Nocturnal Investigations
"We might have guessed that," remarked O'Hara.
"Oh?"
"Yes; don't you see, she was spotted by our gunboat. She couldn't get
away up the Mohoro River until Friday, and rather than run the risk of
being sunk at anchor she's landed her mob of reservists and has put to
sea again."
"To be promptly snapped up? No; I don't care to admit your reasoning,
old man. We haven't come all this way through that confounded forest
for nothing. Listen!"
A faint, rapid throbbing was borne to their ears. The sound came not
from the sea but along the shore to their left, where a projecting
tongue of land limited their range of vision.
"Motor," announced O'Hara laconically.
"And not a marine one," added Denbigh. "Come on. We'll follow this
path; it's a jolly sight safer than keeping to the shore."
Once again they plunged into the mangrove forest, following a beaten
track that, judging by its well-worn condition, had been in existence
long before the arrival of the _Pelikan_.
Suddenly Denbigh halted and held up his hand. Footsteps were
approaching, not those of the naked feet of natives but the booted
tramp of white men.
The subs took cover and waited, fervently hoping that the oncomers had
not a dog with them. The party advanced slowly and haltingly, so much
so that for the moment Denbigh imagined that their suspicions had been
aroused.
But without once glancing in the direction of the hidden officers the
men passed by. One was a petty officer of the _Pelikan_. Denbigh
recognized him by his bushy beard. With him were four seamen, walking
two abreast. The leading pair carried a roll of something wrapped in a
painted canvas cover; the others bore a large reel of wire, paying out
the thin cable as they went.
"H'm, telephone wire," muttered Denbigh. "That doesn't look as if the
ship has cleared out. More than likely they've landed some of the guns
to form a masked battery. It strikes me pretty forcibly that we'll
have to investigate at both ends of the wire."
Not until the sound of the receding footsteps had died away--and it
took an exasperating time--did the subs emerge from their place of
concealment. The air was now almost free from mist. Occasionally
patches of vapour drifted across their path, but generally speaking the
miasmic belt ended at a distance of about half a mile from the sea.
O'Hara stooped and lifted up the wire.
"Let's cut the dashed line," he suggested.
"All in good time," replied Denbigh. "If we do so now they'll be
buzzing around before we've made our investigations. I think we're on
to a good thing."
Nearer and nearer grew the sound of the motor, until upon emerging from
the grove the subs found themselves within a hundred yards of a German
base.
At this point the ground sloped gently to the edge of the lagoon.
Without any apparent attempt at concealment two searchlights had been
set in position. A dozen men in naval uniforms were standing around
the projectors. The lights were "running" as was evident from the
crackle of the carbons, but the shutters were closed, cutting off the
rays. The current was produced by a dynamo, the power being supplied
by means of the petrol motor, the pulsations of which had given the
subs a clue to its position.
"What's the idea?" whispered O'Hara, indicating the unconcealed
searchlight.
"A blind," replied his companion. "I guessed it. We'll carry on a
little farther before we retrace our steps."
Another _detour_ was necessary, but on plunging into the mangrove
forest on to the other side of the clearing the Irishman's foot tripped
in the telephone wire.
"Good!" he ejaculated. "You're right, old man."
Five hundred yards farther on the explorers almost tumbled into a deep
pit, protected on the seaward side by sandbags, between which were
stuck shrubs and branches of trees to screen the artificial work from
seaward.
In the pit were two quick-firers, with basket cases of ammunition in
readiness. Pacing up and down between the guns was a sentry, while
under a tarpaulin supported by short poles were about a dozen sleeping
men. Farther on was another excavation, but what it contained the
British officers were unable to ascertain. The battery, it was
evident, was manned by some of the reservists from the _San Matias_.
Denbigh, having taken a compass bearing of the entrance of the lagoon,
nudged his chum, and they began to retrace their steps. Moving as
rapidly as their sense of caution would permit, they again skirted the
searchlight station and picked up the telephone wire trail in the woods
beyond.
"We must not forget the time," cautioned the Irishman.
"By Jove, no!" replied Denbigh. As a matter of fact he had. The
excitement of their discoveries had banished all thought of anything
else. Even the perils of their return journey to the _Myra_ had been
lightly brushed aside. "Hang it all, there's that confounded mist
again."
At a distance of a quarter of a mile from the searchlight position the
path bent obliquely towards the lagoon. Here the trees grew right to
the water's edge, the cliff at this point being roughly twenty feet
above the sea.
"What's that?" whispered O'Hara.
A cable's length from shore, and just visible through the mist, was a
large indistinct shape. At first sight it looked like a small island
thickly covered with coco-nut palms.
"The cunning blighters!" ejaculated Denbigh. "That's the _Pelikan_."
It was the raider. Her masts and funnels were decked with branches;
the whole tops of trees festooned her sides. The outlines of her bow
and stern were concealed by trailing masses of vegetation. Viewed from
seaward, against the tree-clad hillocks, the _Pelikan_ could not be
distinguished from her natural background. A short distance along the
shore there was a gap in the line of cliffs. Here a boat was lying,
with her crew standing about on shore.
"They're expecting someone," whispered Denbigh. "Let's move."
Not until the subs were a safe distance from the shore did they
exchange opinions.
"The _Pelikan_ is expecting an attack," said O'Hara. "So she is
disguised. Some of her guns are taken ashore."
"Why not all?" asked Denbigh.
"I should not think so," was the reply. "They would be almost certain
to keep those in position on the port side. They haven't abandoned the
ship, otherwise the boat wouldn't be waiting to take somebody off to
her. Hulloa, there they go!"
Two brilliant arcs of light swept across the lagoon. The searchlights
had been unmasked and were directed towards the narrow gap in the coral
reef.
"They've spotted something," continued O'Hara.
"Not necessarily," replied Denbigh. "Those lights are tantamount to a
challenge. Our fellows will go for the searchlight, thinking that they
are being worked from the _Pelikan_. Then the ship's guns and those of
the masked battery will be able to open a converging fire. We'll have
to stop their little game, old man."
"Can't see how," said O'Hara.
"No more can I at present," added his companion. "We've about three
hours to daylight. We must allow an hour and a half at the very
outside to work our way back to the _Myra_."
"If our fellows put the hat on the _Pelikan_, we may as well hang on
and get them to pick us up. You can bet your bottom dollar they'll
take good care to see that the _Pelikan_ is properly done in."
"My dear fellow," protested Denbigh, "are we fit to introduce ourselves
as British officers, even suppose the cruisers send a landing party
ashore?"
"Don't care whether I am or not," replied the Irishman recklessly.
"Whether I wear an evening dress of burnt cork plus a very disreputable
uniform of white ducks, or whether I am immaculately arrayed in No. 1
rig, makes little difference. I am still Patrick O'Hara."
"S'sh!" whispered Denbigh, for O'Hara had unconsciously raised his
voice during the delivery of his protest. "Let's have another look to
seaward, and then we'll cut the telephone wire and clap on all sail for
our involuntary home of rest. By Jove, it's getting darker! We'll be
barging into something if we aren't very careful."
Upon regaining the top of the cliffs the subs saw something that
indicated the impending attack. Lights were in position at the
entrance to the lagoon. The British vessels in the offing had sent
boats to sound and drop calcium-light buoys in the narrow channel,
preparatory to making a dash across the enclosed stretch of water.
Even as the subs watched a masthead light blinked rapidly. Since the
vessels were equipped with wireless, light signals were unnecessary for
communication. Denbigh could only conclude that one of the attacking
craft was ordering the boats to return.
"I say, old man," whispered O'Hara. "It's not going to be long-range
gunnery. I believe they're sending a couple of destroyers in. If so,
they're going to try a torpedo on the _Pelikan_."
Before Denbigh could reply a faint gleam played upon the rock-strewn
beach. Lying at full length in the coarse grass on the top of the
cliffs, which were here only about ten feet in height, the chums waited
and watched.
Coming towards them was a big-built man in the uniform of a German
officer. At intervals he flashed a torch upon the ground to guide his
footsteps. Behind him came a soldier with his rifle slung across his
back, and carrying a heavy valise.
"Von Eckenstein," whispered Denbigh, recognizing the bullying Prussian
by his voice. "And with an electric torch, too. We'll bag those
fellows, Pat. No, not that pistol, you chump. We'll jump on 'em."
Cautiously the two subs crouched ready to spring. Denbigh, grasping a
stout stick that he had found in the place of the one broken by the
ape, signed to his companion to use his powerful fists and tackle the
major's servant.
Unsuspectingly von Eckenstein passed by. Just as he flashed the torch
Denbigh leapt. Before his feet touched the sand his stick descended
heavily upon the German's head. His sun-helmet was insufficient to
save him. Without a groan the major dropped.
O'Hara had been equally successful in his share of the attack. Taking
Denbigh literally, he had alighted fairly on the German soldier's head.
"I've killed him!" exclaimed the Irishman.
"'Fraid so," agreed Denbigh. "But it's war, you know. Be sharp, drag
them into the bushes. Our dear friend the major won't recover his
senses in a hurry."
Taking possession of the torch Denbigh scaled the cliff and made his
way through the mangroves until he was nearly twenty yards from the
edge of the wood. From this point he could see the masthead light of
the destroyer--for destroyer he felt sure it must be. He could now
flash the torch with little risk of the glare being spotted from either
the _Pelikan_ or the masked battery.
He "called up", at first without meeting with success, but at length a
steady white light gleamed from the offing. It was not from the
destroyer that had been using her masthead light, but from one farther
out to sea.
Rapidly Denbigh flashed the warning message:--
"_Pelikan_ disguised, 400 yards to southward of searchlights. Masked
battery 400 yards to northward of searchlights. Useless to attempt
torpedo."
The white light vanished. With his nerves tingling with anxiety the
sub waited.
Then through the darkness the destroyer's signalling lamp spelt out the
single word:
"R-A-T-S."