CHAPTER II.
A STIRRING HOLIDAY.
TO be rudely routed out of a snug nest in a feather bed at 3 o'clockin the morning--a morning with a real chill in it--is not a desirableexperience for the average house-bred boy, and even such seasonedcampaigners as Billy Barry and Henri Trouville were inclined to grumblewhen the giant Zorn yanked the covers from their downy couch andgruffly ordered them to get up and dress, and to make haste about it.
By the pale gleam of a couple of candles, and the slight warmth from anewly kindled fire in a white china stove, the "Blitz boys" made theirtoilets of the interesting characters they were to assume.
"What time is it anyway?" yawned Henri.
"I guess I'm not good enough in higher mathematics to figure it out foryou," growled Billy, as he tussled with leather shoestrings that tied,he said, "seven ways for Sunday."
The voice of "Dr. Blitz" sounded at the foot of the stairway, in thelower regions of the house. There was no "young sirs" about it. The"good merchant of Hamburg" was on vacation.
"Crawl lively there, you snails," were the words that ascended.
"Wonder what tip he is working on now?" whispered Billy.
"You will never know until you get to it." Henri had before beenimpressed with the fact that Roque was not in the habit of springinguntil he got on the board.
"Good morning, Dr. Blitz," was Billy's cheery greeting to the man whowas making hasty breakfast at a table drawn up before a crackling firein a big brick cavern. He could not have testified from side view thatit was Roque, so he took a chance on "Blitz."
Along with a gulp of coffee the imposing person addressed shot a remarkin German over his shoulder, which Henri afterward explained to Billywas very near to profanity.
The boys edged into chairs at the table, but missed a round of muffinsthrough staring at the "doctor."
The merchant masquerade was wholly outclassed by this new display ofthe make-up art.
Billy wanted to say "ring the night bell," but sheer admiration kepthim silent.
Whether it was the combined effects of the steaming coffee, hotmuffins, and a big black cigar that followed, or the silent tribute inthe eyes of his young guests, it was, nevertheless, a speedily notedfact that Roque was thawing into more gracious manner.
"I suppose you know that it is only a few hours now until Christmas,and we must find some special way to observe it."
Billy and Henri could not get the straight line on Roque's remark, butlater realized that the holiday was of the like they had never beforepassed.
With a cutting wind from off the icy flow of the mighty river Elbe intheir faces, the boys followed their leader to the docks, where theyboarded a small craft, evidently built for speed, which had steam upand manned for instant start.
The captain was the same who commanded the deck when the boys hadaccompanied Roque on a previous exciting excursion. This official,standing at attention, stiff as a ramrod, gave no visible mark ofrecognition as the passengers boarded the boat, but Billy could havesworn that he saw something like a twinkle in the captain's right eyewhen they passed the gangplank.
"No use asking where we are bound for," lamented Henri.
"Not a bit of use," agreed Billy.
They were out of earshot of Roque, whose tall form, in rusty black, wasoutlined in the dawnlight near the wheel of the churning steamer.
The first intimation of what was to be their next landing place came inthe word "Cuxhaven," passed by one sailor to another. The talk was inrapid German, but Henri caught the drift of the conversation withoutdifficulty.
"By George," he whispered to his chum, "Cuxhaven is the place mentionedin Anglin's message."
"You mean Ardelle's message," corrected Billy.
"That's right," chuckled Henri. "I forgot that Anglin had become thebig noise. Yes, it's the very place," he continued, "and it's a greatnaval base."
"It's a safe bet that Roque never hits a trail that isn't warm. Takeit from me," and Billy was in great earnest when he said it, "there isgoing to be something doing."
Billy's prediction chanced, in this instance, to be more accurate thanare some of the forecasts made by professionals.
It was in a dense fog that Christmas eve when the little steamer ceasedchugging in the wide mouth of the Elbe, and the harbor lights burnedblue. The captain condemned the weather in no uncertain terms, butRoque seemingly had no care for aught but his thoughts, as he leanedagainst the rail, with moody gaze fixed upon the anchored ships and thedim lines of the city beyond.
As he had shaped, not long ago, the famous raid of the German fleetupon English seaports, Roque did not underestimate the ability of hisgreat rival, Ardelle, to open the way for a counter attack. Ardelle wasknown by the secret service to be on this very soil--and, surely, forsome big purpose. Minnows were not sent to stir up a pool of this size.
"But they'll find no sleepy towns to blow up here," said Roque tohimself.
He was all for precaution, however, and his intuition was nothing shortof marvelous.
When "Dr. Blitz" and his "sons" went ashore it was the foggiest kind ofa Christmas morning.
A stalwart marine attempted to put the doctor through the questionpaces, but the real Roque whispered a fierce something into the ear ofthe would-be questioner that set the latter back-tracking in a jiffy.
It was a curious and remarkable fact, but true, that an hour after theeminent secret agent and his young charges had landed in Cuxhaven,Billy's prediction, "that wherever Roque is there's something doing,"was verified. Every submarine cable connecting the fortresses of thiscoast sounded alarm, particularly high-keyed the frantic signal fromHelgoland, the fortress island, thirty-nine miles away.
Roque dropped his doctor character like a hot potato when he learnedthe import of the flashes. He tossed his traveling case of surgicalinstruments into the first open doorway he passed, and the boys werecompelled to run to keep up with his long stride.
Bombs were falling from aloft, exploding among the shipping behindthem, while in front one of the projectiles crashed upon a huge gastank.
"The nerve of the devil mapped this out!"
The bitter emphasis of Roque indicated that he laid the blame of thisunexpected invasion upon one head--that of Ardelle.
In the meantime, the fog-ridden atmosphere was riven by blazes ofpowder from the shore guns, trained upward, and the air squadron,Zeppelins and naval seaplanes, were leaping skyward to meet their kindin aerial battle.
Roque charged madly into the air station, dragging the boys after him.
A seaplane was balanced on the polished ways for the sweeping plunge.
"In the name of the Emperor!" he shouted, shouldering aside the menholding the poised craft. The same fierce whisper in the ear of theaviation lieutenant had effect identical with that upon the marine atthe docks.
"Get to your places, you moonfaces"--this stern command hurled at theboys. Henri bounced into the motor section, Billy settled behind therudder wheel, and Roque swung himself into the bow seat.
The long hull was launched with the snap of training, and with motorshumming left the water without a wrench from its skimming start.
The Boy Aviators, certified masters of the air, were at their trade.
They had need of all their skill and daring that day!
"Set your course northwest," loudly ordered Roque. "Hit for Helgolandlike a bolt."
"Look out that you don't hit something on the way!" shouted Henri fromthe rear.
The last warning was timely, if Billy had need of warning at all. Therewas peril in the foggy stretches.
The upper regions were literally lined with aircraft. No less thanseven naval seaplanes had traveled in advance of the British warshipinvasion of the German bay. Having dropped all the bombs they couldthrough the mist, they were in full return flight to the convoyingvessels. Zeppelins and hostile seaplanes zigzagged on their trail, andother dirigibles and fighting craft menaced their retreat still furtheron.
Billy gu
ided the seaplane he was driving to the higher strata in orderto escape mix-up with the contending airships, but on the thirtiethmile recorded, Roque, who had constantly demanded distance figures,ordered a lower flight, and, the fog clearing, the flyers could plainlysee on the waves far below the floating warcraft of the invaders--lightcruisers, destroyers and submarines. The Germans were combating thisarray with aircraft and submarines, but so great was Roque's impatienceto reach the fortified island that the motors were put by Henri to thelimit of speed, and so that part of the conflict is not in the recordof the Aeroplane Scouts.
Just off Helgoland, though, the boys had the shock of noting thecrumpling of one of the British seaplanes and the end of a brave airman.
"There's no escape when death stalks you up here," sighed Billy.
"Ware away, boy," called Roque, when the seaplane hovered overHelgoland, "wait until they see the color of the bottom of the machineor we will look like a sieve before we light."
Billy "wared away," and with motors at half speed, the seaplane circledover the supposed most impregnable stronghold in the world, awaitingsome signal of recognition from the fortress.
It was finally given, and Roque directed immediate descent.
On the ground once more, Billy and Henri relapsed into their dutifulservice as "sons" and rear guards of the renowned "Dr. Blitz." Theglazed caps had gone the way of the winds, but, as Billy put it, "weare still dressed up to beat the band."
The boys noticed that, barring a few skilled workmen and engineers,they were the only civilians in the streets that evening. They did notcount Roque, for he might turn out to be a general, if occasion served.
The latter had a busy hour with the garrison officers, while the boyshad an idle one, with about as much activity as is allowed a hobbledhorse. It was evident that "Dr. Blitz" held this island as a holy ofholies, secret even to his "sons."
"It beats me," observed Billy, edging away as far as possible from theguard stationed to keep them out of mischief, "how those Britishersever got by this place."
"The bigger question," asserted Henri, "is, if they got by, how in theworld did they ever get back?"
"That's what Roque is evidently trying to find out," intimated Billy.
The boys, while puzzling over the problem of "get by and get back,"were looking at the huge fortress so tremendously fortified and notingeverywhere an uninterrupted view of the sea.
They also surmised that an alert garrison was ever carefully watchingthe waters, day after day, night after night, hour after hour, in ordernot to be surprised by the powerful enemy.
"I guess the fog helped some," was the conclusion finally advanced byBilly.
"And Ardelle somewhere behind the curtain," suggested Henri.
"Oh, go 'way, man; Roque has given you the Ardelle fever."
Billy just then caught sight of Roque bearing down upon them under fullstride.
"Speak of the dickens," he exclaimed, "here he comes now."
The shadows of evening continued to gather, and here and there on theisland lights showed like glowworms. Roque shook hands with his officercompanions. He evidently contemplated leaving in the same impetuous waythat he came, but evidently not by the seaplane route.
A little steam launch tugged at its holding rope, in readiness to dashaway into the misty deep. Two men muffled to the throat waited theorder. Roque, with never a word to the boys, directed them by gesturesto get aboard, quickly following. The launch cut through the now pitchydarkness of the Helgoland waters. With the island lights no longervisible, there could only be seen the lantern in front of the littleboat, and it was a dangerous speed to be making, when the helmsman hadscant view of hardly a yard ahead.
But the man at the wheel was in familiar element, to him, and thescudding vessel never came to drift movement until a glimmering signalguided to the landing place, the name of which would have meant nothingto the boys if they had had the care to inquire.
This was Christmas night in the Bight of Helgoland.