THE BARN BY THE RIVER
THE distant light from the lantern glittered on the bayonets of the
sentries, who, sheltering as best they might from the rain, paced
stolidly to and fro at the bleak cross-roads. Presently the gleam
increased in intensity, throwing distorted shadows upon the gaunt
poplars of the road-side.
"The lieutenant going the rounds," whispered Fuller. "Fancy the fool
taking a lantern with him. Wonder if he's afraid of the dark?"
The quivering bayonets stiffened into immobility as the Hun officer
approached the now alert sentries. The fugitives could just
distinguish the guttural 'Wer da?' of the challenge, then an
unintelligible exchange of words.
The German officer and his escort moved on. The sentries, sloping
arms, resumed their monotonous beat until the round had disappeared
from sight and hearing.
Seemingly interminable minutes passed, until just as midnight was
approaching there came a low whistle through the darkness.
"_Hier!_" replied one of the men.
"All safe," rejoined the new-comer. "Yes, both of you. What a night!
It's not fit for a dog to be abroad."
"Now," whispered Barcroft at the expiration of another long ten
minutes. "Ankle all right, old man?"
"Quite," replied Fuller mendaciously. It was far from right, but the
flight-lieutenant, game to the core, had no intention of letting his
chums know that every time he set foot to the ground excruciating
pains racked him.
Across the clayey soil, now almost knee-deep in mud, the daring trio
literally floundered, their immediate objective being the endmost of
a line of tall trees at a distance of fifty yards from the
cross-roads.
"Steady!" cautioned Billy as the _pave_, glistening even in the
gloom, became visible. "I'll push on and see that the coast is
clear. Back in a brace of shakes."
The trees cast sombre shadows as the flight sub drew near; rain,
closely approaching sleet, fell in a steady downpour; the wind had
resumed its doleful whine. Altogether the climatic conditions were
horrible.
"This is absolutely the limit," thought Billy, until his
characteristic optimism reasserted itself. "Perhaps it's as well,
though. The Huns don't like sticking it and have departed. A fine
night and our risks would be greatly increased."
He pulled up with startling suddenness. Less than ten paces ahead of
him was a German sentry. Sheltering under the lee of the outer most
tree the fellow was actually looking straight in the flight-sub's
direction.
For several seconds Barcroft stood stock still, debating whether to
throw himself upon the man or seek safety in flight. The sentry, his
coat-collar turned up and his hands resting upon the muzzle of his
rifle, appeared as immobile as if fashioned of stone. He was an
oldish man. The flight-sub was certain of that fact; more, he wore
glasses.
"A Landsturmer, and as blind as a bat," thought the young officer.
"There were three sentries, then; two have gone to the estaminet,
the old boy is told to remain at his post. Now what's to be done?
Something, or Fuller and Kirkwood will be forging ahead to find me
and then there'll be damage done."
Very cautiously Barcroft began to back away from the unsuspecting
Hun. The man coughed and hunched his shoulders still more. At the
sound Billy again stood rigid, half expecting the sentry to slope
arms and resume his beat. Nothing happening, the flight-sub withdrew
as silently and stealthily as the slippery state of the _pave_
permitted.
"Well?" whispered the A.P.
"Hist!" was Barcroft's only reply, then grasping his companions by
their arms he led them back until they were well out of the sentry's
hearing--even supposing that he possessed the normal use of his
ears.
"A Boche over there," reported Barcroft. "Nearly rammed him
broadside on. Blind as a bat; a regular septuagenarian. We'll make a
slight detour and have another shot at crossing the road. It's open
country beyond."
This time the highway presented no difficulty, and with renewed
vigour the trio struggled through the tenacious slime beyond.
It was Barcroft's plan to keep to the fields as much as possible and
follow the road on a parallel course. It was infinitely harder
going, but there was less risk of blundering upon a German outpost,
while at intervals military motor-cars tore at break-neck speed over
the slippery _pave_, their iron-shod wheels slithering dangerously
on the slimy stones.
In almost total silence the dreary trek was maintained throughout
the night, with the exception of two brief halts. Gamely Fuller
"stuck it," although his ankle was getting worse under the strain.
His left arm, too, was throbbing in spite of careful bandaging, yet
no word of complaint came from his lips.
At half past six in the morning Barcroft called a halt.
"By dead reckoning I estimate we have covered twenty-five miles," he
announced. "That's not so dusty. It will be dawn in another hour.
We'll have to find a place and lie doggo until to-night. How's the
victualling department, purser?"
"I can spare a couple of biscuits apiece," declared the A.P. "And a
small tot of Schnapps. You'll have to wait till lunch time for the
sausage tack. I'm counting on a three days' basis, you know."
"Very good," replied Barcroft approvingly. "There is a hovel or barn
ahead. We'll make for that."
The outbuilding consisted of stone walls and a tiled roof, the
latter in a state of dilapidation. The massive oaken door had been
partly wrenched from its hinges. Within, the floor was of trodden
earth mixed with lime. The place was absolutely bare.
"Not even a bundle of straw," declared the A.P. "The roof leaks like
a sieve. Still, it is better than nothing at all."
"The only place to hide in is under the rafters," said the
flight-sub. "Those two planks lying over the beams will serve that
purpose should necessity occur. I would suggest that we keep watch
by turns--two-hour tricks. That will give each man four consecutive
hours' rest. I'll take first trick; you, Bobby, will relieve me and
John will follow on. Now to bed, you roysterers."
Fuller and the A.P. needed no second bidding. Rolling themselves in
their leather coats that fortunately acted as waterproofs, and with
their heads pillowed on their padded flying helmets, they were soon
sound asleep.
Taking up his post by the open door--he made no attempt to close it
lest the fact would be remarked by people living in the
district--Barcroft commenced his dreary vigil. Although bodily and
mentally tired he knew that his comrades were more in need of rest
than he. It was merely a case of "sticking it"; happy in the
knowledge that the guerdon, in the shape of precious liberty, was
twenty-five miles nearer than it had been seven hours previously.
Gradually, as the sullen dawn overcame the blackness of the night,
the dreary landscape unfolded itself to the watcher's eyes--an
expanse of flat country broken here and there with isolated
buildings. Within fifty yards of the barn where the fugitives
sheltered was a fairly broad river, that described almost a complete
semicircle around the building.
"It's running north," soliloquised Billy. "Wonder if it's the Aa?
Hanged if I can fix our position with certainty! We've crossed five
or six railway lines, and half a dozen small streams. Hang it all!
We can't be more than five or six miles from the frontier. By Jove,
we are close to the road, though! Wonder if that bridge is guarded?"
After a short interval a convoy of motor waggons thundered past. The
A.P., roused out of his sleep, sat up.
"What's that--an air raid?" he asked drowsily.
"No, only traffic," replied Billy. "No cause for alarm. You've
another forty minutes yet."
A little later on a barge, quite eighty feet in length, manned by a
couple of Belgians and towed by a miserably gaunt horse, descended
the river. As it rounded the bend the cumbersome craft ran aground.
Its stern, being still afloat, was swung round by the force of the
wind and jammed against the opposite bank.
At the impact, slight though it was, the hatch of the after cabin
was thrown back and German soldiers scrambled on deck. One of them
was smoking a long pipe with a bent stem. He evidently regarded the
situation with philosophical stolidity, but not so his companion.
The latter, cursing and reviling the luckless Belgians, danced like
a madman on the sodden deck, till, losing his balance, he subsided
heavily against the massive tiller.
"Bring the horse back, you swine!" he shouted to the man on the
bank. "There'll be trouble in store for you if the barge doesn't
reach Wuestwezel by noon. Himmel! What will Herr Kapitan say?"
Peering through a crack in the door Barcroft watched the
proceedings. The German had mentioned Wuestwezel. Consulting the map
the flight-sub found that it was a small Belgian village on the
frontier, where in pre-war days a customs station was situated.
For the best part of an hour the men strove unavailingly to
extricate the barge from the tenacious mud. Even the two Huns
condescended to assist in the operation but without the desired
result. So interested was Barcroft in their frantic efforts that he
quite overlooked the fact that it was time for Kirkwood to relieve
him.
"You'll have to go to Hulstweelde and get additional help, you lazy
dogs!" bellowed the infuriated Fritz. Then he said something to his
companion, but speaking in a lower tone the words were
unintelligible to the young British officer. Apparently there was an
argument in progress as to which of the two Germans should accompany
the bargees, lest the latter took it into their heads to decamp.
Finally all four trudged off, leaving the horse to nibble at the
scanty pasture on the bank.
"You rotter!" exclaimed Kirkwood. "It's gone nine. Why didn't you
turn me out? And what are you so interested in? Come, now, you were
very keen on ordering me to turn in. Try this luxurious
_salle-a-coucher_."
"Before I do so," replied Barcroft pointing to the abandoned barge,
"I'm going to do a bit of burgling if there's anything in the food
line. Keep a sharp look-out, old man--towards that bridge
especially. I won't be long."
It was a comparatively simple matter to board the deeply-laden
craft. Almost the whole of the space amidships was covered by huge
tarpaulins, leaving a narrow gangway on either side. Making his way
aft Barcroft boldly descended the short ladder leading into the
cabin--a somewhat spacious compartment with the small "cuddies" on
barges working British canals.
"Black bread and cheese," said the flight-lieutenant to himself.
"Well, that's better than nothing. Bacon, too: useless when one
cannot light a fire."
He had no qualms about despoiling the Philistines. Before the food
would be missed the barge would doubtless have resumed its voyage.
When the theft was discovered the Germans would to a certainty blame
the men who came to their assistance.
"Wonder what the cargo is?" continued Billy as he regained the deck.
Unfastening one corner of the tarpaulin he made the discovery that
the contents of the hold consisted of bales of old clothes packed
tightly and labelled in large lettering with typical German
thoroughness. They were commandeered Belgian civilian articles of
clothing, those of cotton being kept apart from those of wool. Their
destination was Aachen (Aix-la-Chapelle) via Wuestwezel, Turnout and
Tongres, and at Wuestwezel they were to be transferred to the
railway.
"I think I see the move," thought Barcroft. "The stuff is to be
converted into cloth for the Huns. The cotton gear, perhaps, will be
utilised in the manufacture of explosives, since they cannot get the
raw material. By Jove! The very thing. I'll collar a bale of this
gear. We'll have to be in mufti of sorts when we cross the frontier,
otherwise it means internment."
A low whistle from the barn warned the flight-sub to a sense of
danger. It was too late. Riding at a steady trot along the river
bank was a German officer.