As
they walked, Smith whispered:
"When you hear me clear my throat, get within striking distance. When I
cough, silence him. I'll help you."
Madden nodded slightly, and the two drew near the pacing guard. Caradoc
lifted hand to forehead as they passed and a little later seated
themselves on the rail near the ladder. Madden looked down curiously and
thought he could make out the shape of the dinghy below, but was not
certain.
The American's nerves still tingled from the torpedo incident, and now
he glanced out of the tail of his eye at the guard, whom he would
probably have to fight.
The fellow was a broad-chested, short-necked German, armed with rifle
and bayonet. The bayonet had a bluish gleam under the incandescent.
It was a queer thought to Madden to know that within the next fifteen
minutes, he would perhaps be under rifle fire, rowing or swimming away
through the black night, or he might be dead. Dead, and the world would
end for him, and the war of the world or the peace of the world would be
all the same for him.
Madden shrugged his shoulders, drew a long breath and stared out in the
direction of the _Vulcan_. He could see nothing of the tug. The
moon had sunk and the stars burned with a more vivid fire. The musing
boy noted the position of the Hydra, and fancied it might be somewhere
near midnight.
Pages:
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206