CHAPTER XIV
The Second Night of Liberty
"Going to make a fight for it?" asked Detroit calmly.
Hamerton shrugged his shoulders.
"Hardly," he replied. "I don't believe in kicking up a fuss when we're cornered with no chance of escape. Mind you, if there were any possibility I'd fight tooth and nail. But there is not. We've had our fling, and I suppose we must pay the piper. Luckily those brutes can't get to us."
"I cotton to it," agreed the American. "I look upon it as a sort of Thanksgiving Day—a few hours of real enjoyment and then days of hard graft to follow."
Both men relapsed into silence, and gloomily watched the progress of events.
On came the hounds, the mob of excited Germans at their heels. Then the animals lost the scent—that is, if they ever picked it up—for turning abruptly they made their way across to the other side of the incline. Hamerton and his companion had never been near that part of the ground.
Round and round went the bloodhounds, sniffing and baying. Shouts of encouragement from their masters failed to meet with the response that they desired. Presently one of the large beasts raised its head and opened wide its mouth. The fugitives could see the sharp white teeth and the red, frothing tongue of the brute as it gave vent to a prodigious howl.
Then, followed by the rest of the hounds, the animal retraced its steps until it gained the summit of the slope. Here the baffled trackers stood still for a brief interval. All inducements to get the dogs to take up the scent failed, and dejectedly their masters led them back to the kennels.
"Excellent, by Jove!" exclaimed Hamerton in high spirits. "The pepper did the trick, after all. Obliging Hans! He deserves a special vote of thanks."
"Guess we aren't out of the wood yet," Detroit reminded him. "What's the programme now?"
"Stay here till night," replied the Sub. "Then more investigations and grub. Man, I feel as if I could eat a joint of beef straight away. Look here, we'll strip off these wet clothes and hang them up to dry in this draught. To continue wearing them in this state is to court disaster. There's a bin of cotton waste; we'll burrow in it and snatch a few hours' sleep. It's very necessary, I think."
These suggestions were acted upon. A few days previously the two men would have regarded their proposed bed with the utmost repugnance, but, as Detroit observed, circumstances alter cases.
In less than two minutes the fugitives were sound asleep, utterly indifferent as to what befell them. Rest and slumber were the only antidotes to hunger and bodily and mental fatigue.
"Time to be up," whispered Detroit, shaking his companion by the shoulder. Hamerton roused himself. It was still daylight without, although the sun had set. Ten hours had passed like as many minutes.
Quickly they donned their clothes, which still felt clammy to the touch. Another sparse and hasty meal was partaken of, during which Hamerton took stock of the surroundings.
Work for the day had apparently ceased. Each of the airship sheds had been closed by means of the sliding steel doors, and the vast artificial basin was deserted. With the setting of the sun the wind had risen, though the velocity was not so great as on the preceding night. The sky, too, was obscured with heavy clouds. Everything seemed in favour of the fugitives.
"Now, boss, what's the programme?" demanded Detroit, with forced jocularity.
"Wait till it's dark, then make our way up the incline, double back along the top of the cliff, and head towards the north-western part of the island. I shouldn't be surprised if we stumble across some more wonderful creations of our dearly beloved German cousins."
"But suppose there are sentries posted up there?" asked the American, pointing to the farthermost part of the slope.
"Not much! This place is all enclosed with that barbed-wire fence. That's where the sentries are to be found, and that is what is going to give us a lot of trouble."
"And when do we make an attempt to seize a boat?"
"Not while this wind is blowing, thank you. Better to prowl about half-starved in a German fortress than to be lying on the bottom of the North Sea."
"You cautious critter!" ejaculated Detroit.
"Exactly, my dear fellow. Caution is the modern naval officer's sheet anchor. Caution is instilled into him from the moment he's placed in charge of a ship's boat under sail. No doubt it's the means of often neglecting to make full use of an opportunity; but there you are. Modern warfare has no use for fire-eating daredevils; it's the level-headed admiral who will win the next great naval war. It's prosaic, but it's hard facts. Now, easy ahead; it's time to get under way."
Making his way up the vertical iron ladder, Hamerton raised the trapdoor a few inches and listened intently. All was quiet. He emerged from his hiding place, waited until Detroit rejoined him, then carefully replaced the cover on the aperture.
Bearing in mind the experience of the previous night, how without warning the place was flooded with light, the Sub and his companion made their way as stealthily and rapidly as possible to the base of the artificial cliff where the incline merged into the circular basin. Then, keeping close to the wall, they headed towards the upper level.
Suddenly Hamerton came to an abrupt halt and stood with his back hard up against the cliff. Detroit did likewise.
Faintly discernible against the loom of the skyline was a great-coated sentry pacing up and down across the brink of the inclined plane. Barely had he turned to commence another round when a second sentry appeared on the opposite side. Both met approximately in mid-distance, faced about, and retraced their steps.
It was evident that escape in that direction was almost beyond the bounds of possibility.
Awaiting a favourable moment when the nearmost sentry's back was turned, the fugitives crept cautiously down the slope, never halting till they came to the piles of empty casks that had served them so well less than twenty hours previously.
"Now what's to be done?" asked Hamerton.
"Have a shot at those steel ladders—the ones between the Zeppelin sheds."
"By Jove, smart idea of yours, old man! The sooner the better."
Without mishap the two comrades gained the base of one of the ladders that reared itself vertically to a height of nearly two hundred feet. It was to be a climb that would tax their powers of endurance to the uttermost.
"Gently does it," cautioned Hamerton. "One limb at a time, mind, and don't look down. Up you go."
With this parting injunction in his mind Detroit commenced to mount, making sure of each rung before he moved a step higher. He realized that a slip might result in the loss of his comrade's life as well as of his own.
The American was in excellent training, although somewhat handicapped for want of proper food. His muscles were flexible, his grip as firm as iron; nevertheless, by the time he gained the cross-platform connecting the ladders at a level slightly above the arch of the airship shed he was glad to sit down and rest.
"All right?" asked Hamerton anxiously.
"Guess I am," was the reply. "Now for the last lap."
Detroit spoke cheerfully, but the "last lap" was roughly three times the height of the portion already climbed.
Doggedly the two men stuck to their task. Once Detroit whispered that one of the rungs felt insecure. Beyond that not a word was spoken.
Hamerton could hear the American's laboured breaths. His own heart was throbbing violently against his ribs, his arms felt as heavy as lead, while the muscles of his calves had a decided tendency to "bunch"—the forerunner of the dreaded cramp.
Many a time during his terms at Dartmouth he had climbed over the fore-topmast crosstrees of the old hulk Britannia. In those days he had thought nothing of it, but now, unaccustomed to strenuous exercises of that sort, he felt the severity of the task.
Detroit was slackening his pace now. A few inches above his head Hamerton could see the American's heels mount step by step on a seemingly endless task. It reminded him of a pet mouse in a wheel.
Up, up, up! It was by this time little better than a tedious crawl. Once or twice the American stopped to regain his breath, and then plodded resolutely on his upward way. Then, to the Sub's delight, he saw Detroit lurch forward and throw up his heels. His comrade had reached the summit, and was sprawling, wellnigh exhausted, upon the turf.
Summoning up his remaining energies Hamerton also gained the much-desired resting place. Side by side they lay drinking in the cool breeze that came straight from the foam-flecked sea, on which innumerable lights, like stars on a dark night, twinkled incessantly.
"Time!" ejaculated Hamerton, rolling over and kneeling up. "Now, easy ahead; we'll come across another wire entanglement unless I'm very much mistaken."
They were now going with the wind—the worst possible direction, since the sound of any danger in front of them was carried away, while their own approach could be heard by any sentry who happened to be to leeward.
Thirty yards from the edge they threw themselves upon the grass. Within a stone's throw was a great-coated figure standing stockstill. It was one of the chain of sentries guarding the barbed-wire fence that completely encircled the secret Zeppelin station.
Motioning with his hand, Detroit indicated that they should make a detour. Hamerton shook his head. He could just distinguish the outlines of another sentry a hundred yards to the right. "Wait!" whispered the Sub.
Presently the nearest sentry sloped his rifle and began to pace in the direction of the one Hamerton had discerned to his right. When the two met they evidently indulged in a breach of discipline, for although the fugitives heard not a word the sentries were apparently talking.
"I want to make sure of the length of his beat," whispered Hamerton. "Then the next time he clears out we'll make a dash for the fence."
Back walked the sentry. Stopping for a moment to draw up the collar of his greatcoat, for it was just beginning to rain, he made his way past the two lurking men and disappeared in the murky darkness.
Presumably the soldier was not on speaking terms with the sentry at the other end of his beat, for in a very short space of time he returned. Almost abreast of the fugitives he stopped short, faced outwards, and levelled his rifle and bayonet, as if something suspicious had attracted his attention. Then, having satisfied himself that there was no cause for alarm, he made off towards the post on his left.
"Now!" whispered Hamerton.
"Just you wait!" replied the American. "Let's shift back a bit."
He pointed towards a speck of light that flickered in the now howling breeze.
"It's the rounds, by Jove!" muttered the Sub. "That's right; we'll hide in this hollow and trust to luck."
"Halt! Who goes there?" demanded the sentry in German.
"Rounds," was the reply.
"Advance, rounds; all's well!" exclaimed the soldier, recovering his rifle.
An officer and a file of men, one of whom held a lantern, came tramping through the long, damp grass. The Sub seemed to feel the glare of the light. Instinctively he buried his face in his arms and hid his bare hands under his coat. For the gleam to fall upon any light-coloured object was to arouse suspicion.
"Anything to report?" demanded the officer.
"No, sir. Once I fancied I saw one of the bloodhounds."
"Then don't fancy. I may as well tell you that the dogs are safely chained up. It would go ill with some of you men if they were at large on a night like this. Besides, the hounds are too valuable to risk being shot by an imaginative sentry. Now, remember, challenge once only and then fire, should any suspicious person approach your post. It means promotion to the man who succeeds in shooting or capturing those troublesome spies."
[Illustration: "'IT'S THE ROUNDS, BY JOVE!' WHISPERED THE SUB">[
The rounds passed on. The sentry resumed his walk without attempting to give the salute. This Hamerton noticed particularly. As in the British Army, it was forbidden to give or acknowledge compliments after sunset. This knowledge he hoped to profit by, since it was within the bounds of possibility to impersonate a German officer and thus get safely away in one of the boats at the beach of the Unterland.
"Now!" whispered the Sub once more.
Silently the two comrades made their way to the fence. This time the lowermost wire was set up taut, and Hamerton had the greatest difficulty in holding it up sufficiently for Detroit to crawl clear of the sharp barbs. Before the sentry had set out on his return beat the fugitives had put a safe distance between them and that particular danger.
They were now within a hundred yards or so of Sathurn, the northernmost part of Heligoland, that terminates in a sheer cliff one hundred and sixty-six feet in height. Close to the point rises a detached pinnacle of rock, known as Hengst, its summit being only three feet lower than that of Sathurn.
"You stop here," whispered Hamerton. "The sentries seem as thick as flies. I'm going to crawl a few yards. One may escape detection where two will not."
With this injunction the Sub left his companion, and on all-fours made his way towards the extremity of the cliff. On his left was a building that a few years previously had been used as a fog-signal house. A light was burning within, and the sharp click of a shutter told the Sub that someone was using a Morse signalling apparatus.
Profiting by the glare, Hamerton crawled closer. The door of the hut was ajar. Within were several engineers standing by in readiness to work a powerful searchlight. To the left of the hut, and protected from leeward by a mound of earth, was a long metal cylinder about eighteen inches in diameter. A stray beam of light showed Hamerton that one end of this object was carefully covered by a tarpaulin.
"What's this arrangement, I wonder?" he thought. "Looks like a sort of torpedo tube. I'll——"
His hands clutched at empty air, he lurched forward, up went his heels, and the next instant he felt himself falling.
Like a flash the thought went through his brain: "I'm done for this time—I've toppled over the cliff." Yet not a sound escaped his lips, even when completely taken aback by the sudden plunge.
With a dull thud Hamerton alighted on his hunched shoulders. Instinctively he kept his head well under, and this saved him a broken neck. Inertly he rolled over on his side, wondering where he was and how far he had fallen. Nor could he help expecting to see the soldiers from the hut, who must have heard the noise of his fall.
A minute or so went by. No curious soldier appeared on the edge of the pit or whatever it was. He began to consider how he could escape.
"Solid steel, by Jove!" he exclaimed softly, tapping the substance on which he had fallen. He stood up. He found himself in a circular hollow surrounded by a wall less than six feet in height. The metal floor was perhaps thirty feet in diameter and slightly domed.
"Looks like the top of a gasometer or an oil-fuel tank," mused Hamerton. "I may as well have a short investigation. Can't stop long, or Detroit will be blundering in on top of me. Ah! What's this?"
His foot encountered a raised object. It was an armoured slide of some sort. He tried to raise it, but in vain. Then he applied pressure in a horizontal direction. This resulted in the metal slab sliding and disclosing a pitch-dark cavity.
"Wish I had a match," he muttered. "Well, here goes! I've been in worse holes than this."
His feet encountered the rungs of a ladder. Three downward steps did he take, then there was a sharp metallic click, followed by a sudden blaze of light.