CHAPTER XXXI
A DASH FOR FREEDOM
THE ecstasy of Xenophon's Ten Thousand at the sight of the sea could not have exceeded the sub's feelings of thankfulness at the distant view of the placid waters of the Adriatic. To him the sea called—the welcome greeting of freedom. Beyond was England, Home, and Beauty—the latter personified in the name of Winifred Greenwood. True, there was a large slice of land intervening, but what mattered that the breadth of Italy and France lay between him and England? The sea was the key to freedom.
Sylvester hardly regarded the expanse of water in the same light. For one thing he was a bad sailor, for another he had grave doubts about being able to make a passage across the huge land-locked sea without being overhauled and recaptured by an enemy craft. Personally he would have preferred hours, perhaps days, of discomfort in the Piave marshes, and take the chance of gaining the Italian lines, rather than trust himself to the mercies of wind, waves, and the enemy craft.
Acting solely off his own bat he was resolute and resourceful; but in the presence of the sublieutenant the latter's forceful personality held almost absolute sway.
"Only another five miles," declared Farrar. "We'll have to go slow. If this coast is patrolled only half so efficiently as that of the British Isles it will be no walk over. When do we discard this gear?"
He indicated the uniform they were wearing: The Moke smiled grimly. Since his chum had been obliged to ask his advice his directive force reasserted itself.
"When we have decent clothes to put on," he replied. "Meanwhile, until we get afloat—and that's where you direct operations—I am still Baron Eitel von Stopelfeld, and you are my Austrian servant and lug my gear. Imagine yourself a fag again, Slogger."
"But my rotten German would give me away as soon as I opened my mouth," objected the sub. "Have you considered that flaw in the contract, Moke, my festive?"
"Certainly," replied Sylvester gravely. "It occurred to me almost as soon as we left the farm. You'll have to be deaf and dumb through shell-shock. I'll do the explaining."
The chums relapsed into silence, which was for them a fortunate circumstance; for on gaining the outskirts of a small wood they ran up against a block-house.
The levelled bayonet of a sentry brought them up all standing. Flight was practically impossible, for the starlight was so bright that there was an almost certainty of being shot down before they could run half a dozen yards.
"It's all right," declared the Moke. "I am a German officer on special service, bound for Trieste, but my car has broken down."
The sentry made no effort to recover his arms. Without replying he whistled softly, and a sergeant and half a dozen men issued from the outpost.
"Your papers, Herr Offizier?" demanded the non-com.
"Certainly, if your instructions require you to see them," replied the pseudo German major.
The sergeant inspected them by the light of the lantern. He made no attempt to read them, for the simple reason that he was one of the Austrian army's high percentage of illiterates.
"These are quite in order, Herr Major," he exclaimed. "But this man —who is he?"
"My servant," replied the Moke, high-handedly. "He is deaf and dumb, having been, I understand, an artillery man at the Skroda Works. Donnerwetter! Why such a dolt was foisted on to me I cannot imagine."
"But he wears an infantryman's uniform," persisted the sergeant, holding the lantern above his head and peering into Farrar's face.
"Do you doubt a German officer's word, numbskull?" thundered the "baron" in the typically blustering tone in which the military caste address their rank and file, "Have you never heard of a man being transferred from one branch of the army to another? You are wasting my time. I feel inclined to report the delay. Is there a field officer anywhere about?"
"Pardon, Herr Major," stammered the overwhelmed sergeant. "Pray overlook the matter."
"For this once, then," said the Moke magnanimously. "Now tell me: can I obtain a conveyance of any sort to take me to Trieste?"
The sergeant pondered.
"I am afraid not, Herr Major. It is a very rough road. But——"
"But what?" demanded Sylvester, doing his level best to flurry the already disconcerted man.
"One of the coast patrol boats puts into the fishing port here on her way to Trieste. She is due at a few minutes after midnight. They might give you a passage."
"I loathe sea passages," objected the Moke. "Is it a large craft?"
"Fairly, Herr Major. She carries only three men—a petty officer, a seaman, and a motor mechanician; occasionally she carries military officers from the various ports when they wish to visit Trieste. I will send and ask my commanding officer's permission for you to take a passage in her."
"Major Aufferich has gone to Laibach, sergeant," announced one of the men in a stage whisper.
"Then I can give you authority on my own responsibility, Herr Major," continued the non-com. "I will also send a man to guide you to the fishing-port."
He seemed most anxious to make amends for the affront he had occasioned in a perfectly legitimate display of zeal. The Moke pondered over the matter, until catching Farrar's eye he plainly read the sub's acceptance of the proposal.
"All right, sergeant," decided the spurious Hun. "Send a man, by all means. He can help my man to carry my luggage, but he'll find him a most uncommunicative comrade."
A thought flashed across the Moke's mind.
"What is the countersign, sergeant?" he asked.
"Good man," thought Farrar. "The old Moke's 'cuteness has developed enormously. There are no flies on him, by Jove!"
"The countersign is Scharfschutze und Huszar, Herr Major," announced the sergeant; then turning to one of his men: "Josef, conduct His Excellency to the harbour. Inform Corporal Herz that he is to signal the patrol boat to wait and embark an illustrious passenger.... Everything will now be in order, Herr Major."
The guard stood rigidly at attention until the Moke's increased party had covered the regulated distance. Then the sergeant's voice was heard ordering the men to dismiss, and with a heavy tramping of feet and clattering of accoutrements the men returned to the shelter of the block-house.
Once during the journey to the coast the Austrian offered some remark to his supposed fellow-soldier. The Moke turned on him sharply.
"Silence, fool!" he hissed. "Did you not hear me say that my servant is deaf and dumb? Take the luggage from him. He is tired."
The soldier slung his rifle and relieved Farrar of the portmanteau. The sub was glad of the respite, since he had had more than his fair share of carrying it.
"It is infernally dark just here," grumbled the "baron," as they came to a narrow part of the road as it wound between two rocky heights. "Lead on, and show me the way."
Taking advantage of the Austrian being some ten paces ahead, the Moke withdrew the defunct von Stopelfeld's automatic pistol from his holster and handed it to the sub.
"That's more in your line," he whispered.
Farrar nodded. Although the weapon was of a different pattern from those to which he was accustomed, he felt confident that he could make use of it effectually if occasion offered. In any case it would be useful for purposes of intimidation.
The countersign passed them through the lines surrounding the fishing hamlet, and by the time they gained the water's edge it was close on midnight.
Being a port of slight military importance, a corporal's guard was deemed sufficient to maintain order, the non-com.'s duty being chiefly to prevent any of the fishing craft entering or leaving the harbour between sunset and sunrise, while at regular intervals an Austrian naval patrol boat looked in to ascertain that the military maintained watch and ward.
Corporal Herz received the sergeant's instructions without emotion, and as a long dark grey boat crept with throttled engines round the southern headland of the harbour, two red lights were hoisted from a flagstaff at the extremity of the rough wharf.
Cautiously, as if afraid of the locality, the motor-launch drew alongside the flight of stone steps. The coxswain gripped the handrail with his boathook, while the bowman performed a similar duty for'ard. Although the boat displayed no lights, there was sufficient starlight to enable the fugitives to satisfy themselves that on this occasion the boat carried no other passengers.
"Any orders, Herr Major?" asked the coxswain, as the Moke, Farrar, and the portmanteau were deposited in the spacious stern sheets.
"None," replied Sylvester curtly. "You have plenty of petrol, I hope. Last time one of your patrol boats caused me to miss a court of inquiry from a lack of petrol."
"Enough for four hours' run at fifty kilometres an hour, Herr Major," replied the cox swain obsequiously. He was a little, fussily important man who, the Moke decided, was like a gasbag; the bowman was of a different type—tall, broad-shouldered, and stolid. The third member of the crew, the artificer in the motor-room, was invisible. It was unlikely that he would cause much trouble.
"Cannot I have a lamp in the cabin?" asked Sylvester.
"I will see to it, Herr Major," replied the petty officer. "If the windows are screened it is permissible, but there would be much trouble if a single ray of light were allowed to escape."
He shouted an order to the bowman. The latter, his immediate work completed, had laid aside his boat-hook and was meditating a retirement to the fore-peak. Presently he came aft with an unlighted lantern. This he fixed in the cabin, drew shutters over the square panes of glass in the sides of the raised cabin-top, and finally lighted the lamp.
"It is ready, Herr Major," reported the coxswain.
The patrol boat was now clear of the harbour. The open sea was as smooth as a mill-pond. Not another craft of any description was in sight.
Farrar, shivering in the night air in his thin, shoddily made uniform, watched his companion with envious eyes as Sylvester entered the cabin. In the rôle of officer's servant he was experiencing several of the inconveniences that it is the lot of a common soldier to have to grin and bear.
There was no time to be lost, for the sooner the Moke put his plan into execution the better. Every revolution of the motor-boat's twin propellers was taking her nearer Trieste—and Trieste was a most unhealthy locality as far as the bogus Baron Eitel von Stopelfeld was concerned.
A hasty glance round the cabin revealed the presence of three revolvers in a rack. Jerking back the chambers Sylvester discovered that they were fully loaded. Deftly he extracted the cartridges from two of the weapons and put them in his pocket, grimly reflecting that there was a time, not so very far distant, when the mechanism of a revolver was a mystery to him. Not that he never wanted to know "how it worked," but because he had a horror of the sight of firearms of any description.
The three revolvers he slipped into the outside pocket of his great-coat, since the pistol would not fit the holster from which he had taken the automatic to give to his chum.
Stepping from the cabin into the cockpit the Moke waited until his eyes grew accustomed to the comparative darkness of the night; then he turned abruptly and addressed the coxswain.
"Any craft in sight?" he asked.
"No, Herr Major," replied the man.
"That is good," rejoined Sylvester. "I want you to steer due west."
For once at least the petty officer hesitated to obey orders. His illustrious passenger had authority, but whether a German military officer could issue peremptory instructions to an Austrian petty officer was a proposition that gave rise to doubts in the coxswain's mind. If he disobeyed, the consequences might be serious, if on returning to Trieste his superior upheld the German's action. That was one of the many curses that the hated Teutons' lust of world power had laid upon their none too enthusiastic Allies. On the other hand, if he complied with the military officer's behest, he might be "hauled over the coals" by his own superiors.
"Due west," repeated the Moke sternly.
The coxswain looked up into Sylvester's face. His flabby features turned a ghastly greyish hue, his beady eyes were almost starting from his head. Drops of perspiration on his bulging forehead glistened in the starlight; his teeth were chattering audibly.
"Pardon, Herr Major," he stammered; then like a weak-willed individual under mesmeric influence he put the helm hard over.
Travelling at high speed the patrol boat heeled violently to starboard, so much so that the Moke was within an ace of being shot out of the cockpit, while the bowman, his curiosity aroused by the unwonted change of direction, thrust head and shoulders out of the oval-shaped hatchway in the fore-deck.
"See to that chap, Slogger!" shouted the Moke, all need for silence being past.
Pistol in hand the sub leapt from the cockpit, making his way along the narrow waterway by the wall of the motor-room coaming, and levelled his weapon full at the bowman's head.
"Rechts Sie unter!" ordered Farrar in his execrable German.
Whether the Austrian seaman understood the words or not, the sub's gesture was sufficient. Taken completely at a disadvantage the broad-shouldered sailor withdrew his head and shoulders and disappeared from view.
In a trice the sub shut and secured the metal lid of the aperture. He guessed that the boat was built with water-tight transverse bulkheads, and in that case there was no direct communication between the fore-cabin and the motor-room.
The mechanician remained to be dealt with. Had not it been for the fact that the bowman began to shout and hammer at the steel partition the former would have "carried on" in blissful ignorance of the change of masters; but hearing the clamour he began to climb through the narrow opening which gave access to the open air.
The sub, on his way aft, turned just in time to see a powerfully built man grasping a heavy spanner. Promptly he levelled his pistol, but the fellow showed no sign of temerity. He was all but clear of the hatchway when Farrar, hesitating to shoot a man labouring under a great disadvantage, struck him fairly between his eyes. Like a felled ox the Austrian tumbled inertly upon the deck, with his legs dangling down the motor-room hatchway.
"Beastly inconsiderate of him," exclaimed the sub, addressing his chum. "He's chucked his hand in, so I suppose I must take on his job. Push Little Willie into the cabin and come and bear a hand. The boat will take care of herself for a brace of shakes."
The coxswain suffered himself to be precipitated unceremoniously down the three metal-edged steps of the companion-ladder, and under lock and key in the cabin he was left to puzzle his addled brains over the obvious disadvantage of German domination, for he had not yet "tumbled to" the true cause of the fracas. Consoling himself that the onus of the affair rested upon the shoulders of the military authorities for having ordered him to embark the truculent and domineering Prussians, he decided upon the policy of passive resistance.
With Sylvester's assistance Farrar contrived to lower the senseless motor-engineer down the hatchway into the fore-peak, the bowman making no attempt either to break out or to help his comrade. Under the mistaken impression that the latter had been murdered, he cowered in the farthermost corner of the recess formed by the boat's flaring bows, nor did he stir till long after the hatch had been replaced and secured.
"Now you had better take over, Slogger," suggested the Moke, as the chums returned to the cockpit. "I'm no hand at this game," and he indicated the unattended steering-wheel.
The sub glanced at the compass bowl, and then steadied the boat on her course.
"Sorry," he replied. "I'll have to be popping below to the engines. Didn't bargain for that, but one must take things as they come. I'll put you through a lightning course of helmsmanship. She's right now—with the lubber's line immediately on the point west.... Now she's off it; so turn the wheel to starboard.... There, she's back again."
"Horrible strain watching the compass," complained the Moke.
Farrar took the wheel out of his companion's hands.
"Now," he continued, "she's on her course, You'll notice her head's pointing to a certain star. Keep her on that for a few minutes at a time and occasionally check the direction of the compass. A few quarter-points out won't make much difference, but remember that star has a movement of its own. That's right; you're getting the hang of it. I'll nip below and see how things are going. Whistle if you want me; this voice-tube communicates with the motor-room."
For the best part of two hours nothing unusual occurred. The motor-boat was not doing her best, but considering that the sub had to deal with a strange engine, it was not to be wondered at. Farrar estimated her speed at twenty knots, a rate that if maintained ought to bring the fugitives within sight of the Italian coast shortly after daylight.
Presently Sylvester chanced to glance astern. As he did so he caught sight of a white light blinking rapidly.
"Say, Slogger, old man!" he shouted to his chum in the motor-room. "Come on deck, will you?"
The sub rejoined the amateur helmsman with the utmost promptitude.
"Look!" continued the latter, pointing astern.
"Dash it all, Moke!" exclaimed the sub. "We're in for something. If I'm not very much mistaken, we are being chased by an Austrian destroyer."