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Roy Glashan's Library
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"JOCK, have you noticed that chap Clement who came with the new draft?"
Big Jock Cawthra, half-dozing at the bottom of the fire-trench, roused, brushed the swarming flies away with his great hand, and turned slowly to the keen-looking youngster beside him.
"Aye, I've noticed him," he said, with a touch of Yorkshire burr in his deep voice. All his life he had lived in Tasmania, but his parents had come from the Old Country. "I've noticed him, Sidney, but that's about all there is to it."
"Do you like the look of him?" demanded Sidney Hart.
"I haven't thought one way or the other. What bee have you got in your bonnet now, Sidney?"
"No bee at all," replied the other sharply. "But I don't like the look of him."
"I've seen many a chap I didn't like the looks of," said Jock with a grin. "But that don't worry me. I just steer clear of 'em—that's all."
"That's all very well in ordinary times, but it's different now. Suppose he was a spy?"
Jock grinned broadly.
"You're a oner for supposing, Sidney."
"So you say; but this is something more than supposing."
The big fellow's eyes opened more widely.
"You mean you've got something to go on?"
"I jolly well have! Listen!"
He lowered his voice and glanced round cautiously.
"Last night, as we came up the communication-trench, Clement was just in front of me. He caught his toe on a stone, and nearly came a cropper. I heard him swear under his breath, and it wasn't English he used."
"What did he say?" Jock was really awake now.
"'Danner!' was the word he used. I heard it as plainly as I can hear you."
Jock grunted.
"That's rum!" he muttered. Then he looked up the trench. "That's the man, isn't it? The chap with yellow hair—the one who's just raising his periscope?"
Sidney nodded.
"That's him. What are we going to do, Jock?"
Jock considered.
"Take your chance, if you can find one, and tell Sergeant Holmes. He's got his head screwed on right, and if he thinks anything of it he'll tell the Colonel."
Sidney looked relieved.
"All right. I'll tell him to-night. Sure to get a chance about supper-time."
He had hardly finished speaking when the heavy boom of a gun broke the stillness of the hot afternoon.
Everyone in the trench started up.
"That's a four-seven," said Sidney Hart sharply. "Wonder what's up?"
Before Jock could reply two more guns spoke together, and the great shells came screeching high overhead, to burst with a stunning crash far up on the crest of the ridge where the Turkish trenches were cut deep in the living rock.
"Must be an attack on," said Jock. All trace of his former sleepiness was gone.
"By Jove, I hope so!" replied Sidney. "We've mouldered here a jolly sight too long already."
Half a dozen more guns began to talk all together, making such a row that speech became impossible. Presently came the hoarse roar of the howitzers, and between these and the naval guns the din was appalling.
It was a terrific bombardment. High above them, where the shells were falling, the earth rose in brown fountains, and great rocks burst and scattered under the terrific force of the exploding melinite. Thick fumes rose in clouds and drifted slowly inland before the faint breeze.
"The Turks are getting a proper dusting," said Sidney in Jock's ear. "I say, I wonder how long it will be before they let us have a go at them?"
Jock glanced at his wrist-watch.
"Not yet a while. We'll have to wait till dark, I expect. Hallo! they're trying to reply. Keep down, Sidney!"
At that moment a big Turkish shell dropped barely twenty yards behind the Australian trench, and a cloud of dust and smoke half-smothered the men nearest.
"Keep down!" roared Sergeant Holmes. "Keep down, you beggars! You'll all be needed later, so don't go wasting yourselves just out of curiosity!"
The sun slowly sank over the western sea, and still the British guns, large and small, roared and crashed with untiring fury. And so long as there was light to get range they kept hurling their deadly missiles upon the Turkish trenches.
A whisper went from man to man down the trench. They knew the time was near, and one and all fixed their bayonets.
"You keep alongside me, Sid," said Jock Cawthra in his deep voice. "Don't you go cutting off by yourself. You mind me, now."
"All right, Jock," said Sidney. His eyes were dancing, and there was a red spot in each cheek. Small as he was, compared with the giants of his battalion, he had as much pluck in his slight frame as the biggest of them, and was as fine a fighter as Jock himself.
Suddenly the guns ceased pounding. With one accord all were still, and the silence after two long hours of din seemed almost uncanny.
Each man in the long trench was on his feet. In the feather trenches behind, the supports were crouching. Each was like a greyhound straining at the leash.
Came the trill of a whistle, repeated from sergeant to sergeant down the trench, and like a flash every one of the stalwarts from "Down Under" leaped upwards over the sandbag barricade, and sped away at full speed up the rocky slope.
Once this slope had been thick with dry bush; now it was bare save for black embers. There was no cover except an occasional rock, and, in any case, the Australians were not thinking of cover. Their one idea was to reach the enemy with all possible speed and pitchfork him out of the battered remains of his trenches.
After the awful pounding from the British guns, one might have supposed that not a Turk survived in the hilltop trenches. But this was not the case. Their dug-outs were deep and well protected, and the advance had hardly begun before the bullets began to sing across the beaten hillside, and the gallant Australians to stagger or fall.
As the thinning lines swept upwards, the slope behind was littered with khaki-clad figures. Some lay very still, some writhed in agony, others not so badly hit made shift to crawl back into cover.
But the survivors neither stopped nor looked back. Their long legs covered the bullet-swept hillside as easily as though it had been level ground, and in a silence more deadly than any shouting they flung themselves upon the first line of the enemy's trenches, and rolled over it like an avalanche.
The Turks fought bravely, but they were not the equals of the long, sinewy Australians. In less time than it takes to tell, half were dead, the rest prisoners.
"Come on, lads!" shouted Colonel Corbyn, who, like the gallant officer he was, had been leading his men all up the hill. "Come on! We'll want the top of the hill!"
"Come on, Jock!" cried Sidney Hart. His face was flushed, his hat was gone.
"Wait, Sidney!" growled Jock, as he scrambled, panting, out of the smashed trench. "Don't you go running ahead o' me, now!"
But Sidney was off already, and it was all that big Jock could do to catch up with the nimble youngster.
Now the firing broke out more heavily than before. From some hidden sangar up to the left a machine-gun was rapping, sending its deadly hail fanning across the line of the British advance.
The short twilight was gone, but the stars shone brilliantly in the clear sky and gave light enough to see the surroundings.
Men were falling faster and faster as the red tongues of flame belched from the hilltop.
"We've got to stop that machine-gun, or she'll stop us!" came a voice just in front of the two chums, and the burly form of Sergeant Holmes loomed up in front of them.
"Come on, you chaps!" he said sharply. "Make a bit of a circle round to the left. Take all the cover you can, and get in at the back of 'em."
He collected about a dozen in all, and, racing away to the left, they scrambled through a litter of broken rocks, and presently came out well to the left of the machine-gun redoubt.
"Got any bombs?" whispered the sergeant.
Two men had. They were sent forward, and, scrambling upwards with the skill and silence of the real bushman, managed to gain the lower edge of the sangar without being seen.
A moment later the night was split by two vivid crimson flashes, and for a moment the roar of the exploding bombs drowned the crackle of rifle fire.
"Come on!" cried the sergeant, and like a flash his little party were over the rocks and inside the redoubt.
There was nothing left for them to do. The bombs had seen to that.
"Ugh! it's an ugly sight!" muttered Sidney, glancing down at the shattered remains of half a dozen Turks and the blood-stained ruins of the quick-firer.
"Made a clean job, anyway!" said the sergeant with much satisfaction. "No use wasting time here. Come on back, all of you, and let's see if we can give the boys a hand."
He sprang lightly down over the bomb-riven rocks. The rest followed. A loose stone turned under Jock's foot, and he fell heavily.
"Hurt, Jock?" asked Sidney anxiously, as he turned to help his chum.
"Winded. Nothing to speak of," panted Jock.
But he had barked his shin badly and knocked all the breath out of his big body. By the time that Sidney got him on his feet again the rest had swept on, and they were left alone.
The firing had slackened, but the yells and shouts that came from the second line of Turkish trenches, and the occasional crash and glare of a bomb, showed that a furious struggle was in progress. The two chums started across to take their share.
Suddenly Sidney seized Jock by the arm.
"Steady!" he whispered.
"What's up?" demanded Jock.
"That chap Clement—the one I was talking about. He was sneaking back down the hill. I caught his face in the flash of that last bomb."
"Dirty coward!" growled Jock.
"No, he's not funking it. He's up to something."
"We can't stop to fool with him," said Jock impatiently.
"You go ahead, then. I'm after Clement."
Jock paused. He knew Sidney Hart—knew that, once he made up his mind to anything, he was about as easy to turn as the tide of the sea.
"Come on, Sidney," he begged.
"No. One spy can do more harm than a regiment of honest men. I tell you straight, I'm going to hunt this chap."
"Then I'm with you," said Jock gruffly.
Without another word Sidney led the way. He went like a shadow, darting from rock to rock. Jock, in spite of his great bulk, followed almost as silently.
A few moments later Jock caught him up as he crouched behind a rugged boulder.
"I told you so!" whispered Sidney. "Look at that!"
In an open space, not thirty steps away, were two men. One lay flat on his back on the blackened ground, the other knelt by him and with quick fingers was fumbling in the front of his tunic.
A flash from a bursting shell threw a red gleam on the face of the latter. It was the yellow-haired Clement, and his furtive expression told its own story. The dead man was Colonel Corbyn himself.
"The blackguardly spy!" muttered Jock savagely, as he flung his rifle to his shoulder.
"No! We must have him alive!" said Sidney swiftly, as he grasped Jock's arm. "Come on!"
He was on his feet like a flash; but as he darted forward a pebble clinked beneath his feet, and Clement, leaping to his feet, darted away.
Jock fired, but missed.
He gave an angry exclamation and started in pursuit at full speed.
His long legs covered the ground at a tremendous pace. Sidney, light and active as he was, was for the moment left behind.
Clement had turned away to the left, making towards the precipitous slope by the shattered sangar. In a moment he was among the rocks and out of sight.
As Jock set himself to scramble up the steep, Sidney caught up.
"The Colonel's dead!" he muttered.
"You'd better have let me shoot Clement," growled back Jock, as he seized Sidney and literally pitched him up a ledge some five feet in height.
"It's up to us to get those papers back," said Sidney between tight-set lips.
After that they spoke no more. Every ounce of strength and breath were needed to climb the rugged hillcrest. .
AT last they reached the top. By this time the sound of battle had almost ceased. Only an occasional rifle shot broke the silence. The Turks had been driven off the hilltop. The spot the two youngsters had reached was some distance to the left of the Turkish trenches. It was the very crest of the mountain, ground so steep and rugged as to be a barrier in itself to any advance of the Allies.
On the east the hill dropped in a series of terraces. Some were divided by mere ledges of rock, others by small precipices. To the valley beneath seemed, in the starlight, to be a depth of at least a couple of hundred feet.
Sidney flung himself down on his face and peered over into the depths below.
"He's gone!" said Jock savagely. "I wish to goodness I'd put a bullet through him!"
Sidney looked up.
"No!" he whispered sharply. "He's there—on the next ledge below us! He's lying doggo! Thinks we can't see him! See here," he continued, "you stay where you are. I'll go down and turn him out. If he makes trouble, you pot him!"
"Hanged if I do!" retorted Jock. "If you go, I go with you. Like as not he'd put a hole in you as soon as he saw you. It's odds he's carrying a Browning."
Jock usually followed Sidney's advice without question, but when he spoke like this, Sidney knew it was useless to argue.
"Come on, then!" he said shortly. "But keep down. He's a jolly sight more likely to put a hole in your big carcass than my little one!"
Sidney's quick eyes had already spotted the only way down to the ledge below. It was easy enough for youngsters with such hard heads as these two.
But evidently Clement was watching. As they reached the ledge he was up again and dodging along close under the shelter of the rock wall behind him.
"The beggar's seen us! Come on, or we shall lose him!" said Sidney sharply. He ran on, light as a shadow, and Jock followed.
Clement disappeared around an angle of the rock, and when they next saw him he was far down on a ledge quite a hundred feet beneath them. "Either he knows the ground, or he's a top-hole mountaineer," said Sidney, as he searched for the point where the man had gone over.
He was not long in finding it, and presently he and Jock were plastered like flies against the cliff face, scrambling from crag to crag.
Sidney had done lots of this sort of thing in the precipitous mountains of Northern Tasmania. He went down at a tremendous pace, and Jock followed steadily. Every now and then Sidney glanced downwards. Their quarry was still on the lower ledge, and it occurred to him that he was either unable to get lower, or was actually waiting for them.
If he was armed it was a wonder that he had not fired already; but it was quite likely that he was afraid of drawing the fire of the Turks in the valley below.
"We'll have him now!" muttered Jock, as he set foot on the lower ledge, close behind Sidney.
"Be careful!" warned Sidney. "This is our last chance. If he gets into the valley, we can't follow him."
Rifles ready, they crept along the ledge. Clement had moved farther on around a bulge in the rock face. For the moment they could not see him.
Sidney's heart was beating faster than usual as he crept soundlessly along the ledge. He reached the corner and peered cautiously round.
"See him?" whispered Jock.
"Not a sign of him!" was the puzzled answer.
"He's not off the ledge," said Jock. "We must have noticed him if he'd gone down."
Step by step the two advanced. Sidney was utterly at sea. The ledge was narrow, there was no cover to speak of, and to the right the cliff dropped fifty feet almost sheer. Yet the man they were in search of had absolutely vanished.
Could he have climbed upwards again? That was the thought that flashed into Sidney Hart's quick brain. He checked and turned, and the movement saved his life, for with a whiz a heavy stone, flung from above, passed within a foot of his hat-brim and disappeared into space over the brow of the ledge.
Before he had recovered from his astonishment there was a low roar behind, and Jock had sprung past him and with a furious rush reached the spot where Clement was standing.
Clement fired a pistol almost in his face, but Jock came low, and the bullet missed him by a matter of inches.
Wheeling round, the spy vanished into a dark recess among the rocks.
Thoroughly roused, Jock dashed recklessly after him, Sidney Hart only a foot or two behind. They heard the patter of running feet as Clement bolted back into the cave, of which this was the mouth.
The cave—or was it a mine gallery?—ran steeply upwards. Of course, it was dark as pitch, but the floor was level, and guided by the clatter cf Clement's boots they leapt straight on.
The clatter ceased.
"Stop, or I'll blow you both to blazes," came a hoarse voice from beyond. At the same moment the pale glimmer of light shone out, showing Clement, white-faced and desperate, with a lighted match in his hand.
He had thrown away his pistol. As Sidney suspected and found afterwards to be the actual fact, he had but one cartridge left in it, the one with which he had missed Jock.
"Stop, or I'll finish the lot of us," snarled the man, and Sidney saw that his threat was no empty one. He was up against the far end of the tunnel, and all around him lay a mass of explosives piled against the wall.
The case was clear in a moment. This was a Turkish mine, a secret sap running up under their own hilltop trenches, and calculated to blow them and their British occupants to atoms in case they were taken.
Jock, brave as he was, paused uncertainly. Not so Sidney. His quick brain gripped the situation instantly.
"Blow us up!" he repeated coolly. "Bah! You haven't the nerve, and you know it."
As he spoke he calmly advanced on Clement. It was a fearful gamble. Whether the spy had the pluck to carry out his threat he could not tell, and if he did—well, the result did not bear thinking about.
But Clement's upper lip was quivering slightly, and in his secret soul Sidney believed that he was scared.
"Stop!" cried the spy violently. But Sidney was already within striking distance. His answer was to leap on the man. The match went out, and down they went together in the dark.
Alone Sidney would have stood no chance whatever against the spy. But this was where Jock came in. In a trice he had Clement by the throat, and did not relax his hold till the man went limp under the choking grip.
Sidney struggled to his feet, and flashed an electric torch which he took from his pocket.
"Good for you, Jock," he said with much approval. "Tie his hands, and have him out. We must get him back to our trenches some way or other."
"Here are the papers," said Jock, pulling them out of the spy's tunic. "And, by jinks! he's a Boche right enough, Sid. Here's an envelope addressed in German."
As he spoke he was deftly tying the so-called Clement's hands behind his back. The man came to, and choked and coughed. His face was savage as a trapped wolf's when he realised his fix, but he was helpless, and he knew it.
"Bring him along," said Sidney briskly. "I don't fancy there's much time to waste. Chances are the Turks heard that shot."
He turned as he spoke, and led the way back to the entrance.
Came a sharp crack from somewhere outside, and a bullet flattened on the roof of the passage, bringing down a shower of splinters.
"Serves me right," said Sidney as he hastily dropped the match and stamped on it. "Down with you, Jock."
They both dropped, and only just in time, for a regular volley rang out from below, and a shower of lead splashed all round them.
"My word, we're in for it now!" exclaimed Sidney. "There's about half the Turkish Army coming up the hill."
"We've stirred a hornet's nest all right," growled Jock. "Better shoot this chap and hook it as hard as we can."
"It's too late, old man," replied Sidney quietly. "We shouldn't stand a dog's chance of getting clear. Besides, there's all that explosive."
"What about it?" demanded Jock.
"Why, you owl, we can't go away and let them fire it."
"But we were going, anyhow," objected Jock.
"Don't be an idiot. I was coming back with a working party, of course. We might just as well have the stuff as they."
Jock grunted.
"What's to be done now?" he asked.
Sidney crawled forward on hands and knees to the very mouth of the sap. He listened for a few moments, then crept back.
"They're coming up the cliff, Jock," he whispered. "A lot of 'em. We've got to stop them."
"All right. Well, wait till they're close before we open fire."
"Fire, indeed! What's the good of that?" retorted Sidney. "Two of us can't shoot down a hundred Turks. There's only one thing we can do so far as I can see. That is, build up the mouth with rocks and keep 'em out that way."
"Right you are," Jock replied without hesitation, and, leaving the prisoner helpless on his back in the passage, he hurried forward after Sidney.
The firing had ceased, but they could plainly hear the scuffle of many feet clambering up the steep below. There was every need for haste, but luckily any amount of material handy on the ledge.
Jock's giant strength made light of the great stones which he swung inwards. Sidney, working like a beaver, collected smaller stuff and piled it in the cracks.
The entrance was narrow, the breastwork grew apace, and just as the first Turk, a black shadow in the starlight, rose into sight over the rim of the ledge, Jock wedged the last big rock between the top of the barrier and the roof.
"Puzzle 'em to get through that?" he remarked with considerable satisfaction.
"And us to get out," answered Sidney curtly.
"Och! I never thought of that," said Jock.
Sidney did not reply. He thrust the muzzle of his rifle through a loop-hole, and pulled the trigger. There was a scream and the thud of a falling body.
Jock, too, fired quickly, and a second man fell.
There was a shouted order, the rest of the Turks scattered and a heavy fire began. Bullets slapped by dozens against the stone breast-work, but without effect. The sour smell of cordite filled the still air.
"They won't get much change that way," observed Jock.
"No, and they won't be fools, enough to keep it up much longer," answered Sidney. "It's only a question of time before they use a gun."
This, however, seemed not to strike the attacking party, for after wasting a few hundred cartridges they charged again, only to lose four more men at the rifles of the two young Australians.
There was a long pause. Nearly half an hour passed before anything further happened. Then Sidney caught sight of a dark figure stealing up. He snapped at him, and there followed a yell, a thud, a deafening crash, and a flash of flame.
"Bombs," muttered Sidney. "If they get one in it'll lift these stones. Shoot quick, Jock."
One attempt after another was made, but the rapid, accurate fire of the two defenders defeated the Turks. Only one bomb exploded anywhere near, and that merely brought down a part of the roof, at the entrance.
Again a shouted order, and the firing and bombing ceased.
"They're sick of it," said Jock eagerly. "They're clearing out. Now's our chance."
"Afraid not, old man," Sidney answered quietly. "It will be a gun next thing."
He was right. Within a very few moments the bright beam of a searchlight was flung on the entrance to the sap. The rays passing through the crevices between the stones shone on the two youngsters, showing up their muddy uniforms and powder-blackened faces.
"Get back!" said Sidney shortly.
Jock obediently obeyed. Only just in time, for with a crash that made the solid rock tremble, an eighteen-pound shell struck the face of the cliff just above the mouth of the tunnel.
Sidney sprang to his feet.
"Jock, they're bound to have us. We've got to shift those explosives before they attack again."
Sidney sprang to his feet. "Jock, they're bound to have us."
Jock glanced at his chum. He nodded.
"You're right, Sid. But what are we to do with them?"
"Put 'em here in the mouth of the mine. Then when they go off they won't hurt our chaps above. They'll only blow the face out of the cliff. D'ye see?"
Jock nodded again. He understood very well what Sidney meant. Their own lives were forfeit to save their friends above; for the firing of such a mass of explosive must, of course, destroy them in the common ruin.
Sidney was already racing up the shaft. The floor was steep, but level enough, and his electric torch gave plenty of light.
Jock followed, and a few minutes later the pair came back staggering under loads of blasting gelatine. This stuff is heavy, but, of course, not nearly so bulky as powder, and they reckoned they could carry the lot in a couple of trips.
They hurried for all they were worth. There was no time to waste, for shell after shell was crashing on or about the entrance, and one had already demolished most of the breastwork.
"Not too close to the mouth," panted Sidney. "We don't want a shell to explode it. We can do that better ourselves."
He laid down his dangerous load close to where Clement was still flat on his back on the rock.
The man gave a shriek of horror.
"What are you about?" he gasped in quivering tones.
"Getting rid of your friends' Christmas crackers," replied Sidney grimly.
"But a shell may fire them."
"If it doesn't, we shall fire them ourselves."
"But you'll finish us all."
"Probably," said Sidney curtly, and turned away to fetch the second load.
Clement shrieked after him.
"Stop! There's no need for that."
Sidney turned.
"What do you mean? Quickly! There's no time to waste."
Another shell burst with a furious crash almost in the mouth of the mine. The remnants of the breastwork tumbled in ruins.
"Give me my life, and I'll tell you how you can get out safely!" shrieked Clement in a paroxysm of terror.
"I can't promise you your life," retorted Sidney, "but you shall have a fair trial when we get back if there's anything in what you say."
"That's enough. I'll do it. There's a side passage I know of. It leads out on the upper ledge."
Sidney turned to Jock.
"Think it's good enough?"
"Yes; if we can get the stuff out here first and put a fuse to it," replied the big fellow coolly.
Sidney nodded.
"Right you are."
They ran back up the passage. Returning with the second load they found that the bombardment had ceased.
"They think they've done the job," remarked Sidney. "Yes, they're coming again. Quick with that fuse, Jock."
Jock knew all there was to know about blasting powder. In a trice he had cut the fuse and lit it. While he did so Sidney got the prisoner on his feet.
Terrified almost out of his wits, Clement fairly bolted up the passage.
It was no wonder that neither Jock nor Sidney had noticed the cross-cut. The entrance was a mere slit; but Clement knew it, and was through it like a flash.
They followed him and found themselves in what was evidently an old mine working. The Turks had merely reopened an old tin mine for the purpose of their sap.
Clement led at an amazing pace. Terror lent him such speed that the young Australians had all their work cut out to keep up with him.
The gallery was much steeper than the other, and presently they had to clamber upwards, holding on with their hands.
The air grew fresher. A strong draught met them. A few moments later, and the stars appeared through an opening above.
"The beggar wasn't lying after all," muttered Jock, as he followed Sidney through a narrow opening and found himself on a broad ledge high above the valley.
As he spoke came a thudding roar, and from far below a spout of flame burst like a crater eruption from the face of the cliff, and for the instant made all as bright as day. The rocks quivered with the shock.
"There she goes!" said Sidney. Then breaking off suddenly:
"Stop him! Stop him, Jock!"
For Clement, seizing his opportunity, had bolted again.
He raced along the ledge at break-neck speed, the others hot in pursuit.
But he knew the cliff face better than they, and at once began to gain.
"We've lost him," panted Sidney as, overrunning the spot Clement had leaped to lower ground, he came to an impassable gap in the ledge.
It was at that moment that some of the Turks below must have viewed the fugitives, for a volley rattled out, and bullets smacked viciously on the face of the mountain.
Like a flash Jock laid hold of Sidney and pulled him down under cover of a crag.
"No!" cried Sidney, struggling to regain his feet. "No, Jock, we've got to catch him."
At that moment a scream cut sharply through the night. It was followed by a thud.
Jock peered forward.
"No need to worry, Sid," he said quietly. "They've done it for us."
Later the chums were able to make their way back up the hill to safety, and restore Colonel Corbyn's papers to the major in command of their battalion. Although they said as little as possible about their exploit, the firing of the contents of the sap had, of course, been heard, and questions brought out the truth. That is why to-day Sidney Hart and big Jock Cawthra both wear the ribbon of the D.C.M.
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