No one could accuse Captain Holloway of tardiness. He had the reputation of being an alert and promising officer, and on this occasion he excelled himself. Within an hour after sunrise the landing-party from the flotilla was on its way to tackle the remnants of thePelikan'screw; for almost as soon as the raider had been swept out of existence the British senior officer was drawing up his orders that the unexpected turn of events had necessitated.
Towed by the two steamboats of theSimplicita, four cutters from theParadox,Eureka, and the seaplane parent ship set off up the river. Into the boats were packed one hundred and twenty officers and men drawn from each vessel of the little squadron. Each boat carried a quick-firer in the bows and a Maxim, in addition to stores sufficient to last a week or ten days.
The expedition was under the orders of Lieutenant-commander Bourne, while amongst the officers was Sub-lieutenant Frank Denbigh, with Armstrong in charge of stores. Much to his disgust Pat O'Hara found himself "turned down" by the Principal Medical Officer; the former's assurances that his ankle would improve with a little exercise being brushed aside by the latter, who knew perfectly well that days would elapse before the Irishman could set foot upon theCrustacean'sdeck, let alone the crowded stern-sheets of an armed cutter.
Before the boats were out of sight of the still strandedCrustaceantwo sea-planes ascended and flew swiftly inland. Without their aid the landing-party would be literally groping for their foes, since it was not known whether von Riesser and his men had taken to their boats or had set out through the mangroves towards the grass-grown hinterland.
Denbigh having more knowledge of the Mohoro River than any of the other officers—and his knowledge was limited to a stretch of less than ten miles—was navigating officer in charge of the leading steamboat.
While the other officers were sweeping the mudflat fringed banks with their glasses Denbigh directed his attention towards the turgid channel.
Presently a line of bobbing objects caught his vision. Ordering the leading stoker to ease down the engines he signalled by means of hand-flags to the steamboat astern to likewise reduce speed.
The objects that had attracted his attention were the barrels forming the boom across the river almost abreast of the wrecked torpedo-station. ThePelikan, he knew, had been moored above the obstruction. She had drifted down past them before she took fire and blew up. Unless the boom had been temporarily removed and afterwards replaced he could not understand how the raider could have descended with the ebb-tide without sweeping the line of barrels away.
"What's wrong?" enquired Bourne.
Briefly Denbigh explained.
"It would be as well if we sent a shell into one of those barrels," he added.
"Waste of good ammunition," objected the lieutenant-commander. "The steamboat can take it bows on at full speed ahead. She'll do it easily."
"That I do not doubt," replied the sub. "But I have an idea that those barricoes are filled with explosives, although we bumped into one of them when we were in a light punt."
Just then the P.O. telegraphist for wireless duties, who was ensconced in a small insulated cage on the rearmost cutter, received a message from one of the sea-planes to the effect that the Germans had been located. They had landed from the boats at a spot twenty miles above the former anchorage of thePelikanand were making their way towards the hills.
"They're funking it," declared Bourne. "Everything points to a hurried flight. They may have swung the boom back in position, but I doubt the accuracy of your mine theory."
"Very good, sir," replied Denbigh. "Then you wish the steamboat to charge the obstruction?"
"Yes, carry on," said Bourne.
Denbigh was too accustomed to discipline to demur in the face of definite orders. He prepared to cast off the tow, for the steamboat was to essay the feat alone. The two cutters were to anchor until a passage had been cleared through the obstruction.
"Well, I hope I'm wrong," thought the sub as he ordered the leading stoker to "let her rip for all she's worth."
But before the boat could gather way there was a commotion in the water ahead. A large hippo, frightened by the unusual noises that had disturbed the usually peaceful river, made off up-stream.
Swerving neither to the right hand nor the left the huge animal bore down upon the line of floating barrels. It passed between a pair of them. For a moment it seemed that he had surmounted the massive chain, until the sudden displacement of the barrels showed that its body had fouled the hidden barrier.
The hippo reared in fury and terror, bringing its whole weight down upon the chain. Instantly a line of waterspouts shot high in the air accompanied by a simultaneous discharge of half a dozen mines. The sudden strain had ignited tubes of fulminate of mercury, which in turn had exploded heavy charges of gun-cotton. Had the boat been a hundred yards nearer not one of her crew would have escaped.
In silence Denbigh brought the steamboat abreast of the first cutter and re-established communication.
The lieutenant-commander stood up, and in a steady, clear voice exclaimed:
"Well done, Mr. Denbigh! My judgment was hopelessly at fault."
"That's all right, sir," replied the sub. He knew the effort that Bourne had had to make to tender his apologies. Having given his order in the hearing of the men it was the only course open to him. And Bourne was an officer who, although somewhat impetuous, was never afraid to acknowledge an error.
With the flood-tide the flotilla made good progress. Rounding the sharp bend where theMyrahad disappeared, the boats entered a gently curving reach that apparently made a long horseshoe sweep. At this point the mangroves ceased. The ground became higher, the banks being precipitous in places, and covered with long rank grass.
"There are thePelikan'sboats," reported Denbigh, pointing to two large pinnaces lying against the banks to which they had been carried by the tide.
In answer to an enquiry the scouting sea-plane reported that further progress a mile round the next bend was barred by a series of rapids, and that the Germans had established a gain of nearly ten miles, and were approaching the bottle-neck formed by the extreme sinuosities of the river.
"Can you check them?" asked Bourne anxiously. He was not at all keen on a ten- or twenty-mile march through the rough grass. If the sea-planes could command the narrow stretch of ground between the horseshoe bend von Riesser's men might be headed off.
"We'll try," was the wirelessed reply.
Meanwhile the steamboat had cast off the tow, and the cutters still carrying way were steered towards the bank. Here, owing to the rush of the tide, there was fairly deep water close to the land, and fortunately an absence of mud.
Grounding twenty feet apart the boats disgorged their loads, the seamen leaping ashore in spite of the weight of arms and accoutrements. The Maxims, too, were landed and mounted upon light travelling carriages. The portable wireless apparatus was to accompany the landing-party, while the officers and men left behind were to land the quick-firers, since they could not command the ground from the boats owing to the height of the banks.
Bourne realized that such things as reverses do happen, so he took precautions accordingly. The men advanced in open order, with flankers thrown far and wide.
From the top of a small hillock Denbigh watched the straw hats of the men out of sight as they marched through the long grass; then, knowing that some time must necessarily elapse before the landing-party came in touch with the enemy, he busied himself in preparing for the re-embarkation, should the operations prove to be shorter than Captain Holloway had anticipated.
With the turn of the tide the boats were taken out into mid-stream and anchored. Tripping lines were bent to the crowns of the anchors, the other end of each line being made fast to a watch-buoy, so that the operation of weighing would not be delayed by the fouling of the flukes in possible snags on the bed of the river. Gang planks were prepared in order that no hitch might occur should the men return at or near dead-low water, when a stretch of ooze separated the dry ground from the river.
For two hours Denbigh directed operations under the blazing sun. His men worked like niggers, knowing that they, too, were doing their bit although not in the actual firing-line.
At intervals came the faint detonations of a series of heavy explosions. The sea-planes were at work, attempting by means of bombs to arrest the flight of von Riesser's men across the narrow neck of land.
Late in the forenoon one of the sea-planes flew overhead. Without essaying to make a landing on the river, it flew down-stream, presumably to take in a fresh supply of petrol and bombs. In an hour's time it returned, and presently its opposite number flew overhead in the direction of its parent ship.
Slowly the day wore on. At frequent intervals Denbigh climbed the hillock and brought his glasses to bear upon the distant high ground.
Once or twice he fancied he heard the sounds of musketry and Maxim firing in the sultry air. Armstrong and several of the men were of the same opinion, agreeing that the firing was desultory and not constantly maintained.
At length darkness fell. No one had seen the sea-planes returning before sunset, and in addition to the great risk of making a night landing these craft are of little practical use except in daylight.
With the approach of night Denbigh ordered double sentries to be posted, and cautioned the boat-keepers to be alert and watchful for signals. Those of the men left behind slept or rested beside the quick-firers, protected from the heavy dew by boat awnings stretched on oars and boat-hooks.
For Denbigh sleep was out of the question. Muffled in a boat-cloak, for the off-shore wind blew chilly, he paced up and down with the mate of theMyra.
"What's that over yonder?" asked Armstrong.
"Flashes—musketry," replied Denbigh. "It's strange that we cannot hear the reports, for the wind is in our favour."
"Too steady for rifle-firing," suggested the mate. "Looks to me like a bush fire."
"By Jove, I hope not," said the sub earnestly. "The grass will catch like tinder."
A minute or so passed, then Denbigh lowered his binoculars.
"You're right, Armstrong," he said. "It is a fire. Those brutes have set the grass ablaze to cover their retreat."
"Hark!" exclaimed the mate.
Overhead came the unmistakable buzzing of an aerial propeller. One of the sea-planes, if not both, was returning.
Seizing a flashing-lamp Denbigh directed it skywards. It was the only means at his disposal for communication.
"All right?" he asked.
A light blinked through the darkness.
"Dash, dot. Pause.Dash, dash, dash" it flashed; then it ceased abruptly. Nevertheless the answer was to the point. It was NO.
Before another quarter of an hour passed the long line of flames was visible to the naked eye. Fanned by the strong breeze the fire spread rapidly. It seemed as if its activity was by no means confined to the horseshoe loop formed by the river. It appeared to have obtained a grip upon the grass on the opposite bank. Once the flames attacked the mangroves there was no saying where the mischief might end.
Denbigh could do little to aid his absent comrades, who, for aught he knew, might even now be overwhelmed by the swift advance of the devouring elements. Turning out the men who remained he had the quick-firer ammunition removed to the boats. Then setting fire to the grass around the bivouac he cleared a broad belt nearly a hundred yards in diameter. At all events the main fire would be checked before the flotilla was seriously imperilled.
By the time that this work was completed the flames were within three miles of the camp. For a breadth of more than twice that distance the grass was blazing furiously. Lurid red tongues of flame licked the dark cloud of smoke that overhung the devouring elements. Already the air was reeking with pungent fumes. Grey ashes, caught by the strong wind, whirled past the anxious watchers or dashed lightly into their faces. Dark shapes, silhouetted against the red glare, tore madly from the advancing fire. They were the denizens of the grass lands flying for their lives. Undeterred by the water the panic-stricken animals plunged into the river, some of them in their terror frantically pawing the sides of the anchored boats.
"Dash it all!" muttered Denbigh. "Wish to goodness I'd cleared another hundred yards of the scrub. We'll be shrivelled up with the heat. There's still time."
Calling to his handful of men the sub ran into the open. This time, since the inner circle offered no grip to the flames, they could work without fear of the fire getting the upper hand.
In the midst of their preparations Denbigh heard a hoarse shout.
Stumbling towards him, half-enveloped in the haze that was the forerunner of the roaring furnace, were two men. One fell, picked himself up, and staggered after his companion.
Outlined as they were against the ruddy glare it was impossible to distinguish them, but as the British seamen ran forward to bear them into safety the men raised their arms appealingly.
"Help, kamarade, help!" they cried.
"Germans!" ejaculated Armstrong. "Where are our fellows?"
Denbigh could not give an answer. A glance in the direction of the wall of fire, now less than a quarter of a mile distant, told him that life was impossible in front of that barrier unless the fugitives were already in sight. But they were not The sub set his jaw tightly.
"Where are the others—and the British seamen?" he asked in German of one of the men. The other was beyond speech.
"All gone! All gone!" replied the German.
"There's another, sir!" exclaimed a petty officer.
"Come on, stick it!" shouted half a dozen lusty voices in encouragement.
The third man was evidently in the last stages of exhaustion. He was gasping for breath as he ran, but the hot acrid air was fast choking him. He flung his arms above his head and pitched upon his face, with the burning embers dropping all around him.
A cloud of eddying smoke enveloped him. Then a gust of wind cleared the pall of vapour. The wretch was writhing. His clothes were smouldering as he lay helpless in the withering grass.
With a bound Denbigh cleared the shallow trench, and bending low rushed through the smoke. Burning ashes stung his face. What air he took in through his nose felt pungent and suffocating. The heat seemed to gnaw into his eyes.
How he covered that two hundred yards he never could explain, but at length, with a feeling of relief, he turned his broad back to the advancing flames and raised the now unconscious man from the ground. With almost superhuman strength he lifted the listless body upon his shoulder and began his bid for safety.
Almost blindly he ran till his gait slowed down almost to a halting walk. Dimly he realized that he was not alone. Some of the devoted seamen had followed him into the edge of the inferno.
Someone tried to shift the burden from his shoulders. He resisted. Why he knew not. Already his senses were forsaking him.
With a crash he fell upon his knees. He was up and staggering again, until, unable to withstand the strain, he rolled inertly upon the ground with his fingers gripping his throat. Then all became a blank.
He recovered consciousness to find himself lying on a pile of canvas in the stern-sheets of one of the boats. It was broad daylight. Overhead an awning had been spread to ward off the rays of the morning sun.
Almost in an instant he recalled the incident of the night of horror. The air still smelt vilely of smouldering vegetable matter. Wisps of smoke eddied betwixt the sun and the awning, throwing fantastic shadows upon the bellying canvas. The fire, then, had practically burnt itself out.
"Any signs of the others?" he asked.
Armstrong shook his head.
"The whole place is a mass of glowing cinders," he replied. "It is impossible to see more than a quarter of a mile in that direction. I'm afraid——"
"Any more survivors?" asked Denbigh. The mere movement of his facial muscles caused him exquisite pain, for his face was scorched and blistered. His hair and eyebrows had been badly singed. Altogether he looked a pitiable scarecrow. It is only on the stage and on the cinematograph screen that heroes preserve an unruffled appearance.
"No," replied the mate. "Not one, after the fellow you brought in. Did you know who it was?"
The sub shook his head, then winced, for the action sent a thrill of anguish through his body.
"Unter-leutnant Klick," continued Armstrong in answer to his own question. "He's still unconscious. We dare not move him to the boats. His skin is literally peeling off all over his body. Shall I have you sent down the river, old man? The chief petty officer is now in charge. Is he to withdraw the rest of the boats?"
"No," replied Denbigh with sudden firmness. "No; by no means. We'll wait until we can send volunteers to find traces of our fellows. Have the sea-planes passed over yet?"
Armstrong replied in the negative.
"How are the other Germans?"
"One is practically fit. The other is suffering from shock."
"Then send the fit fellow to me, please."
The man was brought to the boat. He was one of thePelikan'sfiremen. Questioned in German he replied without hesitation. The fire had been started, he declared, not by the raider's crew, but by bombs dropped by British sea-planes. There was an action, but he and half a dozen more worked round by the two banks until they were almost cut off by the flames. He had reason to suppose that both the British and the German forces had been overwhelmed by the onrushing flames.
Throughout the afternoon Denbigh lay in torment in spite of the first-aid remedies applied by the only sick-berth attendant left with the base party. Hardly ever before had he felt the sweltering heat so acutely. The air under the awning was close and oppressive. It reeked both of the odour of the river and of the fumes of the smouldering grass. There was one compensation. The fire had effectually driven off the swarms of mosquitoes that otherwise would have increased his torments. He would have given almost anything to be back on board ship, with the sea breezes flung in through the open scuttle and the electric fans cooling the air. But stop he must until he had obtained definite information as to the fate of the landing-party.
"I doubt after all if there's much to grumble at," he soliloquized. "I might have been born to become a Tommy, and I might be stuck up to my thighs in mud and water in a trench somewhere in France. It's all part of one big business, and we're keeping our end up all right."
Then his thoughts took a turn in another direction. He was no longer a prisoner of war. In another few months he hoped to be back in England. What plans he would make to spin out that long-deferred leave! For the time being he was no longer in a vile African river, but in a pretty old-world garden in the homeland.
Suddenly his train of thought was rudely interrupted by a hoarse, almost frenzied burst of cheering. The boat-keeper, thrusting his head below the curtains to ascertain whether the sub was awake or otherwise, answered Denbigh's mute appeal.
"It's orl right, sir," he announced. "They've romped home; the whole bloomin' crush."
Following the downward course of the river was the landing-party, bringing with them forty-three German prisoners, including Kapitan von Riesser. Their own losses had been insignificant, for during the long-drawn-out action that was brought to an abrupt conclusion by the fire, one British officer and seven seamen had been slightly wounded. These were brought in by the stretcher-bearers.
The escape of the little expedition was due to their resourcefulness in fighting fire by fire. Finding that their retreat was not speedy enough to outpace the flames, Lieutenant-commander Bourne had given orders to set alight the long grass to leeward.
By this means, though suffering agonies from thirst and heat, the British and their prisoners escaped.
The career of the raider and her crew had been brought to a close, and before nightfall the boats of the flotilla had regained their respective ships.
*****
Frank Denbigh is sub-lieutenant no longer, but a full-fledged lieutenant with the letters D.S.O. tacked on to his name. He has just received his appointment to a brand-new battle-cruiser, and is about to serve with the Grand Fleet.
Pat O'Hara is still limping about on one foot somewhere in the Emerald Isle. He, too, has gained a step in rank, but rather envies his chum's good luck. Still, there is time for the light-headed Irishman to get fit again and be in at the death, when, it is to be hoped, the visions of the trident in the German fist will be shattered for good and aye.
And Stirling? In recognition of his services he is confirmed as lieutenant-commander of the monitorCrustacean. He is still looking forward to his leave in the Highlands, but meanwhile he is doing good work in a remote portion of the globe in upholding the glorious tradition of the real Mistress of the Seas.