A DASH FOR FREEDOM
THE ecstasy of Xenophon's Ten Thousand at the sight of the sea could
not have exceeded the sub's feelings of thankfulness at the distant
view of the placid waters of the Adriatic. To him the sea
called--the welcome greeting of freedom. Beyond was England, Home,
and Beauty--the latter personified in the name of Winifred
Greenwood. True, there was a large slice of land intervening, but
what mattered that the breadth of Italy and France lay between him
and England? The sea was the key to freedom.
Sylvester hardly regarded the expanse of water in the same light.
For one thing he was a bad sailor, for another he had grave doubts
about being able to make a passage across the huge land-locked sea
without being overhauled and recaptured by an enemy craft.
Personally he would have preferred hours, perhaps days, of
discomfort in the Piave marshes, and take the chance of gaining the
Italian lines, rather than trust himself to the mercies of wind,
waves, and the enemy craft.
Acting solely off his own bat he was resolute and resourceful; but
in the presence of the sublieutenant the latter's forceful
personality held almost absolute sway.
"Only another five miles," declared Farrar. "We'll have to go slow.
If this coast is patrolled only half so efficiently as that of the
British Isles it will be no walk over. When do we discard this
gear?"
He indicated the uniform they were wearing: The Moke smiled grimly.
Since his chum had been obliged to ask his advice his directive
force reasserted itself.
"When we have decent clothes to put on," he replied. "Meanwhile,
until we get afloat--and that's where you direct operations--I am
still Baron Eitel von Stopelfeld, and you are my Austrian servant
and lug my gear. Imagine yourself a fag again, Slogger."
"But my rotten German would give me away as soon as I opened my
mouth," objected the sub. "Have you considered that flaw in the
contract, Moke, my festive?"
"Certainly," replied Sylvester gravely. "It occurred to me almost as
soon as we left the farm. You'll have to be deaf and dumb through
shell-shock. I'll do the explaining."
The chums relapsed into silence, which was for them a fortunate
circumstance; for on gaining the outskirts of a small wood they ran
up against a block-house.
The levelled bayonet of a sentry brought them up all standing.
Flight was practically impossible, for the starlight was so bright
that there was an almost certainty of being shot down before they
could run half a dozen yards.
"It's all right," declared the Moke. "I am a German officer on
special service, bound for Trieste, but my car has broken down."
The sentry made no effort to recover his arms. Without replying he
whistled softly, and a sergeant and half a dozen men issued from the
outpost.
"Your papers, Herr Offizier?" demanded the non-com.
"Certainly, if your instructions require you to see them," replied
the pseudo German major.
The sergeant inspected them by the light of the lantern. He made no
attempt to read them, for the simple reason that he was one of the
Austrian army's high percentage of illiterates.
"These are quite in order, Herr Major," he exclaimed. "But this man
--who is he?"
"My servant," replied the Moke, high-handedly. "He is deaf and dumb,
having been, I understand, an artillery man at the Skroda Works.
_Donnerwetter!_ Why such a dolt was foisted on to me I cannot
imagine."
"But he wears an infantryman's uniform," persisted the sergeant,
holding the lantern above his head and peering into Farrar's face.
"Do you doubt a German officer's word, numbskull?" thundered the
"baron" in the typically blustering tone in which the military caste
address their rank and file, "Have you never heard of a man being
transferred from one branch of the army to another? You are wasting
my time. I feel inclined to report the delay. Is there a field
officer anywhere about?"
"Pardon, Herr Major," stammered the overwhelmed sergeant. "Pray
overlook the matter."
"For this once, then," said the Moke magnanimously. "Now tell me:
can I obtain a conveyance of any sort to take me to Trieste?"
The sergeant pondered.
"I am afraid not, Herr Major. It is a very rough road. But----"
"But what?" demanded Sylvester, doing his level best to flurry the
already disconcerted man.
"One of the coast patrol boats puts into the fishing port here on
her way to Trieste. She is due at a few minutes after midnight. They
might give you a passage."
"I loathe sea passages," objected the Moke. "Is it a large craft?"
"Fairly, Herr Major. She carries only three men--a petty officer, a
seaman, and a motor mechanician; occasionally she carries military
officers from the various ports when they wish to visit Trieste. I
will send and ask my commanding officer's permission for you to take
a passage in her."
"Major Aufferich has gone to Laibach, sergeant," announced one of
the men in a stage whisper.
"Then I can give you authority on my own responsibility, Herr
Major," continued the non-com. "I will also send a man to guide you
to the fishing-port."
He seemed most anxious to make amends for the affront he had
occasioned in a perfectly legitimate display of zeal. The Moke
pondered over the matter, until catching Farrar's eye he plainly
read the sub's acceptance of the proposal.
"All right, sergeant," decided the spurious Hun. "Send a man, by all
means. He can help my man to carry my luggage, but he'll find him a
most uncommunicative comrade."
A thought flashed across the Moke's mind.
"What is the countersign, sergeant?" he asked.
"Good man," thought Farrar. "The old Moke's 'cuteness has developed
enormously. There are no flies on him, by Jove!"
"The countersign is _Scharfschutze und Huszar_, Herr Major,"
announced the sergeant; then turning to one of his men: "Josef,
conduct His Excellency to the harbour. Inform Corporal Herz that he
is to signal the patrol boat to wait and embark an illustrious
passenger.... Everything will now be in order, Herr Major."
The guard stood rigidly at attention until the Moke's increased
party had covered the regulated distance. Then the sergeant's voice
was heard ordering the men to dismiss, and with a heavy tramping of
feet and clattering of accoutrements the men returned to the shelter
of the block-house.
Once during the journey to the coast the Austrian offered some
remark to his supposed fellow-soldier. The Moke turned on him
sharply.
"Silence, fool!" he hissed. "Did you not hear me say that my servant
is deaf and dumb? Take the luggage from him. He is tired."
The soldier slung his rifle and relieved Farrar of the portmanteau.
The sub was glad of the respite, since he had had more than his fair
share of carrying it.
"It is infernally dark just here," grumbled the "baron," as they
came to a narrow part of the road as it wound between two rocky
heights. "Lead on, and show me the way."
Taking advantage of the Austrian being some ten paces ahead, the
Moke withdrew the defunct von Stopelfeld's automatic pistol from his
holster and handed it to the sub.
"That's more in your line," he whispered.
Farrar nodded. Although the weapon was of a different pattern from
those to which he was accustomed, he felt confident that he could
make use of it effectually if occasion offered. In any case it would
be useful for purposes of intimidation.
The countersign passed them through the lines surrounding the
fishing hamlet, and by the time they gained the water's edge it was
close on midnight.
Being a port of slight military importance, a corporal's guard was
deemed sufficient to maintain order, the non-com.'s duty being
chiefly to prevent any of the fishing craft entering or leaving the
harbour between sunset and sunrise, while at regular intervals an
Austrian naval patrol boat looked in to ascertain that the military
maintained watch and ward.
Corporal Herz received the sergeant's instructions without emotion,
and as a long dark grey boat crept with throttled engines round the
southern headland of the harbour, two red lights were hoisted from a
flagstaff at the extremity of the rough wharf.
Cautiously, as if afraid of the locality, the motor-launch drew
alongside the flight of stone steps. The coxswain gripped the
handrail with his boathook, while the bowman performed a similar
duty for'ard. Although the boat displayed no lights, there was
sufficient starlight to enable the fugitives to satisfy themselves
that on this occasion the boat carried no other passengers.
"Any orders, Herr Major?" asked the coxswain, as the Moke, Farrar,
and the portmanteau were deposited in the spacious stern sheets.
"None," replied Sylvester curtly. "You have plenty of petrol, I
hope. Last time one of your patrol boats caused me to miss a court
of inquiry from a lack of petrol."
"Enough for four hours' run at fifty kilometres an hour, Herr
Major," replied the cox swain obsequiously. He was a little, fussily
important man who, the Moke decided, was like a gasbag; the bowman
was of a different type--tall, broad-shouldered, and stolid. The
third member of the crew, the artificer in the motor-room, was
invisible. It was unlikely that he would cause much trouble.
"Cannot I have a lamp in the cabin?" asked Sylvester.
"I will see to it, Herr Major," replied the petty officer. "If the
windows are screened it is permissible, but there would be much
trouble if a single ray of light were allowed to escape."
He shouted an order to the bowman. The latter, his immediate work
completed, had laid aside his boat-hook and was meditating a
retirement to the fore-peak. Presently he came aft with an unlighted
lantern. This he fixed in the cabin, drew shutters over the square
panes of glass in the sides of the raised cabin-top, and finally
lighted the lamp.
"It is ready, Herr Major," reported the coxswain.
The patrol boat was now clear of the harbour. The open sea was as
smooth as a mill-pond. Not another craft of any description was in
sight.
Farrar, shivering in the night air in his thin, shoddily made
uniform, watched his companion with envious eyes as Sylvester
entered the cabin. In the rôle of officer's servant he was
experiencing several of the inconveniences that it is the lot of a
common soldier to have to grin and bear.
There was no time to be lost, for the sooner the Moke put his plan
into execution the better. Every revolution of the motor-boat's twin
propellers was taking her nearer Trieste--and Trieste was a most
unhealthy locality as far as the bogus Baron Eitel von Stopelfeld
was concerned.
A hasty glance round the cabin revealed the presence of three
revolvers in a rack. Jerking back the chambers Sylvester discovered
that they were fully loaded. Deftly he extracted the cartridges from
two of the weapons and put them in his pocket, grimly reflecting
that there was a time, not so very far distant, when the mechanism
of a revolver was a mystery to him. Not that he never wanted to know
"how it worked," but because he had a horror of the sight of
firearms of any description.
The three revolvers he slipped into the outside pocket of his
great-coat, since the pistol would not fit the holster from which he
had taken the automatic to give to his chum.
Stepping from the cabin into the cockpit the Moke waited until his
eyes grew accustomed to the comparative darkness of the night; then
he turned abruptly and addressed the coxswain.
"Any craft in sight?" he asked.
"No, Herr Major," replied the man.
"That is good," rejoined Sylvester. "I want you to steer due west."
For once at least the petty officer hesitated to obey orders. His
illustrious passenger had authority, but whether a German military
officer could issue peremptory instructions to an Austrian petty
officer was a proposition that gave rise to doubts in the coxswain's
mind. If he disobeyed, the consequences might be serious, if on
returning to Trieste his superior upheld the German's action. That
was one of the many curses that the hated Teutons' lust of world
power had laid upon their none too enthusiastic Allies. On the other
hand, if he complied with the military officer's behest, he might be
"hauled over the coals" by his own superiors.
"Due west," repeated the Moke sternly.
The coxswain looked up into Sylvester's face. His flabby features
turned a ghastly greyish hue, his beady eyes were almost starting
from his head. Drops of perspiration on his bulging forehead
glistened in the starlight; his teeth were chattering audibly.
"Pardon, Herr Major," he stammered; then like a weak-willed
individual under mesmeric influence he put the helm hard over.
Travelling at high speed the patrol boat heeled violently to
starboard, so much so that the Moke was within an ace of being shot
out of the cockpit, while the bowman, his curiosity aroused by the
unwonted change of direction, thrust head and shoulders out of the
oval-shaped hatchway in the fore-deck.
"See to that chap, Slogger!" shouted the Moke, all need for silence
being past.
Pistol in hand the sub leapt from the cockpit, making his way along
the narrow waterway by the wall of the motor-room coaming, and
levelled his weapon full at the bowman's head.
"_Rechts Sie unter!_" ordered Farrar in his execrable German.
Whether the Austrian seaman understood the words or not, the sub's
gesture was sufficient. Taken completely at a disadvantage the
broad-shouldered sailor withdrew his head and shoulders and
disappeared from view.
In a trice the sub shut and secured the metal lid of the aperture.
He guessed that the boat was built with water-tight transverse
bulkheads, and in that case there was no direct communication
between the fore-cabin and the motor-room.
The mechanician remained to be dealt with. Had not it been for the
fact that the bowman began to shout and hammer at the steel
partition the former would have "carried on" in blissful ignorance
of the change of masters; but hearing the clamour he began to climb
through the narrow opening which gave access to the open air.
The sub, on his way aft, turned just in time to see a powerfully
built man grasping a heavy spanner. Promptly he levelled his pistol,
but the fellow showed no sign of temerity. He was all but clear of
the hatchway when Farrar, hesitating to shoot a man labouring under
a great disadvantage, struck him fairly between his eyes. Like a
felled ox the Austrian tumbled inertly upon the deck, with his legs
dangling down the motor-room hatchway.
"Beastly inconsiderate of him," exclaimed the sub, addressing his
chum. "He's chucked his hand in, so I suppose I must take on his
job. Push Little Willie into the cabin and come and bear a hand. The
boat will take care of herself for a brace of shakes."
The coxswain suffered himself to be precipitated unceremoniously
down the three metal-edged steps of the companion-ladder, and under
lock and key in the cabin he was left to puzzle his addled brains
over the obvious disadvantage of German domination, for he had not
yet "tumbled to" the true cause of the fracas. Consoling himself
that the onus of the affair rested upon the shoulders of the
military authorities for having ordered him to embark the truculent
and domineering Prussians, he decided upon the policy of passive
resistance.
With Sylvester's assistance Farrar contrived to lower the senseless
motor-engineer down the hatchway into the fore-peak, the bowman
making no attempt either to break out or to help his comrade. Under
the mistaken impression that the latter had been murdered, he
cowered in the farthermost corner of the recess formed by the boat's
flaring bows, nor did he stir till long after the hatch had been
replaced and secured.
"Now you had better take over, Slogger," suggested the Moke, as the
chums returned to the cockpit. "I'm no hand at this game," and he
indicated the unattended steering-wheel.
The sub glanced at the compass bowl, and then steadied the boat on
her course.
"Sorry," he replied. "I'll have to be popping below to the engines.
Didn't bargain for that, but one must take things as they come. I'll
put you through a lightning course of helmsmanship. She's right
now--with the lubber's line immediately on the point west.... Now
she's off it; so turn the wheel to starboard.... There, she's back
again."
"Horrible strain watching the compass," complained the Moke.
Farrar took the wheel out of his companion's hands.
"Now," he continued, "she's on her course, You'll notice her head's
pointing to a certain star. Keep her on that for a few minutes at a
time and occasionally check the direction of the compass. A few
quarter-points out won't make much difference, but remember that
star has a movement of its own. That's right; you're getting the
hang of it. I'll nip below and see how things are going. Whistle if
you want me; this voice-tube communicates with the motor-room."
For the best part of two hours nothing unusual occurred. The
motor-boat was not doing her best, but considering that the sub had
to deal with a strange engine, it was not to be wondered at. Farrar
estimated her speed at twenty knots, a rate that if maintained ought
to bring the fugitives within sight of the Italian coast shortly
after daylight.
Presently Sylvester chanced to glance astern. As he did so he caught
sight of a white light blinking rapidly.
"Say, Slogger, old man!" he shouted to his chum in the motor-room.
"Come on deck, will you?"
The sub rejoined the amateur helmsman with the utmost promptitude.
"Look!" continued the latter, pointing astern.
"Dash it all, Moke!" exclaimed the sub. "We're in for something. If
I'm not very much mistaken, we are being chased by an Austrian
destroyer."