40 
LAND & WATER 
August 10, if)iO 
{Continueil from f'aae ^\) 
hut I could see at least two boats i.; view. Therefore, there 
must be a Ion;;; train of barges with a tug in tow. I looked to 
the west and saw another such procession coming into sight. 
First -went a\ big river steamer — it can't have been mudi 
less than i ,o«o tons — and after came a string of barges. They 
were heavily loaded and their draught must have been con- 
siderable, but there was plenty of depth in the flooded river. 
A moment's reflection told me what I was looking at. 
Once Sandy, in one of the discussions you have in hospital, 
had told us just how the Germans munitioned tlieir Balkan 
campaign. They were pretty certain of dishing Serbia at 
the first, go, and it was up to them to get through guns and 
shells to the old Turk, who was running pretty short in his 
first supply. Sandy told us how endless strings of barges, 
loaded up at the big factories of Westphalia, were moving 
through the canals from the Rhine of the l-llba to the Danube. 
Once the first reached Turkey, there would be regular de- 
livery, you see, as quick as the Turks could liandle the stuff. 
And they didn't return empty, Sandy said, but came back 
full of Turkish cotton, and Bulgarian beef and Rumanian 
corn. 1 don't know where Sandy got the knowledge, but 
there was the proof of it before my eyes. 
It was a wonderful sight, and 1 could have gnashed my 
teeth to see those loads of munitions going snugly off to the 
enemy. And then, as I looked, an idea came into my head, ' 
and with it an eighth part of a hope. 
There was only one way for me to get out of Germany, 
and that was to leave in such good company that I would bo 
asked no questions. That was ])lain enough. If I tra\(iled 
to Turkey, for instance, in the Kaiser's suite, I would be as 
safe as the mail. But if I went on my o\vn I was done. 
I had, so to speak, to get my passport insiiff Germany, to 
join some caravan which had free marching powers. And 
there was the kind of caravan before me— the Essen barges. 
It sounded lunacy, for I guessed that munitions of war 
would be as jealously guarded as von Hindenburg's health. 
All the safer, I replied, to myself, once I got there. It you 
are looking tor a deserter yon don't seek him at the favourite 
regimental public-house. If you're after a thief, among the 
places you'd leave unsearched would be Scotland Yard. 
It was sound reasoning, but how was I to get on board ? 
Probably the beastly things did not stop once in a hundred 
miles, and Stumm would get me long before I struck a halting 
place. And even if I did get a chance like that, how was I 
to get permission to travel ? 
One step was clearly indicated — to get down to the river- 
bank at once. So I set off at a sharp walk across souelchy 
fields, till I struck a road where the ditches had overflowed 
so as almost to meet in. the middle. The place was so bad 
that I hoped travellers might be few. And as I trudged, 
my thoughts were busy with my opportunities as a stowaway. 
If I bought food, I might get a chance to lie snug on one of 
the barges. They would not break bulk till they got to their 
journey's end. 
Suddenly I noticed that the steamer, which was now 
abreast of me, began to move towards the shore, and as I 
came over a low rise, I saw on my left a straggling village 
with a church, and a small landing-stage. The houses stood 
about a quarter of a mile from the stream, and between them 
was a straight, poplar fringed road. 
Soon there could be no doubt about it. The procession 
was coming to a standstill. The big tug nosed her way in 
and lay up alongside the pier, where in season of flood there 
was enough depth of water. She signalled to the barges and 
they also started to drop anchors, which showed that there 
must be at least two men aboard each. Some of them 
dragged a bit and it was rather a cock-eyed train that lay 
in mid-stream. The tuf got out a gang-way and 1 saw half 
a dozen men leave it, carrying something on their should(>rs. 
It could only be one thing— a dead body. Someone of the 
crew must have died, and this halt was to bury him. 1 
watched the procession move towards the village, and I 
reckoned they would take some time there, though they 
might have wired ahead for a grave to be dug. Anyhow, 
they would be long enough to give me a chance. 
For I had decided upon a brazen course. Blenkiron had 
said you couldn't cheat the Boche, but you could bluff him. 
I was going to put up the most monstrous bluff. If the 
whole countryside was hunting for Richard Hannay, Richard 
1 lannay could walk out as a pal of the hunters, for I remembered 
the pass Stumm had given me. If that was worth a tinker's 
curse, it should be good enough to impress a ship's captain. 
Of course there were a thousand risks. They might have 
heard of me in the village and told the ship's party the 
story. Tor that reason I resolved not to go there, but to 
meet the sailors when they were returning to the boat. Or 
the Captain might have been warned and got the number 
of my pass, in which case Stumm W(juld have his hands on me 
pretty soon. Or the captain might be a fellow who had 
never seen a secret service pass and would not know what it 
meant, ami W(juld refuse me transport l)y the letter of his 
instructions. In that ca^se I must wait on another convoy. 
I had shaved and made myself a fairly respectable flguie 
before I left the cottage. It was my cue to wait for the men 
when they left the church, wait on that quarter mile of 
straight highway. 1 judged the captain must be in the party. 
The village, I was glad to observe, seemed very empty. I have 
my own notions about the Bavarians as fighting men, but I 
am bound to say that, judging by my observations, very 
few of them stayed at home. That funeral took hours. 
They must have had to dig the grave, for I waited near the 
road in a clump of cherry trees with my feet in two inches 
of water, till I felt chilled to the bone. I prayed to (iod it 
would not bring back my fever, for 1 was only one day out of 
bed. I had little tobacco in jmy pouch, but I stood myself 
one pipe, and ate one of the cakes of chocolate I still carried. 
At last, well after mid-day, 1 could see the party return- 
ing. They marched two by two, and I was thankful that 
they had no \illagers with them. 1 walked to the road, and 
met the vanguard, carrying my head as high as I knew how. 
" Where's your Captain ? " I a.skcd, and a man jerked his 
thumb over his shoulder. The others wore thick jerseys and 
knitted caps, but there was one man at the rear in uniform. 
He was a short, broad man, with a weatlierbeaten face and 
an anxious eye. 
" May I have a word with you, Herr Captain ? " I said 
.with what 1 hoped was a blend of authority and conciliation. 
He nodded to his companion w-ho walked on. 
" Yes ? " lio asked rather impatiently. 
I proferrcd him my pass. Thank heaven lie had seen the 
kind of thing before, for his face at once took on that look 
which one person in authority always wears when confronted 
with another. He studied it closely and raised his eyes. 
" Well, sir ? " he said. " I observe your credentials. 
What can I do for you ? " 
" I take it you are bound for Constantinople ? " I asked. 
" The boats go as far as Rustchuk," he replied. " Tlieie 
the stuff is transferred to the railway." 
" And you reach Rustchuk when ? " 
" In ten days, bar accidents. Let us say twelve to be safe." 
" I want to accompany you," I said. " In my profession. 
Herr Captain, it is necessary sometimes to make journeys by 
other than the common route. That is now my desii-e. I 
Imve the right to call upon some other branch of our country's 
service to help me. Hence my request." 
" I must telegraph about it. .My instructions are to let 
no one aboard, not even a man like you. I am sorry sir, but 
1 must get authority fir.st before I can fall in with your desire. 
Besides my boat is ill found. You had better wait for the 
next batch and ask Dreyser to take you. I lost Walter to-day- 
He was ill when he came aboard — a disease of the heart — but 
he would not be persuaded and last night he died." 
" Was that him you have been burying ? " I asked. 
" F.ven so. , He was a good man and my wife's cousin, and 
now I have no engineer. Only a fool of a boy from Hamburg;. 
1 have just come from wiring to my owners for a fresh man, 
but even if he comes by the quickest train he will scarcely 
overtake us before Vienna or even Buda." 
I saw light at last. 
" We will go together," I said, " and cancel that wire. 
For behold, Herr Captain, I am an engineer, and will gladly 
keep an eye on your boilers till we get to Rustchuk." 
He looked at me doubtfully. 
" I am speaking truth," 1 said. " Before the war I was 
an engineer in Damaraland. Mining was my branch, but 
I had a good training and I know enough to run a river-boat. 
Have no fear. I promise you 1 will earn my passage." 
His face cleared, and he looked what he was, an honest, 
good-humoured North German seaman. 
" Come then in Ciod's name," he cried, " and we will make 
a bargain. I will let J Ik: telegraph sleep. I want authority 
from the Government" 'Vj take a passenger, but I need none to 
engage a new engineer." 
He sent one of the hands back to the village to cancel his 
wire. In ten minutes I found myself on board, and ten 
minutes later we were out in mid-stream, and our tows were 
lumbering into line. Coffee was being made ready in the 
cabin, and while I waited for it I picked up the captain's 
binoculars a'-nd "icJrnned the ]>lace I had left. 
1 saw some curious things. On the first road I had struck 
on leaving the cottage there were men on bicycles mo\ ing 
rapidly. They seemed to wear uniform. On the next 
parrallel road, the one that ran through the village I could 
see others. I noticed, too, that se\eral figures appeared to be 
beating the intervening fields. 
Stumm's cordon liad got busy at last, and I thanked my 
stars that not one of the villagers had seen me. I had not 
got away much too soon for in another half-hour he would 
hsP/e had me. (To be couUnued.) 
