Shout at the Devil - Smith Wilbur (лучшие книги .TXT) 📗

Moodily he looked out across the sea and mourned that cargo of ivory. There had been perhaps a million Reichsmarks of it aboard, of which his unofficial handling fee would have been considerable.

Also he mourned the departure of the Englishman. He had never hanged one before.

He sighed and tried to comfort himself with the thought of that damned American, now well digested in the maw of a crocodile, but truly it would have been more satisfying to see him kick and spin on the rope.

He sighed again. Ah, well! At least he would no longer have the perpetual worry of Flynn O'Flynn's presence on his border, nor would he have to suffer the nagging of Governor Schee and his endless demands for O'Flynn's head.

Now it was breakfast time. He was about to turn away when something out there in the lightening dawn caught his attention.

A long low shape, its outline becoming crisper as he watched. There were cries from his Askari as they saw it also, huge in the dawn. The stark square turrets with their slim gun-barrels, the tall triple stacks and the neat geometrical patterns of its rigging.

"The Blitcher!" roared Herman in savage elation. The Blucher, by GoD! He recognized the cruiser, for he had seen her not six months before, lying in Dares Salaam harbour.

"Sergeant, bring the signal pistol!" He was capering with excitement. In reply to Herman's hasty message, Governor Schee must have sent the Blitcher racing southwards to blockade the Rufiji mouth. "Start the engine. Schnell! Run out to her," he shouted at the helmsman as he slid one of the fat Verey cartridges into the gaping breech of the Pistol, snapped it closed and pointed the muzzle to the sky.

Beside the tall bulk of the cruiser the launch was as tiny as a floating leaf, and Herman looked up with apprehension at the frail rope ladder he was expected to climb. His Askari assisted him across the narrow strip of water between the two vessels and he hung for a desperate minute until his feet found the rungs and he began his ponderous ascent.

Sweating profusely he was helped on to the deck by two seamen and faced an honour guard of a dozen or more.

Heading them was a young lieutenant in crisp, smart tropical whites.

Herman shrugged off the helping hands, drew himself to attention with a click of heels. "Commissioner Fleischer."

His voice shaky with exertion.

"Lieutenant Kyller. "The officer clicked and saluted.

"I must see your captain immediately. A matter of extreme urgency."

Capitan zur See Count Otto von Kleine inclined his head gravely as he greeted Herman. He was a tall, thin man, who wore a neat, pointed blond beard with just a few threads of grey to give it dignity. "The English have landed a full-scale expeditionary force in the Rufiji delta, supported by capital ships? This is correct?" he asked immediately.

"The report was exaggerated." Herman regretted bitterly the impetuous wording of his message to the Governor; he hadd been fired with patriotic ardour at the time. "In fact, it was only... ah," he hesitated, "one vessel

"Of what strength? What is her armament?" demanded von Kleine.

"Well, it was an unarmed vessel."

And von Kleine frowned. "Of what type?"

Herman flushed with embarrassment. "An Arab dhow.

Of about twenty-two metres."

"But this is impossible. Ridiculous. The Kaiser has delivered an ultimatum to the British Consul in Berlin. He has issued mobilization orders to five divisions." The captain spun on his heel and began to pace restlessly about his bridge, clapping his hands together in agitation. "What was the purpose of this British invasion? Where is this... this dhow? What explanation must I send to Berlin?"

"I have since learned that the expedition was led by a notorious ivory poacher named O'Flynn. He was shot resisting arrest by my Askari, but his accessory, an unknown Englishman, escaped down the river last night in the dhow."

"Where will they be headed?" The captain stopped pacing and glared at Herman.

"Zanzibar."

"This is stupidity, utter stupidity. We will be a laughing stock! A battle cruiser to catch a pair of common criminals!"

"But, Captain, you must pursue them."

"To what purpose?"

"If they escape to tell their story, the dignity of the Emperor will be lowered throughout the length of Africa.

Think if the British Press were to hear of this! Also, these men are dangerous criminals."

"But I cannot board a foreign ship on the high seas.

Especially if she flies the Union Jack. It would be an act of war an act of piracy."

"But, Captain, if she were to sink with all hands, sink without a trace?"

And Captain von Kleine nodded thoughtfully. Then abruptly he snapped his fingers and turned to his pilot. "Plot me a course for Zanzibar Island."

They lay becalmed below a sky of brazen cobalt, and every hour of the calm allowed the Mozambique current to push the little dhow another three miles off its course. Aimlessly she swung her head to meet each of the long swells, and then let it fall away into the troughs.

For the twentieth time since dawn, Sebastian climbed up on to the poop-deck and surveyed the endless waters, searching for a ruffle on the glassy Surface that would herald the wind. But there was never any sign of it. He looked towards the west, but the blue line of the coast had long since sunk below the horizon.