The Rupa Book Of Great Escape Stories

by Ruskin Bond

  About noon she began to perspire; the doctors promptly feared a fever, so they bled her again and gave her more spirits. The next day she was well enough to speak. She complained of her throat and of thirst. She refused warm beer, but cold she drank readily. Poultices were continued during the day, and she became so much better that by night-time 'she laughed and talked merrily, looking fresh and of good colour.'

  As soon as what blood the doctors had left in her began to circulate freely, bruises appeared. Mostly, of course, on the neck and on the chest where she had been jumped on. However, she was young, and had always been strong and full blooded. As soon as she could take food she steadily improved, and by the end of a month was fully recovered.

  While this fight for Anne's life had been going on, people had been crowding to the house from all parts of the surrounding country. They pressed against the doors, penetrated up the stairs, and even got into the room where she lay. At last the doctors persuaded the prison governor to put a guard on the door.

  This was done. It did not stop the traffic, but it controlled it. It occurred to someone that here was an excellent opportunity to defray expenses by charging admission. As each person entered, they paid what they pleased to see the living corpse, and Anne's father received the money. By this means enough money was obtained to pay the doctors' fees, and board and lodging (which the girl was charged with when it was found that she was going to live) and save a large amount towards the cost of sueing for pardon.

  When she was recovered, Anne Green found herself the idol of the day. Instead of being branded a child-murderess and a whore, people declared that she had been much maligned. They considered that a girl who had escaped from death in so miraculous a way could not possibly be guilty; that it was the hand of Providence which had saved her to confound her enemies.

  So now the enquiries, which should have been made before she was condemned, were carried out—after she had been hanged. The results were astonishing. Doctors examined the 'body' of the child and found that it was of only seventeen weeks growth, and was abortive. That not only was it impossible to determine the sex, but that it could never have had life. Furthermore, Anne Green was so ignorant and so simple a girl that she never knew she was going to have a child. In fact, had not known the meaning of what had happened to her from first to last.

  All these things having been considered, the charge of murder could not stand, and Anne was once more a free woman.

  She lived for a long while after this. A certain Doctor Derham wrote in one of his books that he had seen this woman, alive and well many years after, and that she was married and had many children.'

  It was reported, with much satisfaction by believers in Tate,' that Sir Thomas Read—her employer, chief prosecutor, and father of her seducer, had died within three days of her execution—almost as soon as he heard that she was expected to live. However, as the original account puts it: '—— he was a very old man, you may think what you please of this, I say no more about it.'

  WHEN THE DAM BURST

  Ernest Bernard Tatnell

  An engineer's night of terror in the Argentine. He relates his vivid experiences during a 'Santa Rosa,' or South American monsoon, which, bursting with dramatic suddenness, swept away the great harbour worlds upon which he was engaged.

  hat night the Rio de la Plata was dark and the moon obscured by heavy clouds. Earlier in the evening some rain fell, but nothing of importance occurred to herald the approach of the 'Santa Rosa'; nothing to warn one that within a short time the great harbour works of the 'Obras del Nuevo Puerto de la Capital', where I was engaged as an electrical engineer, would lie smashed and ruined beneath a waste of heaving waters—the last word in desolation.

  All day my engines had been running, and the peons in my charge had started on the night-shift with a will and determination that was encouraging to behold. They had been promised a small rise on the morrow, ignorant of the fact that on this occasion there was to be no 'tomorrow' so far as many of us were concerned.

  'The wind's rising,' said Kennedy, my friend and workmate. 'It's steadily gaining power.'

  To me, who knew what a tropical monsoon was like, the noise outside certainly seemed ominous. I had not been long on the Rio de la Plata, but I had spent some time in the Uruguayan marble port, fifty miles across the river, and had witnessed something of the terrors of the 'Santa Rosa.' No one, however, imagined for a moment that on this occasion we were in for a gale that would rend sheet-iron like tin and break concrete walls like cardboard.

  As already stated, I was in charge of the night-shift, and the duty of Kennedy and myself was to see that the engines, dynamos, and cables conveying power to different parts of the yard were kept running and maintained in good order. The view from the power-house commanded a large stretch of ground, on which were the workmen's huts and store buildings. Over two thousand men were employed in the dockyard and store-building, this latter being situated in the Calle San Martin, a busy street running at right angles to the river.

  As Kennedy had said, it was a wild night, the wind blowing in thunderous gusts. In one of the lulls I heard some loose wires on the gantry—a light railway built on piles and supported by steel girders—beating a weird tattoo.

  'I believe the cable along the gantry has blown off the line,' said Kennedy. 'Don't you think one of us had better take a few hands and see about fixing it?'

  'I will get someone,' I replied, 'and go and look over it.'

  My intention was to find Pedro Domingo and take him with me to fix the cable. Domingo was a peon, a good workman who was always pleased to assist me. Leaving the power-house, I walked along the approach to the gantry in search of my man. The night was very dark, and I found the wind so strong that I could hardly keep my feet. Pedro was at work, and I shouted across to him that I wanted him to come with me to look at the gantry. To my surprise he seemed taken aback at the request, and at first flatly refused.

  'We shall be blow over when we leave the shelter of the power-house,' he shouted, above the roar of the storm.

  'Nonsense, man!' I yelled back. 'We can cling to the train-rail if there's any fear of that.'

  At last, after much persuasion, I got him to accompany me.

  Once fairly on the line, which was used for a light goods service, I looked up at the heavens. The night had turned inky black, blotting out the Southern Cross, and it was difficult to see anything at all. I could barely detect the outline of the great semicircular dam that held back the seething waters. Beyond it the waves were meeting confusedly and breaking into spouts of angry foam. I looked between the sleepers at the thick, oily-looking mud below, and clung to the train-rail as to life itself Together we fought our way, foot by foot, in the teeth of the wind, until we reached the cable. Clambering down, I was relieved to find that it was undamaged to any great extent, and clear of the line. The red lights of a goods train were dimly discernible in the distance as we commenced to return.

  Some little time afterwards, as Kennedy and I were discussing the gale in the power-house, the screech of a ship's siren rent the air. Instantly it was answered by another, and yet another, until all the vessels in the harbour were sending out the warning signal. Ship called to ship, and presently one of our own sirens joined in the general din, until it seemed as if pandemonium had been let loose.

  Kennedy looked at me with a puzzled expression on his face, 'They must be warning one another against collision in the harbour,' he said. 'I expect the rising water is breaking their hawsers.'

  'Let's see whether we can distinguish anything from the window,' I replied, and moved across to it.

  Peering out, we could distinctly see the brilliant glare of the electric lamps on the big store building in Calle San Martin, looking like an oasis of light in a desert of darkness. Suddenly, as we were gazing at it, the lights of the store went out. The ensuing blackness was intense.

  'Hold tight!' shouted Kennedy. 'Look out! It's coming!'

  I knew what he meant.
It was the 'Santa Rosa,' the dreaded South American monsoon that sweeps everything before it and leaves death and destruction in its track. As Kennedy spoke a mighty rushing wind struck the power-house, which seemed to rock to its very foundations. The windows were shattered into a thousand fragments. We barely escaped these flying missiles as we sought shelter beside the strong walls, clinging to any available support. Fortunately our powerful lights remained burning, for which we were thankful. I could just discern men moving about down by the workmen's huts. As for the huts, they had either been flattened out or bodily uprooted. Some were lying on their sides, others had been turned completely upside down, and still others had been hurled here and there like bundles of hay. Smashed timber, planks, furniture, and stores were strewn about in every direction. Between the shrill shrieks of the wind and the crash of falling timber we heard the shouts and cries of the terrified workmen, as they darted from their tumbling dwellings. I was simply staggered at the awful and dramatic suddenness of the disaster.

  Before I full realized what had happened something broke behind me and fell down with a crash. What was it? Was the power-house to share the fate of the huts? A thousand thoughts passed through my brain, when a shout from Kennedy brought me to my senses.

  'Look, man!' he yelled; 'there's a train on the gantry!'

  Following his pointing finger, I looked out into the darkness, and to my surprise saw the dim light of a goods train. It was approaching a part of the gantry where there was an awkward bend. Surely, I thought, the driver must be mad to venture across that dangerous track on such a night as this? But he came on. We watched intently until the train reached the turn, where she would be broadside-on to the terrible gale.

  Yard by yard the gallant little engine fought her way forward until she began to negotiate the curve. Would she do it? We held our breath as she began to creep around the bend. Then the gale, as if determined not to be robbed of its victim, struck her full and square, making the trucks positively shudder. The train reeled, momentarily recovered itself, and then—horror of horrors!—rocked more and more violently until at last it toppled bodily over into the mud beneath.

  It was a dreadful sight to witness, as we held on there for dear life, and we chafed at the thought that we could render the unfortunate men on the train no assistance. It would, however, have been sheer madness for us to attempt to let go our hold and go out to the wreck. All we could do was to listen with numbed senses to the constant uproar outside—the howl of the wind, the screech of the sirens, and the crashing of the water against the dam. Then, all of a sudden, the wind began to drop. Every minute it grew less fierce, and we breathed a sight of relief. All this time we had been alone, for the peons had sought shelter in the lowest recesses of the building, but now I felt someone touch me on the arm. It was Pedro Domingo.

  The others have left for the mainland,' he said. 'I think the dam is giving way, because it is very wet all round the building. Come and see for yourselves!'

  This information was startling in the extreme. If the dam failed to hold, then it would be goodbye to the power-house, and the whole of the vast harbour works would be flooded, if not destroyed outright. We hastened outside, and although it was still very dark and we could only see a short distance ahead, it was clear that all was not well with the dam. We were soon up to our ankles in mud and water, and the flood seemed to be steadily deepening. The monsoon had been bad enough, but a far worse horror now faced us. The dam was but a few hundred yards behind us, and if it burst, and we were caught in the vast volume of water that would be released, nothing on earth could save us. Would it hold until we reached higher ground? That was our one thought as we hastened away from the power-house.

  By choosing our path and taking all available shelter from the wind and the flying bits of wreckage we rapidly began to overhaul the other fugitives. Pressing forward as fast as the uneven ground would allow, we gradually reached higher ground and began to breathe more freely. Hardly had we reached a position of safety, however, than a mighty crash rent the air and a large torrent of water poured down the ruined yard with amazing rapidity. The dam had burst!

  Though we had miraculously escaped the first onslaught of that vast inrush of water we were by no means out of danger. Each succeeding second meant that the breach would be large, and the whole harbour and the surrounding country would be flooded. There was nothing left but to run for it as we had never run before. Fortunately the wind had fallen considerably, and we dashed forward through the water, heading for the. higher mainland. It was a mad race against death in the darkness of the night, our floundering progress being punctuated by the roaring of the waters and the cries of the terrified peons. At last, breathless and exhausted, we gained the plateau. We were saved! The place was crowded with excited workmen, but many were missing, for the loss of life had been considerable.

  We remained in this haven of refuge until morning dawned. If anything, the light was worse than the darkness, for it revealed a picture of dreadful desolation—a water-logged, wave-swept landscape dotted with homeless people and the wreckage of a great enterprise. The damage was terrible to behold. The great harbour, once the pride of the place, was partially under water, with all the buildings in ruins. Never shall I forget the miseries of that day! We made our way to an hotel, where we had a good meal, and obtained a copy of the Buenos Aires Herald. The newspaper contained two items of news that greatly influenced my future. The first was to the effect that a state of war existed as from August 4th between Great Britain and Germany, and the other item was the announcement of the sailing of the liner Andes to Europe. I felt I was wanted at home and, hastening to the shipping office, booked my passage, determined to 'do my bit' in the Great War. The harbour works, I believe, have since been put in order again, but to my dying day I shall never forget the horrors of that awful night.

  THE GREAT RETREAT

  Aubrey Wade

  The twenty-first of March 1918 is a date that can never be forgotten in the history of the Great War It nearly spelled defeat for the Allies—it was the day that the great retreat began. This is the vivid story of a man who was with the artillery, and whose guns helped to cover that retreat. When the retreat began, they were stationed at Jussy, and it is at Jussy that his story opens.

  t half-past four in the morning I thought the world was coming to an end.

  We awoke to the sound of debris which was flying right and left from the explosion of a great shell somewhere near at hand. Before I had properly grasped what had occurred another shell came down with a terrific roar just outside. I had a momentary glimpse of the end of the structure collapsing like a piece of stage scenery; the whole place shook about our ears with the violence of the explosion; I felt sure the next one would annihilate us. Frantically I dragged on my clothes and cursed myself for being such a fool as to undress in spite of the warning. Shells were falling everywhere now in a heavy bombardment. More frequent flashes lit up the windows, and while I tugged desperately at my big field-boots, something ripped through the woodwork near my face. A great hole showed where it passed through the wall; my candle had disappeared, leaving me to scramble for the rest of my equipment in a darkness charged with terror.

  And then, amid the crash of the shells, we heard a voice: 'Stand to the horses! Stand to the horses!'

  There was a movement to the door, a careful hesitating advance into the darkness outside; one by one the drivers filed out and went over to the horse-lines on the other side of the field. I was last through the door, and on my way out I spotted some one huddled up in bed right by the entrance. I knew whose bed it was, it was that of a certain lanky Scottish recruit who was on the sick-list with boils all over him. I shook him urgently. 'Come on, man; you'll be killed if you stop here!'

  A weak voice answered me from beneath the blankets: 'Och awa' wi' ye. I'm aff duty!'

  'You'd better come. It's not safe here, mind.'

  'I'm aff duty, I tell ye!'

  There was not much time to wast
e on a lunatic like that, so I gave him up and followed the others; and half-way over to the horses I was glad I had not waited any longer, for a shell shrieked into the exact centre of the four huts and must have killed him as he lay there.

  In the stables, I took hold of my horse and led her out across the field to where the rest of the waggon-line occupants loomed up in the heavy fog that shrouded everything. It was a thick, cold, clammy sort of mist, so dense that it was impossible to see more than a few yards in front of one's face. Here, away from the huts, there were no shells dangerously close; the violence of the bombardment was concentrated on the huts, the village behind, and the roads to the line and back to Flavy. I stood with the reins looped over my arm, my little mare grazing quietly, for perhaps a quarter of an hour, getting a glimpse of the others now and then through the fog.

  A full hour passed, during which time the shelling seemed to get even worse, so that when I heard some one calling me by name I guessed there had been something happening at the guns.