WHEN THE ZEPPELIN WAS OUT
"WE'LL have to foot it, man," declared Entwistle decidedly. "Unless
we can get a car to pick us up on the road. Zeppelins, by smoke!
Whoever would have thought it? I didn't; not this side of the
Pennines."
"So I believe you said," replied Peter Barcroft, as the two men
swung down the inclined approach to the station and gained the setts
of the dingy street. "Still, they may be miles away. These official
warnings are the pattern of eccentricity. You know the road?"
"Yes fortunately Dash it all! I don't mind the excitement. It's my
wife I'm thinking about, if they should come to Barborough. Ever
seen a Zep., Barcroft?"
"Several," replied Peter. "They are fairly common objects down in
Kent. Get quite accustomed to them. Latterly I have slept soundly,
in spite of the noise of the engines. Of course they didn't drop any
bombs in that particular district. In point of fact they eventually
dumped their dangerous cargo into some fields a few miles from
anywhere. Our lighting restrictions are far more stringent than they
are up here. Barborough is a blaze of light compared, say, with
Tangtable or Cobley, the nearest large towns to Alderdene, where I
used to live."
"You used to sleep through it," repeated Mr. Entwistle. "That
reminds me. I noticed that when we were walking up and down the
platform just now you invariably got round to my left as we turned.
Are you deaf in one ear?"
"Yes," replied Peter. "Stone deaf in my left. A really valuable
asset when one has to be in the presence of bores, or enduring
curtain lectures and the like."
"Then we may congratulate ourselves," was his companion's response.
"I, too, am deaf, only in my right ear. When I was at school at
Scarborough a brute of a master hiked me up by my ears. Result,
deafness in one of them. Yes, I agree, it's very convenient at
times."
By now they had breasted the steep rise out of Windyhill and had
gained the bleak summit of the lofty ridge. In ordinary
circumstances would be seen the twinkling lights from scores of
factories--"works" as these are termed locally--in the five distinct
valleys that radiate from this particular spur. All was now in utter
darkness, save for a feeble glimmer from an isolated signal-box at
the entrance to a deep cutting.
"That chap's looking for trouble," declared Barcroft, indicating the
dim patch of luminosity. "They would spot that for a distance of ten
miles. I say, isn't the atmosphere clear for this part of the
country, and in autumn, too. It's the first absolutely fine night I
have seen since I've lived here--ideal for Zeps., too. No wind to
speak of and pitch dark. Listen."
The two men stopped abruptly. Above the faint rumble of the evening
breeze could be distinguished a subdued and distinct hum.
"That's the brute," declared Peter. "It's a Zep, sure enough."
"Certain?" asked Entwistle anxiously.
"Rather--and it's coming this way."
In silence the two pedestrians waited. Nearer and nearer came the
now increasing buzzing of the engines of the immense gas-bag. Vainly
they attempted to detect the elongated airship. With heads thrown
back they strove to pierce the black vault above. The "thing" was
there, but it was invisible from where they stood. Only by the
sinister sounds did they know of its presence. Then with the same
rapidity as the unseen had approached the whirr grew fainter and
fainter until it was heard no longer.
"Phew!" ejaculated Entwistle, mopping his forehead. "I'm not of a
funky nature, but, by Jove! I'm glad that beastly thing's gone. It
gives a fellow a peculiar sensation somewhere in the region of the
stomach. What's the time?"
"About eleven, I should imagine," replied Barcroft. "I won't strike
a match. Well, I suppose the Zep. has missed Barborough by this
time--unless she's slowed down and circling over the town," he added
in an undertone.
They were descending into one of the numerous valleys that lay
betwixt them and Tarleigh. The effluvium of a neighbouring bleaching
works was wafted to their nostrils.
"Rufford's Works," explained Entwistle. "Lucky that Zep didn't drop
a bomb. There are hundreds of gallons of benzine stored there....
Yes, I fancy it's all right as far as Barborough is concerned. Wish
a car would overtake us. Notwithstanding the fine night I don't feel
particularly keen for a long tramp."
"Let me give you a shakedown at Ladybird Fold," suggested Peter.
"You can telephone through to Barborough and let your wife know
where you are."
"No, no, my dear fellow," protested Entwistle. "It's imposing on
your good nature. Besides, you mentioned that your son was coming
home on leave."
"Yes," said Mr. Barcroft. "Wonder if he's arrived yet, or is held up
at some out-of-the-way railway station or in a tunnel. That won't
make any difference. If it did I shouldn't have mentioned the
matter. I can be as confoundedly blunt as you Lancashire people when
I want."
"So I believe," rejoined Entwistle tersely. "Well, I'll accept your
offer with pleasure. Now for the next hill. It's a regular brute,
even for this part of the world. When a fellow is past forty he's
not so good at this sort of work as he was. One has to admit the
fact however much one tries to stifle the discovery. I used to pride
myself on being a runner, and it came as a nasty shock when my
fifteen-year-old son beat me in a 440 sprint--not by so very much,
though," he added in defence of his bygone prowess.
"The third milestone," announced Peter pointing to a weatherbeaten
slab just visible in the gloom.
"Yes, and the highest part of the road," added Entwistle. "It is
about----".
He stopped abruptly. Away to the southward a vivid flash illuminated
the sky, followed by three more in quick succession. Summer
lightning would pale into insignificance compared with the intensity
of those momentary sheets of lurid light.
"Good heavens--Barborough!" ejaculated the vet.
Barcroft made no remark. Failing his inability to read the face of
his watch he placed the fingers of his right hand on his left wrist
and carefully counted the pulse beats.
"Forty-five!" he announced calmly as the first of four loud
detonations rent the air.
Crash--crash--crash--crash. It was as if he had been inside a tin
bath and some one was belabouring it with a wooden mallet. Even
allowing for the distance of the source of the sound the din was
terrible.
A minute later came two more flashes, almost simultaneously, with
forty-eight beats before the reports. Then one solitary flash
followed by an even greater interval ere the detonation was heard.
"The brutes!" muttered Entwistle.
Again Peter made no audible comment. He was making a rapid mental
calculation. Seventy pulsations to a minute: sound travels at
roughly 365 yards to a second. Yes, that placed the scene of the
raid at a distance of nine miles, and judging by the direction it
was that populous town that had been the target for the missiles of
the Zeppelin.
"She's gone, at any rate," he said.
"Yes, but goodness only knows what damage she's done in that minute
and a half," added Entwistle. "What's more we're between her and
that cursed Germany. Come on, man, let's hasten."
It was half-past twelve as the two pedestrians made their way
through the village of Scatterbeck. Almost the whole of the
population was astir, discussing in the shrill rapid Lancashire
dialect the totally unexpected visit of the aerial raider. Thrice
enquiries on the part of Barcroft and his companion brought the
disconcerting information that no vehicle of any description was
available. There was nothing for it but to continue their long
tramp.
At length the summit of Tarleigh Hill was surmounted. Here they
encountered a belated wayfarer--a watchman from the neighbouring
works.
"Eh, maaester," he replied to an anxious question. "I'm thinkin' 'tes
Barborough right enow. Seed 'em drop mysen, an' agen ower Percombe
way. Eh, but there'll be a rush to t' recruitin' office after this.
Lancashire's done main well in sojerin', but this'll cap everythin'.
This night's work'll cost that there Kayser summat when the
Barborough lads in t' trenches get to know o' it."
"That fellow's right," commented Mr. Barcroft after the watchman had
taken a by-road. "These Zeps, do very little military damage. They
don't intimidate or terrify the people, except, perhaps, those in
the actual district raided. The German bombs are like the dragon's
teeth of mythology; sown, they spring up as British soldiers, eager
to avenge themselves upon the Kaiser's troops. If I had my way I'd
run cheap excursions to the raided areas from Bristol, Exeter and
other towns as yet not troubled with the Zeps. to let the people see
the damage done to British homes. That would stir their imaginations
and let 'em think strongly. Instead, all details of raids are kept,
or are endeavoured to be kept, a profound secret by our wiseacres in
authority. The report of the damage done is minimised--not that I
would suggest making the news public as far as buildings of military
importance are concerned--and the result is that the phlegmatic
Briton who is not directly affected by the raid merely reads the
bald newspaper account, mentally consigns the Government to
perdition and forgets all about it."
"According to that American lecturer, Curtin, they do things better
in France," added Entwistle. "The French allow full descriptions of
the Zeppelin raids in their country to be published, and the result
is discouraging to the Huns. At the time we were referring to these
raids taking place in the 'eastern counties,' when the Germans knew
exactly where they had been. I shouldn't wonder if this night's
affair is described as taking place on the East Coast or the South
Midlands instead of within sight of the Irish Sea."
"And yet nothing did more to depress the Germans than the humorous
and true accounts of the Zep, raids that were eventually allowed to
appear in the British newspapers."
"Except when we do bag half a dozen of them at one swoop," added the
vet. "Mark my words, we'll get our own back with interest."
"What's the matter?" asked Peter, noticing that his companion had
reduced his pace and was limping slightly.
"Galled heel, worse luck," replied the vet. Even in the darkness
Barcroft could discern his face twitching. "But it's nothing. I'll
stick it."
"Look here," declared Barcroft authoritatively. There were times
when the easy-going Peter could make himself obeyed. "It's all jolly
rot your carrying on. You'll be lame in another mile. You must stick
to the original programme, and stop at my place. What's happened at
Barborough has happened, and your presence there to-night won't mend
matters. Besides, there's the telephone."
Entwistle capitulated. In fact he was in great pain. The injury to
his foot was more than he cared to admit. Not only was his heel
badly chafed, but he had twisted his ankle on a loose stone.
"All right," he replied. "But suppose I can't get through on the
'phone?"
"You will," said Barcroft confidently. "Now: hang on to my arm. It's
only a couple of hundred yards up the hill."
The last two hundred yards was a pilgrimage of pain. The approach
was along a narrow lane paved with irregular slabs and enshrouded:
with trees that threw the path into even greater gloom than the high
road. The blackness was so intense that it appeared to have
weight--to press upon their eyeballs like a tightly adjusted
bandage. Away to the left came the gurgle of a mountain stream as it
flowed swiftly through a deep cutting in the rocks.
"Here we are," said Peter at last.
"Yes," agreed Entwistle. "I know the place."
They were now clear of the trees. Looming mistily against the dark
sky was a long, rambling, two-storeyed building surrounded by a
roughly built stone wall. The latticed windows were heavily
curtained. Not a light nor a sound came from the isolated dwelling.
"So Billy hasn't turned up yet," remarked Barcroft senior as he
fumbled for his key. "Why, by Jove, the door's wide open!"