Behind the Lines (28 page)

Having worked this out to his satisfaction, he climbed again into his bunk, blew out the candle, and in a few minutes was asleep.

II

When Rawley awoke it was to find that Alf had already been up some time and that breakfast was ready. During the eating of it he told Alf the result of his nocturnal meditations and submitted the diagram for verification. Alf thought that the gallery was longer than Rawley had drawn it, but expressed his unqualified delight at the news that he would not have to start work again immediately in the tunnel.

They began digging at the top as Rawley had suggested, and found that, with the increased room and air, the work proceeded much faster than formerly. The few remaining planks were used to stop the earth from sliding farther down the shaft, and then a tunnel was dug about two feet in diameter just under the roof beams, the digger crawling over the earth that covered the steps. They found as Rawley had anticipated that the roof beams were intact, and they reached the entrance to the gallery after a little over two hours digging. They had not progressed more than about four feet along the gallery, however, before the entrenching-tool struck a hard substance. Rawley, who was digging at the time, called for a candle, and by its light found that the obstacle was a thick baulk of timber buried in the soil. This was evidently one of the roof timbers. The
baulk lay diagonally across their tunnel, the upper end resting on one of the side timbers of the gallery, the lower end disappearing into the surrounding soil.

They had now reached the collapsed sector where tunnelling would be necessary, but Rawley foresaw a new difficulty. Ahead of him these shattered roof timbers lay, no doubt, embedded in the soil at all angles, and the difficulty of digging the tunnel that was now necessary would be greatly increased by having to go over or under these timbers whenever they were encountered. The problem required thinking out. They had already wasted much time and labour by hasty action, and he had no intention of making a second mistake. They had been at work for over three hours. He decided to take their midday meal and think over the problem.

“It's quite simple really,” he said to Alf as he lighted his pipe at the end of the meal. “The explosion would shatter the timbers and probably raise them a little, and then the earth on top would come in and fill the gallery. Therefore, the timbers must be—most of them at any rate—below their normal position. If we dig our tunnel upwards a bit then, just above the old level of the roof, we ought not to strike any timbers. And now we must crawl up that damned tunnel of ours and bring out the planks; for we shall want them for the new tunnel.”

They tossed to decide who should go first, and Alf won. So Rawley wormed his way up the narrow tunnel and very gingerly removed the last two supporting planks. He managed to slide them over his back and push them away
with his feet. Then he moved back a bit and removed the next two planks. He removed three before the unsupported part of the tunnel fell in, and then the rush of earth flowed into his face and nearly suffocated him. It was a terrifying experience, lying as he was in complete darkness; but when he had wormed back a foot or two the rush of earth ceased. It made it very difficult, however, to remove the end pair of planks which were now completely embedded in soil. He managed it at last without any further fall of earth, and then he wormed his way back to the dug-out for a rest.

Alf then took his turn and brought out several more pairs of planks, and finally all were removed without accident. But the operation had taken them nearly as long as the whole digging of the larger tunnel under the roof. Alf wiped the sweat from his face with a grimy hand. He made no attempt to disguise his dislike of narrow tunnels. He was obviously not looking forward to the digging of the new one. He said that they had done enough for one day, and suggested that they should turn in and leave the beginning of the new one for the morrow.

Rawley disagreed. He disliked the tunnel, he said, as much as Alf did—perhaps more—but that was all the more reason for splitting up the work into short stretches. If they dug only four feet tonight that would be four feet less to dig tomorrow, and they would be very glad of those four feet before tomorrow was out.

And so they set to work. One point Rawley found he had forgotten: the fact that by digging along the top instead of along the floor of the gallery they had deprived
themselves of a firm base on which to rest the inverted Vs. At the first attempt the edges of the planks gradually drove into the soil by reason of the pressure above, but they overcame the difficulty by resting the inverted V upon a third plank which formed the floor of the tunnel. And although the amount of timber they would need was thus increased by one third, Rawley was confident that they would have enough.

He produced his diagram to prove his contention. The gallery, they were agreed, was roughly sixteen feet in length. The explosion had taken place nearly in the middle—that was to say, some eight feet from the top of the shaft. Four feet from the top of the shaft they had reached the limit of the roof's collapse. That was presumably four feet from the centre of the explosion; and presuming that the damage on the far side was of equal extent, a further four feet should bring them to the undamaged roof again. The tunnel then would be only eight feet in length, and they had ample timber for that. They drove their tunnel three feet and then turned in for the night.

III

The next morning they continued the work in good spirits. Alf went in first and extended the tunnel to seven feet; and then Rawley took his turn whilst Alf in the larger tunnel under the sound roof passed up the revetting planks and shovelled out the loose earth. Rawley added a foot, put up the V-shaped revetting planks, and wormed forward
again. He added a further two feet and discovered, whilst making a firm bed for a floor plank to rest on, that there were timbers beneath him. He cleared away some of the earth that covered them and satisfied himself by feeling over them that they were the roof timbers of the gallery undamaged and in position. They had bridged the gap, but by digging their tunnel a little high, were now on top instead of under the roof timbers beyond.

Rawley wormed his way back a foot and cleared the soil from the top of the roof timbers. He went back a further foot before he found the edge of the gap where the roof timbers had collapsed. Then he dug down and under. And very glad he was to feel a substantial roof over his head again.

It was time for Alf to relieve him at digging, but he was too near success now to stop. With a firm roof overhead, and plenty of room to swing the entrenching-tool, the work progressed rapidly. Barely four feet of the new broad tunnel had been dug before the earth seemed to melt from his entrenching-tool and light flowed over him like cool water. It was a very subdued light, but the blessed light of day nevertheless. The roof was close above him, and he lay on his side looking down a slope of loose earth. At the foot of the slope were the steps leading up into the trench by the entrance that was partially blocked by the old landslide. Through the small gap under the fallen beam subdued daylight now streamed.

Rawley shouted the good news to Alf and scrambled down the slope. A few moments later they stood side by
side in the trench drinking in the clean air and revelling in the clear light of day, and at that moment the dreary landscape that stretched about them seemed the most beautiful they had ever gazed upon.

At last Rawley turned. “Well,” he said, “now we must go back, pack up, have a meal, and clear.”

Alf grimaced. “I never thought we'd get up here no more,” he said. “But now we are up 'ere, I don't like goin' back again. Do you? S'posin' that perishin' little tunnel come in!”

“It won't,” said Rawley. He spoke shortly, for he was very much of Alf's way of thinking. “And besides, what about our stores! Are we going to leave all those?”

“I s'pose not,” said Alf gloomily.

“Come on, I'll go first,” said Rawley.

They reached the dug-out in safety, and recommenced the task of packing that had been interrupted so dramatically. Then they ate their last meal at the little table and prepared to leave. Alf went first with a rope in his hand. He crawled through the eight odd feet of narrow tunnel and then, by means of the rope, dragged his rolled-up blankets after him. The rope was passed back and Rawley's blankets were drawn through. Then the other stores were dragged through in like manner. Rawley was about to follow when a shout from Alf stopped him. “My suit-case, chum!” he called. “Struth, I nearly forgot all about it. It's un'erneath my bunk.”

Rawley went back, found the suit-case, and returned; but they had the greatest difficulty in passing it through the narrow stretch of tunnel, and when it stuck half way,
refusing to budge either forward or back, Rawley lost his temper. “Hell take your rotten suit-case,” he cried. “It has got nothing in it except junk, I expect, and now it has blocked the tunnel with me on the wrong side.” They dared not use any force for fear of displacing their revetment, but by long and patient coaxing, during which Rawley's head and shoulders were in the low tunnel, and he momentarily expected the roof to descend upon him, they slid it along inch by inch. Finally Alf pulled it out with an exclamation of triumph, but the incident caused a tension between them that lasted for an hour or more.

Up in the trench they divided the stores, slung the rolled blankets over their shoulders, and shouldered their sacks. In addition they each carried a rifle and twenty rounds of ammunition. Alf carried his precious suit-case across his chest to balance the weight of the sack to which it was tied. Rawley had the tattered maps.

They followed the trench down to the ruined village from which they had so often drawn water; then, after assuring themselves that no one was in sight, crossed the grass-grown road and struck across country up the slope by the shattered wood. The ground was rough and, heavily loaded as they were, they made slow progress. Rawley had decided to cut straight across country towards the cellar which they had chosen for their future home. He had set his map as nearly as possible before leaving the trench, but he had no compass to guide him, and was marching by the glow of the sun that was occasionally visible behind the clouds.

Prudently they kept a sharp look out around them. And it was fortunate they did so, for as they were descending a gentle slope they came suddenly upon a little party of horsemen in a sunken road below. The horsemen, five in number, were sitting motionless on their animals, with their backs towards Rawley and Alf. Two of them, side by side, were apparently studying a map. It was a tense moment for the two vagabonds. By silent agreement they had dropped flat. To retreat back over the slope seemed too dangerous, and yet it was dangerous to remain where they were. One of the two horsemen studying the map had stretched out his arm and was pointing to his flank; at any moment he might turn in the saddle.

Rawley glanced despairingly about him. Fifteen yards to his right were the remains of a building of some kind—a low jumble of broken bricks, and an upsticking beam or two. Rawley whispered to Alf and began to crawl. The sack on his back seemed clamorously conspicuous and impeded his movement. He lowered it gently into a shell hole beside him and left it. Alf had stopped. Burdened as he was with the suit-case in front, the sack behind, and the blankets over his shoulder, crawling was impossible. Rawley pulled out his knife and went back. He cut the cord that held the suit-case and sack together. The old sacks might escape notice, but the suit-case would be startlingly visible: that would have to go. They crawled on, Rawley cursing the suit-case which Alf held awkwardly under one arm. They kept their eyes on the little group of horsemen not thirty
yards distant, and at every impatient tapping of a hoof upon the road they dropped flat and lay still.

They reached the shelter of the mound of bricks at last and paused. They breathed more freely, but they did not feel safe. One or more of the horsemen might mount the slope and discover them crouching there. Rawley raised himself cautiously and examined the pile of debris in front of him. It consisted of a low bank of broken bricks, the remains evidently of an outer wall; beyond that, in what had been a room, was a hollow littered with plaster rubble; and beyond that again lay the fallen roof, a broken, blackened lattice-work of rafters, still covered in one place with broken slates. Under that their chances of escaping detection would be greatly improved.

They crawled with difficulty over the low barrier of bricks and crossed the filthy reeking hollow beyond. The fallen roof lay almost flat on the rubble, but they found a small space near the flattened peak of the gable and crawled under. There was room enough to lie comfortably under the slated portion, and the slates, though sufficiently damaged to allow them to see what was going on outside, were not so broken as to make their hiding-place dangerous. Furthermore they could now see the heads and shoulders of the horsemen on the sunken road. “If only we 'adn't left our perishin' sacks out there we might have 'ad a bite of somethin' while waitin' for the procession to pass,” complained Alf.

“You have got your suit-case,” retorted Rawley. “Have a bite at that.”

He watched the horsemen with some anxiety. The sword scabbards and rifle buckets proclaimed them to be cavalry troopers. Four of them had dismounted, and while one walked the four horses slowly up the road, the remaining three climbed the far bank and settled down in full view of the hiding-place. The remaining man put his horse at the near bank and rode up the slope, passing between the shattered building and the sacks but without giving a glance to either. He disappeared from view over the crest.

The scrape of a match caused Rawley to turn sharply. Alf, his knees up and his back against a hummock of masonry, was in the act of applying a lighted match to the cigarette that dangled from one corner of his mouth; but before the flame could burn the tobacco, a hand knocked both cigarette and match on to the rubble. “You blasted fool,” whispered Rawley. “Those fellows over there are facing this way and they would spot the smoke in a moment.”