A Lively Bit of the Front: A Tale of the New Zealand Rifles on the Western Front

by Percy F. Westerman

  CHAPTER XXIV

  Escape

  Deftly and quickly the men dressed in the darkness. Much practiceenabled them to don their scanty clothing and badly-worn foot-gear.

  "Fritz has got the wind up properly this time," declared theSergeant, as the sound of scurrying feet and cries and shouts ofalarm rose on the still air. "Work's knocked off for the rest of thenight, I reckon, even if our airmen don't pay Dueren a visit."

  He went to the door and peered cautiously down the roadway. Betweenthe wire fences the watchdogs were barking furiously, adding to thedin as the workers poured from the factories and rushed to theirhomes.

  "The Boches are still on guard," he reported, "an' the dogs; butain'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 thechartered funny man's question. "Hope they won't give the show amiss after all. All ready, you chaps?"

  In the town the uproar was subsiding. The siren had ceased itstwo-pitched wail. The last of the powerful engines had stopped itsbelated 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 therumble of heavily-laden trains could be heard, but still no sound ofapproaching British aircraft.

  A quarter of an hour passed in almost utter silence. The prisoners,assailed alternately by hopes and fears, strained their ears tocatch the first faint purr of the aerial machines.

  "By Jove, they're at it!" exclaimed one as a couple of vividflashes, followed after a short interval by three in quicksuccession, lit up the south-western horizon.

  "Shut up!" snapped the Sergeant, the while counting his pulse-beatsbetween the first flash and the first report.

  "Boom, boom--boom, boom, boom!"

  The hollow, reverberating sound of five reports fell upon thelisteners' ears.

  "Ten miles off," declared the non-com., as calmly as if giving therange of a howitzer. "Good!"

  Another flash, followed at a shorter interval by the crash of theexploding bomb told unmistakably that the raiders were approaching.The men felt like cheering. Even the prospect of being strafed by aBritish bomb did not cause them the slightest concern. In theirblind faith they regarded a bomb as the key to unlock their prisondoors.

  Very faintly at first, then steadily increasing in volume, came thehum of many British aircraft.

  "No Gothas this time!" exclaimed Peter, who, like the rest of themen, 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 alow altitude that made the airmen more certain of hitting theirobjectives, were eleven biplanes standing out sharply against thestar-lit sky.

  "Crash! crash!! crash!!!"

  Away on the left a battery of antis., the guns mounted onmotor-lorries, opened a furious fire upon the rapidly-moving airmen.The air was thick with bursting shells, the flashes of which threw alurid light upon the ground. The gunners were only a hundred yardsor 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 ontheir own thick skulls. Now, Malcolm, stand by. Hurrah, there go thewhite-livered Landsturmers!"

  Which was a fact. Panic-stricken, the grey-bearded and bald-headedguards deserted their posts and bolted precipitately, as if byrunning they could outstrip a squadron of biplanes moving at ahundred miles an hour. The dogs, too, had changed theirtune--instead of barking they were whining dolefully.

  Right overhead the leading aircraft of the V formation seemed toswoop. The Huns, as Peter Carr had predicted, had ceased fire, andwere tearing away to take up a fresh position whence they couldserve their guns without fear of the earth-returning shrapnelpeppering their gunners.

  An ear-splitting roar announced that the strafing of Dueren hadcommenced. A powerful bomb had landed fairly in the centre of theprincipal factory, blowing out the walls and sending showers ofbricks, 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 ofsmoke were rising up from the disintegrated buildings, while the dinwas indescribably awful.

  "Now's our time!" roared the Sergeant. "No. 2 hut's empty. Goodluck, chaps!"

  Into the open the men ran, not away from the adjoining andbadly-shattered factory but towards it. As they expected, some ofthe bombs had fallen wide of the building and had blown gaps in thedouble fence.

  "Keep together, Malcolm," shouted Peter.

  "You bet," replied his brother.

  Unmolested, the crowd of prisoners slid boldly into the deep craterformed by the explosion of one of the missiles and scrambled up theother side. Almost before they were aware of it they had passed whathad been lines of unclimbable fence. They were free men--but for howlong?

  Across the deserted main road and into the open country beyond, thefugitives ran, none to say them nay. Then, according to previousplans, 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 circlingover their objectives. Since they had flown such a long distancethey were determined to do the job thoroughly. "Tip-and-run tactics"had no supporters in the British Air Service. "Make sure of yourtarget, even if you have to sit on it," was one of the maxims of thedaring pilots belonging to a breed that produces the best airmen inthe world, bar none.

  Alternately running and walking briskly, the two Carrs covered adistance of about three miles without any attempt at caution. Theywere confident that no Hun was abroad that night within miles of thescene 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 hailingdistance, were other fugitives, but for all the sound they made theymight 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 inhandy."

  Beyond that, no words were exchanged for the best part of an hour.Moving more cautiously, the twain set their faces resolutely towardsthe west and liberty.

  Both brothers had had plenty of experience of night journeys infar-off New Zealand, but, in place of the Southern Cross, they nowhad the less-familiar Great Bear and the North Star to guide them.

  Frequently they had to make detours in order to avoid isolatedfarm-houses. Once a considerable distance had to be traversed inorder to pass a large village. The place was so shrouded in darknessthat the fugitives were within a hundred yards of the nearmost housebefore they discovered the fact; for, although the sky was clear, alight ground-mist of ever-varying density made observation a matterof difficulty.

  "It will be dawn in half an hour," remarked Malcolm.

  "Yes, worse luck!" rejoined his brother. "We'll have to findsomewhere to hide. That's the worst of these short nights. I wantedto cover a good thirty miles before daybreak, but it's doubtfulwhether we've done twenty. The question is, where can we hide?"

  "Those trees," suggested Malcolm, pointing to a cluster ofheavily-foliaged oaks.

  "Not much. The Boches will make a mark on every tree within fiftymiles of Dueren. They'll take it for granted that every man of uswill make for a tree-top. Long grass--_bonsor_ if we can avoidtreading it too much. Farm buildings--very doubtful. We'll carry onfor another ten minutes, and keep one eye skinned for a suitableshow."

  Before they had covered another hundred yards the two men found thatfurther progress was impeded by a broad canal. To the right thewaterway was clear and uninterrupted, as far as the now-thic
keningmist permitted. To the left was a string of barges; beyond, loomingfaintly through the air, the outlines of a house and the uprights ofa swing bridge.

  "Lock-keeper's cottage," declared Peter. "There's a light burning.Friend Hans is evidently entertaining the bargees and ignores KaiserBill's lighting restrictions. We'll scout round and then take theliberty of crossing the lock bridge."

  "One moment," remonstrated his brother. "Cover's what we are lookingfor. We aren't out to run up against a Boche lock-keeper. Can't wehide in one of these boats?"

  Peter glanced doubtfully at the idle barges. There were four in astring, their bows pointing westwards. When the journey was resumedthe coaly flotilla would be proceeding nearer the German-Dutchfrontier--perhaps to Holland itself, as almost every ton of coalimported into that country, since the tightening of the blockade,came from the Westphalian pits and was exchanged for badly-wantedfoodstuffs.

  "Sit tight a minute," he said. "I'll have a look round."

  Cautiously the elder Carr stepped from the bank upon the deck of theforemost barge. Even then his boots grated loudly upon the thickdeposit of coal dust upon the grimy planks.

  For some seconds he stood still, his ears strained to detect thefirst sounds of a disturbed sleeper. Reassured, Peter crept aft,where a slightly raised deck formed the roof of a small cuddy orcabin. The sliding hatch was closed, and secured on the outside by apadlock.

  "It's pretty evident that the place is deserted," he decided,"unless Hans has locked Gretchen up inside while he clears out tosee his pals. I wonder if there's a cuddy-hole in the other end ofthe 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! Hepaused and surveyed the mound of coal glistening in the mistystarlight. "I wonder--yes there was an old barrel on the bank; thatwill do."

  Seized by an inspiration, Peter joined his brother.

  "Look slippy!" he exclaimed. "We'll hide under the coal. We'll haveto throw some of it overboard first, and get this old barrel to formour trench props."

  Silently the two men boarded the barge. At the after end of thecargo space, the roaming of the raised deck projected slightly. Herethey set to work to remove a portion of the coal. Unless the stuffwas unloaded there was little chance of discovery, since the bargeecould not see the spot from where he stood to steer.

  Working quietly and silently the New Zealanders removed a sufficientnumber of lumps of coal, and dropped them into the water withoutmaking a splash. In a very short time a hollow six or seven feet inlength and three in breadth was excavated. The barrel staves, setslantwise 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 sameas the original one.

  By the time they had completed their task dawn was breaking. Thevivid crimson shafts of light and the rosy tints just above thehorizon betokened the approach of bad weather.

  "Spotted, by Jove!" ejaculated Malcolm, pointing towards the tallreeds 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 theheads and shoulders of two men.

  "Swim for it!" he exclaimed; but, as the Carrs ran to the side ofthe barge, with the intention of taking a header into the canal, avoice was heard calling:

  "Not so much of a blinkin' 'urry, Diggers!"

  "IT'S SPUD MURPHY AND JOE JENNINGS!"]