CHAPTER XXIII.
THE STRUGGLE IN THE CUTTING.
Possibly no one was more astonished than Terence to find himself a full-blown lieutenant. Yet it was a fact and a pleasant surprise, especially when he had misgivings as to the unorthodox method of destroying the hostile submarine.
Promotion, he knew, meant an appointment to another ship. That was the fly in the ointment, for in spite of certain discomforts that life on a destroyer brings in its train, he had become thoroughly attached to the "Livingstone."
He had hopes that his old skipper, Captain Holloway, late of the "Terrier," might use his influence in getting him appointed to the "Bombard"—a modern light-cruiser which Captain Holloway had recently commissioned, and which, according to well-founded rumours, was to proceed to the Mediterranean to take part in the operations against the Dardanelles.
It was therefore with mixed feelings that Terence found himself appointed to his old ship, the armed merchantman "Strongbow," which, having completed her extensive repairs and refit at Aberdeen, was to be recommissioned, as far as practicable, with her former officers and crew.
The newly-appointed lieutenant was sorry, since it meant being relegated to the somewhat monotonous, although necessary task of patrolling, instead of having a chance to smell powder on one of the fighting ships. Unless an unforeseen incident occurred, the possibilities of quitting the patrol service seemed very remote. The number of hostile mines in the North Sea had been steadily reduced by systematic sweeping while the German pirate submarines seemed to give the northern area of the North Sea a wide berth—possibly owing to the fact that there was more scope for the despicable energies in the Channel and in the vicinity of the great mercantile ports. Thus the element of risk that prevailed in the earlier stages of the war had been considerably diminished; henceforth, according to Aubyn's opinion, patrol work would be one long round of cruising, examining neutral vessels, and, perhaps, making a few isolated captures of ships carrying suspected contraband.
Yet it was his duty, and he accepted it in the spirit of a true British seaman: he had to obey orders even if they entailed work of a cheerless and uneventful character.
On the other hand, Terence was pleased at the thought of having to meet his former comrades. Nor would the severe climatic conditions be so intense. The days were longer and the nights correspondingly shorter, and although the temperature was low and the Equinoctial gales about due, the fact that spring was rapidly approaching was in itself sufficient compensation for the passing rigours of patrol work in the North Sea.
The lieutenant had two clear days before rejoining the "Strongbow," which had left Aberdeen and put into Leith to replenish magazines and bunkers. Owing to the dislocation of the train service through the moving of large numbers of troops from the North to Salisbury Plain, Terence knew that it would be unwise to delay his journey. He therefore decided to proceed straight to Edinburgh, put up for the night, and go on to Leith on the following morning.
Arriving in London he seized the chance of visiting a theatre in company with some friends, knowing that it might be months before a similar opportunity occurred again; then, having had supper, he caught the night mail train to the north.
There were comparatively few passengers. The lieutenant, finding that he had a first-class carriage to himself, thought it best to spend the tedious journey by snatching a few hours' sleep.
Accustomed to slumber under awkward conditions he was soon lost in oblivion. How long he slept he had no idea. Suddenly he was awakened by the hurried application of the brakes. The train slowed down so quickly that the alteration of momentum wellnigh threw him off the seat. He glanced at his watch. It was ten minutes past two. Under ordinary circumstances the journey was a non-stop one, the mails being dropped or taken up by means of nets while the train was in motion.
Curiosity prompted Terence to open the window and look out. It was a pitch dark night. Rain was falling in a steady drizzle. The lamps in the carriages had been screened by drawing the blinds, as a precaution against hostile air-raids, but in many cases the passengers had rushed to the windows. Thus the glare of the lamps showed the lieutenant that the train had come to a standstill in a rocky cutting.
"Rotten night," commented Aubyn to himself.
He looked along the line. The signals were not set at danger, for a hundred yards ahead of the engine a bright green light gleamed through the mirk.
"What's up, guard?" asked Terence, as that official, followed by two or three passengers, walked briskly along the permanent way. Already he had gone to the front part of the train to confer with the driver, and was now on his way back.
"Man killed or something," replied the guard vaguely. "A soldier stopped the train—one of them chaps guarding the tunnel. You're not a doctor, by any chance, sir? We had half a dozen ships' doctors in the train last night."
"I am not," replied Terence. "But I'll go with you, in case I can be of any use."
Buttoning his great-coat up to his chin and pulling the peak of his cap well over his eyes, the lieutenant descended and joined the little band of volunteer helpers.
The rear end of the train was only just clear of the tunnel, so promptly had the driver brought the engine to a standstill. Lying by the side of the rail was a motionless figure in khaki, while standing by him and still grasping his rifle and bayonet was another soldier.
"No doctor, my man," declared the guard. "I've inquired of every carriage. How did it happen? We didn't run over your mate, did we?"
"No," replied the Tommy, an elderly National Reservist. He was shaking like a leaf. "No, it was that goods train. Cut his foot off as clean as a bloomin' whistle. But that ain't the point. Poor old Bill was put across the metals, only the bloke didn't do the job properly."
"What?" exclaimed the guard incredulously.
"Truth—honest truth—an' my eyesight ain't at fault, even though it's a beastly dark night. Bill was standin' easy over there. I was about here. S'elp me, as true as I'm a-standin' here, I saw a bloke spring upon my chum and push him across the line. Afore I could up with my rifle the train comes tearing along. When it had gone it was too late. The bloke had done a bunk. And," he added reminiscently, "Bill was a right good sort. Never had a grudge against nobody, so it licks me why the fellow wanted to out him."
Meanwhile, Terence had been paying attention to the unfortunate sentry. The man was dead. His left foot had been severed at the ankle. That in itself would hardly be sufficient to cause death.
"Turn your light this way, guard," said Aubyn, as he began to unbuckle the man's ammunition pouches and to unbutton his coat. A thin streak of blood upon the victim's shirt told its own tale. He had been shot—evidently by a small yet powerful pistol at close range, for the great-coat and buff straps were pitted with the grains of powder.
"Did you hear a shot fired?" demanded Terence.
"No, sir," replied the Tommy. The suggestion of a shot being fired aroused a new train of ideas in his mind. "No, sir; see, his rifle hasn't been discharged."
"I mean, did you hear a shot being fired at him?"
The sentry shook his head.
"The man's been murdered by a pistol shot, right enough," declared Terence. "Either the noise of the train deadened the report, or else the murderer muffled the weapon in a cloth. The best thing you can do, guard, is to take the poor fellow's body on to the next station."
"An my relief ain't due for another hour and a quarter!" gasped the remaining sentry. He had been completely unnerved at the sight of his chum being foully done to death.
"All right, my man," said Terence, "I'll stop with you. I suppose I can get to Edinburgh by another train, guard?"
"Yes, sir," replied that official. "Next station's only a matter of three or four miles. But you won't be lonely. There's half a dozen troop trains on the up-line within the next three hours. I'll take the corpse, sir, if these gents'll bear a hand. 'Tain't the first poor chap that's been done in like this: not by a long way. Good-night, sir, and good luck."
Presently the mail train resumed its journey. The sentry, nervously fingering his rifle, seemed grateful to the young officer, but at the same time he regarded him with a certain amount of suspicion. Perhaps his naval uniform was a disguise. He might be an accomplice of the man who had murdered his chum. Troop trains? That started a fresh chain of surmises. This dastardly act might be that of a spy, intent upon damaging the tunnel and wrecking the crowded trains.
"Look here, my man," said the lieutenant, "are you game to going and standing where your chum was posted?"
"What for, sir?" asked the soldier, with obvious reluctance at the suggestion.
"Oh, never mind. I'll go. You remain here. If you see or hear anything suspicious, don't hesitate—shoot. You're a fairly good shot, I hope?"
"Don't know about that, sir; I feel all of a tremble."
"Then fire anywhere, as long as you don't wing me. I want you to prop yourself between these two rocks and keep as quiet as you possibly can. Don't let yourself be seen. I'll take your chum's rifle. If you hear me fire, hop across the line as sharp as you can, with your bayonet at the charge. Buck up, man, and keep your nerves."
Having seen the sentry take up the position indicated—in a niche formed by two large boulders in the side of the cutting—Terence secured the rifle and bayonet of the dead man. The rifle was a magazineless '303, with Martini action, similar to those issued to troops engaged in home defence.
Donning the pouches of the unfortunate sentry, the lieutenant took out a cartridge, inserted it into the breech and closed the breech-block. Then, having ascertained by touch that the back-sight was down, he crossed the line and commenced to walk the murdered sentry's beat.
In the darkness his naval cap and great-coat were not to be distinguished from those of the man he was impersonating. He felt certain that should the crime have been committed by a German agent, the reason was the destruction of the tunnel. When the mail train stopped, the miscreant would certainly betake himself to a safe distance; but with his work uncompleted, he would almost certainly return. He had marked the time when the two sentries were posted he knew when their reliefs were expected. Before that time he must render the second sentry incapable of raising an alarm and then proceed with the blocking of the line.
In his operations the spy had made one serious blunder. He had shot the sentry, as had been surmised, and had thrown his body on the line in front of the goods train, so that it would be taken for granted that the luckless man had been knocked down while incautiously walking his beat. But instead of the train mangling the victim's body and thus destroying all traces of the fatal shot, the wheels had only severed one of the unfortunate man's feet.
For half an hour Terence maintained his sentry-go. The rain was now falling heavily. His great-coat felt as weighty as lead. The moisture dropped from the peak of his cap and filled the palm of his left hand as he held the butt of his rifle.
The sub.'s nerves were in splendid condition. The hand that held the rifle was as steady as a rock. With eyes and ears strained he paced to and fro, prepared at the least sound to face about, bring his rifle to the ready and fire.
From a strategic point of view his position was an unsound one. By the remaining sentry's description the miscreant must have retired from the scene of action not by running into the tunnel but by scaling the fairly accessible wall of rock. Consequently the anticipated attack would be from that direction, and Terence was liable to be fired at from a height of from ten to fifty feet above his head.
Presently a dull but increasing rumble greeted his ears. It was a local down-train, which had just entered the far end of the tunnel. Instead of grounding the butt of his rifle and facing the line, as he had seen other sentries do, the lieutenant marched to the mouth of the tunnel; then, leaning his shoulder hard against the massive stone buttress, waited for the train to pass.
A vivid flame spurted from the opposite side of the cutting, followed practically simultaneously by a sharp report that outvoiced the roar of the train. The sentry, without waiting to challenge, had "let rip."
Bringing his rifle to the ready, Terence waited. He had not long to wait. Silhouetted against the gloomy rain-laden sky—for by this time Terence's eyes were used to the darkness—appeared the head, arms and shoulders of a man. In his right hand he held an automatic pistol, and was now blazing away indiscriminately, judging by the splash of flame that stabbed the night in varying directions. He seemed to be leaning over a rock in the side of the cutting with the intention, now that he had been fired upon, to get at close quarters with the sentry.
Bringing his rifle to his shoulder Terence aimed low and pressed the trigger. The fellow gave no convulsive spring; he merely toppled over and fell on the permanent way just as the train emerged, with a rush and a roar and a dense cloud of steam, from the tunnel.
Jerking the lever of his breech-block, the lieutenant inserted a fresh cartridge. He still kept close to the buttress, even after the train had passed. Experience had taught him the necessity for caution in dealing with a wily foe. Not that he feared anything from the man who had been shot. His headlong tumble down the almost precipitous side of the cutting was too realistic for a person shamming death.
The soldier, emerging from his shelter, began to cross the line. Before he was half-way across, another shot rang out from the top of the cutting. The Tommy collapsed in a heap.
Terence let him lie. His whole attention was centred upon the spot from whence the last bullet had sped. With his rifle ready to be lifted to his shoulder, Aubyn waited like a hunter stalking his prey.
He knew that he would not have to wait long. A desperate attempt was being made to destroy the tunnel—an attempt in which the lives of two or more men mattered but little provided success attended the miscreants' efforts. The firer of the last shot, he reasoned, imagined that with the murder of the first sentry, he had only one man to deal with, and now he was lying motionless on the ballast. Thinking that "the coast was clear" the desperado would presently show himself.
A hunched-up shape appeared at the top of the embankment. Some one was descending with his face towards the rock. He was progressing slowly and cautiously, making certain that he had obtained a firm foothold before he groped for a lower one. Every now and then he would turn his head and look towards the doubled-up body of the sentry, till, satisfied that there was no danger in that direction, he gave his whole attention to his descent.
Levelling his rifle, Terence took deliberate aim. He had no qualms in so doing. The fellow was a murderer and train-wrecker, and undoubtedly an agent of the German Government. The lieutenant was alone and unsupported. If he should be "done in" there would be no further obstacle between the miscreant and the success of his diabolical scheme. Besides, there might be more than two men engaged in the enterprise, which, if it matured, might mean the death of perhaps hundreds of human beings.
Terence aimed fairly in the centre of the climber's back. It afforded the best target in the darkness.
With no more compunction than if he were shooting a rat, the lieutenant pressed the trigger.
The report of the rifle was outvoiced by a loud detonation, accompanied by a vivid flash. For one moment Terence stood stock still, his eyes temporarily blinded by the sudden glare. Then he realized that his cap had gone. His face was wet, not with the chilly rain but with a warm moisture. Something had struck him on the cheek, inflicting a small cut from which the blood flowed freely.
"A pretty rumpus!" he soliloquized. "The rotter has plugged me—no, it can't be that. It's only a slight gash. I wonder if he hurled a bomb."
"Blowed to atoms, sir; that's what's happened to him—the blighter!" exclaimed a voice that seemed to come from the ground.
"I thought you were a dead man, by Jove!" exclaimed Terence bluntly, as he recognized the sentry by his voice.
"Not yet, sir," replied the man. "He put a bullet through my leg—just above the knee. It don't hurt much, but it kippered me, so I thought I'd lie low and see what happened. I'd a cartridge ready, though, in case of an accident."
"We ought to stop the next train," said Terence, as he stooped to recover his cap. "The rail might be damaged. I think that fellow had a few detonators on him, and my shot did the trick. How did you stop the train I was in?"
"Had a lantern, sir. It's somewhere along the line. But our chaps must have heard the racket, an the sergeant'll be coming along in half a tick."
"Wind the wrong way," declared Terence laconically. "I'll bandage that leg of yours and then I'll get the lantern."
The miscreant's bullet—from a small calibre high velocity pistol—had passed completely through the soldier's leg, fortunately without severing any arteries. Having attended to the wound and bidden the man sit down by the side of the bank, Aubyn set out on his search.
It was a fruitless quest. Other means had to be found to bring the troop train to a standstill.
"There's a signal a couple of hundred yards down the line, sir," announced the sentry. "It's worked from a box a long way off. Maybe, sir, you can climb up and tie this red handkerchief of mine over the green light."
Terence took the handkerchief. He knew that the plan was a useless one, since the result would be a semi-opaque gleam, as the red would neutralize the green. But the red cloth might come in handy. The matter was urgent, for the train was about due.
As he passed along the up-line his progress was checked by an enormous boulder that, dislodged by the explosion, had fallen on the permanent way and across one of the metals. Its weight was far beyond his strength to move.
Skirting the obstruction the lieutenant broke into a run, keeping up a hot pace till he reached the foot of the signal post. Already the red disc had changed to green, showing that, to the signalman's belief, the line was clear.
Terence knew that if the operating rod could be severed the signal arm would, by reason of a weighted lever, rise to the "stop" position. He tugged savagely at it, but without success. A spanner might have saved the situation, but he was without such an article.
Suddenly an idea flashed through his mind. Ascending the swaying ladder, he gained the platform just below the arm. Here he could reach the discs with comparative ease.
"Wind's right direction," he muttered. "Can't blow the light out very well, so here goes."
Unlacing and pulling off his boot, Terence made a determined onslaught upon the thick green glass. It stoutly resisted several blows, cracking at the sixth and shivering out of its frame at the two next. As the lieutenant had foreseen the now open space was away from the wind, and beyond a slight unsteadiness the lamp burned well.
Knotting the red handkerchief across the open disc, Terence descended to take a more remote view of his handiwork. The red light shone sufficiently bright to be observed at a considerable distance, but as a matter of precaution he held his rifle ready to fire into the air to attract the attention of the driver of the on-coming troop train.
"Here she comes," exclaimed Terence, as a dull rumble could be heard in the distance. Presently a cloud of flame-tinged smoke announced that the engine had rounded the curve.
Terence raised his rifle, but there was no need to fire. With a loud grinding of brakes, accompanied by showers of sparks, the train drew up, the engine coming to a standstill within eighty yards of the signal post.
"What's up now, mate?" demanded the engine-driver, as, leaning over the side of the "cab" he saw what he imagined to be one of the soldiers whom he knew to be stationed on either side of the tunnel.
"Line blocked," replied Terence. "And what's more, two men killed and another injured."
Leaving the driver to act for himself, Terence passed along the row of stationary carriages, filled with troops, who, for the most part, were singing uproariously. A few were looking out of the windows, but the pulling up of the train had aroused but little curiosity. They were already too used to being held up on sidings, even in the course of a comparatively short journey.
At the first first-class carriage he came to, Terence clambered on to the foot-board and opened the door. Within were a couple of majors, a captain and a lieutenant enjoying a hand of cards. Briefly Aubyn told them of what had occurred, and suggested that an investigation should be made of the victims while the line was being cleared.
"Good idea, by Jove!" exclaimed the senior field-officer.
Alighting, he blew a whistle. The uproar ceased as if by magic, and the men began to descend from the train. For the most part they imagined that a Zeppelin had been sighted. They treated the possibility almost with indifference, but their interest was quickly excited when they learned that an attempt had been made to derail or blow up the train.
Accompanied by several of the officers, and escorted by the driver and the guard of the train and a score of soldiers, Terence led the way. The obstruction had, fortunately, not fractured either the rail or the chairs. By the aid of plenty of willing helpers, the rock was levered back into a shallow ditch at the foot of the cutting. Then there was just room for the train to pass, for the stone was nearly ten feet in circumference.
"Here's the sentry," announced Terence, indicating the wounded soldier.
A number of men carried the luckless Tommy into one of the carriages, where he was promptly attended to by a captain of the R.A.M.C., while it was decided to detail two of the men from the troop train to mount guard until the proper reliefs arrived. Meanwhile, the wounded man could be taken to the nearest station, close to which was a hospital where he could be well looked after.
By this time there was light in plenty. Terence had no idea that a train carried so many lamps.
The next task was to look for the bodies of the two miscreants. That of the first was discovered in a ditch. He had been shot through the forehead and through the body, either wound being sufficient to cause death.
The explanation was simple: one of the wounds had been caused by the bullet from the sentry's rifle. The victim in his death agonies had convulsively gripped the trigger of his automatic pistol, and thus had caused the fusillade Terence had seen and heard. When he fired, the lieutenant's bullet had also struck the fellow, but by that time he was already a corpse.
A further search revealed a considerable cavity blown into the side of the embankment. The rocks around were scorched by the heat of the explosion, which had horribly mangled the corpse of the second conspirator, although strangely enough his features were hardly injured.
A light was flashed upon his face. Terence recognized it instantly. It was that of Major von Eckenhardt, master-spy and desperate plotter.
The rascal had met with his deserts. After his escape from Edinburgh Castle he had, according to his usual practice, laid low for a time. Then, owing to the adroit manner in which the authorities had made use of his secret wireless installation, the German Admiralty found itself landed into a very awkward situation on more than one occasion. It was not until von Eckenhardt contrived to send a secret message to his employers, explaining the reason for his failure, that the German authorities realized that they had been tricked. In reply came a message savouring of a reprimand. Von Eckenhardt ought, it said, to have taken greater precautions to prevent such eventualities. Finally the message hinted pretty broadly that an act of signal service to the Fatherland would alone atone for the blunders that the spy had made.
Von Eckenhardt was desperate. He knew that the German Secret Service had no mercy for its servants who had failed. Indeed, he wondered why he had been given another chance. By the implied tone of the communication he realized that he had to undertake a "forlorn hope." If successful, then, perhaps, he might be reinstated into favour; otherwise it would be preferable to die rather than face the penalty for failure.
Hitherto, he had been more or less a director of the spy system. With the exception, perhaps, of the part he played in attempting to wreck the "Saraband," he had kept aloof from the actual espionage work. Now, he decided he must employ his energies in a direct attack upon the resources of the British Empire.
The news of forthcoming movements on a large scale of troops from the North of England and Salisbury Plain suggested the great possibility of a striking example of German "frightfulness." He knew that the bridges and tunnels would be slenderly guarded, for the precautions adopted by the British Government at the commencement of hostilities had slackened.
Accordingly, accompanied by an accomplice who had acted the part of servant at Tuilabrail Hall, he motored to a town within a few miles of the tunnel he had selected for his nefarious designs. It was a simple matter to bluff the proprietor of their hotel, while to excuse their late hours, von Eckenhardt resolved to send a wire from a place twenty miles distant, announcing the breakdown of the car. Then, returning to within half a mile of the tunnel, the two miscreants left the car in a field and walked stealthily towards the scene of their proposed operations.
"Time I was out of this," thought Terence. He had no desire to be dragged into a long-winded coroner's inquest and the subsequent official inquiries. His evidence would not alter matters in the faintest degree. Von Eckenhardt would be identified without his help, and publicity he shrank from.
No one attempted to question the lieutenant as to his name. In the excitement such a procedure never entered the heads of the military authorities. So, without attracting the least attention, Terence walked quietly away, scaled the embankment, crossed a couple of ploughed fields and struck a roadway.
It was growing light as he entered the town. At a drinking fountain he washed the dried blood from his face, and having brushed the mud from his uniform, made his way to the railway station.
Here, exciting little attention, he obtained a ticket to York; had breakfast at the station, and boarded the next express to Edinburgh. For the time being, at least, he had evaded the consequences of having performed another duty for King and country.