Von Dussel's Revenge
It was not a moment in which to mince matters, and Dennis drew up his
legs with a yell.
"Don't play the giddy ox, Hawke. Where are your eyes?" he shouted, as
the point of the bayonet grazed his brown gaiter; and then, in spite of
the terrible danger overhanging them all, Dennis laughed oddly as his
sworn admirer recovered his weapon, and the star-shell went out.
"You don't mean to say it's you, Mr. Dashwood!" came up a tremulous
voice very unlike Hawke's own. "Drop, sir, your toes ain't above seven
feet from the ground. Tiddler and me's been looking for you and the
Captain for the last three hours."
"Well, you've found us," said Dennis, still clinging where he was; "and
I hope you're in time. My brother should be up in the building by now,
but he can only hobble on one leg, and the whole caboodle may be blown
up any minute. What's to be done?"
Harry Hawke did not hesitate, but, slipping off his pack, handed his
rifle to Tiddler, who stood speechless with amazement.
"Give us a back, Cockie," said Hawke. "Can you hold on, sir, if I climb
up yer? Will the ladder bear?"
"It'll bear, and I can stick it if you're not too long," replied Dennis,
twining his fingers tighter round the ironwork and bracing his arms for
the strain.
The German shells had ceased to hum past the eastern end of the brewery,
although they were falling rapidly about the captured trench, where the
Reedshires were ensconced five hundred yards to the south.
"For Heaven's sake look sharp, man!" urged Dennis, and then he felt
Hawke grasp his knees, pass a hand over his shoulder, hang there a
moment, and grab at the broken step overhead.
"Sorry if I 'urt you, sir," muttered the Pride of Shoreditch, planting
his hobnailed boot where his hand had been the moment before; and,
active as a cat, he gained the iron ladder which had so nearly meant a
broken neck for Dennis Dashwood.
"Now, sir!" panted Harry Hawke, seizing his officer's right wrist, "let
go yer 'old while I give yer a 'aul. Up we come!"
Dennis gave a spring at the same time, and his fingers clutched the
banister that supported the rail. The rest was easy, and between them he
scrambled to his feet as a curious stumping made the iron gallery ring
above them, and Bob's voice was heard calling, "Where have you got to,
Den?"
They helped him down the broken ladder, Dennis explaining the position
as he hopped between them.
"Can't say I fancy that drop you speak of, with this gammy leg of mine,"
said Bob ruefully; "but I must chance it. I suppose you haven't got a
coil of rope concealed about your valuable person, Hawke?"
"Not arf, I 'aven't, sir," grinned the practical one, unfastening one
end of the Mauser sling and tying the other round the last rung. "I
reckon this'll do us."
"Bravo, Hawke," said Dennis gratefully. "Now then, Bob."
"No, you go first, old man."
"See you hanged before I do," was Dennis's blunt response, and with an
"Oh, very well," Bob Dashwood grabbed the leather sling, and, lowering
himself to the ground, was caught by Tiddler in his outstretched arms.
The other two dropped at the same moment, Dennis smothering a groan as
his head seemed to open and shut from the jar.
"It'll save time, sir, if you'll carry my pack," said Harry Hawke, with
a backward glance at the brewery. "Make a chair, Tid, and look slippy";
and before he quite knew what was happening the two privates had joined
hands, and Bob Dashwood was being carried forward at a run across that
deadly No Man's Land.
"First stop, British trench, Tiddler!" sang out the irrepressible Hawke,
as they blundered along the side of a crater. "We'd given you up as a
bad job, sir. Lord! You ought to see A Company. Don't believe there's
more than thirty of us left." And a strain of gloomy seriousness
vibrated in the speaker's voice.
"Yes, I know," said Captain Bob savagely, adding sharply, "Bear away to
the left here."
"Beg pardon, sir, but that's our trench yonder," expostulated his
bearers.
"Quite so," said Bob Dashwood. "But do you hear that?"
Under the perpetual thunder of the guns a sudden low roar came out of
the darkness at right angles to the trench for which they had been
making--the eager clamouring of hoarse voices, and many of them.
"That's the Australian Division on its way to storm that infernal
brewery, and we must stop them at any cost."
"Lumme! They'll want a bit of stopping," muttered Tiddler through his
nose. "They're more likely to stop us. Them Anzac blokes don't let much
grass grow in front of their bayonets."
"Dennis," sang out the Captain, "get on ahead and see what you can do
with them; and you, lads, put me down and go forward with my brother.
I'm only an incubus."
"No, sir," replied Harry Hawke firmly. "You ain't no nincompoop. It's
only an orficer's voice those chaps will listen to. We'll carry you
right enough."
The trench from which the Australian Division was advancing branched off
northward, and as Dennis sprinted forward to meet them he could make out
the first rush tearing across the broken ground, yelling like fiends.
Still running, he shrilled out the order to halt on his whistle again
and again, without result, and then as a hand gripped his throat, he
felt the cold barrel of a revolver clapped to his throbbing forehead,
and an angry voice with a colonial twang in it cried, "Who are you,
blowing calls on our front? Is this another German wheeze?"
"I am an officer of the Reedshires, and we've had it badly!" shouted
Dennis, as he clutched his opponent in his turn. "We're pretty well
wiped out, but it's nothing to what you'll get if you don't stop your
men. That building you're making for is mined. The moment you reach it
they'll blow the whole show sky high."
"Nonsense, you're pulling my leg," said the voice incredulously. "Don't
you know we're making history?"
"History be blowed! You're making fools of yourselves!" cried the lad.
"Loose my throat, or I'll let you have it!"
"Hallo, that sounds like Dennis Dashwood!" said another voice out of the
surge that raced by them, and a broad-shouldered corporal pulled up
short.
"What, Dunn--do you know this man?" said the Australian Captain,
releasing his grip.
"Yes, sir, he's my cousin," said Dan Dunn. "What's wrong, Dennis?"
Dennis hurriedly repeated his warning, and as three rockets sailing up
from the German lines showed Bob and his bearers shouldering their way
perilously forward within an ace of being bayoneted at every step,
Captain Dashwood lifted up his voice, and the two privates joined in.
The testimony was overwhelming, and although the fire-eating Anzacker
was only half convinced, he reluctantly blew a call, and told Corporal
Dunn to find the C.O.
"If you've made a fool of us you'll have to go through the hoop," said
the Australian savagely, as the call was taken up along the charging
line, which flattened out and said things loudly.
And then the angry Captain suddenly thrust out his hand.
"Sorry, old man," he said. "You were right, and I take it all back."
There was no malice in the hearty squeeze with which Dennis met the
proffered fingers as they all flung themselves on their faces.
* * * * *
Von Dussel, half blinded by a British shell which dropped close beside
him as he knelt, knew that to stay any longer was to court death.
Something had happened to delay the expected division, but he had a
little matter of private revenge which must not be neglected.
"Now, you Dashwoods, you! You have interfered with me too long," he
muttered with a vindictive glitter in his grey eyes. "Up you go!" And he
fired the fuse!
There was a dull boom. A strange shiver seemed to pass over all that
shell-torn ground, and with an extraordinary roar the earth lifted
skyward, thousands of tons of it rising in a weird black mass flecked
with tongues of crimson flame. Higher and higher it mounted, preceded by
dense black smoke that afterwards hung for an hour or more above the
battlefield. Woods and trenches, men lying out dead in the open--the
whole landscape was reddened by the glare, and as it faded out the
debris from the explosion rained over a wide radius in a deadly shower.
Chimney, buildings, barbed wire, everything had disappeared, and where
the brewery had stood the moment before a huge crater now yawned.
"You admit there was something in it, after all," said Dennis, unable
to repress a ring of exultation in his voice.
"Gee-whiz! I'll admit anything you like," replied his new acquaintance.
"There would have been some heavy hearts in Queensland if you hadn't
come along to-night. But, say, there goes the order for us to occupy
that hole. See you later on, I hope, Dashwood."
"I hope so," responded Dennis, as the Australian Division sprang up and
bolted forward to dig themselves in.
"Now, lads, if you don't mind giving me another lift," said Bob. "It's
about time we were getting home. What do you say, Dennis?"
Dennis said nothing. He was holding his head in both hands; that last
explosion had left him more than ever convinced that it would fall into
two halves if he were not very careful.
And meanwhile, Von Dussel, with an evil grin, was making his way to the
German headquarters to report to General Von Bingenhammer that an
English shell had exploded the mine before the Anzac Division had
reached the brewery.
"Ah, you Dashwoods, you!" he murmured, rolling the name round his tongue
as though it were a sweetmeat, "I should like to go to sleep, for I am
very tired, but I should not like to be sleeping as sound as you.
Himmel! You must have lived a lifetime in that last half-hour on earth!"
Somewhere about the moment when the scoundrel was indulging in those
pleasant reflections, Bob's bearers had reached the British parapet,
and, helping the Captain over, they set him down for a moment with a
grunt of relief.
"I have no words for you, boys," he said. "But your devotion shall not
be forgotten."
"'Arf a mo, sir," interrupted Harry Hawke, with an expressive wink at
Tiddler, and they had him up again between them in the twinkle of an
eye.
"No, no," expostulated Bob Dashwood. "I shall do very well now."
"Yus, sir, but we shan't!" said Hawke, with a sheepish grin. "We must
carry you a bit farther to save our skins"; and a light began to dawn on
their officer.
Farther along the trench, which spades and feverish hands were
strengthening, two men stood, and the Senior Captain knew that the
moment he dreaded had come.
Brigadier-General Dashwood, very set and stern, his heart struggling
between pride at the fine fight his battalion had put up and sorrow at
the heavy losses they had sustained, cleared his throat as he put a
question to the other man.
With the Brigadier it was duty first and private interest afterwards,
but now that everything had been done he spoke.
"By the way, Littlewood, I don't see either of my boys," he said; and a
spasm crossed the face of the Senior Captain as he looked out over the
parapet.
"Where are Bob and Dennis, Littlewood?" repeated the Brigadier.
"Here we are, sir!" said a laughing voice out of the darkness. "We're
both a bit bent, but we're safe and sound for all that"; and Captain
Littlewood echoed the Brigadier's hearty "Thank God!" as Hawke and
Tiddler dumped their burden down before them.
Hands met, and the lieutenant, who had taken over the command of the
survivors of A Company, and who had come up at the moment, felt the
muscles of his throat tighten, and became very duty-struck to cover his
emotions.
"Is that you, Hawke?" he said sharply. "Do you mean to say you disobeyed
my orders and left the trench?"
"Captain Dashwood--sir!" said Harry Hawke, with a ring of ill-used
innocence in his husky voice, "didn't we pick you up at the other end of
this trench when you tumbled over the sandbags? And didn't you say you
was all right, sir, but we would carry you?"
"Perfectly true, Hawke, that's a fact," said Captain Bob, the light
strong upon him now; and no one saw the grip that fell on Harry Hawke's
wrist, a grip that cemented the friendship between officer and man for
ever and a day.
"Very well," said the lieutenant. "Get back to your company now--or all
that's left of it"; and as the two rascals hurried away he looked from
Bob to Dennis, and said, with a laugh of immense relief in the words of
Galileo of old, "All right, you beggars, 'but it moves for all that!'"