"This, my Leder, is the place where we deal with the things, the secret of which the world will never know, but the effects of which one day our enemies will learn to dread."
He laughed with the satisfaction of anticipated triumph. Then, as Leder von Bersac grunted out some unintelligible acquiescence, he turned to the military governor with a shrug.
"Ach, what will you?" he cried, in apparent disgust. "He has no delight, no appreciation for these things. He will think all day. He will work in his light-rooms till he is nearly blind. All for the destruction of our enemies. But joy? He does not know it. If you tell him his work has slain a million of the enemy he will say he can make it kill more. Himmel! Such joy!"
Ludwig von Salzinger surveyed this enthusiastic product with curious eyes. But he offered no comment, and the Prince hurried towards the gangway, and led the way aboard the nearest vessel.
At the steel doorway of the armored conning-tower he paused. His whole manner abruptly changed to one of definite command.
"If there should be a defect we will have the light unshipped, and take it back with us, Leder," he said decidedly. "You cannot work in the pandemonium of Borga. It is only fit for the Captain-General's artillerymen, who have ears of leather and brains of mud." Then he turned upon Von Salzinger in a manner that permitted no doubt of his purpose. "You doubtless have more pressing duties, Herr Captain-General. Please do not consider us. Our work is technical, and will have but little interest for you. Besides, my dear Leder may have to examine those secrets of the U-rays which even your chief engineer is not admitted to. I thank you for conducting us hither. You will leave word for our safe departure at the gates."
His dismissal came as a shock to Von Salzinger. But more than anything his vanity was shocked. To feel that this man had the power to dismiss him, here in Borga, as he, Von Salzinger, might dismiss one of his junior officers, was infinitely galling. But even more intensely galling was the thought that this boor of a nephew could calmly move about in Borga, penetrate its most secret workshops, and probe the secrets which lay therein, while he – he, the military governor – was ordered about his business.
There was no help for it. Prince von Hertzwohl had given the order, and he must obey as though the order had issued from the lips of the All High War Lord. He bowed a short, square, resentful bow and stood aside to allow Von Bersac to enter the conning-tower. But the glance which followed the tall athletic form of the engineer was no friendly one.
He must obey orders. Well, so must everybody who entered Borga – unless they were of higher rank than the military governor. This young man could at least be put to the indignity of the inquisitorial process of his officials. And he knew how unpleasant their efforts could be made. He promised himself this trifling satisfaction, at least – when the Prince chanced to be out of the way. It was certainly his duty that this young man should go through the customary process which all visitors at Borga were submitted to.
He left the deck of the dreadnought as the Prince and his protégé vanished down the steel companionway, and passed out of the docks. Nor did he neglect to give the necessary orders for his visitors' departure. After that, however, he went straight to his headquarters.
Meanwhile the Prince, without the least hesitation, led his companion along the steel passages, past the maze of machinery which formed the bowels of the dreadnought. At the extreme peak of the vessel was situated the light-room of the U-rays, where they found four engineers at work.
The men saluted and stood by when they realized the identity of their visitors, and the work of examining the mechanism of the wonderful new submarine light at once began.
Von Bersac took small enough part in it. The Prince at once became the engineer. The skill and deftness, and the knowledge he displayed were incomparable. He talked the whole time he was examining, finding fault here, praising there, and all his talk was addressed to his nephew as though he were the final authority. Von Bersac remained the unenthusiastic creature he had appeared before Von Salzinger, and kept to his attitude of disjointed grunts. But his eyes were alert and apparently comprehending, and when, in imitation of the other, he examined any detail, there was a disarming conviction about all his movements. Finally they tested the light, and, after a number of tests, the Prince threw up his hands in a gesture of almost ludicrous despair.
"Ach, Leder," he cried, "it is not the fault of these good fellows. It is yours – yours and mine. It is a month's delay at least, is it not so?"
Von Bersac silently acquiesced.
"A month of most valuable time," the Prince went on. "See here," he cried, and went off into a world of technicalities beyond even the comprehension of the skilled engineers present. "It is to be regretted," he finished up despairingly. "It must be taken down, and sent back to us. But these, these," – he laid his hands on two portions of the delicate mechanism enclosed in polished brass cylinders, through which the insulated cables passed – "we will take these with us. They can be trusted in no other hands." He turned to the chief engineer. "Take these out without delay. Herr von Bersac will wait for them, and convey them to my ship. There will be no difficulty. Sever the cables here, and here," he added, indicating spots which the engineer chalked where he was to cut them. "Do not let any one handle them when they are down, Leder. Bring them yourself."
The tall figure of the Prince departed, and Leder von Bersac remained while the engineers carried out the work.
It was quite simple. There was no difficulty. The Prince had made certain of this before he left his nephew to wait for the two cylinders. But the men worked with great care, for they knew that in those two simple brass casings lay the vital secrets which were to transform the submarine dreadnoughts from lumbering, groping sea monsters into live, active, vicious creatures of offense.
It was just within the hour when Leder von Bersac passed out of the dockyard gates bearing the two brass cylinders in his arms, and received the salutes of the sentries. He remembered the method with which the Captain-General had received them, and responded in similar fashion.
He passed on hurriedly in the direction of the landing-stage. Twenty yards from the dock gates an expression of doubt crept into his eyes, as he caught sight of a military officer hurrying towards him from the direction of what looked like a miniature fortress.
However, he gave no sign. He continued his way. He could already see the grey wall of the harbor ahead. But the man was rapidly overhauling him, and, in Von Bersac's mind, a calculation was going on as to whether he could reach his uncle's vessel before the officer came up with him.
This calculation, however, did not prove to his satisfaction. He knew he would be intercepted before he reached his destination. And the thought strangely disturbed him.
Just as he was about to step on to the landing-stage the officer reached his side and saluted.
He spoke at once, and though his manner was perfectly deferential, it was quite decided.
"Will Herr von Bersac favor the Captain-General with a visit at his headquarters before leaving? The Captain-General requests that he will make it convenient – at once. It is the formal matter of registering his visit to Borga."
The dark eyes of the tall engineer dwelt for a moment upon the immobile features of the man before him. He saw the authority of the military governor in the whole swaggering pose of the man, and, for a moment, his firm lips tightened. Then, as though by a great effort, overcoming his reluctance for the waste of words, he displayed an almost unexpected urbanity.
"It will give me very great pleasure to wait upon the Captain-General – at once," he replied. "It will be necessary, however, for me to deposit these in our vessel – in safety – before I do so." He indicated the cylinders. "You will understand when I assure you they are the most vital portions of our U-rays light. Perhaps you will favor me with your company as far as the vessel?"
The officer's pose underwent a slight change. His manner became even less deferential.
"My orders are – at once," he objected.
Von Bersac's manner remained the same, but his dark eyes looked straight into the other's.
"Quite so. Doubtless my uncle, Prince von Hertzwohl, will exonerate you for the brief delay. He is on the boat at this moment."
The words were well calculated. The engineer had thought rapidly and made his decision with lightning celerity. He knew that he must reach the vessel lying less than one hundred yards away.
He had his reward, and a slight sigh of relief escaped him. The military insolence had left the other's manner. The mention of the Prince's name had created a modified atmosphere. After all he was a mere Prussian officer accustomed all his life to yielding to authority. He, like every one else in Borga, knew that even the military governor must yield to the authority of the Prince. Therefore he yielded.
"It will give me the greatest pleasure to – accompany you," he said.