CHAPTER XX

The Way Out

"So, you cat with nine lives, we've to thank you for this beautiful fix!" remarked Captain Nicholson after he had greeted his companions in misfortune.

"Don't know about that, sir," replied the bomber. "If I hadn't been nippy, those Huns would have plugged the lot of you, and more'n likely they would have got away. What were those coves doing with the pick and shovel, sir, if they didn't know there was a chance of getting out that way?"

"That passage is closed, at any rate," decided Captain Nicholson, glancing in the direction of the mound of debris and the displaced girders. "M'Kane and I have explored the entrance, There's been a big fall. The supplementary shoots are also choked. We followed a level working for nearly a hundred yards. It leads nowhere. Fritz never had time to finish it. Look here, this torch won't hold out for ever. The battery's running down. How's Selwyn?"

"Only suffering from shock, sir," replied Malcolm.

"All right; you can do nothing more so far as he is concerned," decided the officer. "We'll make a thorough search of these sleeping-quarters, and see if we can find any candles. Knowing the systematic thoroughness of Fritz, I guess he's taken precautions in the event of the electric light going out. By Jove," he added, as the dug-out trembled violently, "there's some strafing going on outside!"

A search resulted in the discovery of several oillamps and packets of candles. There was also food in considerable quantities and wine in bottles.

"I'd swop all that fizz for a pannikin of tea," declared Joliffe.

"You're never satisfied, chum," remarked M'Turk, deftly knocking off the neck of a bottle and taking a draught.

"If you had what I've got you'd be satisfied," retorted the bomber. "I don't mind telling you now. Captain can't order me back out of it, can you, sir?"

"Well, what have you got?" enquired Nicholson.

"Splinter of shell in me shoulder--copped that last night along with the ration-party, sir; then this crack on the skull from that tin-pot Boche; and now I've copped it in both legs--and still I'm not knocked out."

The men sat down to make a meal. Selwyn, under the reviving effect of a drink of wine, had opened his eyes. Although considerably shaken, he was otherwise unhurt.

Captain Nicholson's story of what had occurred threw little light upon the mystery. He remembered the explosion; he was conscious of being hurled high in the air and of falling on top of the prostrate body of one of his men. The first to recover, he waited until M'Kane regained consciousness, and, having placed M'Turk and Selwyn in a reclining position, set off to find an egress and bring assistance.

At the thirtieth step they were stopped by a solid mass of rubble that was only prevented from falling upon them by the fact that two massive timbers had dropped across the tunnel. To tamper with them meant certain disaster. Retracing their way to the main dug-out, they found a hitherto overlooked passage running at right angles to the longer walls. As the Captain had previously reported, it was a blind alley.

"Although I believe that the Hun's yarn about fifty tons of stuff is all moonshine," continued Nicholson, "I can't see how one bomb would raise Cain like this. It's just possible that there was a small quantity of explosives in the place--sufficient to bring the roof down and to give us a pretty shaking up."

The imprisoned men ate, drank, and talked--all except Selwyn, who complained of a violent headache and dizziness. Captain Nicholson let them carry on at their leisure. As long as they kept their spirits up there was little cause for anxiety. The great thing was to guard against depression.

"Now then, boys!" he exclaimed at length. "Heaven helps those who help themselves--how about it? Are we going to sit here until we are dug out or are we going to extricate ourselves?"

"Win off our own bat, sir," replied M'Turk.

"That's the sort," rejoined his officer. "Now, look here. Do any of you fellows remember if there were other dug-outs close to this?"

"There was an entrance about twenty yards to the left of this one, sir," said Malcolm. "I noticed that it was clear, for when I came up our fellows were hauling out a batch of Huns."

"That's our direction," decided Captain Nicholson. "It's not much use trying to open up the tunnel at which the Boches were working when we surprised them. It leads towards Messines Ridge, and I guess there's not much tunnelling left there. I should imagine they were ignorant of the actual results of the mine, or they would have given it up as a bad job."

Armed with mattocks and picks, Malcolm, M'Turk, and M'Kane attacked the side of the entrance-tunnel at a spot a few yards beneath the choke. The ground was clayey and easy to work, but in the absence of shoring material there was a grave risk of the new tunnel caving in. At the end of an hour's strenuous activity a tunnel about twelve feet long, and sufficiently large to enable a man to crawl along, had been excavated.

"Any luck?" enquired Captain Nicholson for the twentieth time during that hour.

"No, sir," replied Malcolm, who was working at the head of the sap and cautiously dislodging soil, which, in turn, was picked up by M'Turk and passed out so as not to obstruct the portion of the tunnel already dug.

The ground vibrated under the impact of a heavy shell thirty or forty feet overhead. Although the bombardment had decreased in violence the Huns were still sending heavy stuff across at irregular intervals.

"Hanged if I like this job," soliloquized Malcolm. "I thought the whole show would collapse that time. By Jove, something's going!"

Making a vain attempt to back out of the confined space, Carr felt the ground giving way beneath his bent legs.

"What's up, Digger?" enquired M'Turk, hearing his companion's exclamation.

Without waiting for an answer M'Turk crawled to within arm's length of the lad and grasped him by the arm. As he did so the subsidence increased, and, amidst a shower of soil, the two riflemen found themselves falling through the air.

Both uttered an exclamation of horrified surprise, not knowing at that stage if they were hurtling into a deep abyss to be dashed to pieces at the bottom. Anticipating the worst, they were agreeably relieved to find that they had dropped only ten or twelve feet, and had alighted upon a pile of soft material that proved to be a stack of folded blankets.

"It's all right, sir," shouted Malcolm.

"Where are you?" enquired Captain Nicholson, crawling cautiously along the newly-excavated gallery.

"That's more than I can say, sir," replied Carr. "We're in the dark absolutely."

Having tested the ground at the edge of the hole, Captain Nicholson flashed his torch into the dug-out into which the two riflemen had fallen.

"By Jove," he exclaimed, "you've found a way out! I won't join you just yet. Stand by while I drop some candles and matches; then have a look round and report. See if there's a ladder available."

The torch was switched off and the two riflemen waited in utter darkness.

"I'm beginning to fancy I'm a blessed mole!" remarked M'Turk. "Twice I've been buried in our own dug-out. First time wasn't much to speak of; but Plug Street--ugh! For five mortal hours I was pinned down, the Huns strafing all the time, and the water rising up through the dirt that covered me up to my chin. And, as if I hadn't had enough, one of the boys who were digging me out must needs drive a pick through my calf. After all," he added, "it was worth it. I got six months in Blighty, and haven't had the same luck since. I'd give five pounds for old Fortyscrew's buckshie. Guess he's having a fair holiday by now."

"Fortescue was hit only quite recently," said Malcolm. "I met him on my way up."

"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 space 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 space. 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 shells," 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."

Passing 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 shell. 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 ejaculations:

"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."