Tam O' The Scoots, Edgar Wallace [highly recommended books TXT] 📗
- Author: Edgar Wallace
Book online «Tam O' The Scoots, Edgar Wallace [highly recommended books TXT] 📗». Author Edgar Wallace
could see the sun risin' to-morrow!"
He started to walk off to his quarters but stopped and turned back. "Don't go near MacBissing's caircus," he warned; "he's feelin' sore."
Tam made a verbal report to Blackie, and Blackie got on to Headquarters by 'phone.
"Tam seems to have had an adventure, sir," he said, when he had induced H. Q. exchange to connect him with his general and gave the lurid details.
"It might be Hindenburg," said the general thoughtfully. "He's on the Western Front somewhere--that may explain the appearance of the circuses--or it may have been a corps general showing off the circus to a few trippers from Berlin--they are always running Reichstag members and pressmen round this front. Get Tam to make a report--his own report, not one you have edited." Blackie heard him chuckle. "I showed the last one to the army commander and he was tickled to death--hurry it along, I'm dying to see it."
If there is one task which an airman dislikes more than any other, it is report-writing. Tam was no exception, and his written accounts of the day's work were models of briefness.
In the days of his extreme youth he had been engaged in labor which did not call for the clerical qualities, and roughly his written "reports" were modeled on the "time sheets" he was wont to render in that far-off period, when he dwelt in lodgings at Govan, and worked at McArdle's Shipbuilding Yard.
Thus:
Left aerodrome 6 A. M.
Enemy patrols encountered 5
Ditto ditto chased 4
Ditto ditto forced down 2
Bombs dropped on Verleur Station 5
&c., &c.
Fortunately Tam possessed a romantic and a poetical soul, and there were rare occasions when he would offer a lyrical account of his adventures containing more color and detail. As, for example, his account of his fight with Lieutenant Prince Zwartz-Hamelyn:
"Oh, wad some power the giftie gi'e us
Tae see oursel's as ithers see us."
Thus spake a high an' princely Hun
As he fired at Tam wi' his Maxim gun.
Thinkin', na doot, that bonnie lad
Was lookin', if no' feelin', bad.
But Tam he stalled his wee machine
An' straffit young Zwartz-Hamelyn.
It was Blackie who harnessed Tam's genius for description to the pencil of a stenographer, and thereafter, when a long report was needed by Headquarters, there would appear at Tam's quarters one Corporal Alexander Brown, Blackie's secretary, and an amiable cockney who wrote mystic characters in a notebook with great rapidity.
"Is it ye, Alec?" said Tam, suspending his ablutions to open the door of his "bunk." "Come away in, man. Is it a report ye want? Sit down on the bed an' help yeersel' to the seegairs. Ye'll find the whisky in the decanter."
Corporal Brown sat on the bed because he knew it was there. He dived into his pocket and produced a notebook, a pencil and a cigaret, because he knew they had existence, too. He did not attempt to search for the cigars and the whisky because he had been fooled before, and had on two separate occasions searched the bunk for these delicacies under the unsmiling eyes of Tam and aided by Tam's advice, only to find in the end that Tam was as anxious to discover such treasures as the baffled corporal himself.
"We will noo proceed with the thrillin' serial," said Tam, spreading his towel on the window-ledge and rolling down his shirt-sleeves. "Are ye ready, Alec?"
"'Arf a mo', Sergeant--have you got a match?"
"Man, ye're a cadger of the most appallin' descreeption," said Tam severely. "A'm lookin' for'ard to the day when it'll be a coort-martial offense to ask yeer superior officer for matches--here's one. Don't strike it till ye give me one of yeer common cigarets."
The corporal produced a packet.
"A'll ask ye as a favor not to let the men know A've descended to this low an' vulgar habit," said Tam. "A'll take two or three as curiosities--A'd like to show the officers the kind o' poison the lower classes smoke--"
"Here! Leave me a couple!" said the alarmed non-commissioned officer as Tam's skilful fingers half emptied the box.
"Be silent!" said Tam, "ye're interruptin' ma train o' thochts--what did A' say last?"
"You said nothing yet," replied the corporal, rescuing his depleted store.
"Here it begins," said Tam, and started:
"At ten o'clock in the forenoon o' a clear but wintry day, a
solitary airman micht hae been seen wingin' his lane way ameedst
the solitude o' the achin' skies."
"'Achin' skies'?" queried the stenographer dubiously.
"It's poetry," said Tam. "A' got it oot o' a bit by Roodyard Kiplin', the Burns o' England, an' don't interrupt.
"He seemed ower young for sich an adventure--"
"How old are you, Sergeant, if I may ask the question?" demanded the amanuensis.
"Ye may not ask, but A'll tell you--A'm seventy-four come Michaelmas, an' A've never looked into the bricht ees o' a lassie since A' lost me wee Jean, who flit wi' a colonel o' dragoons, in the year the battle of Balaklava was fought--will ye shut yeer face whilst A'm dictatin'?"
"Sorry," murmured the corporal and poised his pencil.
"Suddenly, as the wee hero was guidin' his 'bus through the maze o'
cloods, a strange sicht met his ees. It was the caircus of
MacBissing! They were evolutin' by numbers, performin' their Great
Feat of Balancin' an' Barebacked Ridin', Aerial Trapeze an'
Tight-rope Walkin', Loopin' the Loop by the death-defyin' Brothers
Fritz, together with many laughable an' amusin' interludes by
Whimsical Walker, the Laird o' Laughter, the whole concludin' with
a Graund Patriotic Procession entitled Deutschland ower All--or
Nearly All."
"I ain't seen a circus for years," said the corporal with a sigh. "Lord! I used to love them girls in short skirts--"
"Restrain yeer amorous thochts, Alec," warned Tam, "an' fix yeer mind on leeterature. To proceed:
"'Can it be,' says our hero, 'can it be that Mr. MacBissing is
doin' his stunts at ten-thairty o' the clock in the cauld morn, for
sheer love o' his seenister profession? No,' says A'--says our
young hero--'no,' says he, 'he has a distinguished audience as like
as not.'
"Speerin' ower the side an' fixin' his expensive glasses on the
groon, he espied sax motor-cars--"
The door was flung open and Blackie came in hurriedly. "Tam--get up," he said briefly. "All the damn circuses are out on a strafe--and we're It--von Bissing, von Rheinhoff, and von Wentzl. They're coming straight here and I think they're out for blood."
The history of that great aerial combat has been graphically told by the special correspondents. Von Bissing's formation--dead out of luck that day--was broken up by Archie fire and forced back, von Wentzl was engaged by the Fifty-ninth Squadron (providentially up in strength for a strafe of their own) and turned back, but the von Rheinhoff group reached its objective before the machines were more than five thousand feet from the ground and there was some wild bombing.
Von Rheinhoff might have unloaded his bombs and got away, but he showed deplorable judgment. To insure an absolutely successful outcome to the attack he ordered his machines to descend. Before he could recover altitude the swift little scouts were up and into the formation. The air crackled with the sound of Lewis-gun fire, machines reeled and staggered like drunken men, Tam's fighting Morane dipped and dived, climbed and swerved in a wild bacchanalian dance. Airplanes, British and German alike, fell flaming to the earth before the second in command of the enemy squadron signaled, "Retire."
A mile away a battery of A-A guns waited, its commander's eyes glued to a telescope.
"They're breaking off--stand by! Range 4300 yards--deflection--There they go! Commence firing."
A dozen batteries were waiting the signal. The air was filled with the shriek of speeding shells, the skies were mottled with patches of smoke, white and brown, where the charges burst.
Von Rheinhoff's battered squadron rode raggedly to safety.
"Got him--whoop!" yelled a thousand voices, as from one machine there came a scatter of pieces as a high-explosive shell burst under the wing, and the soaring bird collapsed and came trembling, slowly, head-over-heels to the ground.
Von Rheinhoff, that redoubtable man, was half conscious when they pulled him out of the burnt and bloody wreck.
He looked round sleepily at the group about him and asked in the voice of a very tired man:
"Which--of--you--fellows--bombed--our Kaiser?"
Tam leant forward, his face blazing with excitement.
"Say that again, sir-r," he said.
Von Rheinhoff looked at him through half-opened eyes. "Tam--eh?" he whispered. "You--nearly put an empire--in mourning."
Tam drew a long breath, then turned away. "Nearly!" he said bitterly. "Did A' no' tell ye, Captain Blackie, sir-r, that ma luck was oot?"
CHAPTER VIII
A QUESTION OF RANK
Tam stood in the doorway of Squadron Headquarters and saluted.
"Come in, Sergeant Mactavish," said Blackie, and Tam's heart went down into his boots.
To be called by his surname was a happening which had only one significance. There was trouble of sorts, and Tam hated trouble.
"There are some facts which General Headquarters have asked me to verify--your age is twenty-seven?"
"Yes, sir-r."
"You hold the military medal, the French _Medaille Militaire_, the Russian medal of St. George and the French _Croix de Guerre_?"
"Oh, aye, Captain Blackie, sir-r, but A've no' worn 'em yet."
"You were created King's Corporal for an act of valor on January 17, 1915?" Blackie went on, consulting a paper.
"Yes, sir-r."
Blackie nodded. "That's all, Sergeant," he said, and as Tam saluted and turned, "oh, by-the-way, Sergeant--we had a brass ha--I mean a staff officer here the other day and he reported rather unfavorably upon a practise of yours--er--ours. It was a question of discipline--you know it is not usual for a non-commissioned officer to be on such friendly terms with--er--officers. And I think he saw you in the anteroom of the mess. So I told him something which was not at the time exactly true."
Tam nodded gravely.
He started to walk off to his quarters but stopped and turned back. "Don't go near MacBissing's caircus," he warned; "he's feelin' sore."
Tam made a verbal report to Blackie, and Blackie got on to Headquarters by 'phone.
"Tam seems to have had an adventure, sir," he said, when he had induced H. Q. exchange to connect him with his general and gave the lurid details.
"It might be Hindenburg," said the general thoughtfully. "He's on the Western Front somewhere--that may explain the appearance of the circuses--or it may have been a corps general showing off the circus to a few trippers from Berlin--they are always running Reichstag members and pressmen round this front. Get Tam to make a report--his own report, not one you have edited." Blackie heard him chuckle. "I showed the last one to the army commander and he was tickled to death--hurry it along, I'm dying to see it."
If there is one task which an airman dislikes more than any other, it is report-writing. Tam was no exception, and his written accounts of the day's work were models of briefness.
In the days of his extreme youth he had been engaged in labor which did not call for the clerical qualities, and roughly his written "reports" were modeled on the "time sheets" he was wont to render in that far-off period, when he dwelt in lodgings at Govan, and worked at McArdle's Shipbuilding Yard.
Thus:
Left aerodrome 6 A. M.
Enemy patrols encountered 5
Ditto ditto chased 4
Ditto ditto forced down 2
Bombs dropped on Verleur Station 5
&c., &c.
Fortunately Tam possessed a romantic and a poetical soul, and there were rare occasions when he would offer a lyrical account of his adventures containing more color and detail. As, for example, his account of his fight with Lieutenant Prince Zwartz-Hamelyn:
"Oh, wad some power the giftie gi'e us
Tae see oursel's as ithers see us."
Thus spake a high an' princely Hun
As he fired at Tam wi' his Maxim gun.
Thinkin', na doot, that bonnie lad
Was lookin', if no' feelin', bad.
But Tam he stalled his wee machine
An' straffit young Zwartz-Hamelyn.
It was Blackie who harnessed Tam's genius for description to the pencil of a stenographer, and thereafter, when a long report was needed by Headquarters, there would appear at Tam's quarters one Corporal Alexander Brown, Blackie's secretary, and an amiable cockney who wrote mystic characters in a notebook with great rapidity.
"Is it ye, Alec?" said Tam, suspending his ablutions to open the door of his "bunk." "Come away in, man. Is it a report ye want? Sit down on the bed an' help yeersel' to the seegairs. Ye'll find the whisky in the decanter."
Corporal Brown sat on the bed because he knew it was there. He dived into his pocket and produced a notebook, a pencil and a cigaret, because he knew they had existence, too. He did not attempt to search for the cigars and the whisky because he had been fooled before, and had on two separate occasions searched the bunk for these delicacies under the unsmiling eyes of Tam and aided by Tam's advice, only to find in the end that Tam was as anxious to discover such treasures as the baffled corporal himself.
"We will noo proceed with the thrillin' serial," said Tam, spreading his towel on the window-ledge and rolling down his shirt-sleeves. "Are ye ready, Alec?"
"'Arf a mo', Sergeant--have you got a match?"
"Man, ye're a cadger of the most appallin' descreeption," said Tam severely. "A'm lookin' for'ard to the day when it'll be a coort-martial offense to ask yeer superior officer for matches--here's one. Don't strike it till ye give me one of yeer common cigarets."
The corporal produced a packet.
"A'll ask ye as a favor not to let the men know A've descended to this low an' vulgar habit," said Tam. "A'll take two or three as curiosities--A'd like to show the officers the kind o' poison the lower classes smoke--"
"Here! Leave me a couple!" said the alarmed non-commissioned officer as Tam's skilful fingers half emptied the box.
"Be silent!" said Tam, "ye're interruptin' ma train o' thochts--what did A' say last?"
"You said nothing yet," replied the corporal, rescuing his depleted store.
"Here it begins," said Tam, and started:
"At ten o'clock in the forenoon o' a clear but wintry day, a
solitary airman micht hae been seen wingin' his lane way ameedst
the solitude o' the achin' skies."
"'Achin' skies'?" queried the stenographer dubiously.
"It's poetry," said Tam. "A' got it oot o' a bit by Roodyard Kiplin', the Burns o' England, an' don't interrupt.
"He seemed ower young for sich an adventure--"
"How old are you, Sergeant, if I may ask the question?" demanded the amanuensis.
"Ye may not ask, but A'll tell you--A'm seventy-four come Michaelmas, an' A've never looked into the bricht ees o' a lassie since A' lost me wee Jean, who flit wi' a colonel o' dragoons, in the year the battle of Balaklava was fought--will ye shut yeer face whilst A'm dictatin'?"
"Sorry," murmured the corporal and poised his pencil.
"Suddenly, as the wee hero was guidin' his 'bus through the maze o'
cloods, a strange sicht met his ees. It was the caircus of
MacBissing! They were evolutin' by numbers, performin' their Great
Feat of Balancin' an' Barebacked Ridin', Aerial Trapeze an'
Tight-rope Walkin', Loopin' the Loop by the death-defyin' Brothers
Fritz, together with many laughable an' amusin' interludes by
Whimsical Walker, the Laird o' Laughter, the whole concludin' with
a Graund Patriotic Procession entitled Deutschland ower All--or
Nearly All."
"I ain't seen a circus for years," said the corporal with a sigh. "Lord! I used to love them girls in short skirts--"
"Restrain yeer amorous thochts, Alec," warned Tam, "an' fix yeer mind on leeterature. To proceed:
"'Can it be,' says our hero, 'can it be that Mr. MacBissing is
doin' his stunts at ten-thairty o' the clock in the cauld morn, for
sheer love o' his seenister profession? No,' says A'--says our
young hero--'no,' says he, 'he has a distinguished audience as like
as not.'
"Speerin' ower the side an' fixin' his expensive glasses on the
groon, he espied sax motor-cars--"
The door was flung open and Blackie came in hurriedly. "Tam--get up," he said briefly. "All the damn circuses are out on a strafe--and we're It--von Bissing, von Rheinhoff, and von Wentzl. They're coming straight here and I think they're out for blood."
The history of that great aerial combat has been graphically told by the special correspondents. Von Bissing's formation--dead out of luck that day--was broken up by Archie fire and forced back, von Wentzl was engaged by the Fifty-ninth Squadron (providentially up in strength for a strafe of their own) and turned back, but the von Rheinhoff group reached its objective before the machines were more than five thousand feet from the ground and there was some wild bombing.
Von Rheinhoff might have unloaded his bombs and got away, but he showed deplorable judgment. To insure an absolutely successful outcome to the attack he ordered his machines to descend. Before he could recover altitude the swift little scouts were up and into the formation. The air crackled with the sound of Lewis-gun fire, machines reeled and staggered like drunken men, Tam's fighting Morane dipped and dived, climbed and swerved in a wild bacchanalian dance. Airplanes, British and German alike, fell flaming to the earth before the second in command of the enemy squadron signaled, "Retire."
A mile away a battery of A-A guns waited, its commander's eyes glued to a telescope.
"They're breaking off--stand by! Range 4300 yards--deflection--There they go! Commence firing."
A dozen batteries were waiting the signal. The air was filled with the shriek of speeding shells, the skies were mottled with patches of smoke, white and brown, where the charges burst.
Von Rheinhoff's battered squadron rode raggedly to safety.
"Got him--whoop!" yelled a thousand voices, as from one machine there came a scatter of pieces as a high-explosive shell burst under the wing, and the soaring bird collapsed and came trembling, slowly, head-over-heels to the ground.
Von Rheinhoff, that redoubtable man, was half conscious when they pulled him out of the burnt and bloody wreck.
He looked round sleepily at the group about him and asked in the voice of a very tired man:
"Which--of--you--fellows--bombed--our Kaiser?"
Tam leant forward, his face blazing with excitement.
"Say that again, sir-r," he said.
Von Rheinhoff looked at him through half-opened eyes. "Tam--eh?" he whispered. "You--nearly put an empire--in mourning."
Tam drew a long breath, then turned away. "Nearly!" he said bitterly. "Did A' no' tell ye, Captain Blackie, sir-r, that ma luck was oot?"
CHAPTER VIII
A QUESTION OF RANK
Tam stood in the doorway of Squadron Headquarters and saluted.
"Come in, Sergeant Mactavish," said Blackie, and Tam's heart went down into his boots.
To be called by his surname was a happening which had only one significance. There was trouble of sorts, and Tam hated trouble.
"There are some facts which General Headquarters have asked me to verify--your age is twenty-seven?"
"Yes, sir-r."
"You hold the military medal, the French _Medaille Militaire_, the Russian medal of St. George and the French _Croix de Guerre_?"
"Oh, aye, Captain Blackie, sir-r, but A've no' worn 'em yet."
"You were created King's Corporal for an act of valor on January 17, 1915?" Blackie went on, consulting a paper.
"Yes, sir-r."
Blackie nodded. "That's all, Sergeant," he said, and as Tam saluted and turned, "oh, by-the-way, Sergeant--we had a brass ha--I mean a staff officer here the other day and he reported rather unfavorably upon a practise of yours--er--ours. It was a question of discipline--you know it is not usual for a non-commissioned officer to be on such friendly terms with--er--officers. And I think he saw you in the anteroom of the mess. So I told him something which was not at the time exactly true."
Tam nodded gravely.
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