CHAPTER XVIII—A Dash for Liberty

As one man they rushed to their arms, and even as they did so a score of shots rang out, and the whistling bullets cut the earth about their feet.

"The German troops!" cried Cortes. "We must gain the hill-top or we’re lost!"

Firing into the darkness as they ran, they ascended the hill with all dispatch. At the top they found themselves subjected to a withering fire, which poured down upon them from all directions. The night was alive with the sharp reports of rifles. Sudden flashes of fire showed up on every hand, like so many living tongues of flame. It was evident the enemy was in force.

For four hours the fight continued without a check. The roar of the musketry continued; the hissing of the bullets was like heavy rain. And all this time the German soldiers were working nearer and nearer, until at last they formed a complete circle around the foot of the hill.

They were then close enough for their voices to be audible, and now and again, as a bullet found its mark, a shriek went up in the night.

By then, not one of Harry’s party had been struck. This was partly due to the boulders which lay upon the hill-top, and behind which it was possible to obtain cover, and partly to the inferiority of the German marksmanship.

During a lull in the combat, a short respite from the strain of the situation, Harry took counsel with the two guides and Jim.

"It appears to me," he observed, "that if we wait till sunrise we are lost. So far, we have managed to escape death only by reason of the darkness."

"Before the sun rises," said Fernando, "two courses lie open to us: we must either fight our way through the enemy or commend our souls to Heaven."

"I was going to propose," said Harry, "that we gather together in a body and endeavour to charge through the enemy."

"And after that?" asked Braid.

"After that we may either find some place more suitable for defence, or else die in our tracks."

"We can die fighting," said the younger guide.

"Well, then," said Harry, "every minute counts. If we can get through we may be able to cover some miles before dawn is upon us. We must hold together, however. There will be no time to go back to look for one who is lost."

They now prepared themselves to make this last and desperate bid for freedom. They played for the highest stakes, for liberty and life. They could not advance, however, without acquainting Peter Klein of their intention, and when the man was told of what they proposed to do he set to shaking in his limbs.

Harry was in no mood to humour him. He had long since lost all patience with their uninvited guest.

"You have two minutes," said he, "in which to choose. Either you come with us, or stay here, or else you can go over to the enemy. It does not matter very much to us which you decide to do."

The man picked up his rifle. He tried to speak, and stuttered. He was incoherent from fear, though it was his own countrymen who opposed them. German and German-trained native troops were in the valley in about equal numbers.

"What am I to do?" he asked.

"Remain at my side," said Harry. "Do not fire until I tell you to. We are going to creep as near to the enemy as we can, and then charge through together."

Klein said nothing, but they heard the bolt of his rifle shake in his hand.

Then all five began to crawl down the hill, picking their way carefully over the stones, advancing as stealthily as possible.

The enemy’s fire had somewhat abated. Perhaps they also—true to the traditions of the Prussian army—contemplated an assault. Instead of the continuous rattle of musketry that had lasted for so long, only an occasional shot resounded in the valley.

Inch by inch, they drew nearer to the enemy’s position, and when not twenty yards from the place where a German officer was shouting hoarse, guttural words of command, Harry whispered to his followers to halt. He desired to give them time to gain their breath, that the charge might be as swift as it was sudden and unexpected.

During the next few minutes it was as if each second dragged out into eternity. At all events, the anxiety and excitement had the most amazing effect upon Peter Klein, who was a coward from the day of his birth. It drove him mad, and he became like some infuriated beast, a bull in a bull-ring or a baited bear.

Suddenly springing to his feet, before Harry had given the word of command, he discharged the magazine of his rifle in the direction of his own countrymen. Then, seizing the weapon by the muzzle, he dashed down hill, swinging it round and round his head as a man uses a club.

Harry and his three companions followed in the man’s wake, firing right and left. Though it was dark, they were near enough to Klein to see what happened. The man was as terrible in his madness as he had been despicable in fear. Without a doubt, terror had overcome his senses. Giving himself up for lost, he had been able to bear the suspense no longer, and now rushed furiously, demented and panic-stricken, into what looked like certain death.

A German sergeant jumped out of the grass before him, and the butt of Klein’s rifle crushed the man’s skull as though it were a nut. Another man—a native—a second later was dropped to the ground, with a blow that would have felled an ox. A third rushed upon the maniac, and so tremendous was the stroke that sent him to his death that Klein’s rifle broke at the small of the butt.

Still the ex-spy was undefeated. With the steel barrel in one hand and his revolver in the other, he went onward in the dark, filling the night with an infinity of savage and appalling yells.