A Lively Bit of the Front Part 23

"D'ye know we've been nearly fifteen hours in this warren?" asked M'Turk. "I thought not! And with reasonable luck a man can be hit and find himself in Blighty within twelve hours. Hallo, here's the Captain!"

The torch was flashed upon the two men and a cloth in which were two candles and a box of matches dropped into the circle of light.

"Look alive!" was the officer's exhortation. "It's quite time we broke through. Does the air seem pure? No petrol fumes hanging around, for instance?"

"Now you come to mention it, sir," replied M'Turk, "it does hum a bit, although it's not petrol. Since I've been out here I've become a Sort of authority on stinks."

"It's the fumes of high-explosive," declared Malcolm.

"Right you are," rejoined his companion, as he struck a match and lit the candles. "By gum, this dug-out's copped it."

In the dim light the place looked a regular shambles. The dug-out was larger than the one in which they had been trapped, but the fittings were of a plainer and more substantial nature. Evidently it had been the underground quarters of some of the Prussian rank and file, for three sides of the place consisted of four tiers of bed-boxes. The fourth, except for a doorway, was taken up with a large arms-rack capable of holding a couple of hundred rifles and bayonets. Most of the floor s.p.a.ce was occupied by long trestle tables, while in one corner was the large stack of blankets and bedding upon which Malcolm and M'Turk had fallen.

Although there was no shattered woodwork, everything pointed to a violent disturbance in the enclosed s.p.a.ce. Tables and stools had been overthrown; the floor in front of the arms-rack was covered with weapons hurled from their stands. Broken bottles, plates, and earthenware littered the lime-trodden floor.

Against the doorway were four huge Prussians, leaning apathetically against the timbered supports of the arms-rack. Two of them, their eyes fixed upon the New Zealanders, had their arms folded on their broad chests. The others were steadying themselves by their rifles, to which the bayonets were fixed.

Without any weapons, either of offence or defence, for they had left their rifles in the other dug-out, Malcolm and M'Turk were at a decided disadvantage; but the odds did not deter them.

"Bomb 'em out of it!" shouted M'Turk, swinging a purely imaginary missile. "Hands up, Fritz!"

The Huns stirred not a muscle.

"What's the fuss?" sang out Captain Nicholson.

"Four Boches, sir," replied Malcolm.

In a trice the Captain dropped from the tunnel into the dug-out.

With his revolver ready for instant action he rejoined his two men, while M'Kane, preceded by his rifle, followed his superior officer's example.

"Hands up!" ordered Captain Nicholson, levelling his revolver at the head of one of the Huns at a range of less than ten yards. The Boche's eyes stared unblinkingly at the muzzle of the weapon, while his companions showed no signs of shaking off their apathy.

"By gum, sir," exclaimed M'Turk, "I believe they've been done in!"

Holding the candle above his head, the rifleman strode over the littered floor and gripped one of the Prussians by the shoulder.

Like a log the heavy body toppled forward and fell on its face.

"Stone dead, sir," replied M'Turk. "Every man jack of 'em. And there are more of them over there."

Curiosity prompted Captain Nicholson to examine the corpses. Not one bore the trace of a wound. In addition to the four by the doorway sixteen lay partly hidden by the overturned tables and chairs.

Without a mark to show how they had been killed, all the men were dead. Some had been struck down in the act of writing. One man still held a pencil firmly clenched in his hand. Others were eating when death overtook them suddenly and painlessly.

"Killed by concussion when the mine went up," suggested M'Kane.

"More likely by one of our heavy sh.e.l.ls," declared Captain Nicholson. "If your theory is correct, how do you account for the fact that those staff officers in the next dug-out came off scot-free until Joliffe thought fit to bring trouble on them and us?

No, stay where you are, Joliffe!" he exclaimed, as the bomber's voice was heard shouting his intention of "barracking in". "We'll come back and fetch the pair of you when we've found a way out. Now, boys, let's see how the land lies."

Pa.s.sing through the doorway and ascending a flight of steps the party reached a wrecked dug-out that bore unmistakable testimony to the tremendous powers of devastation of a British 14-inch sh.e.l.l. The missile had penetrated twenty feet of earth and concrete, closing the entrance to the open air, and half-filling the place with debris. A funnel-like shaft, through which the sky was visible, was now the only means of communication with the open.

"We're not out of the wood yet, boys," remarked Captain Nicholson, surveying the scene of destruction, "but we're getting on."

As he spoke, the orifice was darkened, and a gruff voice from above exclaimed, to the accompaniment of a string of highly uncomplimentary e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns:

"Now then, you, up you come or I'll blow you to blazes!"

"Please don't stand there calling us names," expostulated Captain Nicholson affably. "Rather skip off and bring a rope."

CHAPTER XXI

Out of Touch

After a wait of nearly ten minutes a rope was procured, while other willing helpers brought a number of short ladders to the mouth of the crater. These, lashed together, were lowered into the hole and allowed to rest upon the steeply sloping sides.

Down swarmed several men, not New Zealanders, but belonging to an Australian regiment. Foremost amongst them was Malcolm's Queensland chum on board the _Pomfret Castle_--big Jack Kennedy.

"Hallo, Digger!" exclaimed that worthy, recognizing Rifleman Carr in the candlelight. "What have you been doing? Cleaning out a chimney?

You're as black as an aborigine."

"I hardly thought to run across you again," remarked Malcolm.

"The world is small," rejoined Kennedy. "We were on your right when the attack started. Your fellows have rushed Messines village and are holding all the captured positions. Who are your pals? Beg pardon, sir, I didn't know you were an officer!" (This to Captain Nicholson, who, owing to the dirt and grime in which he was smothered, was hardly distinguishable from the others.) "We'll give you a leg up."

"Hold on," protested Captain Nicholson. "There are two of our men who have to be brought along. They're rather shaken up. You'll want a ladder--Carr."

"Yes, sir," replied Malcolm.

"Will you show these men the way into the other dug-out?"

Saluting, Malcolm turned and made his way over the wrecked woodwork, three Australians following in his footsteps. Two of the latter carried a short ladder.

"Fortescue with you?" enquired Kennedy, as the men planted the ladder on the pile of earth that had fallen from the newly-excavated tunnel.

"No," replied Carr. "He got a buckshie in his advance, but Selwyn's there. Do you remember Pieter Waas on the old _Pomfret Castle_?"

"Do I not, the larrikin!" replied Kennedy. "I suppose you know that he got away soon after he was landed at Plymouth?"

"Yes, and more," added Malcolm. "He was in our trenches last night, and slipped over the top to the German lines."

The Australian smiled incredulously.

"Fact!" persisted his informant. "I spotted him and he spotted me.

Before he could be winged he was off in the darkness."

"Then let's hope he went up in the great bust," said Kennedy. "A bit of a sell that, to bunk from the security of our trenches right on top of a million pounds of aminol. This the way up? Golly, this tunnel wasn't made for a man of my size!"