What They Learned on the German Telephone
The shock of the discovery was so great that Dennis lay paralysed, and
everything seemed very black indeed, until a low murmur in English
brought him to his senses at his elbow.
"Well, I'm hanged! This is a pretty nice ending to a glorious day!"
muttered Captain Bob. "But I shouldn't mind so much if I only knew that
Dennis had come out of it all right."
A hand grasped his own, and the speaker started as someone whispered in
his ear: "Dear old chap, keep your hair on, and don't speak above your
breath. Half these poor beasts understand English. Are you badly hit?"
Bob's fingers closed on his brother's like a vice.
"Thank God!" he murmured, "I'm not hit at all. I trod on an unexploded
shell, and gave my leg an infernal wrench just as our fellows had to
fall back. I couldn't move a yard, and got collared in consequence, and
when it was dark they brought me along here. Where are you hurt, Den?"
"Welt over the head with a rifle-butt," whispered Dennis excitedly. "I
say, old chap, if we've any luck, I'll get you out of this. Do you know
the lie of the land?"
"Yes, we're about a mile and a half in front of our new first line. Do
you think you could rub my leg? You'll have to take the gaiter off; I've
had several shots at it, but my fingers are all to pieces trying to get
over some of their wire, and I couldn't slip the buckle for little
apples."
Dennis had the gaiter undone in a moment, and Bob writhed as his brother
felt the injured limb.
"You've got no end of a sprain, old man," whispered Dennis. "No wonder
you couldn't walk. Your instep's swollen up as big as my two fists, and
there's nothing for it but rest and cold water bandages to put you
right."
"H'm! If I didn't know you for my own brother, I should put you down as
a near relation of the late lamented Mr. Job," said Bob Dashwood, with a
wry face. "But never mind, keep on rubbing. I'm feeling more life in it
already. But, I say, Den, this is a weird place we're in. These German
fellows don't seem to take their gruel like our chaps. It's a gruesome
thing to hear a man cry."
"And it's worse to hear a man die, Bob," said Dennis solemnly. "I don't
fancy from what the doctor said that many of these poor wretches will be
here when the sun rises."
It was indeed a trying thing to be there, in the darkness with those
sounds of human suffering all about them, and it made them both very
anxious to make a start for that freedom which seemed such a long way
off. Every now and then a piercing cry rose above the constant
undercurrent of moans, and the sobbing was distressing in the extreme.
A strong man from the far side of the barn calling piteously on
"_Muetterchen_," made them both think of their own "little mother"; and
after Dennis had rubbed for several minutes until the palms of his hands
were terribly hot, Bob clutched his shoulder and whispered: "For
goodness' sake, old chap, let's chance our arm! I can't stand any more
of this!"
"Just as you like," assented his brother, strapping the gaiter loosely
round the limb again. "If you can't walk you must crawl, and when you
can't crawl I'll carry you; but I wish my head wouldn't ache so
confoundedly. Do you notice no one's been near this place since they
brought you in? That tells me the sanitary squad will be busy
to-morrow."
He helped Bob up as he spoke, not to his feet, for he could not put the
right one to the ground; but by passing an arm round Dennis's neck he
managed to hop to the door, which was only a yard away, and there they
paused to take their bearings before leaving the shelter of the barn.
Every step was as painful to the one as to the other, but the night air
was very sweet, and the hope of liberty sweeter.
"This door opens to the east," whispered the Captain. "Consequently, our
road lies yonder; and, by Jove! it is a road too! What stunning chaps
the British gunners are when they're properly supplied with ammunition!"
"You're quite sure you're right, old man?" said Dennis. "The shells are
bursting yonder like one o'clock."
"Exactly!" was Bob's dry rejoinder. "That's the German barrage falling
behind our new line. It's about there we shall probably get pipped on
the post, brother of mine. That barrage lies between us and safety."
Overhead the shells rushed, clanging, booming, whistling, screeching,
according to their different species and calibre; and every now and then
a star-shell burst in the sky, lighting everything up for a few seconds
in an unearthly brilliance.
"So long as we're between the two fires," said Bob, as they began their
perilous journey, "there is nothing much to fear, it seems to me. The
next mile is No Man's Land with a vengeance; after that it will be
Dante's Inferno with the lid off."
Every time a star-shell burst the fugitives flung themselves on to the
ground. After one of those enforced pauses, and before they had covered
a quarter of a mile, they rested for quite a considerable time at the
edge of an enormous crump-hole, and, Dennis still having his haversack,
they divided its contents and ate ravenously.
"I suppose we shall be returned missing," said Bob. "But surely the
governor will keep the news back for a day or two on the mater's
account. Let's get a move on, old chap; our non-appearance is robbing
him of all the satisfaction he'd have got out of a fine day's work." And
as they went on again, the Captain using a Mauser rifle which Dennis had
picked up as a crutch, he told his brother how completely successful the
British advance had been up to the moment when the Reedshires were
obliged to fall back. The battalion had lost terribly, but we had taken
two villages, and what we had we meant to hold.
At the end of another quarter of a mile they took cover again very
suddenly; no star-shell that time, but a very businesslike German high
explosive, which scooped up tons of earth, and it was followed by
another and another, which all burst in their immediate neighbourhood.
"I say, Bob, this is getting rather serious," said Dennis. "They're
shortening their fuses for some reason or other, and we're just in the
line of fire. I wish there was a safe spot where we could lie up until
we see what it means. What's the matter with that building over there
with the broken chimney shaft? The beggars are shelling right and left
of it as though they didn't want it to get hit--mean to use it when they
counter-attack, I suppose; and if we're questioned, I must pass you off
as my prisoner, eh?"
"It certainly is getting sultry," assented Captain Bob. "Let's try that
place yonder. One may as well get killed by falling bricks inside as by
T.N.T. in the open."
His voice grew very solemn as he added: "I believe it was in front of
that place that our battalion got its fearful gruelling, and poor old A
company was wiped out."
It was the only building anywhere visible, and a zigzag walk between
shell craters brought them to it.
A bristling hedge of very thick barbed wire was the first thing they
encountered; but, thanks to another star-shell, they discovered an
opening at the back leading to what had evidently been a brewery in the
piping times of peace. The shattered sheds about the yard and the
half-ruined main building had been sandbagged and strengthened by the
enemy's engineers, as though they had intended to hold it.
But for some reason or other it was now deserted. The machine-guns had
been removed from their positions, and there were signs of a hasty and
recent exodus. The tall shaft of the chimney-stack stood sentinel over
the deserted place; but as the two brothers penetrated into the main
building, the thought that was in both their minds was voiced by Dennis.
"I believe we've touched lucky," he said. "You're right, old chap; they
don't want to hit this show for some reason best known to themselves."
A perfect hurricane of shells was passing on either side of the ruined
brewery from batteries not very far behind it, and it was a relief to
steal inside the big dark chamber where the thunder seemed less loud.
"I've still got my torch," said Dennis in a low voice, after an anxious
pause. "I wonder if it would be safe to have a look round the place?"
"Why not?" replied Bob. "There must be water somewhere here, and my
throat is like the sole of an old boot. If there had been anyone hiding,
we should have heard them by this time."
Dennis turned on his light, and the beam showed them that the ground
floor of the building had been utilised as a bathroom. Rows of vats and
coppers were ranged along one side, and a network of pipes communicated
with some large stoves, in one of which there was still a handful of red
embers.
"Can't make out why the beggars scooted," muttered Bob Dashwood. "This
place has been turned into a regular redoubt, and might have been held
successfully against a division. There is something at the bottom of it,
Dennis, and the mind of Brother Boche is a subtle and a crafty mind.
Look!" And he pointed to a long line of underclothing hanging above the
stoves. "They've even left their washing when they cleared out."
His speculations terminated abruptly as an electric bell rang somewhere
in the darkness.
"Great Scott!" cried Dennis, stabbing the gloom with the beam of his
pocket-torch. "There's another room here, and the place is evidently in
communication with their headquarters."
He ran in the direction of the sound, and the door led him into the
engine-room of the brewery, a mysterious place smelling of oil. Wheels,
shafts and boilers met his eye, but he paid no heed to them, for the
bell still rang; and Bob, limping painfully after him, heard the sharp
cry he gave, and saw him bending down in a huge cavity on which he
flashed his light.
"I say, Bob!" he called excitedly. "The chimney overhead is fitted with
a wireless installation, and here's a complete outfit of field telegraph
and telephone!"
"Smash it; it's worse than useless to us, for we don't know their code,"
was the practical advice of the captain.
"Hold on!" chuckled Dennis. "They don't talk by code. We may hear things
yet!" And he unhooked the telephone receiver.
Bob's eyes opened very wide, and, leaning on his rifle-crutch, he
explored his brother's pocket for a cigarette and lit it.
"Well, what's it all about?" he asked impatiently, his eyes riveted on
the delighted smile that wreathed the listener's face.
Dennis made a hasty gesture with his hand and continued to listen.
It was a very angry voice that came along that wire, and the
quick-witted lad instantly saw great possibilities here.
"What are you doing with yourself, Von Dussel?" demanded the voice.
"Pardon, sir," said Dennis, in his best German, "I have difficulty in
catching your words; the noise of the shells is so great." And he winked
delightedly at Bob. "Who is speaking, please?"
An imprecation preceded the reply. "I am the General von Bingenhammer at
the headquarters of Prince Rupprecht, who is furious at the delay."
"A thousand apologies, your excellency!" said Dennis into the receiver.
"The truth is, we are so hard pressed here that it is difficult to get
the necessary information. My three assistants have been killed, and I
have this moment returned from a personal reconnaissance, where I
managed to get within fifteen yards of the trench we lost this evening,
and I am afraid the news I have will be decidedly unpleasant."
"Well, what is it?" snapped the general. "Unpleasant or no, we rely
implicitly on your judgment."
"Your excellency is pleased to be very kind," said Dennis, scarcely able
to disguise the laughter which convulsed him.
"By Jupiter, Bob, here's a chance to rub it in!" he whispered aside. And
then he very gravely gave an account of what Prince Rupprecht's agent
was supposed to have discovered!
"The enemy has consolidated himself in what were our support trenches,"
reported the mock spy. "The _Koenigin Augusta_ Redoubt was carried with
great fury at six o'clock this evening, and its brave defenders
practically destroyed. The English have now seventy machine-guns mounted
on the work, and to take it will be impossible. In my opinion, there is
nothing for it but to fall back. We can do nothing against the horde of
reserves massed behind the English firing line. It is incredible the
number of battalions I have seen to-night, and their howitzer batteries
have been moved forward."
"Here, I say, go slow!" interjected Bob, marvelling at the clever way in
which Dennis conducted his ruse.
"Shut up!" snapped Dennis shortly. "He is asking me questions now, and
we shall learn something."
"Has the evacuation of the brewery taken place?" inquired Von
Bingenhammer.
"It has, your excellency," answered Dennis promptly.
"And there is nothing to prevent that Australian Division taking
possession of the place--nothing to warn them of the trap?"
"I am expecting their arrival at any moment, your excellency. In fact,
it will be difficult for me to escape if I stay here much longer."
"Good," assented the speaker at the other end of the 'phone. "And the
land mine is charged ready to blow them back to their antipodes, _nicht
wahr_?"
"Everything is ready as your excellency has ordered it," replied Dennis,
with a startled grimace at his brother.
"Then you had better look after your own safety, only remaining to see
the mine properly fired, and then come back to His Highness's
headquarters. We are preparing a heavy counter-attack for the early
hours of the morning. That is all, captain. May the God of the
Fatherland protect thee!"
Dennis laid the receiver down, and was rapidly recounting all the
general had said to his brother, when he stopped and switched his light
off.
A quick step was heard in the outer room. The real spy was approaching,
and their old acquaintance, Von Dussel, alias Van Drissel, came through
the doorway, turning on his own light as he did so!