by Mark Hodder
“By heavens, we are lost!” gasped the young officer.
THE SECOND CHAPTER
A Narrow Escape.
THERE WAS NO chance of averting the disaster. For a second or two, with horror in his eyes, the lad clung to the wheel; and as the lorry plunged into the ragged-edged gap he leapt wildly to one side, and shouted to Lieutenant Drake to do the same. So great was the speed of the vehicle that it turned a somersault, and fell bottom-up, pinning Private Carter beneath it.
For a short space Tinker’s senses were in a dizzy whirl. He kicked and floundered in the cool water that had closed over him, and when at length he got a footing and rose above the surface, submerged to the waist, the mangled corpse of Private Smith had drifted past him, and the young officer was nowhere to be seen.
“My word, am I the only one left?” muttered the lad.
At that instant Lieutenant Drake’s head bobbed up, within a yard or two. He too, had jumped, and had escaped without serious injury; but he was half-dazed from the shock, and in such pain that he could not stand. Tinker waded to him and grasped him by the arm as he was about to sink.
“Come, I’ll help you,” he bade. “There are only the two of us now.”
“Only two?” panted the young officer.
“Yes, that’s right,” the lad replied. “Smith was killed, and poor Carter has been crushed under the lorry. Come along, before they fire at us again. We must get over to the woods.”
“It’s no use, Rokeby. I hit my knee on a boulder, and it has crippled me.”
“Then you’ll have to get on my back, sir. I’ll carry you.”
“No, don’t worry about me. Save yourself, while you have the chance.”
“I’ll be hanged if I will, sir. I’m not going to leave you. Come, be quick.”
“Very well, then,” assented Lieutenant Drake. “You’re a good sort, Rokeby, and I won’t forget this.”
As he spoke he threw his arms around the neck of the lad, who took hold of his ankles, and set forth on his perilous and difficult task. Fortunately the river was shallow, and he did not once get out of his depth. But there was imminent danger from the shells, which were still falling in the vicinity. At frequent intervals they dropped and burst, now striking and shattering the bridge, and now tossing up cascades of water. Tinker paid no heed to them. He waded on with his burden as fast as he could, across the stream, fighting against exhaustion. A shell exploded near to him, and the concussion hurled him off his feet. He scrambled up, spluttering and dripping, and took a fresh hold of the young officer’s legs.
“It isn’t much farther, sir,” he gasped.
“Put me down, we shall both be killed,” urged Lieutenant Drake. “Look after yourself.”
“If I were to desert you, sir,” was the plucky answer, “I should be ashamed to wear this uniform any longer.”
By strenuous exertions Tinker kept his footing. His head was swimming, and his heart was pounding against his ribs; but he set his teeth hard, and splashed slowly on and on, while the deadly missiles burst to right and left of him. At last he safely reached the goal. He waded out of the river on to a narrow margin of sand and pebbles, and staggered deep in to the fringe of green cover at the base of the hills. Lieutenant Drake slid from the lad’s back, and both fell sprawling on the grass, in the purple shade of the trees.
“I—I’ve done it, sir!” panted Tinker. “And now we’ll have to rest a bit.”
“By Jove, you’re a hero!” vowed the young subaltern. “That’s what you are, Rokeby, and no mistake.”
They were too exhausted to talk. For some minutes they lay there in silence, while the lad recovered his strength, and Lieutenant Drake’s knee, which had only been slightly bruised, ceased to pain him. They had lost the motor-lorry with its supplies for the troops, and their two comrades had been killed. But they accepted these disasters as a matter of course, as they had already become hardened to the gruesome side of war. They felt that they had done their duty, and their sole thought now was to get on to the front, and report at the headquarters of the Service Corps.
No shells were bursting. The German guns on the distant ridge had been muzzled, and the rippling of the stream was all that could be heard. Tinker presently rose from the grass and assisted his companion to his feet.
“We had better be moving, sir, if you are able,” he said. “How is your knee?”
“It doesn’t hurt,” the young officer replied. “It is a bit stiff, but I can walk.”
“Do you know which way to go?”
“I am afraid I don’t, Rokeby. I have only a general idea of my bearings. We’ll have to trust to luck to—”
“Hark, sir. What’s that?”
“It sounds like hoofs. Those confounded Uhlans again, I’ll bet.”
A muffled noise was swelling in the direction from which Lieutenant Drake and the lad had come, and when they had crept to the edge of the cover and peered out, they saw on the opposite bank of the river the party of Prussian cavalry who had pursued them. They were riding down the slope, to one side of the ruined bridge, with the evident intention of fording the stream. The young subaltern drew his revolver from its holster and examined it.
“Those fellows are coming over to search for us,” he said. “We must repulse them if we can.”
“Right you are, sir,” Tinker replied, as he unslung the rifle that was strapped to his back. “My word, we’ll give it to them hot!”
The spirit of war was rioting in their blood, and they were naturally keen on avenging their slain comrades. They watched the Uhlans as they approached through the shallow water, and let them get half-way across; and then, from the shelter of the thickets, they opened a raking fire. The officer in command of the patrol was the first to drop, hit in the chest.
“I bagged him, sir,” exclaimed the lad, as pleased as if he had brought down a rocketer in a pheasant-covert.
Two more troopers reeled from their saddles, a third and a fourth. Riderless horses were plunging, and bodies were drifting on the current. The Germans still spurred forward, falling fast, until the fusillade was too much for their courage. They swung their steeds around, and, in panic and confusion, with yells of rage, they rode back as quickly as they could.
“That’s done it,” said Tinker, as he fired a parting shot and emptied another saddle. “It’s funny how one gets used to killing men, isn’t it?”
“By Jove, it is,” Lieutenant Drake replied. “I don’t mind a bit. We’ll be off now,” he added. “Come along, Rokeby.”
They turned away, and mounted the hill behind them, reaching the top of it as the sun was touching the horizon. Though they were pretty sure that they were going in the direction of the British lines, they were still in a part of the country that was occupied by the enemy; for, in the course of an hour they saw from open ground, as they pressed on by the fading light, two distant patrols of Uhlans, and a marching body of German infantry.
“It would be hard luck if we were to be captured,” said the young subaltern, in a gloomy tone.
“My word, it would be,” Tinker answered. “There would be no more fighting for us, sir. We should be kept prisoners until the war was over.”
The dusk of evening that was now shrouding them, and the chill, autumn air, depressed their spirits. They were traversing a wooded plateau, and presently they observed a winding footpath, which they followed for a quarter of a mile. It led them to a solitary cottage, in which a candle was burning; and there they found, huddled in a big chair, a grey-bearded old peasant, bent and toothless. They told him that they were English, and his stolid, wrinkled face brightened a little. He had heard of the gallant soldiers who had crossed the Channel to fight with the French. His wife was dead, he stated, and his only son had joined the colours.
“You are welcome, messieurs,” he went on. “There is food in the closet, and a bottle of red wine. And you can sleep under my roof, if you wish.”
“It is kind of you,” Lieutenant Drake replied. “We ar
e hungry and thirsty, and tired as well. But you can give us some directions, perhaps. How far are we from the village of Sarly?”
“It is a distance of twenty miles,” mumbled the old man.
“And how do we get there?”
“There is a road yonder, at the bottom of the hill. If you will follow it to the left, monsieur, it will take you straight to Sarly. You cannot miss it.”
The young officer nodded, and turned to Tinker.
“That’s all right,” he said in a tone of relief. “Sarly is on our way to the front, and close to the lines of the Allies. But we will spend the night here, Rokeby,” he added. “We both need sleep and rest.”
There was plenty for them to eat and drink. They joined the old Frenchman at supper, and listened to him while he chatted about his soldier son; and when he had retired to bed, in an adjoining room, they stretched themselves on the floor, and were soon wrapped in heavy slumber.
THE THIRD CHAPTER
A Daring Capture—and a Successful Escape.
TINKER AND HIS companion awoke to find the sun above the horizon, and streaming through the window. They rose, and glanced into the other room, where the old peasant was still asleep. There was food on the table, left from the evening meal, and they were about to sit down when a throbbing, grinding noise floated to their ears, from no great distance. It sounded familiar, and as they were listening to it, and looking at each other in perplexity, it ceased abruptly.
“I believe that was a big motor-vehicle of some kind,” said Lieutenant Drake.
“I am sure it was,” the lad assented, “and it has stopped not far off.”
“Yes, yonder on the road.”
“It may belong to a British or French transport-column, sir.”
“Let us see, Rokeby. Come along. I would rather go without anything to eat than miss a chance of getting a lift to the front. We can take something with us, though.”
Each thrust some bread and cheese into his pocket, and placed a couple of silver coins on the table, in payment for the hospitality they had received. Then they stole quietly from the cottage, and hastened through the woods, traversing a footpath which brought them very shortly to the crest of a steep hill. They paused here, and gazed down. Below them, running along the base of the hill, was one of the broad, white roads of France. A little to one side was a small, square building that was obviously an inn, since a signboard projected from it. And in front of the building, unattended, was a large motor-omnibus. The young subaltern took a pair of binoculars from their case, and put them to his eyes.
“No good,” he declared. “That ‘bus is from Berlin. It has the names of several of the streets on it.”
“Then it must be carrying supplies to the German troops under Von Kluck,” said Tinker.
“Yes, it is packed to the roof. And the soldiers in charge of it are no doubt having their breakfast at the inn.”
“It is a fine chance for us, sir.”
“The chance for us? What do you mean?”
“I have been thinking that we might steal the ‘bus,” replied the lad, “and drive it to the British lines in place of the one we lost.”
“By Jove, that’s an inspiration!” exclaimed Lieutenant Drake. “You have a clever head.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“But it is a tough problem, Rokeby. It is ten to one that we will both be shot if we try to carry off the ‘bus.”
“I am willing to risk it, sir, if you are.”
“I am more than willing,” said the young officer. “I shouldn’t dream of missing such an opportunity. Won’t our Tommies be pleased if we bring them a load of German sausages and beer? The worst of it is, though, that the ‘bus will have to be turned the other way. The front of it is to the right, and Sarly lies to the—” He broke off, and began to descend the hill. “We will settle the details as we go down, Rokeby,” he added. “I have an idea how the game can be played.”
Talking as they went, they made their way to the bottom of the wooded slope by the path they had followed from the cottage, and emerged from the green cover within a dozen yards of the inn. For a few seconds they listened to boisterous voices, and the clatter of knives and forks; and then, with unfaltering courage, they glided forward.
“Be quick, Rokeby!” bade the plucky young subaltern, as they separated. “If they do for me tell them how it happened.”
“I will, sir,” Tinker replied.
With that he darted straight to the motor-’bus, and in a trice he was on the seat of it, clutching the wheel. He started the engine, and as the big vehicle rattled and moved, swerving across the road, the noise was heard inside of the inn, where five German soldiers and a corporal were at breakfast. Jumping up from the table, in alarm and bewilderment, they rushed to the open door, and stopped short. For outside, with his revolver in his hand and levelled, was the slim, khaki-clad figure of Lieutenant Drake.
“Get back, you vermin!” he cried.
At the same instant he fired, and at the first shot the corporal screeched like a stuck pig, and pitched to the floor with a bullet between his ribs. Crack!—crack, crack!—crack! Three more of the soldiers went down, one dead and the others wounded. During the brief interval that had elapsed Tinker had turned the motor-’bus around, in the direction of Sarly; and now, having disposed of four of the enemy, the young officer took to his heels, and clambered to the seat of the vehicle by the side of his companion.
“Hurrah! Here we go!” exclaimed the lad.
As the ‘bus lumbered on, with increasing speed, the uninjured German dashed out of the inn, bellowing with fury. He threw his rifle to his shoulder, and fired several shots. But excitement spoilt his aim, and the bullets flew wide of the mark.
“Good-bye, Fritz!” shouted Lieutenant Drake, as he looked back and waved his hand. “Give my regards to Kaiser Bill!”
“And mine, too,” chimed in Tinker. “Tell him we’ll see him in Berlin one of these days.”
Success had crowned the daring venture, and the young Britishers were in high spirits as they drove on in the bright sunshine, along the broad, smooth road which they had been told would lead to the lines of the Allies. In all likelihood they would have to pass through a zone of danger, but the thought of that did not trouble them now.
“The country ahead seems to be clear of the enemy,” said the young officer, as he looked through his binoculars. “It won’t be long, I imagine, until we meet some of our fellows. And then we will have to be jolly careful, or we may be shot.”
“That’s right,” Tinker replied. “They will take us for Germans in disguise. Only hope they give us a chance to explain matters,” he added, “instead of shooting first.”
For some miles they traversed a region of deserted farms and cottages, many of them damaged by shell and flame. Then peril beset them, their uniforms betraying the fact that they were British. They were chased by two parties of Uhlans in succession, and twice fired at from the cover of wooded hills. But they ran the gauntlet unscathed, and left behind them the marauding bands of Germans. The morning wore by, and towards noon they were stopped by a patrol of French cavalry, who pointed their rifles at them. The story that they told, however, was readily believed by the officer in command.
“It is well,” he said. “You can pass. On to Berlin, messieurs!” he added, with a laugh, pointing to the names on the vehicle.
Tinker and his companion enjoyed the joke, and repeated it more than once, as they thundered on their way. Again and again the motor-’bus, labelled “Friedrich-strasse” and “Rixdorf” was halted for a short time, and permitted to continue its journey.
“On to Berlin! On to Berlin!”
Jean Grapaud shouted the words in French, and Tommy Atkins bawled them with a Cockney accent. Laughter and jests rang loudly. It was an amusing incident, a ray of sunshine splitting the black cloud of war.
“On to Berlin!”
The cry rolled like a wave. Khaki uniforms grew more and more frequent, and at length, t
he motor-’bus having entered the British lines, Tinker brought it to a stop at a signal from an elderly officer, with a grey moustache, who just emerged from a cottage over which the Union Jack was floating. His horse, held by a military-servant, was waiting for him. He screwed a monocle into his eye, and stared at the two dusty, dishevelled figures on the driving-seat of the vehicle.
“What the deuce?” he ejaculated. “The Friedrich-strasse! So are you going to Berlin, eh?”
“We don’t expect to get so far as that, sir,” replied Lieutenant Drake. “At least, for the present. We belong to the Service Corps, and we are looking for Colonel Melton. I am to report to him.”
“I am Colonel Melton,” said the officer. “And you?”
“My name is Drake, sir.”
“Ay, yes, you were in charge of a motor-lorry that has been reported missing. What happened to it?”
“Something went wrong with it, sir, and after we had got it repaired, it fell through a bridge that had been blown up by a shell.”
“And what do you mean by waltzing into the lines with such a thing as this? Where did you get it?”
“We captured it from the Germans, and brought it with us instead of the lorry. I think it is packed with supplies.”
“You captured it from the Germans?” Colonel Melton echoed in amazement. “The two of you?”
“That’s right, sir,” the young subaltern answered. “There were four of us when we left Rouen, but two of my men were killed.”
He and Tinker had meanwhile descended from the ‘bus. In simple, modest language they told the whole story to the colonel, who learned with increasing interest of the race with the Uhlans, and the plunge into the river, and the fight at the inn. He might not have believed the narrative, but for visible proof of it.
“That was fine!” he exclaimed. “You have done splendidly! By Jove, you fellows are made of the right stuff! I will give you some other kind of work to do next. There will be heavy fighting to-morrow, and you shall assist at the field-hospitals, or in transporting the wounded to the nearest point on the railway-line. I will not forget to mention you in my report to—”
