War stories, English; World War, 1914-1918 -- Fiction
And so once again the three principals of my little drama were face to
face: only the setting had changed. No longer sensuous music and the
warm, violet waters of the Riviera for a background; this time the
moaning of dying men and children was the ghastly orchestra, and, with
the grey scud of the Atlantic flying past them, the Englishman and the
German faced one another, while the American girl stood by. And watching
them were the muttering sailors.
At last she spoke. "This ring, I believe, is yours." She took a
magnificent half-hoop of diamonds from her engagement finger and flung
it into the sea. Then she moved towards him.
"You drowned my mother, and for that I strike you once." She hit him in
the face with an iron-shod pin. "You drowned my father, and for that I
strike you again." Once again she struck him in the face. "I will leave
a fighting man and a gentleman to deal with you for those poor mites."
With a choking sob she turned away, and once again sank down on the coil
of rope.
The Prussian, sobbing with pain and rage, with the blood streaming from
his face, was not a pretty sight; but in Travers's face there was no
mercy.
"'The old and effete versus the new and efficient!' I seem to recall
those words from our last meeting. May I congratulate you on your
efficiency? Bah! you swine"--his face flamed with sudden passion--"if
you aren't skulking in Kiel, you're butchering women. By heavens! I can
conceive of nothing more utterly perfect than flogging you to death."
The Prussian shrank back, his face livid with fear.
"They were my orders," he muttered. "For God's sake----"
"Oh, don't be frightened, Baron von Dressler." The Englishman's voice
was once again under control. "The old and effete don't do that. You
were safe as our guest two years ago; you are safe as our prisoner now.
Your precious carcass will be returned safe and sound to your Royal
uncle at the end of the war, and my only hope is that your face will
still bear those honourable scars. Moreover, if what you say is true, if
the orders of your Government include shelling an open boat crammed with
defenceless women and children--and neutrals at that--I can only say
that their infamy is so incredible as to force one to the conclusion
that they are not responsible for their actions. But--make no
mistake--they will get their retribution."
For a moment he fell silent, looking at the cowering, blood-stained
face opposite him, and then a pitiful wail behind him made him turn
round.
"Mummie, I'se hurted." On her knees beside the little girl was Maisie,
soothing her as best she could, easing the throbbing head, whispering
that mummie couldn't come for a while. "I'se hurted, mummie--I'se
hurted."
Travers turned back again, and the eyes of the two men met.
"My God! Is it possible that a sailor could do such a thing?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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