XIII. The Meaning of our Work
NOTHING happened during the next ten days to disturb us at our work.During every hour of daylight and many of darkness, sailing oranchored, aground or afloat, in rain and shine, wind and calm, westudied the bed of the estuaries, and practised ourselves inthreading the network of channels; holding no communication with theland and rarely approaching it. It was a life of toil, exposure, andperil; a struggle against odds, too; for wild autumnal weather wasthe rule, with the wind backing and veering between the south-westand north-west, and only for two placid days blowing gently from theeast, the safe quarter for this region. Its force and directiondetermined each fresh choice of ground. If it was high and northerlywe explored the inner fastnesses; in moderate intervals the exteriorfringe, darting when surprised into whatever lair was mostconvenient.
Sometimes we were tramping vast solitudes of sand, sometimes scuddingacross ephemeral tracts of shallow sea. Again, we were creepinggingerly round the deeper arteries that surround the Great Knecht,examining their convolutions as it were the veins of a living tissue,and the circulation of the tide throbbing through them like blood.Again, we would be staggering through the tide-rips and overfallsthat infest the open fairway of the Weser on our passage between theFork and the Pike. On one of our fine days I saw the scene ofDavies's original adventure by daylight with the banks dry and thechannels manifest. The reader has seen it on the chart, and can, upto a point, form his opinion; I can only add that I realized byocular proof that no more fatal trap could have been devised for aninnocent stranger; for approaching it from the north-west under theeasiest conditions it was hard enough to verify our true course. In aperiod so full of new excitements it is not easy for me to say whenwe were hardest put to it, especially as it was a rule with Daviesnever to admit that we were in any danger at all. But I think thatour ugliest experience was on the 10th, when, owing to some minutemiscalculation, we stranded in a dangerous spot. Mere stranding, ofcourse, was all in the day's work; the constantly recurring questionbeing when and where to court or risk it. This time we were sosituated that when the rising tide came again we were on a lee shore,broadside on to a gale of wind which was sending a nasty sea--with athree-mile drift to give it force--down Robin's Balje, which is oneof the deeper arteries I spoke of above, and now lay dead to windwardof us. The climax came about ten o'clock at night. 'We can do nothingtill she floats,' said Davies; and I can see him now quietly smokingand splicing a chafed warp while he explained that her double skin ofteak fitted her to stand anything in reason. She certainly had aterrific test that night, for the bottom was hard, unyielding sand,on which she rose and fell with convulsive vehemence. The lasthalf-hour was for me one of almost intolerable tension. I spent it ondeck unable to bear the suspense below. Sheets of driven sea flewbodily over the hull, and a score of times I thought she must succumbas she shivered to the blows of her keel on the sand. But those stoutskins knit by honest labour stood the trial. One final thud and shewrenched herself bodily free, found her anchor, and rode clear.
On the whole I think we made few mistakes. Davies had a supremeaptitude for the work. Every hour, sometimes every minute, broughtits problem, and his resource never failed. The stiffer it was thecooler he became. He had, too, that intuition which is independent ofacquired skill, and is at the root of all genius; which, to takecases analogous to his own, is the last quality of the perfect guideor scout. I believe he could _smell_ sand where he could not see ortouch it.
As for me, the sea has never been my element, and never will be;nevertheless, I hardened to the life, grew salt, tough, and tolerablyalert. As a soldier learns more in a week of war than in years ofparades and pipeclay, so, cut off from all distractions, moving frombivouac to precarious bivouac, and depending, to some extent, for mylife on my muscles and wits, I rapidly learnt my work and gained acertain dexterity. I knew my ropes in the dark, could beateconomically to windward through squalls, take bearings, and estimatethe interaction of wind and tide.
We were generally in solitude, but occasionally we met galliots likethe 'Johannes' tacking through the sands, and once or twice we found afleet of such boats anchored in a gut, waiting for water. Theirdraught, loaded, was from six to seven feet, our own only four,without our centre-plate, but we took their mean draught as thestandard of all our observations. That is, we set ourselves toascertain when and how a vessel drawing six and a half feet couldnavigate the sands.
A word more as to our motive. It was Davies's conviction, as I havesaid, that the whole region would in war be an ideal hunting-groundfor small free-lance marauders, and I began to know he was right; forlook at the three sea-roads through the sands to Hamburg, Bremen,Wilhelmshaven, and the heart of commercial Germany. They are likehighways piercing a mountainous district by defiles, where a handfulof desperate men can arrest an army.
Follow the parallel of a war on land. People your mountains with adaring and resourceful race, who possess an intimate knowledge ofevery track and bridle-path, who operate in small bands, travellight, and move rapidly. See what an immense advantage such guerillaspossess over an enemy which clings to beaten tracks, moves in largebodies, slowly, and does not 'know the country'. See how they can notonly inflict disasters on a foe who vastly overmatches them instrength, but can prolong a semi-passive resistance long after alldecisive battles have been fought. See, too, how the strong invadercan only conquer his elusive antagonists by learning their methods,studying the country, and matching them in mobility and cunning. Theparallel must not be pressed too far; but that this sort of warfarewill have its counterpart on the sea is a truth which cannot bequestioned.
Davies in his enthusiasm set no limits to its importance. The smallboat in shallow waters played a mighty _r?le_ in his vision of anaval war, a part that would grow in importance as the war developedand reach its height in the final stages.
'The heavy battle fleets are all very well,' he used to say, 'but ifthe sides are well matched there might be nothing left of them aftera few months of war. They might destroy one another mutually, leavingas nominal conqueror an admiral with scarcely a battleship to blesshimself with. It's then that the true struggle will set in; and it'sthen that anything that will float will be pressed into the service,and anybody who can steer a boat, knows his waters, and doesn't carethe toss of a coin for his life, will have magnificent opportunities.It cuts both ways. What small boats can do in these waters is plainenough; but take our own case. Say we're beaten on the high seas by acoalition. There's then a risk of starvation or invasion. It's allrot what they talk about instant surrender. We can live on halfrations, recuperate, and build; but we must have time. Meanwhile ourcoast and ports are in danger, for the millions we sink in forts andmines won't carry us far. They're fixed--pure passive defence. Whatyou want is _boats_--mosquitoes with stings--swarms ofthem--patrol-boats, scout-boats, torpedo-boats; intelligentirregulars manned by local men, with a pretty free hand to play theirown game. And what a splendid game to play! There are places verylike this over there--nothing half so good, but similar--the Merseyestuary, the Dee, the Severn, the Wash, and, best of all, the Thames,with all the Kent, Essex, and Suffolk banks round it. But as fordefending our coasts in the way I mean--we've nothing ready--nothingwhatsoever! We don't even build or use small torpedo-boats. Thesefast "destroyers" are no good for _this_ work--too long andunmanageable, and most of them too deep. What you want is somethingstrong and simple, of light draught, and with only a spar-torpedo, ifit came to that. Tugs, launches, small yachts--anything would do at apinch, for success would depend on intelligence, not on brute forceor complicated mechanism. They'd get wiped out often, but whatmatter? There'd be no lack of the right sort of men for them if thething was _organized._ But where are the men?
'Or, suppose we have the best of it on the high seas, and have toattack or blockade a coast like this, which is sand from end to end.You can't improvise people who are at home in such waters. The navychaps don't learn it, though, by Jove! they're the most magnificentservice in th
e world--in pluck, and nerve, and everything else.They'll _try_ anything, and often do the impossible. But their boatsare deep, and they get little practice in this sort of thing.'
Davies never pushed home his argument here; but I know that it wasthe passionate wish of his heart, somehow and somewhere, to get achance of turning his knowledge of this coast to practical account inthe war that he felt was bound to come, to play that 'splendid game'in this, the most fascinating field for it.
I can do no more than sketch his views. Hearing them as I did, withthe very splash of the surf and the bubble of the tides in my ears,they made a profound impression on me, and gave me the very zeal forour work he, by temperament, possessed.
But as the days passed and nothing occurred to disturb us, I feltmore and more strongly that, as regards our quest, we were on thewrong tack. We found nothing suspicious, nothing that suggested areally adequate motive for Dollmann's treachery. I became impatient,and was for pushing on more quickly westward. Davies still clung tohis theory, but the same feeling influenced him.
'It's something to do with these channels in the sand,' he persisted,'but I'm afraid, as you say, we haven't got at the heart of themystery. Nobody seems to care a rap what we do. We haven't done theestuaries as well as I should like, but we'd better push on to theislands. It's exactly the same sort of work, and just as important, Ibelieve. We're bound to get a clue soon.'
There was also the question of time, for me at least. I was due to beback in London, unless I obtained an extension, on the 28th, and ourpresent rate of progress was slow. But I cannot conscientiously saythat I made a serious point of this. If there was any value in ourenterprise at all, official duty pales beside it. The machinery ofState would not suffer from my absence; excuses would have to bemade, and the results braved.
All the time our sturdy little craft grew shabbier and moreweather-worn, the varnish thinner, the decks greyer, the sailsdingier, and the cabin roof more murky where stove-fumes stained it.But the only beauty she ever possessed, that of perfect fitness forher functions, remained. With nothing to compare her to she became ahome to me. My joints adapted themselves to her crabbed limits, mytastes and habits to her plain domestic economy.
But oil and water were running low, and the time had come for us tobe forced to land and renew our stock.
The Riddle of the Sands Page 14