IN THE TUNNEL
Slowly, so slowly that it scarcely seemed to move, Frank’s hand
advanced until the fingers closed on the paper. Fortunately it
protruded far enough for Frank to get a good grip on it.
If his hand had trembled, he would have been betrayed in an instant.
But the experiences he had been through had steeled Frank’s nerves and
his muscles worked with the precision of a machine.
A fraction of an inch at a time, he drew the paper out until it was
clear of the officer’s pocket. Then he transferred it to his own. He
had won. And he was jubilant.
Still, he was in imminent danger. At any moment the officer might
discover his loss, think he had dropped the paper and begin to look
around for it. That would be unlucky for Frank. But, the young soldier
thought grimly, as he gripped his knife tightly, it might be still more
unlucky for the officer.
The pipe was smoked out now. The officer tapped it against the tree
to knock the ashes out and seemed of two minds as to whether he should
refill it. He finally decided that he had stayed there long enough, an
opinion with which Frank heartily agreed, thrust his pipe in his pocket
and started to walk away. Frank watched him with his heart in his
mouth. Would he discover his loss?
The officer had gone about ten feet when Frank saw him give a sudden
start. He uttered an exclamation in German and then felt hurriedly in
all his pockets. Then he turned and began to retrace his steps slowly,
his eyes glued to the ground.
“Now I’m in for it,” thought Frank, as his muscles stiffened.
But the officer came no farther than the foot of the tree. That to his
mind marked the limit of where the paper could possibly be. He dropped
on his hands and knees and looked in the grass, but of course to no
avail. Then he rose, brushed off his clothes and muttering harshly to
himself he strode off in the direction of the camp, searching every
foot of the way as he went along. There was a bad quarter of an hour in
store for him when he should have to confess the loss of the paper to
his superior officer.
Frank only waited until the officer was at a safe distance. Then he
wound his way on his hands and knees through underbrush until he was
well beyond the zone of light of the camp. Only then did he rise to his
feet and slipping from one tree to another hurried in the direction
where his compass told him he would find the boat.
When he reached the line of trees that bordered the canal, he paused
and gave the hoot of an owl. A moment later, there was an answering
call that enabled him to locate the boat’s position. He made his way to
the bank and looking over saw the dark outline of the boat.
“Are you there, Tom?” he whispered.
“I’m here all right,” came Tom’s voice in answer. “Tumble in.”
In a jiffy, Frank had let himself down in the boat and grasped his
friend’s hand.
“I’m mighty glad you’re back,” whispered Tom, in great relief. “I began
to fear the Huns had got you. Any luck?”
“I got a pretty good line on some things that our officers want to
know,” replied Frank, “and I’ve got a paper in my pocket that may
be worth something. The fellow that lost it seemed to think it was
important, judging from the frantic way he was looking for it. You
didn’t think that your old friend would ever turn pickpocket, did you?”
He told his story in whispers, and Tom chuckled as he listened to it.
“Good work, old man,” he murmured.
“But what’s keeping Billy and the corporal?” asked Frank anxiously.
“It’s getting on toward one o’clock.”
Just then the owl call came, and a moment later the corporal dropped
cautiously down into the waiting boat.
“Anything doing?” was the first question he asked of Tom after
greetings had been exchanged.
“Nothing much,” answered Tom. “I heard a patrol going along the road
about an hour ago, and later on I heard the stroke of oars. But it was
too dark for me to see anything.”
He had scarcely spoken when a volley of shots rang out. There were
hoarse shouts and the sound of running feet. Then along came Billy,
panting and breathless.
“The Huns!” he gasped, as he dropped into the boat. “They nearly got
me and they’re close behind. We’ll have to make a quick get-away or
they’ll nab us.”
“Quick!” ordered the corporal. “Sheldon, you take one oar and Bradford
the other. Pull for the other side as fast as you can. Don’t splash any
more than you can help, or we’ll be a mark for the Huns’ bullets. Quick
now!”
The boys needed no urging, for the sounds told them that their foe
had almost reached the bank of the canal. They bent to the oars and
the boat shot away from the shore. But they had scarcely taken three
strokes before a star shell rose from the enemy side of the canal and
shed a greenish ghastly radiance over the scene. By its light, they saw
a dozen or more Germans on the bank they had just left, and a volley of
bullets that came singing over their heads and about the boat told them
that they offered a good target.
But it was not this group of enemies that gave them the greatest
concern. A more serious peril threatened them. For in that green flare
of the star shell they saw two boats between them and the shore they
sought. And the guttural shouts that had come from these boats at their
discovery told the Americans that the occupants were Germans.
They grasped the situation at once. These were the boats whose oar
strokes had been heard by Tom. There were half a dozen men in each boat
and their errand on the American side had been the same as that of the
Army Boys among the Germans.
It was a time for quick thinking, and the corporal was equal to the
emergency. His party was outnumbered three to one by the men in the
enemy boats, to say nothing of their comrades on the farther shore. The
first star shell had faded, but others followed in quick succession,
so that there was no chance to slip between the enemy boats in the
darkness.
“Turn her head upstream,” ordered Wilson, and the boat swung round.
“Now, pull for your lives,” the corporal commanded. “Our only chance is
to get far enough ahead of those fellows to cut into the shore. When
you fellows are tired, Waldon and I will take the oars. Pull, now,
pull!”
Frank and Tom obeyed, putting every ounce of strength into their
strokes, until it seemed as though the oars must snap. The boat sprang
forward like a live thing, while the corporal and Billy, with their
bodies concealed as much as possible, sent shot after shot from their
revolvers at the men in the German boats.
The enemy had grasped the purpose of the turning upstream, and both
boats raced on, trying to keep on a line with the Americans and prevent
them turning in to shore. At the same time, the German patrol on the
further bank ran along the shore with a constant crackling of rifle
fire. Bullets whistled about the boat, some of them penetrating the
side. One of them went through the corporal’s sleeve, grazing his arm
and bringing blood. Another knocked Tom’s oar from his hand, but he
recovered it in a desperate grab before it got out of reach, and the
boat kept on with only a momentary lessening of its speed.
Suddenly Billy gave an exclamation of alarm as a dark wall of what
appeared to be solid rock loomed up before them.
“Back water!” he shouted. “The boat will be smashed!”
“Go ahead,” countermanded Wilson after a quick glance. “It’s a tunnel.
There’s nothing to do but keep on. It kills our chance of getting to
the shore. But on the other hand it’s dark in there and we may be able
to double on these fellows and give them the slip. Keep on.”
The boat shot quickly into the blackness of the tunnel through which
the canal flowed at that point. The bullets ceased to sing about them.
The radiance of the star shells died away. Darkness enfolded them, a
darkness so intense that they were absolutely hidden from each other.
They rowed along for some distance with undiminished speed. Then as no
sound of oars was heard in pursuit, the corporal gave the word to lay
on the oars.
“Some race!” panted Frank as he wiped the perspiration from his
forehead.
“But we beat them to it!” gasped Tom. “Gee, I never worked so hard in
my life!”
“They don’t seem to be following us,” commented Billy.
The corporal pulled out his flashlight and turned it around them. They
were startled to see how the stream had narrowed after entering the
tunnel. There was barely room for two barges to pass each other.
The corporal’s face was grave as he made the discovery.
“No chance of doubling on them in here,” he remarked. “Looks very much
as if they’d got us in a trap. If they follow us up, we’ll have to
fight it out. And we haven’t got too much ammunition left. I sent most
of my bullets at the Huns in the boats.”
“You toppled over two of them,” said Tom. “I saw them drop. But there’s
a lot of them left.”
“There’s a light at the mouth of the tunnel!” exclaimed Billy.
They looked back.
From the point that they had reached the tunnel extended back to its
mouth as straight as an arrow, and they could see the two boats that
had been in pursuit lying beside each other, while from the light of a
lantern in the bow of one they could see the figures of the men engaged
in an animated debate. They seemed to be divided as to the course to
pursue.
“Wonder if they’ll follow us in,” murmured Tom.
“They don’t seem to relish the idea very much,” remarked Frank.
“The chances are that they will,” judged the corporal. “They know that
they outnumber us, and they won’t want to let us go back to our lines
with the information we’ve picked up.”
Suddenly the light went out.
“I wonder what that means,” said Billy anxiously.
“I think it means they’re coming,” replied the corporal. “They put the
light out so that they won’t offer a mark for our revolvers. It looks
as though it might come to a battle in the dark.”
“If it does, I’ll match our eyes against theirs,” remarked Frank
confidently.
“We’ll get at the oars again,” said the corporal. “I don’t know how
long this tunnel is, but it must end somewhere. If we can reach the
outlet and find no Germans there, we’ll have a chance to get back to
our lines by land. If not, we’ll have to give these fellows a fight,
no matter by how many they outnumber us. I only wish we had more
ammunition. A few more shots and we’ll be through.”
“We’ve got our knives anyway,” said Tom, “and Heinie hates knife
fighting at close quarters.”
“I’ve got a hand grenade,” put in Frank. “I picked it up as we were
coming away from camp, on the chance that it might come in handy in
case we were discovered.”
“Good work,” said the corporal approvingly. “But now we’d better start.
Waldon and I will take the oars, so as to give you other fellows a
rest. Make as little noise as you can but work fast.”
They bent to their work, quickened somewhat by the faint sound of oars
which told them that the enemy was approaching.