Rounding up the Raider Part 18

"A blind," replied his companion. "I guessed it. We'll carry on a little farther before we retrace our steps."

Another _detour_ was necessary, but on plunging into the mangrove forest on to the other side of the clearing the Irishman's foot tripped in the telephone wire.

"Good!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. "You're right, old man."

Five hundred yards farther on the explorers almost tumbled into a deep pit, protected on the seaward side by sandbags, between which were stuck shrubs and branches of trees to screen the artificial work from seaward.

In the pit were two quick-firers, with basket cases of ammunition in readiness. Pacing up and down between the guns was a sentry, while under a tarpaulin supported by short poles were about a dozen sleeping men. Farther on was another excavation, but what it contained the British officers were unable to ascertain. The battery, it was evident, was manned by some of the reservists from the _San Matias_.

Denbigh, having taken a compa.s.s bearing of the entrance of the lagoon, nudged his chum, and they began to retrace their steps. Moving as rapidly as their sense of caution would permit, they again skirted the searchlight station and picked up the telephone wire trail in the woods beyond.

"We must not forget the time," cautioned the Irishman.

"By Jove, no!" replied Denbigh. As a matter of fact he had. The excitement of their discoveries had banished all thought of anything else. Even the perils of their return journey to the _Myra_ had been lightly brushed aside. "Hang it all, there's that confounded mist again."

At a distance of a quarter of a mile from the searchlight position the path bent obliquely towards the lagoon. Here the trees grew right to the water's edge, the cliff at this point being roughly twenty feet above the sea.

"What's that?" whispered O'Hara.

A cable's length from sh.o.r.e, and just visible through the mist, was a large indistinct shape. At first sight it looked like a small island thickly covered with coco-nut palms.

"The cunning blighters!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Denbigh. "That's the _Pelikan_."

It was the raider. Her masts and funnels were decked with branches; the whole tops of trees festooned her sides. The outlines of her bow and stern were concealed by trailing ma.s.ses of vegetation. Viewed from seaward, against the tree-clad hillocks, the _Pelikan_ could not be distinguished from her natural background. A short distance along the sh.o.r.e there was a gap in the line of cliffs. Here a boat was lying, with her crew standing about on sh.o.r.e.

"They're expecting someone," whispered Denbigh. "Let's move."

Not until the subs were a safe distance from the sh.o.r.e did they exchange opinions.

"The _Pelikan_ is expecting an attack," said O'Hara. "So she is disguised. Some of her guns are taken ash.o.r.e."

"Why not all?" asked Denbigh.

"I should not think so," was the reply. "They would be almost certain to keep those in position on the port side. They haven't abandoned the ship, otherwise the boat wouldn't be waiting to take somebody off to her. Hulloa, there they go!"

Two brilliant arcs of light swept across the lagoon. The searchlights had been unmasked and were directed towards the narrow gap in the coral reef.

"They've spotted something," continued O'Hara.

"Not necessarily," replied Denbigh. "Those lights are tantamount to a challenge. Our fellows will go for the searchlight, thinking that they are being worked from the _Pelikan_. Then the ship's guns and those of the masked battery will be able to open a converging fire. We'll have to stop their little game, old man."

"Can't see how," said O'Hara.

"No more can I at present," added his companion. "We've about three hours to daylight. We must allow an hour and a half at the very outside to work our way back to the _Myra_."

"If our fellows put the hat on the _Pelikan_, we may as well hang on and get them to pick us up. You can bet your bottom dollar they'll take good care to see that the _Pelikan_ is properly done in."

"My dear fellow," protested Denbigh, "are we fit to introduce ourselves as British officers, even suppose the cruisers send a landing party ash.o.r.e?"

"Don't care whether I am or not," replied the Irishman recklessly.

"Whether I wear an evening dress of burnt cork plus a very disreputable uniform of white ducks, or whether I am immaculately arrayed in No. 1 rig, makes little difference. I am still Patrick O'Hara."

"S'sh!" whispered Denbigh, for O'Hara had unconsciously raised his voice during the delivery of his protest. "Let's have another look to seaward, and then we'll cut the telephone wire and clap on all sail for our involuntary home of rest. By Jove, it's getting darker! We'll be barging into something if we aren't very careful."

Upon regaining the top of the cliffs the subs saw something that indicated the impending attack. Lights were in position at the entrance to the lagoon. The British vessels in the offing had sent boats to sound and drop calcium-light buoys in the narrow channel, preparatory to making a dash across the enclosed stretch of water.

Even as the subs watched a masthead light blinked rapidly. Since the vessels were equipped with wireless, light signals were unnecessary for communication. Denbigh could only conclude that one of the attacking craft was ordering the boats to return.

"I say, old man," whispered O'Hara. "It's not going to be long-range gunnery. I believe they're sending a couple of destroyers in. If so, they're going to try a torpedo on the _Pelikan_."

Before Denbigh could reply a faint gleam played upon the rock-strewn beach. Lying at full length in the coa.r.s.e gra.s.s on the top of the cliffs, which were here only about ten feet in height, the chums waited and watched.

Coming towards them was a big-built man in the uniform of a German officer. At intervals he flashed a torch upon the ground to guide his footsteps. Behind him came a soldier with his rifle slung across his back, and carrying a heavy valise.

"Von Eckenstein," whispered Denbigh, recognizing the bullying Prussian by his voice. "And with an electric torch, too. We'll bag those fellows, Pat. No, not that pistol, you chump. We'll jump on 'em."

Cautiously the two subs crouched ready to spring. Denbigh, grasping a stout stick that he had found in the place of the one broken by the ape, signed to his companion to use his powerful fists and tackle the major's servant.

Unsuspectingly von Eckenstein pa.s.sed by. Just as he flashed the torch Denbigh leapt. Before his feet touched the sand his stick descended heavily upon the German's head. His sun-helmet was insufficient to save him. Without a groan the major dropped.

O'Hara had been equally successful in his share of the attack. Taking Denbigh literally, he had alighted fairly on the German soldier's head.

"I've killed him!" exclaimed the Irishman.

"'Fraid so," agreed Denbigh. "But it's war, you know. Be sharp, drag them into the bushes. Our dear friend the major won't recover his senses in a hurry."

Taking possession of the torch Denbigh scaled the cliff and made his way through the mangroves until he was nearly twenty yards from the edge of the wood. From this point he could see the masthead light of the destroyer--for destroyer he felt sure it must be. He could now flash the torch with little risk of the glare being spotted from either the _Pelikan_ or the masked battery.

He "called up", at first without meeting with success, but at length a steady white light gleamed from the offing. It was not from the destroyer that had been using her masthead light, but from one farther out to sea.

Rapidly Denbigh flashed the warning message:--

"_Pelikan_ disguised, 400 yards to southward of searchlights. Masked battery 400 yards to northward of searchlights. Useless to attempt torpedo."

The white light vanished. With his nerves tingling with anxiety the sub waited.

Then through the darkness the destroyer's signalling lamp spelt out the single word:

"R-A-T-S."

CHAPTER XIV

A Neglected Warning

"Idiot!" snapped Denbigh under his breath. "Some irresponsible signalman acting the goat."