As one man they rushed to their arms, and even as they did so a score of
shots rang out, and the whistling bullets cut the earth about their
feet.
"The German troops!" cried Cortes. "We must gain the hill-top or we’re
lost!"
Firing into the darkness as they ran, they ascended the hill with all
dispatch. At the top they found themselves subjected to a withering
fire, which poured down upon them from all directions. The night was
alive with the sharp reports of rifles. Sudden flashes of fire showed
up on every hand, like so many living tongues of flame. It was evident
the enemy was in force.
For four hours the fight continued without a check. The roar of the
musketry continued; the hissing of the bullets was like heavy rain. And
all this time the German soldiers were working nearer and nearer, until
at last they formed a complete circle around the foot of the hill.
They were then close enough for their voices to be audible, and now and
again, as a bullet found its mark, a shriek went up in the night.
By then, not one of Harry’s party had been struck. This was partly due
to the boulders which lay upon the hill-top, and behind which it was
possible to obtain cover, and partly to the inferiority of the German
marksmanship.
During a lull in the combat, a short respite from the strain of the
situation, Harry took counsel with the two guides and Jim.
"It appears to me," he observed, "that if we wait till sunrise we are
lost. So far, we have managed to escape death only by reason of the
darkness."
"Before the sun rises," said Fernando, "two courses lie open to us: we
must either fight our way through the enemy or commend our souls to
Heaven."
"I was going to propose," said Harry, "that we gather together in a body
and endeavour to charge through the enemy."
"And after that?" asked Braid.
"After that we may either find some place more suitable for defence, or
else die in our tracks."
"We can die fighting," said the younger guide.
"Well, then," said Harry, "every minute counts. If we can get through
we may be able to cover some miles before dawn is upon us. We must hold
together, however. There will be no time to go back to look for one who
is lost."
They now prepared themselves to make this last and desperate bid for
freedom. They played for the highest stakes, for liberty and life. They
could not advance, however, without acquainting Peter Klein of their
intention, and when the man was told of what they proposed to do he set
to shaking in his limbs.
Harry was in no mood to humour him. He had long since lost all patience
with their uninvited guest.
"You have two minutes," said he, "in which to choose. Either you come
with us, or stay here, or else you can go over to the enemy. It does
not matter very much to us which you decide to do."
The man picked up his rifle. He tried to speak, and stuttered. He was
incoherent from fear, though it was his own countrymen who opposed them.
German and German-trained native troops were in the valley in about
equal numbers.
"What am I to do?" he asked.
"Remain at my side," said Harry. "Do not fire until I tell you to. We
are going to creep as near to the enemy as we can, and then charge
through together."
Klein said nothing, but they heard the bolt of his rifle shake in his
hand.
Then all five began to crawl down the hill, picking their way carefully
over the stones, advancing as stealthily as possible.
The enemy’s fire had somewhat abated. Perhaps they also—true to the
traditions of the Prussian army—contemplated an assault. Instead of
the continuous rattle of musketry that had lasted for so long, only an
occasional shot resounded in the valley.
Inch by inch, they drew nearer to the enemy’s position, and when not
twenty yards from the place where a German officer was shouting hoarse,
guttural words of command, Harry whispered to his followers to halt. He
desired to give them time to gain their breath, that the charge might be
as swift as it was sudden and unexpected.
During the next few minutes it was as if each second dragged out into
eternity. At all events, the anxiety and excitement had the most
amazing effect upon Peter Klein, who was a coward from the day of his
birth. It drove him mad, and he became like some infuriated beast, a
bull in a bull-ring or a baited bear.
Suddenly springing to his feet, before Harry had given the word of
command, he discharged the magazine of his rifle in the direction of his
own countrymen. Then, seizing the weapon by the muzzle, he dashed down
hill, swinging it round and round his head as a man uses a club.
Harry and his three companions followed in the man’s wake, firing right
and left. Though it was dark, they were near enough to Klein to see
what happened. The man was as terrible in his madness as he had been
despicable in fear. Without a doubt, terror had overcome his senses.
Giving himself up for lost, he had been able to bear the suspense no
longer, and now rushed furiously, demented and panic-stricken, into what
looked like certain death.
A German sergeant jumped out of the grass before him, and the butt of
Klein’s rifle crushed the man’s skull as though it were a nut. Another
man—a native—a second later was dropped to the ground, with a blow
that would have felled an ox. A third rushed upon the maniac, and so
tremendous was the stroke that sent him to his death that Klein’s rifle
broke at the small of the butt.
Still the ex-spy was undefeated. With the steel barrel in one hand and
his revolver in the other, he went onward in the dark, filling the night
with an infinity of savage and appalling yells.