the road, through what had once been a market-garden, to a turfy mound
resembling a small barrow, such as may be seen here and there in the
south of England. But this mound in France was obviously not an ancient
burial-place. There was something recent and artificial in its
appearance. A deep drain encircled it, and on its western side there
was a small opening, like the entrance to an Eskimo hut.
"Here we are," said his guide, Laurence Cay, second lieutenant. "Mind
your head."
Burton stooped and entered. He found himself in a spacious chamber,
dimly lit through the doorway and the hurdles stretched across the
farther end. To him, coming from the brilliant sunlight, the interior
was at first impenetrably dark; but as his eyes became accustomed to the
dimness, he saw the gun, clean, silent, on a bed of concrete; rows of
shells placed in recesses in the walls; and the opening of a tunnel.
"That leads to our dug-out," said Cay. "We'll find some one there."
A few steps through the tunnel brought them to a large cave-like room,
furnished with table and chairs, four bunks and a store cupboard. Two
officers were taking a late luncheon.
"Let me introduce Burton, V.C., D.S.O., one of our spotters," said Cay.
"Captain Adams, Mr. Mortimer."
"Hullo, Burton? So it's you. How d'ye do?" said the captain, shaking
hands. "Haven't seen you for an age. Have a drink?"
"A cosy little place, this," said Burton, as he quaffed a mug of cider.
"H'm! Pretty fair. We're proof against anything but a 'Jack Johnson.'
They haven't discovered us yet. We've had a few pip-squeaks and
four-twos, by accident. We make better practice, I think."
"You missed a chance this morning."
"How's that?"
"Well, that mill, you know, just across the way--the Huns' divisional
headquarters."
"Across the way! It's five miles--and a hill between!"
Burton, who knew Captain Adams of old, ignored the interruption. It was
an easy amusement to "draw" Adams.
"With a little promptitude, and--h'm--accuracy, you might have bagged
the whole lot; and who knows if Big or Little Willy mightn't have been
there on a visit? But you were so slow getting to work that they all
got away--except the cooks."
"But, hang it all! I gave the order 'Battery action' one second after
we got the first call from O.P. and...."
"Yes, but your first shell plugged into a cabbage patch half a mile to
the left."
"O.P. reported 300 yards," snorted the captain indignantly.
"Wanted to spare your feelings, old man. As I was saying, it only scared
the Huns and gave them time to clear out. The second shell was just
about as far to the right: demolished a pigsty."
"Come now, how the deuce do you know that?"
"Well, the divisional cooks started to make sauerkraut and sausage----"
At this point Adams noticed that his subalterns were writhing with the
effort to contain their laughter; and perceiving at last that he was
being "chipped," he caught Burton by the collar and hurled him towards
one of the bunks. This was the opening move of a scrimmage which might
have continued until both were breathless had not Adams suddenly
remembered himself.
"Gad, Burton, this won't do!" he said. "Bad example to those young
innocents" (indicating the subalterns). "Quite like old times at
school, eh? But really----"
"How long have you been a captain, Adams?"
"Gazetted a fortnight ago; it came through orders a week later. Must
give up skylarking now, you know. Have another drink."
They sat down, compared notes, talked over old times: the conversation
became general.
"Trench raids are becoming more common," said Cay presently. "You heard
what happened the other day?"
"What was that?"
"The better part of a platoon of the Rutlands is missing. They hold the
trenches in front of us, you know. Well, they got up a night raid, and
penetrated the Huns' first line: came back with a handful of prisoners
and no casualties to speak of. But when they took stock, something over
forty men of this platoon were missing."
"They went too far, I suppose, and were cut off. Very bad luck."
"If they're prisoners! Whatever happens to me, I hope I shan't be a
prisoner. These raids are the order of the day now; I suppose they're
useful. At any rate they give our fellows something to do."
At this moment Burton started as the words "Battery action" came from
somewhere in a roar like that of a giant.
"Megaphone!" cried Adams, jumping up.
The officers rushed into the gun-pit. The men who had been working
outside came racing in. In a few moments another order was shouted
through a megaphone by the man in the telephone room--a shell-proof cave
hard by. "Target M--one round battery fire."
Captain Adams took up a map of the German trenches, and with a rapidity
that amazed Burton, angles and fuses were adjusted, and in a few seconds
a shell went whistling and screaming towards its invisible target miles
away. Cay had gone to the wireless instrument in the corner, and sat
with the receiving telephones at his ears.
"Range right; shell dropped quarter-mile to the left," he called
presently.
New adjustments were made; the gun fired again.
"How's that?" asked Adams.
It seemed only a few seconds before Cay, repeating the message he had
received from the invisible aeroplane scouting aloft, replied: "Got
him!" A moment later he added: "New battery----" He broke off: the
burring of the instrument had ceased. He tried to get into communication
again, but failed. "Ask O.P. if they've seen the 'plane," he called to
the telephonist. Presently came the answer: "Went out of sight behind a
wooded hill. Afraid a Hun 'Archie' has brought it down."
Meanwhile the order "Break off" had been received. The immediate task
of the battery was accomplished.
II
The officers returned to their dug-out.
"Your colleague hasn't had your luck, Burton," said Adams. "It's more
than a pity. He had evidently spotted a fresh battery. The Huns will
have time to conceal it unless some one else spots it and tips us the
wink."
They went outside and scanned the sky. No aeroplane was in sight.
"I think I'd better go up," said Burton. "I'm off duty to-day, but it
would be a pity to lose the chance. The new battery must have been
visible from where he saw your target. I ought to be able to find it if
I go at once."
"A good idea! We might smash it before it gets to work. You'd better
'phone your flight commander. I'll lend you my trench map."
Burton hurried to the telephone room. In a few minutes he returned.
"O.K.," he said, "but I'll have to go alone. My observer's away, and
there's no one else handy."
"That's awkward. You can't pilot and work the wireless too."
"Perhaps not, but if I can spot the battery I can return with my
observer to-morrow, and then we'll be able to set you to work on it."
"Good! You've seen what we can do."
"Well, not exactly seen; but apparently it wasn't a pigsty this time.
Look out for me in an hour or so."
He returned to the house, remounted, and rode back rapidly to the
aerodrome. There he explained the circumstances at greater length to his
flight commander, set the mechanics to work, and within ten minutes was
ready to start.
"We're in for a storm, I fancy," said his commander as he got into his
place; "but perhaps you'll be back before it breaks."
The weather had gradually changed. The sky had become thick, the air was
sultry and oppressive. As Burton climbed in a wide spiral it was like
going from a Turkish bath into the cooling room, fresh and exhilarating.
He circled over the aerodrome until he had attained an altitude of six
or seven thousand feet, then steered towards the German lines, still
rising steadily. The spot for which he was making was four or five
miles away. Soon the bewildering network of the British trenches glided
away beneath him. Then the German trenches came into view. On the
roads behind he noticed tiny black specks moving this way and
that--supply wagons, no doubt, or motor-cars bringing up fresh men.
The whirr of his engine was broken into by something like the sound of a
pop-gun. He looked around; a woolly ball of smoke hung in the air on his
right. Immediately afterwards there were more pops, and the ball became
the centre of a cluster. Burton swerved to the left, then dodged a long
roll of greenish-yellow smoke with a red tongue of flame in the centre.
The German "Archies" were at work. He flew on, swinging from side to
side, until he calculated that he was about three miles behind the front
line of trenches. Then he turned at right angles and commenced a
methodical search of the ground stretched like a patchwork quilt below
him. Here was a brown patch of plough-land, then a blob of vivid green
denoting grass, or one of green speckled with white--an orchard in the
blossom of spring. In the distance the silvery streak of a river
pursued its winding way. A train was rolling across it, like a toy
train on a toy bridge.
A dark mass below him broke apart, resolving itself into individual
dots. "Afraid of bombs," he thought. At the spot where the centre of
the crowd had been, the ground appeared to be blackened. "Shouldn't
wonder if that's the missing aeroplane," he thought. "It caught fire,
or they've burnt it. But where's that new battery? Things are getting
hot." Shells were bursting all about him. Now and then the machine
lurched, and he looked round anxiously to see the extent of the damage.
A few wires, perhaps, were hanging loose; a few rents gaped in the
fabric; nothing serious as yet. But it was getting very uncomfortable.
Up and down he flew, feeling the strain of doing double work. With his
map pinned down in front of him he scanned the ground for some new
feature. Ah! What is that? Peering through his glasses he descries a
group of men in suspicious activity about a clump of bushes. They
scatter as he passes over. A shell sets the machine rocking. He swings
round and soars over the spot again, even venturing to descend a few
hundred feet. The clump is not marked on the map. What is that in the
middle of it? The flight has carried him beyond it before he can answer
the question; but he turns again, and circles over the place. There is
something unnatural in the appearance of the bushes. The shells are
bursting thicker than ever. Something cracks just behind his seat. But
he thrills as he realises that his reconnaissance has succeeded. "The
battery is hidden in that clump, or I'm a Dutchman."
He marked the spot on his map, moved the elevator, soared aloft, and
steered for home, making a circuit northward to avoid an anti-aircraft
gun that lay directly between him and the aerodrome. And now for the
first time he was aware that the threatening storm was about to burst.
The westerly wind had increased in force; the sky was blacker; huge
waves of cloud were rolling eastward. He flew into the wind and tried
to rise above the clouds. Suddenly Heaven's artillery thundered around
him; there was a blinding flash; he was conscious of pain as though he
had received a heavy blow; then for a while he was lost to all about
him.
When he partly recovered his senses and tried to regain control of the
machine he was in a state of bewilderment. The aeroplane was nearly
upside down. He scarcely knew which was top and which bottom. He
struggled to right the machine: when he succeeded, with great creaking
of the controls, he was alarmed to see that he was within a few hundred
feet of the ground, above a wood. Exercising all his self-command he
managed to swerve clear of the tree-tops, and in another moment or two
the machine came to the ground with a bump that seemed to shake out of
place every bone in his body.
Half dazed, he unstrapped himself with trembling fingers and scrambled
from his seat. Rain was pouring in a deluge. The sky was black as
night. His feet had just touched the sodden soil when he became aware
of a number of figures rushing towards him from the undergrowth.
Fumbling for his revolver, he was felled by a shrewd blow.
[Illustration: THE BRITISH WAY]
Again he lost consciousness for a moment. Then he heard an English
voice.
"You silly blighter! Couldn't you see?"
"He was going to shoot."
"Well, what of it? He couldn't hit a haystack. Didn't you see he was
fair crumpled with the fall?"
"You may talk, but I wasn't going to be shot in mistake for a bloomin'
Hun."
"I tell you any fool could see he was one of ours. I was sure of it.
You ought to have made sure--striking your superior officer."
"Silence, you men!" called an authoritative voice. An officer had come
up from the shelter of the wood. "The noise you are making can be heard
a mile off. You'll bring the whole Hun army down on us."
As a matter of fact, the men had begun by speaking in stage whispers,
their tones becoming louder and louder in their excitement as the
altercation proceeded.
Burton rose stiffly and painfully to his feet.
"Beg pardon, sir," sheepishly muttered the man who had knocked him down.
"It's raining so hard----"
"That's all right," Burton interposed. "Where am I?"
"It's you, Burton!" said the officer. "Come among the trees. You men,
lug the aeroplane in; the rain's so thick that perhaps the Huns haven't
seen where it fell."
"But we're in no danger in our own lines?" said Burton in surprise.
"We aren't in our own lines," rejoined the officer, dragging Burton into
the wood. "We're marooned."
"Gad, Hedley, are you the missing platoon?"
"Yes; I'll tell you."
"Let me have a look at the machine first. By George! I thought I was
done for."
"It was a narrow squeak. But you've always had wonderful luck. Here's
the machine. What's the damage?"
Burton examined the aeroplane and gave a rueful shrug.
"Two holes in the engine cowl, a dozen in the planes, bracing wires shot
away; they don't cripple her, but the worst thing is that one of the
landing wheels is buckled. She's useless till that is put right."
"Well, perhaps we can get that done for you. You seem as badly crocked
as the machine, and no wonder."
"But tell me, Hedley, where are we? And how did you get here?"
"Tell you by and by," said Hedley, who spoke in whispers and showed
other signs of nervous apprehension. "Come on."
"But I can't leave the machine."
"You must. We can't take it with us. It won't be found while the rain
lasts."
"I can't fly back unless I get this wheel straightened."
"All right. Stanbridge," he said, calling up a short, sturdily-built
corporal, "get that buckled wheel off. Quick work!"
"Very good, sir."
"You'll find some tools on board," said Burton.
"And don't make a row," Hedley added.
It was the work of only a few minutes to detach the wheel. There was no
conversation; everybody showed nervous impatience; two or three men kept
watch at the edge of the wood.
"Now then," said Hedley.
He led the way, groping through the wood. Burton followed on his heels:
he felt himself a compendium of aches. Rain was still falling. Through
it could be seen the blurred lights of a distant building. A short walk
brought the party to what appeared to be a thick hedge of bramble
bounding a field. There was a whispered challenge.
"Potsdam," whispered Hedley in return, giving the password.
He turned, took Burton by the arm, and guided him through an opening
which had suddenly disclosed itself in the bramble hedge. A sentry
stood aside; the party filed in. Burton found himself moving down a
sharp declivity, which by and by opened out into a spacious cave, lit by
a single candle-lamp. Two or three men got up from the stools on which
they had been sitting. The floor was roughly boarded. A table stood in
the centre. Along one side were a number of large wooden bins.
"We sleep on them," said Hedley. "Rather stuffy quarters, you perceive."
"Concentrated essence of earth and candle smoke," said Burton, sniffing.
"Also bacon fat and the smell of our cooker. Sit down, you shall have
something to eat and drink in a jiffy."
"You won't forget the wheel?"
"No. Stanbridge, get that wheel put right."
Among any score of British soldiers there will usually be found a
factotum who can turn his hand to anything. It was not otherwise with
these men of the Rutland Light Infantry. Having seen the work started,
Hedley heaved a sigh of relief.
"Now we can talk," he said.
III
"You heard about the night raid? Well, we were completely cut off from
the rest by a counter attack, from the flank. We tried to bomb our way
back, lost heavily, got all muddled up. There seemed to be a whole
brigade of Huns between us and our lines, so the only thing to be done
was to give them the slip, and dodge around in the hope of finding a
weak spot where we might break through. There are only twenty-four of
us left. We managed to keep together, and were lucky enough to escape
the Huns; but of course we got hopelessly lost. Just before daylight,
dead beat, we stumbled into the wood yonder, not caring much what
happened to us. In the early morning an old French farmer found us
there. My hat! we felt pretty bad when he told us we were deep in the
enemy's country, and a company of Huns billeted in his farm only half a
mile away. Rummy, isn't it?--he's held on, working his farm in spite of
everything, and the Huns don't seem to have bothered him much."
Here one of the men brought some freshly-fried bacon, biscuits, and
light wine.
"Fall to!" Hedley went on. "It was a tremendous bit of luck, old
Lumineau's finding us, because of this cave of his. It is on the
outskirts of his farm, and he concealed here a lot of his spare stores
when he had news that the Huns were coming up last September
twelvemonth. The cave has had a history, it appears, and it's lucky
again that the Huns don't know of it. The old farmer told me it used to
shelter a famous band of outlaws centuries ago. During the Revolution a
local nobleman's family lived in it for months. More recently it has
been a store for smugglers running goods across the Belgian frontier.
We're pretty safe here, though of course a strolling Hun may discover it
any day, and then----"
"How did you happen to be in the wood when I came down?"
"We weren't there, but we heard your engine, and Stanbridge, who's got a
wonderful ear, declared it was English, so we rushed up on the chance.
If it hadn't been so dark and raining so hard, the Huns would certainly
have seen or heard you; but you always had all the luck!"
"You've had a good share, anyway."
"We have, that's true. Old Lumineau has kept us well supplied, at
Heaven knows what risk to himself. We're hanging on here in the hope of
getting back some day. It's pretty hopeless, I expect; but I'm not going
to give in till I must."
"Can I do anything for you?"
"I don't see how you can. We must trust to luck."
"When that wheel's straightened I'll fly back and report to your
colonel."
"He can't do anything. Nothing short of a general push could gain this
ground, and he won't risk hundreds for the sake of a score. Our only
chance is to slip through when they're strafing one night; even then the
odds are a hundred to one against us. Still, I dare say the C.O. would
be pleased to know what's become of us, and I'll be glad if you'll tell
him. But d'you think you're fit to fly back to-night after your
gruelling?"
"Oh yes! I've had a bit of a shake, but a little rest will set me up.
I've discovered a new battery the Huns have rigged up, and must report
as soon as possible. Look: here's the spot."
He showed the mark recently made on his map.
"Good!" said Hedley, examining the map with interest. "But the Huns'
trenches aren't marked so completely as on mine. Here you see we have
them all plotted out: we know them as well as we know our own."
"That's useful. I say, Hedley, I don't see why we shouldn't make some
practical use of your presence in the enemy's country, and get you away
too."
"As for getting away, we shall have to depend on ourselves. As I said
before, the C.O. won't risk hundreds for the sake of our little lot; and
if he would, the Brigadier wouldn't allow it."
"I don't know. Could you make me a copy of the map so far as this
neighbourhood is concerned, putting in the position of the cave?"
"Certainly: I'll scratch it in on a leaf from my order-book."
The rough drawing completed, Burton folded the paper and put it in his
pocket, remarking, half in jest, half in earnest--
"If the Huns collar me, I'm afraid I'll have to eat it. Now this is my
idea."
There ensued a long discussion, in the course of which Hedley passed
from doubt to confidence and enthusiasm.
"Well, if you bring it off," he said in conclusion, "it'll be a
tremendous score. You're a V.C. already: I don't see what more they can
do for you--except make you a lord."
"My dear fellow! ... There's just one point. I ought to have a better
landing-place than that wood. After to-night's affair I shall be
nervous if there are trees about. Is there anything more suitable and
safe?"
Hedley considered.
"There is," he said presently, "a little farther away. Beyond the wood
the ground rises: it's the nearest thing to a hill these parts can show.
Then it dips into a wide grassy hollow. That's your place. I'll get
old Lumineau to show three small lights there to-morrow night at eleven.
In the hollow they won't be seen by the Huns: besides, I'll get him to
mask them except from the sky."
"That's capital. Well, if I don't turn up by eleven or soon after
you'll know that either I have been winged on the way or that the
Brigadier has turned down our little entertainment. In that case, you
must do the best you can on your own."
"Right, old man. What I'm most afraid of is that you won't get away
safely. There's no strafing to-night, and the Huns are bound to hear
your engine. You'll make more noise going up."
"But it's dark: there's no moon; and I shall be well up before they spot
me."
"Let's hope so."
"What's the time?"
"Ten minutes to nine. Better wait till midnight. Take a nap."
"I will. Wake me when the time comes."
Burton was one of those lucky mortals who can sleep anywhere at any
time. In a few minutes he was sleeping soundly. At midnight Hedley
roused him.
"Time's up," he said. "The rain has stopped, and the sky's clear:
there's just enough starlight to show you the way. I'm sending
Stanbridge and a squad to replace your wheel, carry the machine out and
see you off. I'd better keep on the _qui vive_ here, I think."
"Good-bye, then--till to-morrow."
Following the men, Burton stole out of the cave and crept with extreme
caution into the wood. The neighbourhood was quiet; the only sound was
the booming of guns far away. The wheel was replaced; the 'plane was
quickly dragged or lifted to the open hollow about a quarter of a mile
away. Burton spent a few anxious minutes in looking over the engine by
the light of his electric torch; then he strapped himself into his seat,
and ordered Stanbridge to whirl the propeller while the other men clung
to the rear of the machine.
"Race back like mad when I'm off," he said. "'Ware Huns!"
The engine began to roar.
"Stand clear!" he said.
The machine rolled off along the grass, gathering momentum; the tail
lifted; the wheels rose clear; and she skimmed the grass like a huge
bird. In a few seconds Burton was slanting upward on the first round of
his spiral course.
Ten minutes later a party of German infantry, some fully clothed, others
in various stages of deshabille, rushed breathlessly over the rise into
the now deserted hollow.
"I am sure," said one of them, "the first sound came from somewhere
about here. Then an aeroplane rose like a big black bird above the
trees. I gave the alarm the moment I heard the engine."
"You must have been dreaming, stupid," said his lieutenant, irritable at
being wakened. "There was no aeroplane here at nightfall; one couldn't
have gone up if it hadn't come down first, and I must have heard that.
Think yourself lucky I don't report you for sleeping on duty.
Feldwebel, bring the men back."
The lieutenant turned on his heel and plodded grumbling back down the
hill. The glare of Verey lights, the bursting of shells in the sky
westward, might have confirmed the man's story; but Lieutenant
Schnauzzahn was never the man to admit himself in the wrong.
IV