CHAPTER XV
A PRISONER OF WAR
As soon as the Norwegian tramp and her escort were on the way to a German port the torpedo-boat resumed her station at the head of the starboard line.
The British seamen had been sent below as soon as they were transhipped, but Tressidar was told to go aft and await examination.
"You say your ship engaged one of our cruisers?" asked the lieutenant-commander of the torpedo-boat. "What was the result?"
"Your cruiser ran away," replied Tressidar pointedly.
"And then what happened?"
"The 'Heracles' stood in pursuit. An action was taking place. We were left adrift in the cutter."
"And the end of the action?"
"I cannot tell. Both ships were lost in the mist."
"Was the English cruiser torpedoed?"
"That I cannot say," replied the sub.
"It was possible. Were there any signs of one of our incomparable submarines about?"
"We saw one several hours later."
"Then it is certain that your 'Heracles' was sunk," declared the German joyously. Already he had decided to report that a party of English Seamen, the sole survivors of a torpedoed cruiser, had been rescued by a division of the High Seas Fleet. He could imagine the intense enthusiasm in Berlin at the news.
He plied Tressidar with questions to elicit the information as to the exact position where the engagement started, but beyond the vague statement that it was somewhere in the North Sea, the sub. refrained from giving further details.
"The fellow is obstinate," remarked the unter-leutnant to his superior. "Why not lock him up in the fo'c'sle with his men?"
"He is an officer, von Möber," said the lieutenant-commander. "He is entitled to a certain amount of consideration."
"If I had my way I'd make it hot for this Pig of an Englishman, officer or no officer," declared von Möber.
"You are over-zealous," said his superior. "These Englishmen treat our men who fall into their hands in a proper manner."
"Because they fear reprisals," added the unter-leutnant. "Once they began to ill-treat the crew of one of our lost submarines, but we soon frightened them into better manners. That shows how the English fear the German arms."
The young German firmly believed what he said. Like hundreds of his fellow-countrymen, he regarded the considerate treatment of Huns held as prisoners in England as a sign of weakness, while, on the other hand, severity towards British captives was looked upon as a testimony to the certainty of success to the German arms. Leniency to prisoners and to interned Germans in England, instead of raising a spark of gratitude in the minds of the kultured Huns, was accepted as a token of moral weakness on the part of the strafed Englishmen.
German submarines could—and did—torpedo unarmed merchant ships without warning; Zeppelins sailed by night over undefended British towns and villages, raining death and destruction upon them. In both cases these gallant exploits were hailed with wild enthusiasm by the German nation. Yet the humane British, refraining from reprisals of a similar nature, were looked upon by the Huns as a nation afraid to retaliate, so that in the day of reckoning they would be able to make better terms with the All-Highest War-Lord. And this theory, fostered by "inspired" newspapers, was held practically by entire Germany.
The lieutenant-commander of the torpedo-boat was an exception. Practically born and bred a sailor, his outlook was wider than that of the majority of German naval officers, who are first and foremost soldiers, and sailors by the will of their Emperor.
"While Herr Tressidar remains on board he will be treated with proper respect, von Möber," he said firmly, then turning to his prisoner he added, "I do not ask you for your parole, but let me warn you that a sentry will be posted outside the door, and that any attempt on your part to escape will certainly be discovered and with it your privileges will be withdrawn."
"Thank you," replied Tressidar. "I understand."
He turned and followed a petty officer who had been told off to show him to his place of detention. Just as he reached the small oval hatchway leading below, two heavy explosions in quick succession almost burst the drums of his ears.
So terrific were the detonations that the sub., was for the moment unable to detect their source. It seemed as if the deafening noise came from immediately overhead and from all sides of the torpedo-boat. The frail craft shook like a terrified animal under the rending of the air.
Then, to his unbounded delight, Tressidar saw the leading light cruiser was heeling badly to starboard, her upper works hidden in clouds of smoke mingled with spray.
Following the explosions came a dead silence of nearly a minute, then the remaining ships of the German flotilla opened a rapid fire, the shells hurtling towards a dozen different targets that existed solely in the heated imaginations of the gun-layers. So erratic was the firing that more than once the German ships were in danger of being hit by the projectiles discharged from the guns of their consorts. For full five minutes pandemonium reigned.
Meanwhile the stricken cruiser was still heeling. Already her upper deck on the starboard side was flush with the water. Men were clustering aft or else crowding into the boats that had survived the explosion and were capable of being lowered.
It was a British submarine which had scored a couple of direct hits. In spite of the presence of a double screen of torpedo-boats, notwithstanding the prying eyes of the Zeppelins cruising over the fleet, a plucky lieutenant-commander of one of the "E" class had been able to obtain a periscopic sight of the German flagship. Here was a chance too good to be missed. He immediately gave orders for two torpedoes to be fired. Either was sufficient to strike a mortal blow, for the first struck the target abreast of the foremost gun-turret; the second found its mark fifteen feet for'ard of the stern-post.
Without waiting to observe the result of the explosion, the submarine dived. To turn and speed away from her prey would be courting destruction, for her movements would be distinctly visible to the observers in the Zeppelins, and the torpedo-boats, directed by wireless from the airships, would be rushing to and fro across the submerged path of the British submarine and tear her to pieces with explosive grapnels. So her lieutenant-commander steered her so that she would pass underneath the German flotilla, and then, by compass course, kept in the track that the hostile vessels had previously held. Here the water, disturbed by the propellers of the flotilla, was thick and muddy, and, forming an efficient screen for the Zeppelins, enabled the British submarine to get clean away.
Long before the Teuton flagship had plunged to the bottom and the furious cannonade had died away, the "E Something" was a dozen miles from the scene of her exploit.
The disaster had temporarily unnerved the Germans. Once again, in spite of their cautious cruise in neutral waters, one of the ships had been sent to the bottom. And the irony of the situation lay in the fact that had the ships not altered course to head off the "Freya" beyond the three-mile limit, the opportunity for the British submarine to "bag" a Hun might not have occurred.
Steering a zig-zag course and sheltering between the far-flung lines of torpedo-boats, the remaining German cruisers ran frantically for the Kattegat and thence to the security of Kiel Harbour, while the torpedo-boat in which Tressidar and the luckless cutter's crew found themselves prisoners parted company and steamed rapidly in the direction of the island of Sylt.
It was not long before Sub-lieutenant Tressidar found that his ideas of hospitality differed considerably from the German lieutenant-commander's notions on the subject, for when the tumult on board had begun to subside—and not before—was the young officer sent below.
The "cabin" was little better than a metal compartment below the waterline and immediately underneath the officers' cabins. Although officially designated a torpedo-boat, the craft was almost equal in size to the largest British destroyer, her draught being not less than eleven feet. Built on the "cellular" principal, with double bottoms and numerous transverse and lateral watertight bulk-heads, this type of vessel was considered by the naval architects of the Fatherland to be practically unsinkable, although already several of this particular torpedo-boat's sister ships had failed to come up to expectations when cruel fate brought them within range of British quick-firers.
Save for a solitary electric lamp of low candle-power the sub.'s place of confinement was unlighted. Ventilation, too, was of the most meagre description, for the only air admitted was the already close atmosphere of 'tween decks that filtered in though a small "louvre" over the locked door. Without a sentry had been posted, but the key, instead of being entrusted to him, was kept in the lieutenant-commander's cabin. Thus, in the event of the vessel being sunk, it was fairly reasonable to assume that all chances of the prisoner being rescued depended upon the whim of the commanding officer and the alacrity of the German sentry, even if time permitted for him to risk his life for the sake of an "English swine."
Left to his own devices, Tressidar lost no time in taking minute stock of his surroundings. With the exception of a low bench, the place was devoid of furniture. The inner skin of the hull plating had been newly coated with red lead, and smelt abominably. In addition, some of the seams, working under the strain of the powerful engines, were "weeping" copiously, until the floor was flooded to a depth of two inches.
"Not a dog's chance of seeing what is going on," soliloquised the sub., as he threw himself upon the bench and drew his feet clear of the miniature lake. "I wonder what the game is? I hope, for my sake, and the sake of my men, that this hooker won't be torpedoed or mined while we are on board."
Tressidar was in a bad temper. The fact that he had been made a prisoner through the indefensible and high-handed action of the Huns riled him considerably. If he had had the ill-luck to be captured in fair fight he would, doubtless, have accepted the situation without demur, but to be literally kidnapped without the chance of a blow in self-defence was galling in the extreme.
Several hours passed. Save for a visit from a particularly surly seaman who brought the sub. a very sorry meal, Tressidar was left severely alone, to ruminate over his bad luck.
At length the slowing down of the torpedo-boat's engines told him that she was nearing port, for hitherto she had been racing at top speed and steering a zig-zag course. After twenty minutes, during which the engine-room telegraph bell clanged as many times, the vessel came to a standstill.
Then followed another tedious wait. Apparently the Huns were in no hurry to land their prisoner. But, since there is an end to all things, Tressidar in due course found himself being escorted on deck, preceded and followed by armed seamen.
It was still daylight. The torpedo-boat was berthed, in company with more than twenty others, in a spacious basin. Surrounding the enclosed water was a broad quay, flanked with two-storeyed buildings. The entrance to the basin was, remarkably, on the eastern side or remote from the open sea. Evidently the approach was by a tortuous, intricate channel that skirted the southernmost extremity of the island.
To the westward the outlook was bounded by a range of sand-dunes of varying altitudes. In some places they were about 50 feet in height; in others the grass-grown hummocks slightly exceeded double that dimension. A short distance to the north-west was a lighthouse, a round yellow tower perched upon a tall red cliff, that formed a striking contrast to the white sand-dunes on either side.
In almost every depression between the chain of dunes were heavy gun batteries, while on a broad level road running parallel to the sea and about two hundred yards from the summits of the sand-hills were numerous armoured motor-cars armed with quick-firers of widely differing calibres.
"Ah, I know where I am now," thought Tressidar as he recognised the lighthouse—not from actual acquaintanceship but from an intimate knowledge of the British "North Sea Pilot." "That's Rothe Kliff lighthouse, so they have landed me at Sylt. Next to Heligoland, they couldn't have chosen a stronger place to hold me prisoner. I wonder if they are going to keep me in some wretched prison camp in the centre of the German Empire."
He looked in vain for the cutter's crew. The men had been landed and marched off almost as the torpedo-boat was berthed, and were now on their way to embark in a small steamer for Hamburg.
The exhibition of captured British seamen in that paralysed commercial port was a stroke of diplomacy on the part of the German authorities. It gave colour to the official lie that a portion of the dauntless High Seas Fleet had boldly made a demonstration in force off the Firth of Forth The English had plucked up sufficient courage to leave their fortified harbours and give battle. It was a feeble attempt, and the British fleet broke off the engagement before the Germans could force a decisive action. As it was, a British battleship had been sunk with all hands. A large armoured cruiser had been sent to the bottom, a portion of the crew being rescued by the humane Germans. While engaged in this work of mercy the German cruiser had been torpedoed by a submarine. This was the fairy-tale that was quickly spread--broadcast from Hamburg to Königsberg and from the shores of the Baltic to the Swiss frontier.
Escorted by a file of marines, Tressidar was marched along the quay through throngs of curious and ill-disposed sightseers, of whom nine out of ten were in uniforms. At the end of the quay the escort turned down a narrow lane and finally came to a halt outside a low stone building, almost on the outskirts of the little town. The house stood in its own grounds, which were enclosed by a tall iron fence topped by a complex array of barbed wire. At the gate were two sentries. Two more stood in the portico of the house, while others were much in evidence as they marched to and fro on the raised platforms commanding an uninterrupted view of the grounds.
Inside the fence and separated from it by a distance of twenty feet was another barbed wire entanglement, while in the intervening space were several large and ferocious-looking mastiffs.
This was Sub-lieutenant Tressidar's first introduction to the naval prison of the fortress of Sylt.
CHAPTER XVI
THE FIRST DAY OF CAPTIVITY
Having handed over their prisoner to the charge of a corporal and a couple of men, the marine guard marched off. The sub. was then curtly ordered into a large, almost unfurnished room, the windows of which were heavily barred.
Engaged in conversation at one end of the room were four officers. One was the governor of the prison—a fat German of middle height, whose most striking peculiarities were his bristling, upturned moustache and a shiny, bald pate surrounded by a natural tonsure of raven black hair—another a subaltern who, having been wounded and rendered unfit for active service, was able to "get his own back" by systematically jeering at the prisoners and making their hard lives even yet more unbearable. The remaining officers were doctors.
"Take off all your clothes," ordered the lieutenant, with great emphasis on the word "all."
Tressidar obeyed. As each garment was, discarded it was seized and closely examined by the corporal, who seemed obsessed with the idea that English officers invariably had confidential documents sewn into their clothing. The sub.'s watch, purse, pocket-book, keys, and, in fact, everything in his pockets were handed to the junior German officer, who handled them as if they were contaminated articles, although he took good care to pocket the timepiece and the purse.
Stripped to the buff, Tressidar was subjected to a prolonged and searching verbal examination. Once when he demurred at answering a certain question, the governor reminded him that unless he replied truthfully and unhesitatingly he would have to remain without clothes until he did. And since the temperature was only a few degrees above freezing-point, the threat carried weight.
At the same time his replies were guarded and as inaccurate as they could possibly be without running the risk of betraying the fact. To make a statement that was absolutely inconsistent with details which his inquisitors knew already would be asking for additional trouble.
The interview, having lasted for nearly forty minutes, was followed by a medical examination of a perfunctory nature. So long as the prisoners were not suffering from any disease that might be a source of danger to the garrison, nothing else mattered from the authorities' point of view. The captives might die of starvation without raising a spark of compassion in the minds of the kultured Huns.
"Now," thought the sub., who by this time was shivering with cold, "I suppose they'll let me dress."
They did—but not in the manner he expected, for at an order from the governor, one of the soldiers kicked Tressidar's uniform into a corner of the room, while another emptied a small canvas sack full of dirty and badly worn clothes on the floor at the prisoner's feet.
With feelings of repugnance Tressidar dressed. The trousers were parti-coloured, a half being made from a French soldier's baggy red pair, the other part being of pale blue and indescribably greasy. The coat was a sort of civilian's lounge jacket, of dark grey, with a diamond-shaped patch of scarlet let into the back. It was impossible to cut the distinctive mark away without leaving a corresponding opening in the coat. Wooden-soled shoes with canvas uppers and a flat-topped cap completed his grotesque outfit.
Preceded and followed by his guards, Tressidar was led along a number of stone corridors, separated by metal doors. The cryptic writings on several massive doors opening out of the passages left little doubt in the sub.'s mind as to the uses to which the building was devoted. With typical Teutonic cunning the Germans were using the same roof to shelter explosives and prisoners, regarding the presence of the latter as a shield to guard their warlike stores from the unwelcome attentions of British airmen.
Presently the sub. found himself confronted by a double-locked door provided with a grille. Without stood an armed sentry, while—sinister fact—a couple of machine guns were trained through the lattice upon the occupants of the room. Ponderously the sentry unlocked and threw open the door, and Tressidar found himself urged forward by the effective expedient of having the butt of the rifle jammed into the small of his back.
Then the door clanged-to between himself and his guards. He was in the common room of the Sylt prison for captured British officers.
There were between twenty to thirty grotesquely attired men in the room, all engaged in the difficult task of killing time. Some were talking, others reading the carefully selected and approved literature provided by their captors. Two were playing chess, with knots of critical onlookers crowding round the little table.
At Tressidar's entrance the occupants came forward to greet their latest comrade in misfortune. The reticence generally attributed to Britons both at home and abroad seemed to have vanished.
"You'll have to introduce yourself, old man," exclaimed a pleasant-faced fellow of about the same age as the sub. "How did they bag you?"
In less than a minute conversation was in full swing. Everyone was eager to know the actual facts concerning the war, since it was only by the arrival of new members to the little party that the true state of affairs could be known.
"How about the fleet?" asked one. "Has there been a general engagement?"
"No, worse luck," replied Tressidar. "There has been a decided lack of opportunity."
"And the strafed Huns swore that their High Canal Fleet was out and off the east coast for over a fortnight," added another officer. "Of course we didn't believe it. And is it true that half London is in ashes?"
"Not by any means," said the sub. "Their Zepps. have come and gone. We bagged one the other day. They've done damage in various parts of the country, but not one-tenth of the amount they claim."
"And the Government?" asked an elderly fleet paymaster. "Are they doing anything yet? They were still gassing when I was nabbed, about three months ago."
Tressidar shook his head.
"Sorry I cannot report much progress in that direction," he said. "Until they decide to intern every German in the country things won't get much forrader at home, as far as the Government is concerned."
"The rotters!" exclaimed the fleet paymaster. "And they started with every prospect of doing something great. All factions were united, differences laid aside. The country was solidly behind them. And yet they shilly-shally and mess everything up. If we had had technical men to run the show—naval and military officers of experience—instead of twenty-three (or is it thirty-three by this time?) wobblers, the war would have been over by this time."
The accountant officer had voiced the sentiments of his fellow-captives. Optimism, a sure faith that all's well with the Navy, had evidently gripped their minds, but beyond that there was a vague suspicion that a brake was being applied to the enormous sea-power at the Empire's command.
Conversation proceeded briskly until the clanging of a bell announced that tea—the last meal of the day—was to be served. Into a dining-hall trooped the prisoners—to be counted en route for the third time in sixteen hours.
"Tea" consisted of a nasty beverage made from acorn "coffee" and chicory, with black bread and margarine. This was supplemented by delicacies that had been sent from home, all supplies from that source being placed into a common stock. The quantity received, however, represented but a small proportion of that sent, for although everything entrusted to American societies reached their destination safely—a large camp not far from Berlin—pilfering by the German authorities during the additional journey to Sylt was a most frequent occurrence.
At sunset the prisoners were ordered to bed. No lights were allowed. The dormitory was divided into cubicles, two officers being put in each. Privacy there was none, as the doors were only four feet in height and a couple of sentries continually paced up and down the dividing corridor.
Ronald Tressidar's cubicle was shared with a young flight sub-lieutenant R.N.R., John Fuller by name, who three months previously had fallen into the hands of the enemy on the occasion of a raid upon the fortifications of Borkum. At an altitude of less than a thousand feet a piece of shrapnel had pierced the petrol tank of Fuller's biplane, compelling the machine to alight in the sea within a mile of the coast. With a steady off-shore wind there was a chance of the seaplane drifting to within reach of the waiting destroyers, but for the fact that one of the floats had been perforated on the underside by a fragment of shell. In a waterlogged condition the crippled aeroplane's plight was observed by a German patrol boat, and, half dead with cold and exposure, Fuller was haled into captivity.
Doubtless owing to the fact that the flight-sub. had succeeded in dropping his bombs with disastrous results to the German works, his captors had transferred him to Sylt, where he stood a good chance of forming an integral part of a target for his brother-airmen in an expected raid.
"You'll find it desperately slow work, Tressidar," remarked Fuller "This is my eighty-second night in this hole, and it seems like a dozen years."
"Suppose you haven't tried to get away?"
"There's not a dog's chance, believe me," replied the flight-sub. "Apart from the risk of being plugged by a bullet from the sentry's rifle, the almost certainty of getting brought up all standing on the live wire——"
"The live wire?" repeated Tressidar.
"Rather. That barbed wire entanglement contains a highly charged electric cable. The current is switched on every night and off again in the morning. The Huns were particularly gleeful in informing us of the cheerful fact. Then there are those mastiffs to take into consideration, so you see there's little chance of success. On the other hand, failure, even if one does escape the dangers I have mentioned, means forty days' solitary confinement. Danvers, of the submarine service, tried it, and he swears it's almost worse than being buried alive. He was a physical and moral wreck when he turned up amongst us again."
"So you think it's no go?"
"My dear fellow," said Fuller, "you have my best wishes, and I believe those of the rest of us here. But that won't help you. Nothing short of an earthquake or a few tins of explosives will clear a way until the Allies beat the strafed Huns absolutely to their knees. That's my opinion, but I may be wrong. In any case, if there's the faintest possible chance, I'm on it."
"Then we'll call it a bargain?"
Without speaking a word Fuller extended his hand. The two men exchanged grips that formed a mutual understanding.
Then Tressidar turned in. For a long time he tossed uneasily on his hard straw mattress. Already captivity was weighing heavily on him, and as yet he had been but a few hours in the hands of the Huns.
CHAPTER XVII
A DASH FOR LIBERTY
Day after day, night after night passed with almost intolerable tediousness. The meagre fare, uncomfortable quarters, their motley clothing, the jeers and taunts of their goalers—all these discomforts, unpleasant though they were, could be borne with fortitude bordering on equanimity. It was the dearth of news and the enforced inactivity that weighed so heavily upon the captive British officers.
The Huns knew this and traded upon it. The prisoners would have welcomed hard labour, provided that it was not of a nature that would directly assist the enemy against their fellow-countrymen. Manual labour they knew to be a tonic to mental inactivity—a means to keep their bodies fit and their muscles in good form. Instead they were permitted but two hours a day in the grounds, and even then football or, in fact, any games were "verboten."
Although the prison buildings fronted on one of the village streets, the rear of the premises overlooked the dunes. In westerly winds the captives could hear the sea thundering upon the outlying sands—a call of freedom to which they could not respond.
When at frequent intervals the dull booming of cannon was borne to their ears, they would look at each other with unspoken words of hope, until they realised that the guns were being fired as practice and not directed upon the long-expected British assault by sea and air.
Sometimes, too, they could see the giant Zeppelins being guided cautiously from the huge collapsible sheds. This took place usually in the late afternoon, at or about the time of the new moon. Away would speed the craven night-raiders in a westerly direction, to return with almost unfailing regularity just after dawn. Once, however, a Zeppelin trailed homewards with its after-part sagging ominously, and before it could be safely housed, it collapsed, a crumpled heap of girders and torn fabric, upon the ground. At another, three airships set out across the North Sea, and only one returned.
Great was the joy of the prisoners on these occasions. Regardless of the threats of their guards, they would give vent to the wildest demonstrations of joy. But they had to pay for these outbursts. A further restriction of their already meagre fare and a complete deprivation of their tobacco and cigarettes was the unfailing penalty. It was worth the punishment, to "let themselves go" over the unquestionable loss of yet another of the Huns' vaunted gas-bags. Amongst the highly organised methods adopted by the Germans for the defence of Sylt was the practice of sending up a couple of observation balloons by day whenever a Zeppelin was not cruising overhead. These strangely shaped balloons were in the form of an egg, with a curved cylinder attached to the end in order to prevent the contrivance from rotating under the influence of air-currents. To the observation car was attached a light but strong flexible wire cable, which was paid out or taken up as required by means of a drum on the ground. At night the balloons were hauled down and partly deflated, but at sunrise they were sent up again with the special object of keeping a look-out for British aeroplanes.
On one occasion a false alarm was given. Promptly the captive balloons were hauled down. The Zeppelins emerged from their sheds and flew—not westwards to meet the threatened attack, but in a south-easterly direction. It was quite apparent that the Germans had little faith in their unwieldy gas-bags as a means of combating the daring British seaplanes in broad daylight; so they sent them inland to a safe distance, rather than risk annihilation at the hands of the intrepid Britishers.
In addition to the artillerymen stationed at Sylt there were several regiments of infantry—men who were supposed to be resting after months in the terrible district of Ypres. From the very first the Huns had a strong suspicion that Great Britain would attempt a landing upon the shores of Schleswig-Holstein, under cover of the guns of the fleet. Consequently a complete army corps had continually been pinned down to this part of the German Empire in order to be in readiness to repel the threatened invasion.
Upon the occasion of the false alarm Tressidar noticed that the infantrymen were promptly sent off to bomb-proof dug-outs, since they could be of little use in defence against aircraft. The gunners, however, stood to the quick-firers, the majority manning the batteries on the dunes, while others were told off to the portable anti-aircraft guns mounted on armoured motor-cars.
With the departure of the Zeppelins the sheds in which they were housed were lowered by means of steel trellis derricks until they lay flat upon the ground. The material of which the sheds were built was light steel, the outside of which had been coated with varnish. While the varnish was still in a viscous state, sand had been liberally sprinkled upon it, with the result that the collapsed sections of the Zeppelin sheds could hardly be distinguished from the surrounding soil.
The false alarm was but one of many. The troops were continually being called to arms, with the result that they were showing unmistakable signs of weariness under the strain. On each occasion the German officers attached to the prison staff took particular pains to inform the British captives that a threatened air-raid had been frustrated by the formidable appearance of the garrison defences.
But one day—it was exactly a month from the time when Tressidar first set foot in the fortress of Sylt—the long-expected attack took place.
Through the brilliant sunlit air six British seaplanes, looking little larger than may-flies, headed straight for the island. Well in the offing lay a parent ship for seaplanes, four light cruisers, and a swarm of destroyers; while still further to the westward the giant battle-cruisers kept in touch with their smaller consorts, ready to swoop down upon the German warships should the latter be tempted to join issue with the audacious British.
Tressidar and Fuller were alone in the common room. Owing to a trumped-up charge of a breach of discipline they had been prevented from joining the rest of their comrades in misfortune for the daily outdoor recreation.
A tremendous outburst of shell from the light quick-firers brought the chums to the barred window. Although they had had plenty of disappointment over the false alarms, they never neglected the opportunity of making for a place of observation when the anti-aircraft guns opened fire. For days they had waited for "something to turn up," and now their optimistic patience was about to be rewarded.
"Five of them, by Jove!" exclaimed Fuller. "No, six. They'll play the deuce with the Huns."
"And possibly with us," thought the sub., but nevertheless his nerves were a-tingle and his hopes centred upon the main idea that the raid would be of brilliant military importance. Personal safety was a negligible quantity.
All around the biplanes were white, mushroomed clouds of smoke from the bursting shrapnel. It seemed as if nothing in the vicinity could escape the concentrated fire from the German guns, yet serenely the seaplanes held on their course, tilting slightly under the violent disturbance of the air.
With their faces pressed against the iron bars of the window the two young officers watched the progress of the aircraft until they were so immediately overhead that the masonry impeded their outlook. The last they saw of the daring raiders was that they were volplaning rapidly.
"Now stand by!" whispered Fuller tersely. "In another few seconds you'll hear the plums drop."
The anti-aircraft guns redoubled their furious fire. The whole building trembled under the reverberation of the deafening reports.
Then, as Fuller had foretold, came the first of a succession of terrific explosions, as a large bomb from the leading seaplane crashed into a shell store.
Although the prisoners could not see the actual damage done to the building, they knew that it no longer existed. A dense black cloud thrown skywards by the detonation threw such a dark shadow that sunlight gave place to a gloom resembling twilight. Thousands of projectiles, hurled far and wide, burst with dire results. Scorched and maimed bodies of victims were projected in unrecognisable masses for nearly two hundred yards from the actual scene of the disaster.
For some moments bombs fell like rain. Several of the gun emplacements in the dunes were utterly wrecked. In others the guns were temporarily disabled by quantities of sand that, hurled right and left by the bombs, choked the bore and clogged the delicate mechanism of the sights and training gear.
The torpedo-boats in the basin also had a rough handling. Several, to escape destruction, put out to sea, but in the confusion many collided in the narrow, intricate channel. Others were sunk alongside the quays. Of the forty naval vessels belonging to the port, twenty-two only escaped.
Expecting every moment to find the building collapse over their heads, Tressidar and his companion stuck to their posts at the window, Presently they saw one of the huge armoured cars proceeding at a furious pace down the military road behind the dunes. As it tore along, its obliquely-pointed quick-firer spat venomously at the British seaplanes until a bomb, falling quite a hundred feet from the car, tore a deep hole in the roadway. At the same time a flying fragment of metal found its way through the narrow slit in the steel plating behind which sat the driver. The man was either killed or seriously wounded, for the powerfully engined vehicle was no longer under control. Gradually, at a speed of approximately forty miles an hour, it described a curve in a right-handed direction, while the gunners, their attention fixed upon the elusive targets a thousand feet or more above their heads, were in ignorance of the danger that threatened them.
"Dash it all!" exclaimed Tressidar excitedly. "That car will barge into something in half a shake."
Already the vehicle had left the broad road and was ploughing with no apparent effort through the sand. It was heading towards the prison buildings.
Through the outer palisade it came, hurtling the steel rods right and left. Then, without checking its headlong career, the car wrenched its way through the double lines of barbed wire, carrying away yards of fencing as it did so.
The anti-aircraft gun had now ceased firing. The gunners, aware of the fact that the car was a derelict, but unable to gain the steering compartment, were helpless.
"Stand by!" exclaimed Tressidar.
The warning was necessary. The motor-battering-ram was charging straight for the window. Promptly the chums backed away from the bars. Judging by the speed and momentum of the petrol-driven vehicle there was great danger of the car charging completely through the stone building.
The next instant there was a violent crash. Stone, mortar, iron bars, woodwork flew in all directions accompanied by clouds of dust, while rearing at an alarming angle upon the mound of debris was the car.
It was totally wrecked. The muzzle of the anti-aircraft gun, having caught in the overhanging masonry, had been wrenched from its mountings, tearing away the steel roof of the car and pinning the two gunners under the heavy metal. The petrol from the burst tanks 'was saturating everything within the limit of its flood, although, fortunately for Tressidar and his companion, the highly volatile spirit had not exploded. To add to the horrors of the scene bombs from the British seaplanes were still falling.
"Come along!" shouted Tressidar, bawling to make himself heard above the din.
"Right-oh," replied Fuller with alacrity.
The sub. had no definite plan. All he knew was that a path had been cleared for them through the formidable barriers. There was a chance—a very slight chance—of liberty, and they seized it.
Crawling over the pile of debris and edging between the upturned side of the car and the jagged wall, they gained the open space between the building and the military road behind the dunes.
Glancing cautiously right and left, the two chums made the discovery that the coast was clear. The gunners of the stationary quick-firers, ensconced in their armoured emplacements, were too busy with their work to look elsewhere. A mile or so down the road and proceeding away from the prison buildings were two armoured cars. Every soldier, not actually engaged in firing at the seaplanes, had returned to the shelter of the dug-outs and bomb-proof casemates. Three distinct and fiercely burning fires showed unmistakable proof that the work of destruction had succeeded.
Through the gap in the shattered fence Tressidar and Fuller made their way. The severed electric wires were spluttering viciously, emitting bright blue flashes as their ends writhed like snakes. The mastiffs were no longer in evidence. Terrified by the crash of the falling bombs, they had scurried for shelter. The sentinels, too, their dread of official punishment outweighed by the fear of death or maiming from the powerful bombs, had deserted their posts, but not before a corporal and two privates had been literally wiped out of existence.
Through drifts of acrid-smelling smoke the two fugitives hastened, until they gained the slight shelter afforded by a dip in the reed-grown dunes.
So far so good, but unfortunately the seaplanes, their mission accomplished, were already on their return journey, their departure greeted by a futile discharge of shrapnel. That meant that before long the Germans would be emerging from their shelters to take stock of the damage before the officials could draft a report to Berlin announcing that yet another raid had been attended by no results of military significance.
"Say, old man," exclaimed Fuller. "What's the next move? We can't hang on here much longer."
"No," replied Tressidar slowly. He was thinking deeply, regretting that he had not previously mapped out a plan should an opportunity like that of the present arise.
Suddenly an idea flashed across his mind.
"By Jove!" he ejaculated, "what's to prevent our nabbing that captive balloon?"
"A great wheeze," rejoined Fuller, kneeling up and peering cautiously in the direction of the observation balloon.
Thank goodness it had contrived to escape attention from the far-flung fragments of the bombs. Partly inflated, and pinned to the earth by a number of cords attached to sandbags, it retained sufficient lifting power to support a couple of men, even if it were unable to rise to a very great altitude.
The balloon was deserted. Imagining that it would be a particular target for the British airmen, and knowing the danger of an explosion in the vicinity of hundreds of thousands of cubic feet of hydrogen, the men in charge had bolted precipitately at the first appearance of the seaplanes.
Unnoticed, the two grotesquely garbed fugitives gained the spot where the giant gas-bag was tethered. Peering over the edge of the car, Tressidar found what he had expected, a box of tools.
"In with you, old man!" he exclaimed.
The chums clambered over the edge of the basket. Each, grasping a chisel, began to sever the cords holding the retaining weights. While six yet remained to be cut the balloon rose slowly from the ground. Its reserve of buoyancy then, in addition to the two passengers, was equal to the weight of half a dozen sandbags.
As the last cord was severed the balloon leapt skywards, until with a perceptible jerk its ascent was stopped. It was held by a flexible steel wire, the bulk of which was wound round the drum of the lowering gear.
"Pliers, quick!" exclaimed Tressidar, swinging himself up into the netting in order to bring himself within arm's length of the span to which the cable was spliced.
Fuller obeyed promptly. As he did so he became aware of something that the sub. in his excitement had not noticed. From their places of concealment numbers of German soldiers were emerging. By the shouts it was apparent that they had discovered the attempt at escape on the part of the two English prisoners.
The steel wire was tough and offered stubborn resistance to the pliers. Every moment was precious. Tressidar, too, was now aware of the latest danger that threatened them. In his desperate anxiety to complete his work the pliers slipped from his hand and fell a distance of thirty feet to the ground.
"See if there's anything else to cut this infernal wire," he exclaimed breathlessly, holding out his disengaged hand.
Fuller searched in vain. Amongst the collection of tools there was nothing capable of making a quick job of cutting the wire. The nearest German was within a hundred yards, and, like most of his companions, was armed with a rifle. There seemed every possibility of the luckless fugitives being done in.
Disregarding Tressidar's excitable requests to "Look sharp," the flight sub. snatched up a rifle that was lying in the car. Throwing up the bolt, he discovered, as he expected, that the weapon was already loaded. With a steady hand he held the muzzle within a couple of inches of the wire and pressed the trigger.
The next instant the balloon, captive no longer, was soaring skywards at a dizzy rate, the bullet having accomplished the task that the wire cutters had failed to do.