The Way Out
"So, you cat with nine lives, we've to thank you for this beautiful
fix!" remarked Captain Nicholson after he had greeted his companions
in misfortune.
"Don't know about that, sir," replied the bomber. "If I hadn't been
nippy, those Huns would have plugged the lot of you, and more'n
likely they would have got away. What were those coves doing with
the pick and shovel, sir, if they didn't know there was a chance of
getting out that way?"
"That passage is closed, at any rate," decided Captain Nicholson,
glancing in the direction of the mound of debris and the displaced
girders. "M'Kane and I have explored the entrance, There's been a
big fall. The supplementary shoots are also choked. We followed a
level working for nearly a hundred yards. It leads nowhere. Fritz
never had time to finish it. Look here, this torch won't hold out
for ever. The battery's running down. How's Selwyn?"
"Only suffering from shock, sir," replied Malcolm.
"All right; you can do nothing more so far as he is concerned,"
decided the officer. "We'll make a thorough search of these
sleeping-quarters, and see if we can find any candles. Knowing the
systematic thoroughness of Fritz, I guess he's taken precautions in
the event of the electric light going out. By Jove," he added, as
the dug-out trembled violently, "there's some strafing going on
outside!"
A search resulted in the discovery of several oillamps and packets
of candles. There was also food in considerable quantities and wine
in bottles.
"I'd swop all that fizz for a pannikin of tea," declared Joliffe.
"You're never satisfied, chum," remarked M'Turk, deftly knocking off
the neck of a bottle and taking a draught.
"If you had what I've got you'd be satisfied," retorted the bomber.
"I don't mind telling you now. Captain can't order me back out of
it, can you, sir?"
"Well, what have you got?" enquired Nicholson.
"Splinter of shell in me shoulder--copped that last night along with
the ration-party, sir; then this crack on the skull from that
tin-pot Boche; and now I've copped it in both legs--and still I'm
not knocked out."
The men sat down to make a meal. Selwyn, under the reviving effect
of a drink of wine, had opened his eyes. Although considerably
shaken, he was otherwise unhurt.
Captain Nicholson's story of what had occurred threw little light
upon the mystery. He remembered the explosion; he was conscious of
being hurled high in the air and of falling on top of the prostrate
body of one of his men. The first to recover, he waited until M'Kane
regained consciousness, and, having placed M'Turk and Selwyn in a
reclining position, set off to find an egress and bring assistance.
At the thirtieth step they were stopped by a solid mass of rubble
that was only prevented from falling upon them by the fact that two
massive timbers had dropped across the tunnel. To tamper with them
meant certain disaster. Retracing their way to the main dug-out,
they found a hitherto overlooked passage running at right angles to
the longer walls. As the Captain had previously reported, it was a
blind alley.
"Although I believe that the Hun's yarn about fifty tons of stuff is
all moonshine," continued Nicholson, "I can't see how one bomb would
raise Cain like this. It's just possible that there was a small
quantity of explosives in the place--sufficient to bring the roof
down and to give us a pretty shaking up."
The imprisoned men ate, drank, and talked--all except Selwyn, who
complained of a violent headache and dizziness. Captain Nicholson
let them carry on at their leisure. As long as they kept their
spirits up there was little cause for anxiety. The great thing was
to guard against depression.
"Now then, boys!" he exclaimed at length. "Heaven helps those who
help themselves--how about it? Are we going to sit here until we are
dug out or are we going to extricate ourselves?"
"Win off our own bat, sir," replied M'Turk.
"That's the sort," rejoined his officer. "Now, look here. Do any of
you fellows remember if there were other dug-outs close to this?"
"There was an entrance about twenty yards to the left of this one,
sir," said Malcolm. "I noticed that it was clear, for when I came up
our fellows were hauling out a batch of Huns."
"That's our direction," decided Captain Nicholson. "It's not much
use trying to open up the tunnel at which the Boches were working
when we surprised them. It leads towards Messines Ridge, and I guess
there's not much tunnelling left there. I should imagine they were
ignorant of the actual results of the mine, or they would have given
it up as a bad job."
Armed with mattocks and picks, Malcolm, M'Turk, and M'Kane attacked
the side of the entrance-tunnel at a spot a few yards beneath the
choke. The ground was clayey and easy to work, but in the absence of
shoring material there was a grave risk of the new tunnel caving in.
At the end of an hour's strenuous activity a tunnel about twelve
feet long, and sufficiently large to enable a man to crawl along,
had been excavated.
"Any luck?" enquired Captain Nicholson for the twentieth time during
that hour.
"No, sir," replied Malcolm, who was working at the head of the sap
and cautiously dislodging soil, which, in turn, was picked up by
M'Turk and passed out so as not to obstruct the portion of the
tunnel already dug.
The ground vibrated under the impact of a heavy shell thirty or
forty feet overhead. Although the bombardment had decreased in
violence the Huns were still sending heavy stuff across at irregular
intervals.
"Hanged if I like this job," soliloquized Malcolm. "I thought the
whole show would collapse that time. By Jove, something's going!"
Making a vain attempt to back out of the confined space, Carr felt
the ground giving way beneath his bent legs.
"What's up, Digger?" enquired M'Turk, hearing his companion's
exclamation.
Without waiting for an answer M'Turk crawled to within arm's length
of the lad and grasped him by the arm. As he did so the subsidence
increased, and, amidst a shower of soil, the two riflemen found
themselves falling through the air.
Both uttered an exclamation of horrified surprise, not knowing at
that stage if they were hurtling into a deep abyss to be dashed to
pieces at the bottom. Anticipating the worst, they were agreeably
relieved to find that they had dropped only ten or twelve feet, and
had alighted upon a pile of soft material that proved to be a stack
of folded blankets.
"It's all right, sir," shouted Malcolm.
"Where are you?" enquired Captain Nicholson, crawling cautiously
along the newly-excavated gallery.
"That's more than I can say, sir," replied Carr. "We're in the dark
absolutely."
Having tested the ground at the edge of the hole, Captain Nicholson
flashed his torch into the dug-out into which the two riflemen had
fallen.
"By Jove," he exclaimed, "you've found a way out! I won't join you
just yet. Stand by while I drop some candles and matches; then have
a look round and report. See if there's a ladder available."
The torch was switched off and the two riflemen waited in utter
darkness.
"I'm beginning to fancy I'm a blessed mole!" remarked M'Turk. "Twice
I've been buried in our own dug-out. First time wasn't much to speak
of; but Plug Street--ugh! For five mortal hours I was pinned down,
the Huns strafing all the time, and the water rising up through the
dirt that covered me up to my chin. And, as if I hadn't had enough,
one of the boys who were digging me out must needs drive a pick
through my calf. After all," he added, "it was worth it. I got six
months in Blighty, and haven't had the same luck since. I'd give
five pounds for old Fortyscrew's buckshie. Guess he's having a fair
holiday by now."
"Fortescue was hit only quite recently," said Malcolm. "I met him on
my way up."
"D'ye know we've been nearly fifteen hours in this warren?" asked
M'Turk. "I thought not! And with reasonable luck a man can be hit
and find himself in Blighty within twelve hours. Hallo, here's the
Captain!"
The torch was flashed upon the two men and a cloth in which were two
candles and a box of matches dropped into the circle of light.
"Look alive!" was the officer's exhortation. "It's quite time we
broke through. Does the air seem pure? No petrol fumes hanging
around, for instance?"
"Now you come to mention it, sir," replied M'Turk, "it does hum a
bit, although it's not petrol. Since I've been out here I've become
a Sort of authority on stinks."
"It's the fumes of high-explosive," declared Malcolm.
"Right you are," rejoined his companion, as he struck a match and
lit the candles. "By gum, this dug-out's copped it."
In the dim light the place looked a regular shambles. The dug-out
was larger than the one in which they had been trapped, but the
fittings were of a plainer and more substantial nature. Evidently it
had been the underground quarters of some of the Prussian rank and
file, for three sides of the place consisted of four tiers of
bed-boxes. The fourth, except for a doorway, was taken up with a
large arms-rack capable of holding a couple of hundred rifles and
bayonets. Most of the floor space was occupied by long trestle
tables, while in one corner was the large stack of blankets and
bedding upon which Malcolm and M'Turk had fallen.
Although there was no shattered woodwork, everything pointed to a
violent disturbance in the enclosed space. Tables and stools had
been overthrown; the floor in front of the arms-rack was covered
with weapons hurled from their stands. Broken bottles, plates, and
earthenware littered the lime-trodden floor.
Against the doorway were four huge Prussians, leaning apathetically
against the timbered supports of the arms-rack. Two of them, their
eyes fixed upon the New Zealanders, had their arms folded on their
broad chests. The others were steadying themselves by their rifles,
to which the bayonets were fixed.
Without any weapons, either of offence or defence, for they had left
their rifles in the other dug-out, Malcolm and M'Turk were at a
decided disadvantage; but the odds did not deter them.
"Bomb 'em out of it!" shouted M'Turk, swinging a purely imaginary
missile. "Hands up, Fritz!"
The Huns stirred not a muscle.
"What's the fuss?" sang out Captain Nicholson.
"Four Boches, sir," replied Malcolm.
In a trice the Captain dropped from the tunnel into the dug-out.
With his revolver ready for instant action he rejoined his two men,
while M'Kane, preceded by his rifle, followed his superior officer's
example.
"Hands up!" ordered Captain Nicholson, levelling his revolver at the
head of one of the Huns at a range of less than ten yards. The
Boche's eyes stared unblinkingly at the muzzle of the weapon, while
his companions showed no signs of shaking off their apathy.
"By gum, sir," exclaimed M'Turk, "I believe they've been done in!"
Holding the candle above his head, the rifleman strode over the
littered floor and gripped one of the Prussians by the shoulder.
Like a log the heavy body toppled forward and fell on its face.
"Stone dead, sir," replied M'Turk. "Every man jack of 'em. And there
are more of them over there."
Curiosity prompted Captain Nicholson to examine the corpses. Not one
bore the trace of a wound. In addition to the four by the doorway
sixteen lay partly hidden by the overturned tables and chairs.
Without a mark to show how they had been killed, all the men were
dead. Some had been struck down in the act of writing. One man still
held a pencil firmly clenched in his hand. Others were eating when
death overtook them suddenly and painlessly.
"Killed by concussion when the mine went up," suggested M'Kane.
"More likely by one of our heavy shells," declared Captain
Nicholson. "If your theory is correct, how do you account for the
fact that those staff officers in the next dug-out came off
scot-free until Joliffe thought fit to bring trouble on them and us?
No, stay where you are, Joliffe!" he exclaimed, as the bomber's
voice was heard shouting his intention of "barracking in". "We'll
come back and fetch the pair of you when we've found a way out. Now,
boys, let's see how the land lies."
Passing through the doorway and ascending a flight of steps the
party reached a wrecked dug-out that bore unmistakable testimony to
the tremendous powers of devastation of a British 14-inch shell. The
missile had penetrated twenty feet of earth and concrete, closing
the entrance to the open air, and half-filling the place with
debris. A funnel-like shaft, through which the sky was visible, was
now the only means of communication with the open.
"We're not out of the wood yet, boys," remarked Captain Nicholson,
surveying the scene of destruction, "but we're getting on."
As he spoke, the orifice was darkened, and a gruff voice from above
exclaimed, to the accompaniment of a string of highly
uncomplimentary ejaculations:
"Now then, you, up you come or I'll blow you to blazes!"
"Please don't stand there calling us names," expostulated Captain
Nicholson affably. "Rather skip off and bring a rope."