THE PURSUIT
"TALLY-HO!" shouted Sub-Lieutenant Farrar, as the party of
bluejackets, headed by the four officers, raced along the permanent
way, followed by a running fire of chaff and caustic comment from
their envious fellow-passengers. It would have wanted but half a
word from the gunnery-lieutenant to have emptied the train, for,
with inexplicable intuition, every man knew that the fortunate party
was in pursuit of some desperado who had done his level best to blow
up the bridge.
"A sovereign for the man who captures the fellow," announced the
gunnery-lieutenant; then, remembering that he had not so much as set
eyes on a coin of that denomination for the last three years, he
modified his offer. "Dash it all, a pound note I mean!"
The astonished sentry at the approach to the bridge could only
volunteer the information that a Staff major, accompanied by a large
dog, had passed by a short time before. Alarmed at the explosion the
rest of the guard had turned out, and upon a description of the
suspect being given, then they, too, joined in the pursuit.
"He's made for that wood for a dead cert., sir," remarked Holcombe,
as a partial lifting of the mist revealed the nearmost trees of a
dense plantation.
"More'n likely," agreed the gunnery-lieutenant. "Three of you men
make your way round to the right, and three to the left. You'll be
on the other side before we can push our way through. The others
extend in open order, and keep your weather eye lifting."
"These trees could give shelter to a full company," observed
Holcombe, as the two subs found themselves in the dense undergrowth.
"There's one thing--that dog can't climb a tree."
"He'd probably cast off the tow-line and abandon the brute," said
Farrar. "If I had the ordering of the business I'd make for the
nearest telegraph office and wire instructions for every Brass Hat
within ten miles to be arrested on suspicion."
"Just the sort of thing you would do, Slogger, my festive bird,"
replied Holcombe. "Imagine twenty or thirty Staff officers being
laid by the heels until they could establish their identity."
"It would be drastic but efficacious," grunted Farrar, as he pushed
aside a sapling that had just hit him in the face.
"Unless the fellow's shed his gorgeous khaki and red plumage," added
his companion. "Look out! don't lose touch with those bluejackets on
your right."
He indicated two able seamen who, country born and bred before they
elected to serve His Majesty upon the high seas, were entering upon
the pursuit with the eagerness of a couple of trained pointers;
while the additional inducement of "arf a quid apiece"--they had
struck a bargain to share the proceeds, if won--had whetted their
zeal to the uttermost.
"We're on his track, sir," declared one of the men, stooping and
picking up a polished bit of metal. "'E's dropped a link of that
dawg's chain. An' see, sir, 'ere's footprints, quite new-like."
For fifty yards the marks of the fugitive's boots were followed.
From the fact that they were the imprints of the toes only, it
showed that the man had been running. Then the trail was lost on
hard ground.
"We'll pick them up again up-along," declared the second bluejacket
optimistically, as he gave a quick glance at the bark of every tree
he passed to detect, if possible, the abrasions caused by the foot
gear of a climbing man.
A thick clump of prickly undergrowth offered no serious obstacle to
the two A.B.'s. Farrar and Holcombe thought better of it,
considering the present-day prices of uniform, and made a detour. By
the time they resumed their former direction the bluejackets were
fifty yards ahead.
Presently the men came to a dead stop on the edge of a brook.
"S'elp me!" exclaimed one. "If that ain't just the bloomin' place
for that cove to hide. Come on, mate, let's see what's doin'."
"Right-o," assented the other. "But look out for holes. There
usually are some under willows such as that. Let's get up-stream a
bit afore we cross. 'Tain't no use getting wet up to your neck when
you need only wet your beetle-crushers."
Before these good intentions could be carried out the shrill blast
of a whistle echoed through the wood, while the gunnery-lieutenant's
voice gave the order, "Retire on your supports."
"Guess Gunnery Jack imagines we're on a bloomin' field day,"
grumbled one of the bluejackets, and, although he wistfully eyed the
suspicious willow, he hastened to obey orders.
A petty officer hurried between the undergrowth, hot and panting
with his exertions.
"He's collared," he announced. "They're bringing him to the
guard-room up on the bridge."
"Who's the lucky blighter?" inquired one of the disappointed twain.
"Mike O' Milligan," was the reply. "He put the kybosh on the Tin Hat
before he had time to look round."
"Then the spy is feeling sorry for himself," remarked Farrar, who
had overheard the conversation. "O' Milligan is the champion
heavyweight boxer of the old 'Tantalus,' and there are a few nimble
lads with the gloves in our ship's company."
"The blighter gets no pity from me," declared Holcombe. "I remember
a yarn my skipper told---- Hullo! here's the dog."
The St. Bernard, with a couple of feet of chain trailing from its
collar, bolted straight up to the two subs. Giving Holcombe a
preliminary sniff the animal turned its attention to Farrar,
thrusting its muzzled head against his hands.
"The poor beast is horribly thirsty," he remarked. "I'll take his
muzzle off."
"Better be careful," cautioned Holcombe. "Hanged if I'd like to feel
those teeth."
"You see," rejoined Farrar, and bending over the animal he
unloosened the tightly fitting strap that secured the muzzle.
The dog barked joyously and, wagging his tail, followed his
benefactor to the stream, where it drank "enough water to float a
t.b.d.," according to Holcombe.
Suddenly the dog stood with its body quivering with excitement and
its eyes fixed upon some object on the opposite bank. Then it gave
vent to a low, deep growl as the willow branches rustled audibly.
"What's up, old boy?" asked Farrar. "He's spotted something," he
added, addressing his companion.
"A water rat, most likely," rejoined Holcombe casually. "Come on; if
we want to see anything of the prisoner we'd better crowd on all
sail."
"And the dog?"
"Bring him along, too; he's apparently taken a fancy to you,
Slogger. Keep him as a mascot. We have a bulldog, a Persian kitten,
and a mongoose already given us for the 'Antipas.' 'Sides, there's
heaps of room on board your packet."
The St. Bernard offered no objection to the decision; in fact, he
signified his approbation by means of a succession of deep-throated
barks when Farrar called him to heel. Then as docilely as a pet lamb
the newly acquired mascot followed the two subs out of the wood.
Already the captive had been carried to the guard-room. The
gunnery-lieutenant and Engineer-Commander Curtis were within, while
the bluejackets, drawn up a short distance from the entrance, were
standing at ease.
"Well done, O' Milligan!" exclaimed Farrar, for the pugilistic A.B.
was in the sub's watch-bill. "How did you manage to nab the fellow?"
"Sure, sorr," said the Irishman, "Oi saw him trapesin' along the
path, so Oi goes up to him. 'Now, be jabbers,' sez Oi, 'are you for
comin' aisy an' quiet, or am Oi to dot you one?' 'The divil!' sez
he. 'Sure,' sez Oi. 'There's nothin' loike bein' straightforward.
Between you an' me an' gatepost, the Huns an' the Ould Gintleman are
loike Murphy's pigs you can't tell any difference.' Wid that he
tries the high hand--sort o' 'Haw-haw, d'ye know who Oi am, my man?'
As if by bein' consaited he hoped to get to wind'ard of Mike
Milligan. 'Come on, you Hun,' sez Oi, an' makes to grab his arm.
Arrah! He swore loike a haythen an' tried to break away, so Oi just
hit 'im on the point of his chin an' down he wint."
"And he hasn't recovered yet, sir," added another bluejacket. "O'
Milligan did his job properly."
At that moment the gunnery-lieutenant, accompanied by the
engineer-commander and the sergeant of the guard, came out of the
building.
"Party--'shun!" ordered the former. "By the right--double."
The engine was whistling peremptorily. Disregarding the eager
inquiries of his brother officers in the carriage the
gunnery-lieutenant ordered his men to board the train, which, during
the pursuit of the miscreant, had moved on sufficiently to enable
the American troop train to pass.
As Farrar and Holcombe, accompanied by the St. Bernard, were about
to enter the carriage the gunnery-lieutenant called them aside.
"Don't say too much about the business," he cautioned them. "We've
made a deuce of a blunder, and I expect there'll be a holy terror of
a row up-topsides. The unlucky bounder laid out by one of the
bluejackets was a genuine major; both the sergeant and the corporal
of the guard were certain on that point. It is an unfortunate
coincidence, and what is worse the fellow we went after has got
away. Whether they catch him or not rests with the military and the
civil police. We did what we could, and did it jolly badly."
"After all," remarked Farrar when the two chums were once more
seated in the compartment, "my way, although drastic, would have
been better than this fiasco; and I guess that poor blighter of a
major would think so too if he had the choice between a punch on the
jaw from a champion boxer or spending a couple of hours under escort
with a dozen other Brass Hats to keep him company."
"It was a bit of excitement, if nothing else," said Holcombe.
"And I've found a jolly fine dog," added the R.N.V.R. sub, patting
the huge animal's head. "I'll call him Bruno... and I don't think
we'll need this again."
And he hurled the dog's muzzle out of the window.