The Second Night of Liberty
"GOING to make a fight for it?" asked Detroit calmly.
Hamerton shrugged his shoulders.
"Hardly," he replied. "I don't believe in kicking up a fuss when
we're cornered with no chance of escape. Mind you, if there were any
possibility I'd fight tooth and nail. But there is not. We've had our
fling, and I suppose we must pay the piper. Luckily those brutes
can't get to us."
"I cotton to it," agreed the American. "I look upon it as a sort of
Thanksgiving Day--a few hours of real enjoyment and then days of hard
graft to follow."
Both men relapsed into silence, and gloomily watched the progress of
events.
On came the hounds, the mob of excited Germans at their heels. Then
the animals lost the scent--that is, if they ever picked it up--for
turning abruptly they made their way across to the other side of the
incline. Hamerton and his companion had never been near that part of
the ground.
Round and round went the bloodhounds, sniffing and baying. Shouts of
encouragement from their masters failed to meet with the response
that they desired. Presently one of the large beasts raised its head
and opened wide its mouth. The fugitives could see the sharp white
teeth and the red, frothing tongue of the brute as it gave vent to a
prodigious howl.
Then, followed by the rest of the hounds, the animal retraced its
steps until it gained the summit of the slope. Here the baffled
trackers stood still for a brief interval. All inducements to get the
dogs to take up the scent failed, and dejectedly their masters led
them back to the kennels.
"Excellent, by Jove!" exclaimed Hamerton in high spirits. "The pepper
did the trick, after all. Obliging Hans! He deserves a special vote
of thanks."
"Guess we aren't out of the wood yet," Detroit reminded him. "What's
the programme now?"
"Stay here till night," replied the Sub. "Then more investigations
and grub. Man, I feel as if I could eat a joint of beef straight
away. Look here, we'll strip off these wet clothes and hang them up
to dry in this draught. To continue wearing them in this state is to
court disaster. There's a bin of cotton waste; we'll burrow in it and
snatch a few hours' sleep. It's very necessary, I think."
These suggestions were acted upon. A few days previously the two men
would have regarded their proposed bed with the utmost repugnance,
but, as Detroit observed, circumstances alter cases.
In less than two minutes the fugitives were sound asleep, utterly
indifferent as to what befell them. Rest and slumber were the only
antidotes to hunger and bodily and mental fatigue.
"Time to be up," whispered Detroit, shaking his companion by the
shoulder. Hamerton roused himself. It was still daylight without,
although the sun had set. Ten hours had passed like as many minutes.
Quickly they donned their clothes, which still felt clammy to the
touch. Another sparse and hasty meal was partaken of, during which
Hamerton took stock of the surroundings.
Work for the day had apparently ceased. Each of the airship sheds had
been closed by means of the sliding steel doors, and the vast
artificial basin was deserted. With the setting of the sun the wind
had risen, though the velocity was not so great as on the preceding
night. The sky, too, was obscured with heavy clouds. Everything
seemed in favour of the fugitives.
"Now, boss, what's the programme?" demanded Detroit, with forced
jocularity.
"Wait till it's dark, then make our way up the incline, double back
along the top of the cliff, and head towards the north-western part
of the island. I shouldn't be surprised if we stumble across some
more wonderful creations of our dearly beloved German cousins."
"But suppose there are sentries posted up there?" asked the American,
pointing to the farthermost part of the slope.
"Not much! This place is all enclosed with that barbed-wire fence.
That's where the sentries are to be found, and that is what is going
to give us a lot of trouble."
"And when do we make an attempt to seize a boat?"
"Not while this wind is blowing, thank you. Better to prowl about
half-starved in a German fortress than to be lying on the bottom of
the North Sea."
"You cautious critter!" ejaculated Detroit.
"Exactly, my dear fellow. Caution is the modern naval officer's sheet
anchor. Caution is instilled into him from the moment he's placed in
charge of a ship's boat under sail. No doubt it's the means of often
neglecting to make full use of an opportunity; but there you are.
Modern warfare has no use for fire-eating daredevils; it's the
level-headed admiral who will win the next great naval war. It's
prosaic, but it's hard facts. Now, easy ahead; it's time to get under
way."
Making his way up the vertical iron ladder, Hamerton raised the
trapdoor a few inches and listened intently. All was quiet. He
emerged from his hiding place, waited until Detroit rejoined him,
then carefully replaced the cover on the aperture.
Bearing in mind the experience of the previous night, how without
warning the place was flooded with light, the Sub and his companion
made their way as stealthily and rapidly as possible to the base of
the artificial cliff where the incline merged into the circular
basin. Then, keeping close to the wall, they headed towards the upper
level.
Suddenly Hamerton came to an abrupt halt and stood with his back hard
up against the cliff. Detroit did likewise.
Faintly discernible against the loom of the skyline was a
great-coated sentry pacing up and down across the brink of the
inclined plane. Barely had he turned to commence another round when a
second sentry appeared on the opposite side. Both met approximately
in mid-distance, faced about, and retraced their steps.
It was evident that escape in that direction was almost beyond the
bounds of possibility.
Awaiting a favourable moment when the nearmost sentry's back was
turned, the fugitives crept cautiously down the slope, never halting
till they came to the piles of empty casks that had served them so
well less than twenty hours previously.
"Now what's to be done?" asked Hamerton.
"Have a shot at those steel ladders--the ones between the Zeppelin
sheds."
"By Jove, smart idea of yours, old man! The sooner the better."
Without mishap the two comrades gained the base of one of the ladders
that reared itself vertically to a height of nearly two hundred feet.
It was to be a climb that would tax their powers of endurance to the
uttermost.
"Gently does it," cautioned Hamerton. "One limb at a time, mind, and
don't look down. Up you go."
With this parting injunction in his mind Detroit commenced to mount,
making sure of each rung before he moved a step higher. He realized
that a slip might result in the loss of his comrade's life as well as
of his own.
The American was in excellent training, although somewhat handicapped
for want of proper food. His muscles were flexible, his grip as firm
as iron; nevertheless, by the time he gained the cross-platform
connecting the ladders at a level slightly above the arch of the
airship shed he was glad to sit down and rest.
"All right?" asked Hamerton anxiously.
"Guess I am," was the reply. "Now for the last lap."
Detroit spoke cheerfully, but the "last lap" was roughly three times
the height of the portion already climbed.
Doggedly the two men stuck to their task. Once Detroit whispered that
one of the rungs felt insecure. Beyond that not a word was spoken.
Hamerton could hear the American's laboured breaths. His own heart
was throbbing violently against his ribs, his arms felt as heavy as
lead, while the muscles of his calves had a decided tendency to
"bunch"--the forerunner of the dreaded cramp.
Many a time during his terms at Dartmouth he had climbed over the
fore-topmast crosstrees of the old hulk _Britannia_. In those days he
had thought nothing of it, but now, unaccustomed to strenuous
exercises of that sort, he felt the severity of the task.
Detroit was slackening his pace now. A few inches above his head
Hamerton could see the American's heels mount step by step on a
seemingly endless task. It reminded him of a pet mouse in a wheel.
Up, up, up! It was by this time little better than a tedious crawl.
Once or twice the American stopped to regain his breath, and then
plodded resolutely on his upward way. Then, to the Sub's delight, he
saw Detroit lurch forward and throw up his heels. His comrade had
reached the summit, and was sprawling, wellnigh exhausted, upon the
turf.
Summoning up his remaining energies Hamerton also gained the
much-desired resting place. Side by side they lay drinking in the
cool breeze that came straight from the foam-flecked sea, on which
innumerable lights, like stars on a dark night, twinkled incessantly.
"Time!" ejaculated Hamerton, rolling over and kneeling up. "Now, easy
ahead; we'll come across another wire entanglement unless I'm very
much mistaken."
They were now going with the wind--the worst possible direction,
since the sound of any danger in front of them was carried away,
while their own approach could be heard by any sentry who happened to
be to leeward.
Thirty yards from the edge they threw themselves upon the grass.
Within a stone's throw was a great-coated figure standing stockstill.
It was one of the chain of sentries guarding the barbed-wire fence
that completely encircled the secret Zeppelin station.
Motioning with his hand, Detroit indicated that they should make a
detour. Hamerton shook his head. He could just distinguish the
outlines of another sentry a hundred yards to the right. "Wait!"
whispered the Sub.
Presently the nearest sentry sloped his rifle and began to pace in
the direction of the one Hamerton had discerned to his right. When
the two met they evidently indulged in a breach of discipline, for
although the fugitives heard not a word the sentries were apparently
talking.
"I want to make sure of the length of his beat," whispered Hamerton.
"Then the next time he clears out we'll make a dash for the fence."
Back walked the sentry. Stopping for a moment to draw up the collar
of his greatcoat, for it was just beginning to rain, he made his way
past the two lurking men and disappeared in the murky darkness.
Presumably the soldier was not on speaking terms with the sentry at
the other end of his beat, for in a very short space of time he
returned. Almost abreast of the fugitives he stopped short, faced
outwards, and levelled his rifle and bayonet, as if something
suspicious had attracted his attention. Then, having satisfied
himself that there was no cause for alarm, he made off towards the
post on his left.
"Now!" whispered Hamerton.
"Just you wait!" replied the American. "Let's shift back a bit."
He pointed towards a speck of light that flickered in the now howling
breeze.
"It's the rounds, by Jove!" muttered the Sub. "That's right; we'll
hide in this hollow and trust to luck."
"Halt! Who goes there?" demanded the sentry in German.
"Rounds," was the reply.
"Advance, rounds; all's well!" exclaimed the soldier, recovering his
rifle.
An officer and a file of men, one of whom held a lantern, came
tramping through the long, damp grass. The Sub seemed to feel the
glare of the light. Instinctively he buried his face in his arms and
hid his bare hands under his coat. For the gleam to fall upon any
light-coloured object was to arouse suspicion.
"Anything to report?" demanded the officer.
"No, sir. Once I fancied I saw one of the bloodhounds."
"Then don't fancy. I may as well tell you that the dogs are safely
chained up. It would go ill with some of you men if they were at
large on a night like this. Besides, the hounds are too valuable to
risk being shot by an imaginative sentry. Now, remember, challenge
once only and then fire, should any suspicious person approach your
post. It means promotion to the man who succeeds in shooting or
capturing those troublesome spies."
[Illustration: "'IT'S THE ROUNDS, BY JOVE!' WHISPERED THE SUB"]
The rounds passed on. The sentry resumed his walk without attempting
to give the salute. This Hamerton noticed particularly. As in the
British Army, it was forbidden to give or acknowledge compliments
after sunset. This knowledge he hoped to profit by, since it was
within the bounds of possibility to impersonate a German officer and
thus get safely away in one of the boats at the beach of the
Unterland.
"Now!" whispered the Sub once more.
Silently the two comrades made their way to the fence. This time the
lowermost wire was set up taut, and Hamerton had the greatest
difficulty in holding it up sufficiently for Detroit to crawl clear
of the sharp barbs. Before the sentry had set out on his return beat
the fugitives had put a safe distance between them and that
particular danger.
They were now within a hundred yards or so of Sathurn, the
northernmost part of Heligoland, that terminates in a sheer cliff one
hundred and sixty-six feet in height. Close to the point rises a
detached pinnacle of rock, known as Hengst, its summit being only
three feet lower than that of Sathurn.
"You stop here," whispered Hamerton. "The sentries seem as thick as
flies. I'm going to crawl a few yards. One may escape detection where
two will not."
With this injunction the Sub left his companion, and on all-fours
made his way towards the extremity of the cliff. On his left was a
building that a few years previously had been used as a fog-signal
house. A light was burning within, and the sharp click of a shutter
told the Sub that someone was using a Morse signalling apparatus.
Profiting by the glare, Hamerton crawled closer. The door of the hut
was ajar. Within were several engineers standing by in readiness to
work a powerful searchlight. To the left of the hut, and protected
from leeward by a mound of earth, was a long metal cylinder about
eighteen inches in diameter. A stray beam of light showed Hamerton
that one end of this object was carefully covered by a tarpaulin.
"What's this arrangement, I wonder?" he thought. "Looks like a sort of
torpedo tube. I'll----"
His hands clutched at empty air, he lurched forward, up went his
heels, and the next instant he felt himself falling.
Like a flash the thought went through his brain: "I'm done for this
time--I've toppled over the cliff." Yet not a sound escaped his lips,
even when completely taken aback by the sudden plunge.
With a dull thud Hamerton alighted on his hunched shoulders.
Instinctively he kept his head well under, and this saved him a
broken neck. Inertly he rolled over on his side, wondering where he
was and how far he had fallen. Nor could he help expecting to see the
soldiers from the hut, who must have heard the noise of his fall.
A minute or so went by. No curious soldier appeared on the edge of
the pit or whatever it was. He began to consider how he could escape.
"Solid steel, by Jove!" he exclaimed softly, tapping the substance
on which he had fallen. He stood up. He found himself in a circular
hollow surrounded by a wall less than six feet in height. The metal
floor was perhaps thirty feet in diameter and slightly domed.
"Looks like the top of a gasometer or an oil-fuel tank," mused
Hamerton. "I may as well have a short investigation. Can't stop long,
or Detroit will be blundering in on top of me. Ah! What's this?"
His foot encountered a raised object. It was an armoured slide of
some sort. He tried to raise it, but in vain. Then he applied
pressure in a horizontal direction. This resulted in the metal slab
sliding and disclosing a pitch-dark cavity.
"Wish I had a match," he muttered. "Well, here goes! I've been in
worse holes than this."
His feet encountered the rungs of a ladder. Three downward steps did
he take, then there was a sharp metallic click, followed by a sudden
blaze of light.