On the Barge
Pulling himself up just in time, Malcolm turned and looked again at
the gap in the rushes as the two men emerged cautiously and crept
towards the barge.
"It's Spud Murphy and Joe Jennings!" he exclaimed.
"Right you are, chum," replied the latter. "Thought as 'ow we were
the farthest west of our little crush. You've been mighty nippy,
mates. What's your move?"
"We've constructed a dug-out," replied Peter, pointing to the
concealed lair, of which only the narrow entrance was visible.
"An' good luck to ye," rejoined the Irishman. "Faith we'll not be
for keepin' ye company for long. Sure, a bargain's a bargain; but
we'll jist be havin'a few wurrds wid yez before we carry on."
"You can try your luck with us," said Peter.
"Och, no!" replied Murphy. "Four's jist two too many. Will you have
seen any of the bhoys?"
"Not a sign after we separated," answered the elder Carr. "Have
you?"
"Only the Sargint, just about an hour ago," replied Private
Jennings. "He'd lost touch with his chum an' was limpin' along. It's
my belief he copped it from a splinter of a bomb. Anyway 'e wouldn't
own up to it, and choked us off when we offered to give 'im a 'and.
'Ow much farther to the blinkin' frontier, Digger? It can't be much
more, can it?"
Neither of the New Zealanders could give a definite reply, but, to
cheer the men up, Peter expressed his opinion that another thirty
miles would see them in Dutch territory.
"An' then it won't be long afore I'm in Blighty again," continued
Jennings hopefully. "Three long measly years since I saw an English
girl. Honest, I'll go down on me blinkin' knees an' kiss the shoe of
the first girl I meet in Blighty, even if she's got a face like a
muddy duck-board."
"You're speaking metaphorically, I take it," remarked Peter.
"I met a who?" enquired Private Jennings. "Lumme, I don't want to
meet nobody while I'm on blinkin' German soil. Come on, Spud, let's
be shiftin'. S'long, chums, an' good luck!"
As a matter of fact, the two fugitives, when they arrived at the
canal bank, intended to hide themselves in a similar manner to that
decided upon by Peter and Malcolm Carr. Finding themselves
forestalled, their simple yet steadfast code of honour would not
permit them to remain. The decision made at Düren Camp, that the
escaping men should separate in pairs, was to be rigidly adhered to.
The New Zealanders realized the fact, and that it would be useless
to renew their offer that the four should seek a common
hiding-place.
"_Kia ora_, boys!" exclaimed Peter.
"And may we meet across the frontier!" added Malcolm.
Noiselessly the two Tommies lowered themselves into the water and
swam with long steady strokes to the opposite bank. Creeping on
all-fours across the tow-path, they vanished in the tall grass
beyond.
"Jolly good sorts," declared Peter. "Come on, Malcolm; it's time we
went to roost."
It was indeed. The daylight was rapidly increasing in strength. The
mist was rolling away under the influence of a faint easterly
breeze. Somewhere in the neighbourhood of the lock-keeper's cottage
cocks were crowing lustily.
Malcolm backed into the coal-screened lean-to shelter; his brother
followed, and, having deposited his bulky carcass in the hollow,
began to pile lumps of coal over the entrance.
"Thank goodness they didn't whitewash the coal!" he remarked.
"Why whitewash?" asked his brother curiously.
"To stop thefts," was the reply. "I wondered what the idea was when
I saw whitewashed stacks of coal in various railway sidings in
England, so I enquired. A thief couldn't disturb the heap without
leaving a tell-tale black gap in the whitened level of the stack.
How about grub? I'm feeling hungry."
"And so am I," admitted Malcolm. "We're rationed on a four-days
basis, aren't we?" The meal consisted of a Plasmon biscuit, a small
bar of chocolate, and a slice of potato bread. The brothers ate in
silence, their ears strained to catch the first sound of the
returning bargees.
"We ought to have provided ourselves with water," whispered Peter.
"We never bargained for being cooped up here, otherwise I would have
brought a tin."
"I'm not thirsty," said Malcolm, "but isn't it cold?"
"Rather!" admitted Peter with conviction. "It's early morning yet,
and the coal has lost its heat by radiation. Before midday we'll be
hot enough, I fancy, with the sun pouring down upon our black roof.
Hist! Footsteps!"
The sounds of heavily-shod feet crunching on the dew-soddened gravel
drew nearer and nearer. Then voices could be distinguished. "Women!"
whispered Malcolm.
The New Zealanders listened intently. The sound of footsteps ceased,
although the voluble conversation continued. Then the thudding
foot-falls drew nearer, while the unmistakable sound of a coil of
rope being thrown upon the deck of one of the other barges was
heard.
The clamour drew closer. Supposedly the string of barges was
"manned" by women, the diminishing group halting at each barge to
prolong the conversation before the crews boarded their respective
boats, until, by the clatter almost overhead, the fugitives knew
that the last barge had received its complement--two, perhaps three,
buxom and stolid German women.
Malcolm could hear the padlock to the cabin hatch being unlocked.
Pails clattered, water sluiced along the diminutive after deck.
Despite the dirty nature of the cargo, the crew were making
determined efforts to keep the deck and Cuddy clean. Wood crackled
in the cabin stove, smoke wafted for'ard, wisps eddying into the
fugitives' hiding-place. Then came the appetizing odour of frying
sausages.
An hour passed; still no indication that the barges were starting on
their daily journey. Two boats, however, passed, proceeding in the
opposite direction, each drawn by a horse. Malcolm could hear the
lap of the water against the bows. That was a fairly sure
indication, taking into consideration the direction of the wind,
that the barges were going eastwards. With a following wind the
ripples would be absent, or, at least, hardly perceptible.
As each barge passed there was a lively exchange of greetings
between their crews and those of the stationary boats; but, in spite
of the fact that the Carrs had picked up several German words during
their period of captivity, the hidden listeners were unable to
understand the conversation, beyond the knowledge that it referred
largely to the air raid of the previous night.
Then a steam-propelled craft came up, fussily and noisily. Abreast
of the foremost barge she reversed engines and manoeuvred until a
heavy bump, followed by the groaning of rope fenders between the two
craft, announced that the tug--for such was her rôle--as alongside.
"I hope they won't want to take in coal," thought Malcolm.
Moments of suspense followed, but there was no attempt on the part
of the men comprising the tug's crew to remove any portion of the
barge's cargo. Judging by the sounds, they were preparing to take
the string of barges in tow, for Malcolm could hear a heavy hawser
being dragged along the barge's waterways and made fast to the
towing-bitts a few feet from the bows.
The engine-room telegraph-bell clanged. With the water hissing under
her stern the tug forged ahead. Then, with a jerk, as the hawser
took up the strain, the barge began to glide through the water. Then
another jerk announced that barge No. 2 had started; another and
another, until the cumbersome flotilla was in motion.
Already, cramped in their close quarters, the New Zealanders were
beginning to feel the effects of the heat, as Peter had predicted.
Overhead the hot sun poured pitilessly down upon the absorbent coal.
The air in the confined space was hot and stuffy. Their throats
burned with a torturing thirst--and the day was not more than seven
hours old.
At irregular intervals the barges had to be passed through locks,
and since the locks admitted only two boats at a time, and the
hawser had to be cast off before the gate opened and secured again
when the lower level was reached, progress was tediously slow.
Bridges, too, caused delays, for, in spite of vigorous blasts of the
tug's fog-horn, the persons in charge displayed no great activity in
manning the winches by which the obstructions were swung.
Early in the afternoon the flotilla approached a large town. The hum
of industrialism was plainly audible to the two fugitives. The
barges were constantly bumping into craft either tied up to the
quays or proceeding in the opposite direction. There were swarms of
mischievous boys on the banks, whose sole amusement seemed to be
throwing stones at the irate bargees, until one of the women grew so
furious that she leapt upon the coal that screened the New
Zealanders' retreat, and picking up fragments hurled them at her
tormentors.
It was another period of great anxiety. The barrel-staves creaked
under the weight of the bulky German woman. Some of the lumps began
to shift, while particles of coal dust, filtering through the
interstices, floated in the already-stifling air, causing intense
irritation to the fugitives' eyes and throats.
With feelings of profound relief the New Zealanders heard the woman
striding back to her place beside the long tiller, while the next
moment the already-gloomy dug-out was plunged into profound
darkness.
The barge was entering a tunnel--one of several by which the canal
was led underneath the town. Malcolm welcomed this new phase of the
voyage in inland waters. The air was comparatively cool, a pleasing
relief from the hot sunshine in the open; but before long the
disadvantages of the tunnel made themselves apparent.
The din was terrific. The sound of the grunting and groaning of the
tug's noisy engine was magnified tenfold, echoing and re-echoing
along the domed expanse, while clouds of sulphurous smoke permeated
everything. Yet, the while, there was the comforting thought that,
unless the general direction of the canal had changed, every
revolution of the tug's propellers was bearing the fugitives nearer
the frontier and freedom.
On emerging from the tunnel the string of barges stopped alongside a
wharf. The tug, its mission accomplished, cast off and steamed away.
Malcolm felt anxious. Was this basin in the heart of a populous town
to be the journey's end for the flotilla? If so, the brothers were
in a very tight corner indeed.
Peter, too, was sharing in Malcolm's unspoken thoughts. More so when
an unmistakably military command was issued at a few feet distant.
Peering through a gap in the barrier of lumps of coal the New
Zealanders saw a corporal and three men armed with rifles standing
on the wharf, with a crowd of interested spectators lounging in the
background. Did it mean that the Huns had a suspicion that some of
the escaped prisoners from Düren Camp had found a refuge on one of
the barges?
Another order, and the soldiers stepped on board. The metal butts of
the rifles clattered on the planks, and a spirited conversation
ensued between the corporal--occasionally aided by his men--and the
three women comprising the barge's crew.
During the conversation a lean and decrepit horse, led by a boy of
about ten or eleven years of age, arrived at the wharf. In a
leisurely manner one of the crew went forward and threw a rope, the
end of which was fastened to the animal's traces. Most of this the
New Zealanders could not see; while presently they heard the
wretched beast's hoofs slipping on the cobbles as the barge slowly
gathered way.
Although the soldiers remained on board, the Carrs' fears were not
fully confirmed. The barge was about to enter another tunnel that
happened to pass directly under a large and important munitions
factory. With characteristic caution and forethought the Huns left
nothing undone to safeguard their proceedings; hence, in the case of
barges using the subterranean waterway, a corporal's guard was
placed upon each during the journey through the tunnel.
Contrary to the New Zealanders' expectations, the barge, beyond
stopping to land the guard, did not tie up for the night within the
limits of the town; but, maintaining a two-miles-an-hour pace, held
on until the lengthening shadows announced the close of another day.
Having made all secure, the women bargees left the boat. The sound
of the led horse's hoofs grew fainter and fainter, until silence
reigned supreme.
"How about it?" whispered Malcolm. "My throat is like a chunk of hot
lava. If I don't get a drink of water I'll go dilly!"
"Wait till it's dark," suggested the cautious Peter. "If we remove
the coal from the mouth of our hiding-place, and someone drifts
past, there'll be trouble."
Peering through a narrow gap between the large lumps of coal, Peter
made the discovery that the tow-path against which the barge lay was
clear, and apparently right out in the country and free from the
presence of buildings. The fact puzzled him. Why on two consecutive
nights the barge should choose a berth far from a town or village
required a lot of explanation. He could only suggest that the women
manning the boat took care to avoid Populous districts, so that they
could go ashore without exposing the cargo to the predatory
activities of the war-tried inhabitants.
"Time!" whispered Peter at length.
Deftly the brothers set to work to remove the barrier, although once
a large mass of coal slid noisily against the wooden bulkhead. When
the opening was sufficiently enlarged, Malcolm crept cautiously out
into the open, only to throw himself flat on his face.
The canal bank visible from the New Zealanders' shelter was
deserted, but on the opposite side of the waterway was a large
three-storied, red-tiled house. At one of the open windows sat two
men smoking long, bent-stemmed pipes. From their elevated situation
they could command the whole of the exposed surface of the barge's
cargo. The wonder was that the sight of Malcolm's head and shoulders
emerging from the hole had escaped their notice.
Quick to perceive that something was amiss, Peter forbore to
question his brother. In deep suspense Malcolm lay with his face
flattened against the coal, scarce daring to move a muscle, and
fervently expressing a wish that the night would speedily grow
darker than it was.
A quarter of an hour passed. Judging by the persistence with which
the two smokers stuck to their seats by the open window, Malcolm
felt certain that they had a special interest in the barge and its
contents.
Presently Malcolm felt himself in a cold sweat, for the sound of
approaching footsteps came from the tow-path. Although the
new-comers trod stealthily, the stillness of the air and the
conducting properties of the calm water carried the sound of their
footfalls with disconcerting clearness.
Opposite the boat the footsteps ceased. The people, whoever they
were, were intent upon something on the barge. Then, leaping lightly
upon the waterways, the men, as they proved to be, crept softly aft
towards the place where Malcolm lay in the starlight.