Escape
Deftly and quickly the men dressed in the darkness. Much practice
enabled them to don their scanty clothing and badly-worn foot-gear.
"Fritz has got the wind up properly this time," declared the
Sergeant, as the sound of scurrying feet and cries and shouts of
alarm rose on the still air. "Work's knocked off for the rest of the
night, I reckon, even if our airmen don't pay Düren a visit."
He went to the door and peered cautiously down the roadway. Between
the wire fences the watchdogs were barking furiously, adding to the
din as the workers poured from the factories and rushed to their
homes.
"The Boches are still on guard," he reported, "an' the dogs; but
ain't they in a funk. I can see their bayonets shaking."
"The dawgs', Sargint?" asked a man facetiously.
"But no sign of our airmen," continued the non-com., ignoring the
chartered funny man's question. "Hope they won't give the show a
miss after all. All ready, you chaps?"
In the town the uproar was subsiding. The siren had ceased its
two-pitched wail. The last of the powerful engines had stopped its
belated purr. Even the watch-dogs were quieting down.
The night was dark but clear; overhead the stars shone resplendent;
a soft north-easterly breeze rustled the leaves. In the distance the
rumble of heavily-laden trains could be heard, but still no sound of
approaching British aircraft.
A quarter of an hour passed in almost utter silence. The prisoners,
assailed alternately by hopes and fears, strained their ears to
catch the first faint purr of the aerial machines.
"By Jove, they're at it!" exclaimed one as a couple of vivid
flashes, followed after a short interval by three in quick
succession, lit up the south-western horizon.
"Shut up!" snapped the Sergeant, the while counting his pulse-beats
between the first flash and the first report.
"Boom, boom--boom, boom, boom!"
The hollow, reverberating sound of five reports fell upon the
listeners' ears.
"Ten miles off," declared the non-com., as calmly as if giving the
range of a howitzer. "Good!"
Another flash, followed at a shorter interval by the crash of the
exploding bomb told unmistakably that the raiders were approaching.
The men felt like cheering. Even the prospect of being strafed by a
British bomb did not cause them the slightest concern. In their
blind faith they regarded a bomb as the key to unlock their prison
doors.
Very faintly at first, then steadily increasing in volume, came the
hum of many British aircraft.
"No Gothas this time!" exclaimed Peter, who, like the rest of the
men, could distinguish with unfailing certainty the different
"pitch" of the British and Hun machines.
"Here they are!" almost shouted Malcolm, pointing into the night.
He was not mistaken. Flying in perfect V-shaped formation, and at a
low altitude that made the airmen more certain of hitting their
objectives, were eleven biplanes standing out sharply against the
star-lit sky.
"Crash! crash!! crash!!!"
Away on the left a battery of antis., the guns mounted on
motor-lorries, opened a furious fire upon the rapidly-moving airmen.
The air was thick with bursting shells, the flashes of which threw a
lurid light upon the ground. The gunners were only a hundred yards
or so from the barbed-wire enclosures.
"We'll have the shrapnel on our heads when they shorten the range,"
observed one man.
"No fear," replied Peter. "They'll be afraid of the stuff falling on
their own thick skulls. Now, Malcolm, stand by. Hurrah, there go the
white-livered Landsturmers!"
Which was a fact. Panic-stricken, the grey-bearded and bald-headed
guards deserted their posts and bolted precipitately, as if by
running they could outstrip a squadron of biplanes moving at a
hundred miles an hour. The dogs, too, had changed their
tune--instead of barking they were whining dolefully.
Right overhead the leading aircraft of the V formation seemed to
swoop. The Huns, as Peter Carr had predicted, had ceased fire, and
were tearing away to take up a fresh position whence they could
serve their guns without fear of the earth-returning shrapnel
peppering their gunners.
An ear-splitting roar announced that the strafing of Düren had
commenced. A powerful bomb had landed fairly in the centre of the
principal factory, blowing out the walls and sending showers of
bricks, stones, tiles, and timber far and wide.
It was the first of several. The very ground seemed to emit fire,
the earth trembled under the terrific concussions, dense clouds of
smoke were rising up from the disintegrated buildings, while the din
was indescribably awful.
"Now's our time!" roared the Sergeant. "No. 2 hut's empty. Good
luck, chaps!"
Into the open the men ran, not away from the adjoining and
badly-shattered factory but towards it. As they expected, some of
the bombs had fallen wide of the building and had blown gaps in the
double fence.
"Keep together, Malcolm," shouted Peter.
"You bet," replied his brother.
Unmolested, the crowd of prisoners slid boldly into the deep crater
formed by the explosion of one of the missiles and scrambled up the
other side. Almost before they were aware of it they had passed what
had been lines of unclimbable fence. They were free men--but for how
long?
Across the deserted main road and into the open country beyond, the
fugitives ran, none to say them nay. Then, according to previous
plans, they separated, each couple taking a different direction,
until the two brothers found themselves alone.
Behind them the bombs were still falling. The raiders were circling
over their objectives. Since they had flown such a long distance
they were determined to do the job thoroughly. "Tip-and-run tactics"
had no supporters in the British Air Service. "Make sure of your
target, even if you have to sit on it," was one of the maxims of the
daring pilots belonging to a breed that produces the best airmen in
the world, bar none.
Alternately running and walking briskly, the two Carrs covered a
distance of about three miles without any attempt at caution. They
were confident that no Hun was abroad that night within miles of the
scene of the raid, with the exception of the anti-aircraft gunners.
These, intent upon their work, and perforce kept to the highways,
were not likely to give trouble. Right and left, within hailing
distance, were other fugitives, but for all the sound they made they
might be a league or more away.
Once Peter stopped to wrench up a couple of young saplings.
"Take this," he said, handing one to his brother. "It may come in
handy."
Beyond that, no words were exchanged for the best part of an hour.
Moving more cautiously, the twain set their faces resolutely towards
the west and liberty.
Both brothers had had plenty of experience of night journeys in
far-off New Zealand, but, in place of the Southern Cross, they now
had the less-familiar Great Bear and the North Star to guide them.
Frequently they had to make detours in order to avoid isolated
farm-houses. Once a considerable distance had to be traversed in
order to pass a large village. The place was so shrouded in darkness
that the fugitives were within a hundred yards of the nearmost house
before they discovered the fact; for, although the sky was clear, a
light ground-mist of ever-varying density made observation a matter
of difficulty.
"It will be dawn in half an hour," remarked Malcolm.
"Yes, worse luck!" rejoined his brother. "We'll have to find
somewhere to hide. That's the worst of these short nights. I wanted
to cover a good thirty miles before daybreak, but it's doubtful
whether we've done twenty. The question is, where can we hide?"
"Those trees," suggested Malcolm, pointing to a cluster of
heavily-foliaged oaks.
"Not much. The Boches will make a mark on every tree within fifty
miles of Düren. They'll take it for granted that every man of us
will make for a tree-top. Long grass--_bonsor_ if we can avoid
treading it too much. Farm buildings--very doubtful. We'll carry on
for another ten minutes, and keep one eye skinned for a suitable
show."
Before they had covered another hundred yards the two men found that
further progress was impeded by a broad canal. To the right the
waterway was clear and uninterrupted, as far as the now-thickening
mist permitted. To the left was a string of barges; beyond, looming
faintly through the air, the outlines of a house and the uprights of
a swing bridge.
"Lock-keeper's cottage," declared Peter. "There's a light burning.
Friend Hans is evidently entertaining the bargees and ignores Kaiser
Bill's lighting restrictions. We'll scout round and then take the
liberty of crossing the lock bridge."
"One moment," remonstrated his brother. "Cover's what we are looking
for. We aren't out to run up against a Boche lock-keeper. Can't we
hide in one of these boats?"
Peter glanced doubtfully at the idle barges. There were four in a
string, their bows pointing westwards. When the journey was resumed
the coaly flotilla would be proceeding nearer the German-Dutch
frontier--perhaps to Holland itself, as almost every ton of coal
imported into that country, since the tightening of the blockade,
came from the Westphalian pits and was exchanged for badly-wanted
foodstuffs.
"Sit tight a minute," he said. "I'll have a look round."
Cautiously the elder Carr stepped from the bank upon the deck of the
foremost barge. Even then his boots grated loudly upon the thick
deposit of coal dust upon the grimy planks.
For some seconds he stood still, his ears strained to detect the
first sounds of a disturbed sleeper. Reassured, Peter crept aft,
where a slightly raised deck formed the roof of a small cuddy or
cabin. The sliding hatch was closed, and secured on the outside by a
padlock.
"It's pretty evident that the place is deserted," he decided,
"unless Hans has locked Gretchen up inside while he clears out to
see his pals. I wonder if there's a cuddy-hole in the other end of
the boat, where the crew keep ropes and spare gear?"
Making his way for'ard, Peter discovered that there was a forepeak,
but the cover was securely padlocked. No place of refuge there! He
paused and surveyed the mound of coal glistening in the misty
starlight. "I wonder--yes there was an old barrel on the bank; that
will do."
Seized by an inspiration, Peter joined his brother.
"Look slippy!" he exclaimed. "We'll hide under the coal. We'll have
to throw some of it overboard first, and get this old barrel to form
our trench props."
Silently the two men boarded the barge. At the after end of the
cargo space, the roaming of the raised deck projected slightly. Here
they set to work to remove a portion of the coal. Unless the stuff
was unloaded there was little chance of discovery, since the bargee
could not see the spot from where he stood to steer.
Working quietly and silently the New Zealanders removed a sufficient
number of lumps of coal, and dropped them into the water without
making a splash. In a very short time a hollow six or seven feet in
length and three in breadth was excavated. The barrel staves, set
slantwise between the sloping bank of coal and the after bulkhead,
served as a roof, while, to camouflage their place of concealment,
coal was piled on the boards until the new level was about the same
as the original one.
By the time they had completed their task dawn was breaking. The
vivid crimson shafts of light and the rosy tints just above the
horizon betokened the approach of bad weather.
"Spotted, by Jove!" ejaculated Malcolm, pointing towards the tall
reeds that fringed the landward side of the tow-path.
Peter followed the direction of his brother's outstretched hand.
Less than fifty feet away the reeds had been parted, disclosing the
heads and shoulders of two men.
"Swim for it!" he exclaimed; but, as the Carrs ran to the side of
the barge, with the intention of taking a header into the canal, a
voice was heard calling:
"Not so much of a blinkin' 'urry, Diggers!"
[Illustration: "IT'S SPUD MURPHY AND JOE JENNINGS!"]