Fire Below (2 page)

We went some three miles further, but found no kind of cover in which to bestow the car, so with a lot of trouble we turned her round, to see if we could do better upon the way we had come.

We had repassed the farm and had left it two miles behind when we came to a track on the left-hand side of the road. The track was rough and narrow and promised the poorest shelter, but in desperation I took it, to see where it led.

I had hopes it would lead to a quarry or into a wood or at least, to some dip or hollow where Rowley could take his chance. But it led to none of these things. It led to the farm.

When I saw the familiar buildings, I could have cried out with rage, for the waste of time was shocking, and the thought of reversing in darkness for nearly a mile and a half was enough to break any man’s heart. Then I saw a way out of our plight, which, if we could only take it, would turn our loss into gain.

We were now at the back of the farm, the front of which was commanding the bridle-path. If the farmer would harbour the Rolls, no covert could be more convenient, for, if we returned in haste, we could enter the farm from the front and leave by the back and be well on the way to Littai before we were found to be gone.

At once I told George this notion, and five minutes later the farmer had been awakened and was listening to George’s words.

The tale he told does not matter, and indeed I did not hear him, for Bell and I kept out of sight: but I think he alleged that the car was not fit to proceed and desired to leave her and his chauffeur until he had done some business and had the time to return.

To this the farmer consented with a very good grace and started to get on some clothes before coming down. Whilst he was making this toilet, we thrust some food into our pockets and Bell made up a small bundle and put on his overalls. This, because any disguise was better than none, and since he could speak no German, he stood in more need of assistance than George or I.

Ten minutes later we took the bridle-path.

We had gone, I suppose, some three miles – and these, so severe was the gradient, might well have been six – when we heard the dull roar of water that falls in a hollow place. As we rounded a bend, this sound became gradually louder until it was very clear that we were approaching some bridge.

‘The frontier for a monkey,’ breathed George. ‘And now for the post.’

We went on gingerly.

Except by consent of the guards, I am very certain no smugglers use that path; and, indeed, I think we owed the absence of any patrol to the gulf which Nature had fixed in the midst of the way.

As we rounded the last of the bend, we saw the dim shape of a building, and when we had slunk very close, we made out the truth.

Before us lay a ravine, quite twenty-five feet across and God knows how deep. In this the water was tumbling with a sullen bellow of rage, as though resenting the prison which it had made for itself. Upon either side of the gulf stood a low, white lodge, each housing, no doubt, the opposing frontier-guards. And between the two lay a foot-bridge some six feet wide.

Now the bridge was well built of twin girders let into the rock, and though there was no handrail, a man might have made the passage without a thought. But the space between the girders was empty, and the floor of the bridge was gone.

I suppose this was made of loose boards which the guards laid down each morning and took up at night, and that when they were gone, the sentries took their rest, for no light burned in the dwellings and the Austrians’ door was shut. Be that as it may, the bridge was useless except to an acrobat, and the bare idea of attempting to cross on a girder made my hair rise upon my head.

After a little discussion, we decided to climb up stream.

This proved no easy matter, for, though it was wooded, the mountain rose very sheer and we made the slowest progress for nearly an hour. Then we must have passed over some crest, for all of a sudden we found that the ground was falling and the roar of the torrent had sunk to a steady, crisp rush.

With every step, this change became more apparent, and when the wood gave way to a level stretch of meadow, I could have thrown up my hat.

Two minutes more and we stood upon the bank of the stream.

The night was starlit, and after the black of the forest we seemed to be able to see extremely well.

The torrent was something wider than it had been at the bridge, and its bed was littered with boulders great and small. Between these it thrust its way without much fuss, displaying none of the fury it showed below. Indeed, I was surprised at its patience, until I had found a stick to use as a sounding-rod.

So far from my touching bottom, the stick was whipped out of my hand, and when I had found another and had braced it against a stone, we found to our consternation a depth of nearly four feet.

To ford such a head of water was out of our power, and though by day we might have picked a way over by leaping from rock to rock, we dared not attempt by night so horrid an exercise.

I saw George glance at his watch and heard him draw in his breath. Then—

‘There’s a light, sir,’ said Bell. ‘Up stream.’

Before we could turn, however, the light was gone, and Bell at once divined it had been the flare of a match. As though to confirm his finding, the light reappeared and flickered for two or three moments before going out.

‘There may be a bridge,’ said I, and led the way up stream as fast as I could.

Before three minutes were gone we had crossed the little clearing and come again to the trees and, with the trees, to a darkness that hampered our steps, but, before I had taken six paces into the wood, I saw before me the glow of a cigarette.

At once I stopped and stood peering, for the cigarette seemed low down and I could not see the smoker, although I could smell the smoke.

Then something moved on the ground three paces away, and I saw that two men were grappled and were fighting like beasts, while the cigarette lay smoking a few feet away.

The heavy rustle of the water smothered what noise they made, and the seeming silence of the struggle lent it the air of the fights that are shown on the screen. Indeed, it was like to have ended as some of these do, for all of a sudden I saw the flash of a knife.

At once I sprang forward and seized the one that had drawn, to find he was uppermost and had his man by the throat.

Bell had a torch in his pocket, and I called for a light.

Both men had the look of gypsies, and the one I had seized was cross-eyed. This blemish was certainly against him, but no excellence of feature could have redeemed his looks. I have never seen evil so written in any man’s face: and he eyed me with a malignancy that made me tighten my grip. This, I confess, with repugnance, for I might have had hold of some beast, so long and so thick was the hair which covered his arm, like a close-fitting sleeve. He showed no sort of surprise, but only a snarling resentment of my interference with his plans, and he never so much as loosened his grip on the other’s throat.

‘Let go,’ I said sharply, ‘and drop that knife.’

For a moment we eyed one another. Then the man spat in my face.

I suppose he was blind with rage, for he must have known that I was powerful and that he was at my mercy if it pleased me to strike.

Be that as it may, I hit him on the point of the jaw with all my might and then stepped over his body to bathe my face.

When I got back, the other was sitting up and answering George’s questions humbly enough. He was twice the age of his assailant and though he still looked a fine fellow, was obviously past his prime.

‘Smugglers,’ said George shortly. ‘I can’t understand half he says, but it seems that he brought the money and Lord Chesterfield didn’t bring the goods. Sheer robbery with murder, of course. What’s much more to the point, you’ve killed the right man. This wallah comes out of Riechtenburg, and he’s perfectly ready an’ willing to lead us back.’

‘I haven’t killed him,’ I cried.

‘No, sir,’ said Bell, rising. ‘His heart’s all right.’

‘More’s the pity,’ said George. ‘He’d be greatly improved by death. Never mind. Chuck his knife in the water, and let’s get on.’

Two minutes later we were again under way.

It soon became clear that we were approaching a fall, and when we had covered a mile, we must have rounded some shoulder, for the noise became suddenly louder and the air began to grow chill. Five minutes later we saw how the water came down.

This was by one great leap from a cliff some fifty feet high, and even by night the sight was very handsome – a mighty sheaf of white foam against the black of the rock.

I am glad to think I had time to see its beauty, for the next moment George was shouting to make himself heard, and fall and cliff and thunder have made me a dreadful nightmare from that time on.

Our way lay under the fall.

I will not dwell upon our passage, which I think took a month from my life. Though I daresay there was no danger, the path was most narrow and ragged and drenched with spray, while the darkness and the monstrous concussion bade fair to dishevel the wits. When I was across I was shaking like any leaf, and it is still a mystery to me how any man heavy-laden can pass that way.

So we entered the country which we had sworn to avoid.

Our way was now much more simple, for while we could still hear the fall, we struck the bridle-path which we had left at the bridge, and, just as the sky was paling, we came out on a pleasant upland to see open country below us and far in the distance a tiny pinprick of light.

I knew this at once for the level-crossing at Vardar, because I had been by that way.

‘What could be better?’ said George. ‘You go through Vardar for Vigil. Now all we want is a road. I think we can stick to the roads till half past five. I mean, we shall go so much faster.’

Our guide brought us down to a road in ten minutes’ time and would, I am sure, have led us to Vigil itself, for, though he was a man of few words, he was plainly deeply grateful for what we had done. When we bade him goodbye, he uncovered and, pointing to heaven, said quietly that God would always save us, if He would only be gracious to hear his prayers and that if we were upon some venture, his wife would ‘make a novena’ for our success. Then he told us that his name was Ramon and that he was a smith by trade, with a forge in a village called Gola, some three miles off: ‘and there,’ said he, ‘you will find me if ever you stand in need, for from now I am at your service by day as by night.’

We thanked him and bade him tell no one that we had met, and, with that, we shook hands and parted, full of goodwill, for honesty sat in his eyes and a child could have seen that he meant every word that he said.

We had now two hours before we must make ourselves scarce, and since, by the map, we were twenty-six miles from Vigil, we started along the road as hard as we could.

It was light ere we came to Vardar, and this made us think it was foolish to show ourselves in a village which might be awake, while to use a level-crossing whose keeper was about his business was to court the observation we wished to avoid. We, therefore, took to the fields and were lucky to attract no attention but that of a little girl who was herding some cows.

We had passed beyond Vardar and had come to the railway line when the murmur of an oncoming train suggested a means of progress of which we had never thought.

On all sides the world was stirring and in less than an hour now the round of village and country would have begun, and though, had we kept to by-roads, I am sure that we should have been safe, the importance of concealing our presence from those it might interest magnified every risk. Add to this that we were weary and footsore, for, though we were all very strong and ‘as hard as nails’, in the ordinary way we did but little walking, but spent our time in the saddle or on the front seat of a car.

When, therefore, I saw the metals which would lead us directly to Vigil, still more than twenty miles off, the idea of obtaining a lift leaped into my mind. Could we but board some freight train, to leave it again before it ran into the city, we could then withdraw to some wood and take our ease: this, with a quiet mind until it was dark, for so an hour after nightfall we could be at the Countess’ house, as ready as rest could make us for whatever should then befall.

When I made this proposal to George, he leaned against the rough fence and wiped the sweat from his face.

‘It’s dazzling,’ he said. ‘My feet weren’t made for walking: they’re not the right shape. I want to lie down and stay down for several hours. But not yet. I must have some more miles behind me before I rest. And that’s not the will to win: it’s arithmetic. I don’t know how far we’ve come and I don’t want to: but I know that the next stretch I do has got to be short. I can go on now – somehow. I suppose I’ve got into my stride. But this is the sort of effort I can’t repeat. Damn it, my legs’ll come off.’

I think he spoke for us all, for the thought of another forced march was scarce to be borne. But when I pursued my suggestion, he cut me short.

‘All sorts and shapes go by train. Why don’t we go to a station and damned well take our tickets in the ordinary way?’

‘Because,’ said I, ‘because in this cursed country every station platform is a regular beat of the police.’

‘So it is,’ said George. ‘I’d forgotten. Well, show me a slow-going train, and I’ll do what I can. But I don’t want to get run over.’

I climbed the fence, made my way through some bushes and looked up and down the line.

A furlong ahead was a wood which swallowed the metals up; but I saw that the ground was rising, so that if there was there no cutting, a train which was bound for Vigil would be going uphill. Whether, even so, its pace would allow us to board it, I could not tell, but I had often watched freight trains that seemed to go very slow, and the wood would afford us cover until the moment arrived.

Ten minutes later we were sitting beneath its trees.

A quarter of an hour went by before we heard a train coming from east to west, but, before we could see it, we knew it for a passenger train. Indeed, it roared by as though it were going downhill, and George’s face was a study as he stared in its wake.