When he recovered consciousness Malcolm Carr found himself lying on a bundle of straw in an advance dressing-station. He was puzzled greatly. He could not imagine how he came there, or why he should be there at all. He had no recollection of being lifted by the blast of a shell. Somehow things didn't seem quite right.
Gradually the chain of events during the last few hours connected itself. He remembered the stand of C Company; being sent off by the platoon-commander with an urgent message; blundering into the hostile lines; being made prisoner and attempting to escape.
"And now I've got a buckshie," he decided. "Wonder where I am?"
He raised his head and looked around. The effort sent a throbbing pain from the base of his neck to his spine. He felt bruised all over, while his left arm was tightly bandaged from elbow to wrist. A strange, almost uncanny silence seemed everywhere, and yet the place was teeming with activity.
The dressing-station was in the open. The ground was crowded with bundles of straw and stretchers, each occupied by a helpless human being. More stretchers were constantly arriving with their ghastly burdens. Men slightly wounded were staggering in, covered with dust, and looking utterly dejected. Not one had a smile upon his face.
Malcolm had seen an advance dressing-station more than once, where casualties were arriving after a stiff engagement. Then he had been struck by the cheerfulness shown by most of the men. Even the badly wounded were elated, for the day had gone well, and they were happy in the knowledge that the stiff task imposed upon them had been brilliantly accomplished. But things seemed different here.
In front of a partly demolished barn, over which was flying a Geneva Cross flag, covered ambulance motors were being filled up with wounded, who, their injuries attended to, were being dispatched to the base hospital. To Malcolm's bewilderment, the powerful motors started in absolute silence, while the heavy wheels made no sound as they jolted over thepavé.
Gradually the sensation of dizziness diminished, and it dawned upon Malcolm that he was still a prisoner. Everywhere the field-grey uniforms were conspicuous, but even that discovery did not explain the deep silence.
Making another effort, the rifleman sat up. The blanket that covered him had slipped off. From the waist upwards he was destitute of clothing. His skin was as yellow as that of a Chinese.
On the straw to his right was a Hun whose right leg had been badly injured. The man was trying to attract Malcolm's attention, but although his lips were moving no words fell upon the lad's ears.
In vain the New Zealander tried to reply. If he spoke he was unaware of it. The sound of his own voice was absent. He was deaf and dumb.
When Malcolm was thrown by the concussion of the bursting shell, he alighted in the trench he had left, unconscious, his uniform partly torn off, and his face and body dyed with the yellow fumes. In this state he lay insensible for several hours. When the bombardment cleared, the threatened infantry assault did not materialize. It was not intended that it should, the object of the artillery activity being to keep the Germans pinned to that section of their defences while other operations were being carried out in another part of the line. So, when the guns died down to a desultory shelling, the Huns set to work to clear up the badly-damaged trenches.
While the wounded were being removed, a couple of Prussian Poles, who were employed as ambulance-men, placed Malcolm on a stretcher, and threw a discarded greatcoat over his legs, not realizing that he was an enemy, since the remnants of his khaki uniform were indistinguishable from the field-grey after they had been "chromed" by the fumes of bursting shells. Otherwise it is doubtful whether the stretcher-bearers would have removed a wounded enemy. Without the discovery being made, the New Zealander was taken to the German advance dressing-station, and his injuries dressed, and thus he found himself wounded and a prisoner.
It was later in the evening when Malcolm was taken by motor-ambulance to a railway station twenty miles behind the lines. With him were about twenty Prussians, Saxons, and Würtemburgers, whose demeanour was one of extreme dejection. Their wounds, although serious, were not of a nature to debar them from further military service. They realized that they were going to be patched up in order to be again sent to the front, more than likely to the terrible Ypres district. Now that they were wounded they bemoaned the fact that their injuries were not greater, and envied those of their comrades who were permanently disabled and unfit for further service in the field.
"Wonder what Fortescue would say if he saw me in these togs?" thought Malcolm as he surveyed the German greatcoat and trousers with which he was provided on arriving at the station. "And Selwyn? 'Not too much of that, Digger'--that's what he'd chuck at me. I shouldn't be surprised if the Huns take me for one of themselves."
Which was exactly what they were doing.
For two hours the ever-increasing throng of wounded waited in the station. Momentarily men dropped, to be left to the rough-and-ready attentions of their comrades. The few doctors and their assistants, utterly fatigued by reason of the long and continual strain, were almost useless as far as their duties were concerned. Once again the German machine of thoroughness and precision had broken down.
At last a hospital train drew up just outside the station. To Malcolm's surprise the Red Cross carriages disgorged a battalion of fully-equipped troops. Fearing attacks from British airmen, the German High Command had given orders that, as far as possible, troops were to be moved toward the Front in hospital trains, while, to bring up additional machine-guns with the least danger and delay, the motor-ambulances, still displaying the symbol that all unkultured nations respect, were employed to their utmost capacity.
The train then ran into the station, and the entrainment of the wounded commenced. Beyond the red cross on the sides and tops of the carriages there was nothing to distinguish the train from any other. Marshalled in military formation, the "walking cases" boarded the carriages, which were similar to the fourth-class compartments of the German State Railways--hard wooden seats not excepted.
Of the next twelve hours Malcolm had no clear recollection. Frequent stoppages were the only respite to the otherwise incessant jolting. At one station very inferior bread and watery soup were served out. Beyond that the wretched "cannon-fodder" went hungry until the train drew up at a large town that Malcolm afterwards knew to be Frankfort.
Here the conditions in hospital were passable, although food was poor and meagre; but Rifleman Carr made progress, and in less than a week he had recovered from the effect of his wounds except for his speech and hearing.
Several times doctors and nurses wrote questions for him to answer, but, not understanding German, he could only shake his head. Taken for a Saxon suffering from shell-shock, he was afterwards left severely alone as far as conversation was concerned.
One morning an orderly went round the ward distributing postcards to enable the patients to write to their relations and friends.
"Wonder if I can get a letter through to New Zealand?" thought Malcolm. "I'll have a cut at it anyhow."
Greatly to the curiosity of an observant nurse, the lad obtained a postcard, and wrote to his father, signing himself "R/m 99,109, Malcolm Carr, N.Z.R.B., prisoner of war."
The nurse, puzzled that the patient could write and yet be unable to read, called a doctor's attention to the fact, and Malcolm's postcard was kept back for examination.
Within five minutes the hospital ward was in a state of uproar, for the discovery had been made that an enemy was enjoying the same treatment and attention as a good German. After being subjected to a searching and protracted examination, the questions being written in English, Malcolm was summarily "fired out" to an unknown destination.
Escorted by two Landsturmers, and garbed in very motley attire, the New Zealander was marched through the streets to the railway station, and after a six-hour journey the train stopped at a small station that, from the name on theFahrkartenausgabe, was called Düren. In what part of Germany Düren was situated Malcolm had not the faintest idea. He had yet to learn that it was a small town in Rhenish Prussia roughly midway between Aix-la-Chapelle and Cologne.
The prisoner kept his eyes open during his progress through the narrow streets. Everywhere were signs of industrial activity. The workshops were disgorging their occupants--old men, women, and children, whose emaciated features contrasted vividly with those of the prosperous munition-workers in Great Britain. At the outskirts of the town was a large, newly-erected factory, from which Gotha machines, their wings folded for transit, were being taken away in large motor-lorries, while sandwiched between the building and the outskirts of the town proper was a large barbed-wire compound within which were rows of wooden huts.
This was Malcolm's prison camp. So great was the Huns' fear of air raids over the industrial towns of the Rhine valley that several of the larger places of detention for prisoners of war had been broken up, and the men sent to numerous small camps in close proximity to towns within the radius of hostile airmen.
"This will be a tight hole to squeeze through," soliloquized the new arrival, as he noted the elaborate precautions taken against any attempt on the part of the prisoners to escape. The double gateway was strongly guarded by armed troops, assisted by a particularly ferocious-looking type of dog. Between the outer and inner rectangular fences, a distance of fifty feet, more guards kept vigilant watch; while at frequent intervals tall look-out boxes had been erected to enable the sentries to keep the whole of the camp under observation. Both fences were made of barbed wire, supported by massive posts, and so Criss-crossed that even a cat would have had considerable difficulty in creeping through without injury from the sharp spikes.
Having handed over their charge, the two Landsturmers were given a receipt for the delivery of the prisoner, and then dismissed.
Malcolm's latest jailers were four stolid-looking Prussians, who, badly wounded in Flanders, had been retained as guards at the camp. By them the New Zealander was conducted to a building just within the second or inner gate. Here he was registered and given a number, and afterwards subjected to perfunctory examination by a doctor, who, finding that the prisoner exhibited no trace of infection or contagious disease, passed him as a fit inmate of the camp. In an adjoining room he was given a large sack and a filthy horse-cloth. The former, when filled with straw, was to serve as a bed; the latter was his one and only blanket. A printed list, in English, of the numerous rules and regulations was then handed to him, and the initiation ceremony of the new member of the Düren Prison Camp was completed.
Escorted by an armed orderly, Malcolm was taken down the broad central road. A few prisoners in khaki rigs were standing disconsolately at the doors of the huts. Most of them shouted a rough but well-meaning greeting to the new arrival, to which Malcolm, understanding the purport of the unheard words, replied by a wave of his hand. In vain Rifleman Carr looked for a New Zealand uniform: these were mostly Tommies and Jocks, a sprinkling of Canadians, and two West Indians; Anzacs seemed to be unrepresented in the motley throng of captives.
Presently Malcolm's escort halted, pointed to one of the numbers on the prisoner's card, and then to a corresponding number on the door of a hut. It was an intimation to the effect that, during the pleasure of the All Highest, Rifleman Carr was to be his guest in hut No. 7 of the Düren Detention Camp.
"What's the latest, chum?" enquired a Tommy as Malcolm entered. "Blow me if 'e ain't barmy!"
"Rot!" ejaculated another. "He's deaf. What's his regiment, I wonder? Come on, chaps, let's make the poor beggar comfortable."
"A jolly hard thing to do in this rotten hole," added a third. "Who's got a pencil?"
A stump was presently forthcoming, and, writing upon a piece of brown paper, the last speaker, a sergeant of an English line regiment, contrived to get in touch with the new arrival.
"He's a New Zealander," he announced to his companions. "Isn't there one of their chaps in No. 4? I'll give him the tip."
So saying, the good-natured non-com. left the hut, to return with a tall, bearded man, whose uniform was sufficiently intact to indicate that he belonged to the New Zealand Rifle Brigade. Even his hat was tolerably well preserved, even to the encircling red cord.
For a few minutes the two men from "Down Under" stood facing each other, astonishment and incredulity written in their faces. Then, with a loud bang, something seemed to give way in Malcolm's ears. With a vehemence that surprised himself, Malcolm Carr almost shouted the name of "Peter!"
The next instant the brothers were shaking hands and rapping out questions, to the surprise of the other occupants of the hut, who had suspicions that they were the victims of a practical joke.
"I don't know that it's so very remarkable after all," declared the Sergeant. "Plenty of fellows, deaf and dumb through concussion, have recovered speech and hearing by a shock of some sort. My word, those Diggers can talk!"
He crossed the room to where the brothers were exchanging experiences.
"Look here," he said. "I'm in charge of this hut, and my pal Jeffson is responsible for No. 4. After roll-call I'll arrange for you (indicating Malcolm) to doss in No. 4, and get another man from there to take your place here. Only, if you don't want to get me into a regular row with the camp commandant, take care to slip back before morning roll-call."
Peter Carr's greatest concern was the fact that he had never received a letter or parcel from New Zealand. He had written several times, but Malcolm was able to inform him that, up to a comparatively recent date, their father had not heard anything about Peter beyond the official statement that he was wounded and missing.
"I say," remarked the elder Carr in the course of the evening, "we'll have to make a change--a shift round. I've a Canuk for my linked man."
"Linked man?" echoed Malcolm. "What's that?"
"We're expecting and hoping for a raid," explained Peter. "Only three nights ago we heard bombs dropping on Julich, which is but a few miles away. So if some of our airmen do make a stunt, we'll take our chances of being blown up and make a dash for liberty. Since it would be madness for the whole crush to keep together, we've arranged to separate, if we do get clear, and work in pairs. Everything's all cut and dry, and we are told off in twos; but I'll push the Canadian on to the previous odd man out, and we'll stick together."
It was long after midnight when the reunited brothers ended their conversation. Nor did sleep follow quickly as far as Malcolm was concerned. It was not the constant clatter of machinery and the rasping of dozens of circular saws in the adjoining factories that kept him awake, but the excitement of the day, culminating in the discovery of his elder brother, whom he had regarded as dead for months past.
Early next morning the prisoners were served with a meagre and ill-nourishing meal, consisting of turnip soup and a dirty-coloured liquid that was supposed to be coffee. This was supplemented by food sent from home, the men putting the edible contents of all their parcels into a common stock. At six they were told off in gangs for work either on the roads or in the fields. The Huns had tried hard to compel them to labour in the mines, but such was the indomitable spirit of the luckless sons of the British Empire that the attempt ended in failure.
Malcolm was fairly fortunate in being in the same party as his brother, their work being to construct new roads in the vicinity of the large aircraft factory. The prisoners were too well guarded to have the faintest chance of escape. Even those in the open fields were careful to keep together; any man straying more than twenty yards from the rest of the party being liable to be shot by the numerous armed guards.
"All in good time, Malcolm," remarked his brother, when discussing the subject of escape. "It's not much use having a few minutes' liberty and then being done in. Two of the boys tried the game a short time ago; both were back within half an hour. One had to be carried in with a gunshot wound in both legs and a bullet through his neck. The other lost a couple of fingers, and was badly bitten by the watch-dogs. That sort of thing cools a fellow down a bit; but when we get a fair chance----!"
Days ran into weeks, weeks into months, but the expected agent of deliverance was not forthcoming. The men had made their plans. Food of a nature that would not deteriorate by keeping had been laid by at the cost of great self-sacrifice. A map, cut from a pre-war Baedeker, had been passed from hand to hand, in order to give the men a fair idea of their whereabouts.
One night the men were for the most part asleep on their straw mattresses, dog-tired with their labours, when the hitherto constant whirr of machinery stopped. Accustomed to the clang and clatter, the sleepers were aroused by the unusual silence. The hut was in darkness, for lights were luxuries denied the prisoners.
"What's up?" enquired one of the men, as a steam whistle began to send out a succession of high and low blasts.
"Time you were, chum!" replied Peter. "Out of it, boys, and get your gear! Now's our chance!"
Deftly and quickly the men dressed in the darkness. Much practice enabled them to don their scanty clothing and badly-worn foot-gear.
"Fritz has got the wind up properly this time," declared the Sergeant, as the sound of scurrying feet and cries and shouts of alarm rose on the still air. "Work's knocked off for the rest of the night, I reckon, even if our airmen don't pay Düren a visit."
He went to the door and peered cautiously down the roadway. Between the wire fences the watchdogs were barking furiously, adding to the din as the workers poured from the factories and rushed to their homes.
"The Boches are still on guard," he reported, "an' the dogs; but ain'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 the chartered funny man's question. "Hope they won't give the show a miss after all. All ready, you chaps?"
In the town the uproar was subsiding. The siren had ceased its two-pitched wail. The last of the powerful engines had stopped its belated 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 the rumble of heavily-laden trains could be heard, but still no sound of approaching British aircraft.
A quarter of an hour passed in almost utter silence. The prisoners, assailed alternately by hopes and fears, strained their ears to catch the first faint purr of the aerial machines.
"By Jove, they're at it!" exclaimed one as a couple of vivid flashes, followed after a short interval by three in quick succession, lit up the south-western horizon.
"Shut up!" snapped the Sergeant, the while counting his pulse-beats between the first flash and the first report.
"Boom, boom--boom, boom, boom!"
The hollow, reverberating sound of five reports fell upon the listeners' ears.
"Ten miles off," declared the non-com., as calmly as if giving the range of a howitzer. "Good!"
Another flash, followed at a shorter interval by the crash of the exploding bomb told unmistakably that the raiders were approaching. The men felt like cheering. Even the prospect of being strafed by a British bomb did not cause them the slightest concern. In their blind faith they regarded a bomb as the key to unlock their prison doors.
Very faintly at first, then steadily increasing in volume, came the hum of many British aircraft.
"No Gothas this time!" exclaimed Peter, who, like the rest of the men, 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 a low altitude that made the airmen more certain of hitting their objectives, were eleven biplanes standing out sharply against the star-lit sky.
"Crash! crash!! crash!!!"
Away on the left a battery of antis., the guns mounted on motor-lorries, opened a furious fire upon the rapidly-moving airmen. The air was thick with bursting shells, the flashes of which threw a lurid light upon the ground. The gunners were only a hundred yards or 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 on their own thick skulls. Now, Malcolm, stand by. Hurrah, there go the white-livered Landsturmers!"
Which was a fact. Panic-stricken, the grey-bearded and bald-headed guards deserted their posts and bolted precipitately, as if by running they could outstrip a squadron of biplanes moving at a hundred miles an hour. The dogs, too, had changed their tune--instead of barking they were whining dolefully.
Right overhead the leading aircraft of the V formation seemed to swoop. The Huns, as Peter Carr had predicted, had ceased fire, and were tearing away to take up a fresh position whence they could serve their guns without fear of the earth-returning shrapnel peppering their gunners.
An ear-splitting roar announced that the strafing of Düren had commenced. A powerful bomb had landed fairly in the centre of the principal factory, blowing out the walls and sending showers of bricks, 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 of smoke were rising up from the disintegrated buildings, while the din was indescribably awful.
"Now's our time!" roared the Sergeant. "No. 2 hut's empty. Good luck, chaps!"
Into the open the men ran, not away from the adjoining and badly-shattered factory but towards it. As they expected, some of the bombs had fallen wide of the building and had blown gaps in the double fence.
"Keep together, Malcolm," shouted Peter.
"You bet," replied his brother.
Unmolested, the crowd of prisoners slid boldly into the deep crater formed by the explosion of one of the missiles and scrambled up the other side. Almost before they were aware of it they had passed what had been lines of unclimbable fence. They were free men--but for how long?
Across the deserted main road and into the open country beyond, the fugitives ran, none to say them nay. Then, according to previous plans, 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 circling over their objectives. Since they had flown such a long distance they were determined to do the job thoroughly. "Tip-and-run tactics" had no supporters in the British Air Service. "Make sure of your target, even if you have to sit on it," was one of the maxims of the daring pilots belonging to a breed that produces the best airmen in the world, bar none.
Alternately running and walking briskly, the two Carrs covered a distance of about three miles without any attempt at caution. They were confident that no Hun was abroad that night within miles of the scene 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 hailing distance, were other fugitives, but for all the sound they made they might 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 in handy."
Beyond that, no words were exchanged for the best part of an hour. Moving more cautiously, the twain set their faces resolutely towards the west and liberty.
Both brothers had had plenty of experience of night journeys in far-off New Zealand, but, in place of the Southern Cross, they now had the less-familiar Great Bear and the North Star to guide them.
Frequently they had to make detours in order to avoid isolated farm-houses. Once a considerable distance had to be traversed in order to pass a large village. The place was so shrouded in darkness that the fugitives were within a hundred yards of the nearmost house before they discovered the fact; for, although the sky was clear, a light ground-mist of ever-varying density made observation a matter of difficulty.
"It will be dawn in half an hour," remarked Malcolm.
"Yes, worse luck!" rejoined his brother. "We'll have to find somewhere to hide. That's the worst of these short nights. I wanted to cover a good thirty miles before daybreak, but it's doubtful whether we've done twenty. The question is, where can we hide?"
"Those trees," suggested Malcolm, pointing to a cluster of heavily-foliaged oaks.
"Not much. The Boches will make a mark on every tree within fifty miles of Düren. They'll take it for granted that every man of us will make for a tree-top. Long grass--bonsorif we can avoid treading it too much. Farm buildings--very doubtful. We'll carry on for another ten minutes, and keep one eye skinned for a suitable show."
Before they had covered another hundred yards the two men found that further progress was impeded by a broad canal. To the right the waterway was clear and uninterrupted, as far as the now-thickening mist permitted. To the left was a string of barges; beyond, looming faintly through the air, the outlines of a house and the uprights of a swing bridge.
"Lock-keeper's cottage," declared Peter. "There's a light burning. Friend Hans is evidently entertaining the bargees and ignores Kaiser Bill's lighting restrictions. We'll scout round and then take the liberty of crossing the lock bridge."
"One moment," remonstrated his brother. "Cover's what we are looking for. We aren't out to run up against a Boche lock-keeper. Can't we hide in one of these boats?"
Peter glanced doubtfully at the idle barges. There were four in a string, their bows pointing westwards. When the journey was resumed the coaly flotilla would be proceeding nearer the German-Dutch frontier--perhaps to Holland itself, as almost every ton of coal imported into that country, since the tightening of the blockade, came from the Westphalian pits and was exchanged for badly-wanted foodstuffs.
"Sit tight a minute," he said. "I'll have a look round."
Cautiously the elder Carr stepped from the bank upon the deck of the foremost barge. Even then his boots grated loudly upon the thick deposit of coal dust upon the grimy planks.
For some seconds he stood still, his ears strained to detect the first sounds of a disturbed sleeper. Reassured, Peter crept aft, where a slightly raised deck formed the roof of a small cuddy or cabin. The sliding hatch was closed, and secured on the outside by a padlock.
"It's pretty evident that the place is deserted," he decided, "unless Hans has locked Gretchen up inside while he clears out to see his pals. I wonder if there's a cuddy-hole in the other end of the 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! He paused and surveyed the mound of coal glistening in the misty starlight. "I wonder--yes there was an old barrel on the bank; that will do."
Seized by an inspiration, Peter joined his brother.
"Look slippy!" he exclaimed. "We'll hide under the coal. We'll have to throw some of it overboard first, and get this old barrel to form our trench props."
Silently the two men boarded the barge. At the after end of the cargo space, the roaming of the raised deck projected slightly. Here they set to work to remove a portion of the coal. Unless the stuff was unloaded there was little chance of discovery, since the bargee could not see the spot from where he stood to steer.
Working quietly and silently the New Zealanders removed a sufficient number of lumps of coal, and dropped them into the water without making a splash. In a very short time a hollow six or seven feet in length and three in breadth was excavated. The barrel staves, set slantwise 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 same as the original one.
By the time they had completed their task dawn was breaking. The vivid crimson shafts of light and the rosy tints just above the horizon betokened the approach of bad weather.
"Spotted, by Jove!" ejaculated Malcolm, pointing towards the tall reeds 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 the heads and shoulders of two men.
"Swim for it!" he exclaimed; but, as the Carrs ran to the side of the barge, with the intention of taking a header into the canal, a voice was heard calling:
"Not so much of a blinkin' 'urry, Diggers!"
Map
Map
[Illustration: "IT'S SPUD MURPHY AND JOE JENNINGS!"]
[Illustration: "IT'S SPUD MURPHY AND JOE JENNINGS!"]
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.