"Madame de la Barre presents her compliments, but regrets that the regulations of her establishment do not permit her pupils to receive visits except during certain hours," announced a stern-faced Flemish woman in broken French.
Kenneth glanced at his companion,
"What's to be done now?" he asked.
"Give her Major Résimont's message. Say it's very urgent," advised Rollo.
The lads, curbing their impatience, waited for another ten minutes outside the lofty blank wall surrounding the boarding-school. The air was sultry, and the glare from the whitewashed walls was almost blinding. Thepavéseemed to throw out a stifling heat. The village street was practically deserted, but in the neighbouring fields a row of peasant women were bending over their monotonous task of pulling vegetables. Farther away some cows were lying down under the scant shade afforded by a few gaunt trees. Otherwise the landscape was devoid of life.
Presently a woman passed, leading a little girl by the hand. She was a buxom, comely peasant, the child bright-faced and apparently well-cared-for. They were laughing and chattering. Then a man on a dog-drawn cart came down the street. The animals, their tongues protruding and their sides heaving with the heat, were moving at a leisurely pace. The man made no attempt to hurry them. He was smiling contentedly, and called out a cheery greeting in Flemish to the patient audience before the gate of Madame de la Barre. A little way down the street he halted his team and entered a cottage. He was lame, hence he had not been called up on mobilization.
Presently the maid-servant reappeared.
"Madame thanks Monsieur the Major, but at present sees no reason for taking his advice. Should war be declared she will take necessary steps to safeguard her pupils. If Mademoiselle Résimont is to be sent to her home at Brussels, no doubt Monsieur the Major will communicate in writing with Madame. If Monsieur Everest desires to see his sister he can do so in the presence of Madame at eleven o'clock to-morrow."
Having delivered this ultimatum, the maid shut the door and shot the massive bolts.
"Done this time!" ejaculated Kenneth. "Let's get back to Liége. There'll be plenty to see."
The lads set off at a rapid pace in spite of the heat. They were on foot, having placed their motor-cycles in the village of Argenteau.
By the time they regained Argenteau a change had come over the little hamlet. A detachment of engineers was in possession. The men, discarding their heavy greatcoats, were busily engaged in throwing up earthworks, while almost within arm's-length their rifles were piled, each weapon with its bayonet fixed.
"Halte-là!" The tip of a bayonet presented within a couple of inches of Rollo's chest brought both lads to a sudden stop. "Qui v'là?"
The production of the pass with which Major Résimont had provided them was sufficient, and without further hindrance the two friends gained the inn.
As they passed under the archway they found that their beloved motor-cycles had vanished.
"Pardon, messieurs!" exclaimed the landlord on catching sight of the two lads. "It was not my fault, I assure you. It is the order of the Government. They have taken away all the horses, all the carts——"
"And our motor-cycles?"
"Hélas, messieurs, it is a fact. Nevertheless, the Government will pay——"
"Where are they taken to?" asked Kenneth.
"They were placed in a transport wagon, monsieur. It left in the direction of Liége not fifteen minutes ago."
"Let's hurry and catch it up," suggested Rollo. "It's daylight robbery. I believe that rascally innkeeper has played a trick on us."
Alternately running and walking, the English lads kept up a rapid pace along the road that followed the right bank of the Meuse between Argenteau and Liége. Mile after mile they went, without a sign of a transport wagon. Troops there were in plenty, all carrying entrenching tools in addition to arms. Yet, in spite of these warlike movements, the women were toiling unconcernedly in the fields, either indifferent to the danger that threatened them, or else basking in the confidence of the ability of the Belgian troops and their allies to thrust back the approaching tide of invasion.
At the village of Wandre Rollo gave vent to a shout of delight. Standing outside an inn was an army wagon, and under its tilt, in company with a medley of other articles, were their motor-cycles.
"Now, what's to be done?" asked Rollo.
"I vote we take them and make off as hard as we can," suggested Kenneth. "The soldiers in charge are evidently after more official loot."
"Won't do," replied the cautious Rollo. "Ten to one we would hopelessly damage the bikes getting them off the wagon. The best we can do is to tackle the fellow in charge."
"The fellow in charge" turned out to be a phlegmatic Walloon corporal. When appealed to he replied that he was acting under the orders of his lieutenant, and that he must account for all the articles on his list upon his return to Liége. The production of Major Résimont's pass did not save the situation, although the Belgian's demeanour thawed considerably.
"Nevertheless, if messieurs are English, perhaps they would like to ride on the wagon. At Liége, no doubt, all will be set right," he added.
It was, fortunately, the last of that particular corporal's work, and he was at liberty to return without delay. A sapper drove, the corporal sitting beside him on the box seat. On the tail-board, with their backs against their precious motor-cycles, sat the two lads, another sapper keeping them company.
As the cart jolted through the village of Jupille there came a dull rumbling, like that of distant thunder.
"Guns!" exclaimed Rollo.
"Thunder, I think," declared his chum.
The Belgian soldier, when questioned, merely remarked in matter-of-fact tones:
"We are blowing up the bridges, monsieur."
The work of demolition had already begun. The Belgian troops, with commendable forethought, had destroyed four bridges across the Meuse in order to delay the momentarily expected German advance. Yet, on either side of the sluggish river, peasants were unconcernedly toiling in the fields.
As the wagon passed the loftily-situated and obsolete fort of La Chatreuse a round of cheering could be heard from the city of Liége. Presently the strains of "La Brabançonne"—the Belgian National Anthem—could be distinguished above the din.
The sapper began to grow excited.
"All is well, messieurs," he exclaimed. "We are now ready for these Prussians. Our Third Division has arrived."
Presently the head of the column of blue-greatcoated troops swung blithely along the road to take up positions in the newly-constructed trenches between Fort de Barchon and Fort de Fléron. The men marched well, although covered with dust from head to foot; for during the previous forty-eight hours they had, by forced marches, covered more than eighty miles from Diest to their allotted positions at Liége. Yet, for some unaccountable reason, these troops went into what was soon to be the firing-line in blue tunics with white facings, which would offer a conspicuous target to their foes.
It was late in the afternoon when the cart drew up in a large open space by the side of the Church of St. Jacques. The square was crowded with all kinds of military transport and commissariat wagons. Officers were shouting orders, men were rushing hither and thither, motors were popping, horses neighing.
The corporal in charge of the wagon descended and stood rigidly at attention. For quite a quarter of an hour he remained in this attitude, without any of the officers approaching to give him further directions. The crowd of wagons became more congested, till Kenneth and Rollo realized that, should they regain possession of their mounts, there would be great difficulty in wheeling them out of the press.
Suddenly Kenneth gripped his friend's shoulder and pointed in the direction of a group of officers.
"There's Major Résimont!" he exclaimed. "He'll get us out of the fix."
"Ah! You have got yourselves in a difficulty again, that I can see," declared the genial Major. "What, then, is the trouble?"
Briefly Kenneth described the commandeering of their motor-cycles.
"I am indeed most busy," said Major Résimont, and the perspiration on his face did not belie this statement. "Nevertheless, come with me, and we will find the Quartermaster of the Commissariat."
He led the lads at a rapid pace through several crowded thoroughfares. At one point the press was so great as to impede their progress. The Liégeois were shouting and cheering, cries of "Vive la Belgique!" and "Vive l'Angleterre!" predominating. Outside a large building a Union Jack and the Belgian tricolour had been hoisted side by side. A telegraphic communication had just been received that Great Britain had declared war on Germany.
"Ah! I thought it," chuckled the Major. "Now the Prussians will get the right-about. My friends, the Germans are also now your enemies," and he shook Kenneth and Rollo by the hand. "What will you do? Return to England and join the army?"
"We are not old enough for commissions, sir," replied Kenneth; then on the spur of the moment he added: "Couldn't we be attached to the Belgian army as dispatch-riders?"
Rollo almost gasped at his chum's impetuosity, but loyalty to his chum and a desire to do something against the oppressor of Europe checked his inclination to counsel caution.
"We will see," said the Major gravely. "It is good to see such a spirit amongst Englishmen to come to the aid of our brave Belgians. You are resolute?"
"Rather!" declared Kenneth stoutly; and Rollo likewise signified his willingness.
The Quartermaster having been found at his office, Major Résimont soon obtained the requisite order for the release of the Englishmen's motor-cycles.
"Now, this way!" he exclaimed.
Five minutes' brisk walk brought them to the door of a large building at which were stationed two soldiers in the uniform of the Grenadiers. These stood stiffly at attention as the Major entered, drawing themselves up with an alertness that was almost entirely lacking in most of the men of the line regiments.
Giving his name to a staff officer, the Major had to wait in an ante-room, with at least a dozen other officers, mostly of brevet rank. At length his turn came, for business was being carried out with dispatch.
"Monsieur le Major Résimont, mon Général," announced a junior officer, as he opened the door and motioned for the Belgian Major and his two companions to enter.
Seated at a table was a man in the undress uniform of the Belgian staff. He was sparely built, although from his attitude it was impossible to judge his height. His features were sallow, one might almost say cadaverous, with a bright tinge of red upon his prominent cheek-bones. Heavily-bushed eyebrows overhung a pair of deep-set eyes that seemed hawk-like in their intensity. His closely-cropped hair was iron-grey. A slightly drooping moustache hid a resolute mouth.
The two English lads were in the presence of a man whose name, hitherto practically unknown outside his own country, was soon to be on the lips of everyone who was likely to hear of the gallant stand of Liége—General Albert Leman.
A quick vertical motion of the General's right hand—he was a man of few words—was the signal for Major Résimont to make known his business.
"I have here two Englishmen, mon Général," began the Major. "They are desirous of entering our army as motor-cyclist dispatch-riders."
Without a moment's delay the General asked: "Can they read a map?"
Kenneth and Rollo both replied that they could.
"Good!" exclaimed General Leman; then, turning to his secretary, he added: "Make out an order for these gentlemen to be attached to the 9th regiment of the line—your company, Major?"
"If you please, sir."
"Here, then, is the order," continued the General after a brief instant, during which the secretary had been writing as hard as he possibly could. "They can be sworn in as soon as an opportunity occurs. I wish you good day."
That was all. The whole business was over in less than five minutes. Not a word of thanks or encouragement to the two British volunteers. A chill had descended upon their ardour.
"The General—he is magnificent," said their companion as they gained the street. "Down to the humblest private we swear by him. One has to earn praise from the General before it is bestowed: it is our General's way. He is a man of few words, but his heart is in the right place. Now go and demand your motor-cycles and proceed to Fort de Barchon. I will meet you there and see you are attested."
With that the Major hurried off, and the two lads hastened to take possession of their own property.
"Fancy Great Britain being at war with Germany at last!" exclaimed Kenneth. "We can hardly realize it, although most people have been talking about it for years. Perhaps even now our fleet is giving the Germans a good hiding. The rotten part about our job is that we may not be able to get news of how things are going on at home."
Therein Kenneth was right. The news they received was mostly rumour. In fact, the statement they had just heard, that Great Britain had declared war, was premature. An ultimatum had been sent to Berlin stating that, unless Belgian neutrality were respected, hostilities would commence at midnight. The Liégeois had anticipated the hour, and so had the Germans, for already their mine-layers were at work in the North Sea.
An hour later, just as the sun was sinking behind the smoke-enshrouded city of Liége, Kenneth Everest and Rollo Barrington were enlisted as volunteer dispatch-riders in the 9th regiment of the line of the Belgian army.
At eight o'clock on the following morning the motorcyclist section—nine in number—was paraded in front of the orderly-room of Fort de Barchon. Already the bulk of the regiments had marched out to take up a position in the trenches between the fortifications and the right bank of the Meuse.
The two English lads had been served out with a dark-blue uniform, with heavy boots and brown gaiters, and had been armed with a Belgian service revolver—a .45-bore, made by the famous firm of Cockerill of Seraing.
Already they had been instructed in its use, and had—thanks to their cadet training—met with the approval of their musketry instructor. Their motor-cycles had also been subjected to a critical inspection. The officer—who in civil life had been in the motor industry at Liége—had to report, in spite of slight professional jealousy, that the English motor-cycles were fit for service, and almost equal to those owned by the other members of the dispatch-riding section.
One by one the men were called into the orderly-room, where they received instructions and dispatches, till only Kenneth and Rollo remained.
"Private Ever-r-rest and Private Bar-r-rington," shouted the orderly-room sergeant, sounding his r's like the roll of a drum.
Within they found Major Résimont, and, as befitting their relative rank, the lads saluted and stood at attention.
"Deliver this to Captain Leboeuf at Visé," ordered the Major. "In view of the German advance, he is to cross the river and impede the enemy as much as possible, retiring upon Fort de Pontisse if in danger of being outflanked." Then dropping the official voice, he added in English, "Since Madame de la Barre would pay no heed to my request, it is necessary for strategic reasons to occupy her house. You may now have an opportunity of seeing your sister, Monsieur Everest. There are, I believe, only our pupils there during the holidays. Captain Leboeuf will arrange for them to be sent into Maastricht by train, or by a carriage if railway communication is interrupted. They can then proceed to Brussels in the ordinary way. You might give this to Mademoiselle Yvonne for incidental expenses for herself and her friend, your sister," and the Major handed Kenneth a packet containing a sheaf of notes.
"Be cautious," he added. "The Germans have already advanced upon Lembourg."
The lads saluted and withdrew. A minute later they were dashing over the drawbridge, bound on their first duty as dispatch-riders in the Belgian army, though with a semi-official motive.
Away on their right came the rapid booming of light artillery fire. Beyond the woods of Verviers a thick cloud of black smoke rose sullenly in the heavy air.
Their route lay along a fairly level road bounded on each side by tall trees. In the centre was a strip ofpavé, but between it and the ditch on either hand was a dusty path which afforded good going. The cyclists were soon touching thirty miles an hour, the rapid beats of their engines drowning the noise of the distant cannonade.
Once they had to slow down in order to allow a cart to draw up on one side. The floor of the cart was covered with straw, and on the straw lay some strange objects. The lads did not realize what these burdens were. They were new to the game of war, but not for long.
Presently they noticed a group of soldiers approaching. Thrice the lads sounded their horns without effect. Again they had to slow down.
"Good heavens! Look!" ejaculated Kenneth.
The men were limping painfully. One had his arm thrown around a comrade's neck, and his head falling limply upon the other's shoulder. Another, his head bound by a blood-stained scarf, was using the butt of his rifle as a crutch.
"There's been an action already," said Rollo.
"Yes, and on the Visé road," added his companion. "Let's push on. I hope we are not too late."
During the slowing-down process the thunder of the guns became horribly distinct. There was terrific firing in the direction of Argenteau. More, there were heavy Belgian losses, for the men they had just passed were but the van of a ghastly procession of wounded.
At Argenteau a body of reserves was in possession of the village. Barricades had been hastily constructed, walls of buildings loopholed, and barbed-wire entanglements placed across the road.
"Halte-là!"
Rollo came to a standstill with the point of a Belgian bayonet within a couple of inches of his chest. Kenneth, who was twenty yards in the rear, almost as promptly alighted.
"Qui v'là?" demanded the sentry.
"Dispatches for Captain Leboeuf," replied Kenneth.
The man recovered his arms.
"May you have the good fortune to find him!" said he. "Our troops have been compelled to fall back in the face of superior numbers. Turn to the right, then take the first road to the left. It will bring you back to the Visé road."
Following the sentry's direction the lads found that the route was still open, although soldiers and peasants were standing ready to barricade that exit.
A couple of miles farther on the motor-cyclists reached the firing-line—a comparatively weak detachment of infantry holding a hastily-constructed trench.
Overhead the shrapnel was flying, the iron hail for the most part bursting harmlessly in the rear. On the left the great guns of Fort de Pontisse were shelling the dense masses of German troops as they vainly sought to cross the Meuse.
A shell, happily without exploding, struck the pave five yards from the spot where Kenneth dismounted, burying itself in a hole at least two feet in depth.
"Into the ditch with the bikes," shouted Kenneth; and having assisted Rollo to place his steed in a place of comparative safety, he returned, and, helped by his companion, managed to shelter his own cycle.
"What's to be done now?" asked Rollo.
"See if the Captain is with these men. We must hasten: it will be a jolly sight safer in the trench."
Abandoning their motor-cycles, the two lads made their way along the ditch, which fortunately ran with considerable obliquity to the direction of the fire of the German artillery.
At length they reached the trench where the Belgian infantry, taking admirable cover, were replying steadily to the hail of ill-directed rifle bullets. The only unwounded officer was a slim young lieutenant—a mere boy.
"We have dispatches for Captain Leboeuf, sir," announced Kenneth. "He was in charge of an outpost at Visé."
"Visé is all aflame," replied the officer. "No doubt the Captain has crossed the Meuse. But we are about to retire, so look to yourselves. The enemy is threatening our right flank, otherwise we might hold this trench for another twenty-four hours."
"Any orders, sir, before we return to Fort de Barchon?"
"Yes; ride as quickly as you can to Saint André. The rest of our company is there. Tell the officer in command that I am retiring, and that unless he falls back he is in danger of being cut off. You understand? Good, now——"
The lieutenant's instructions ended in a faint shriek. His hands flew to his chest, and he pitched forward on his face.
A grizzled colour-sergeant instantly took command.
"Retire by sections!" he shouted. "Steady, men, no hurry. Keep them back as long as you can."
The caution was in vain. While the untried troops were lining the trench and replying to the German fire, all went well; but at the order to retire, men broke and ran for their lives. Heedless of the cover afforded by the ditch, they swarmed along the road in the direction of Argenteau, shrapnel and bullet accounting for half their numbers. Only the sergeant, two corporals, and the British dispatch-riders remained.
The Germans, advancing in close formation, were now eight hundred yards off.
Without a word the Belgian sergeant crawled along the trench, picking up the rifles and caps of the slain and placing them at intervals along the top of the mound; while the rest, including Kenneth and Rollo, who had taken possession of a couple of abandoned rifles, maintained a rapid magazine fire at the approaching troops.
"Each for himself, mes enfants," said the veteran at length. "One at a time and trust to luck."
With that a corporal cast aside his greatcoat and heavy knapsack. He was about to make a plunge through the zone of hissing bullets when Kenneth stopped him.
"There's a ditch farther along," he announced. "We came that way."
The man hesitated, then, communicated the news to his sergeant.
"Come then, mes braves," exclaimed the veteran.
One by one, crawling along the ditch the five made their way, till they gained the comparative shelter afforded by the walls of a ruined cottage. Proof against bullets, the house had been practically demolished by shell-fire.
"We must go back and get our bikes," declared Kenneth. "It's fairly safe. Those fellows are apparently directing their fire against those caps and rifles showing above the trench."
They found their steeds uninjured. In record time they were in the saddle and tearing along the avenue, which here and there was dotted with dead Belgians. The wounded had evidently been carried off by their comrades.
As they passed the ruined cottage where they had parted from the three soldiers the latter were no longer to be seen, but a hoarse cry of "A moi, camarades!" caused Rollo to turn. He alone caught the appeal, for Kenneth had secured a slight start and the noise of his engine had drowned the shout for aid.
"Hold on!" shouted Rollo; but Kenneth, unaware of the call, was out of ear-shot, and doing a good thirty or forty miles an hour.
Leaving his engine still running, Rollo dismounted and made his way towards the building. Shots were whistling overhead. He crouched as he hastened, for he had not yet acquired the contempt for the screech of a bullet that the old soldier has, knowing that with the whizzing of the missile that particular danger has passed.
Lying against the bullet-spattered wall was the old sergeant. A fragment of shrapnel, rebounding from the masonry, had fractured his left ankle.
There was no time for first-aid. The Germans were now within three hundred yards of the abandoned trench. Throwing his arms round the sergeant's body, Rollo lifted him from the ground, then kneeling, he managed to transfer him across his back. Fortunately the wounded man was not very heavy, and the lad, staggering under his burden, carried him to the place where he had left his motor-cycle.
Just then came the rapid pop-pop of another motor-bike. Kenneth, having discovered that his chum was no longer in his company, had returned.
"Give me a push off, old man," panted Rollo, as he set his burden across the carrier and stood astride his steed.
In went the clutch; Kenneth, running by the side of the cycle for a few yards, steadied the wounded sergeant, who was clinging desperately to the young dispatch-rider.
"All right, let go!" shouted Rollo.
The bike wobbled dangerously under the unusual burden. The sergeant's grip wellnigh destroyed the lad's power of command on the steering. Thezippof a bullet did much to add to the difficulty, and momentarily Rollo thought that nothing could save him from toppling into the ditch.
"Let go my arms and catch hold of my waist," he shouted desperately. The sergeant fortunately understood and obeyed; the motor-cycle began to recover its balance, and as Rollo opened the throttle and increased speed it settled down to its normal condition.
On either side the trees seemed to slip past like the spokes of a wheel; the pace was terrific, and although the wounded man must have been suffering agonies, not a groan came from his lips.
Presently Kenneth rode up alongside, for they were out of range and the road was no longer encumbered with the fallen. Five minutes later the two lads dismounted at the barricade of Argenteau.
Here ready arms relieved Rollo of his burden; soldiers assisted in lifting the cycles over the barrier. As they did so one of them pointed to one of the tool-bag panniers on Rollo's cycle. It was pierced by a bullet.
"Where are you going to?" demanded a major.
"To Saint André, to warn a half-company of the 9th regiment to retire, sir."
"It is unnecessary. The men have already rejoined. Return to Fort de Barchon and say that if need be we can still hold the enemy in check, but that we are losing heavily."
Soon they were back again at Argenteau, with instructions for the remains of the badly-mauled regiment to fall back upon the lines of defence prepared between the two forts in the north-eastern side of the circle surrounding Liége.
The invaders had been delayed sufficiently to allow General Leman to complete his dispositions. They were yet to learn that even the much-vaunted German infantry could not afford to despise the gallant Belgians.
"It's a jolly sight better than Rugby, anyway," declared Kenneth, as at the end of their first day on active service they returned to their quarters at Fort de Barchon.
But Rollo did not reply. He was thinking of the bullet hole in the pannier of his cycle. It had been a narrow squeak.
"I say, how about your sister, old man?" asked Rollo.
"She's all right," replied Kenneth optimistically. "These Germans don't make war on women and girls. Besides, Madame de la Barre doubtless dropped a little of her standoffishness directly she heard the sound of firing. I'm pretty sure they are now either safe in Dutch territory or else on their way to Brussels."
"If I had a sister I would be a jolly sight more anxious about her than you are," persisted Rollo.
"Now, how can I help it? Besides, you don't know Thelma. She wouldn't, under the circumstances, wait for Madame to give her permission to clear out, and, since Yvonne is her special friend, she'll look after the Major's daughter as well. I'm sorry we haven't come across Major Résimont since our return."
"He must feel a bit anxious," remarked Rollo.
"About the money he entrusted us with?" laughed Kenneth. "Well, I admit that it was a bit of a risk, for we might have been bowled over by one of those German shells. Ah! there's another!"
The two dispatch-riders were under cover at Fort de Barchon, enjoying a hasty meal after their return from their fruitless errand. It was late in the day, and many hours had elapsed since they had had anything to eat. It was a kind of preliminary to the period of short rations through which they were to pass.
The German artillery was furtively shelling the Liége forts as a prelude to the general bombardment that was to take place as soon as the shades of night began to fall.
General von Emmich had brought up a force of 88,000 men against the 23,000 Belgian troops manning the Liége defences; but, owing to the difficulty of transporting his heavy guns, the German commander decided to open a furious cannonade with his light field artillery, and to follow up with an assault by means of dense masses of troops.
Soon the cannonade became general, the heaviest of the hostile fire being directed upon Forts d'Évegnée and de Fléron, while Fort de Barchon came in for a hot bombardment.
It was by no means a one-sided encounter. The Belgian infantry, lying snugly sheltered either in the trenches or in the bomb-proof galleries of the forts, were for the time being inactive. The Belgian gunners, however, worked their guns in the armoured cupolas with skill, bravery, and precision, and at the end of two hours' bombardment the forts were practically intact.
Kenneth and Rollo, in the galleries of Fort de Barchon, could feel the concussion of the revolving guns and the detonations of the exploding German shells, although they were, like the rest of the infantry, in ignorance of what was taking place. The inaction was far more nerve-racking than actual exposure with the chance of getting in a shot.
Suddenly above the roar of the artillery came a bugle-call, followed by excited shouts of "Aux armes!" Instantly there was a wild rush to man the parapets on the inner face of the glacis.
"Come along, old man!" exclaimed Kenneth. "We may as well have a look in."
Snatching up a rifle and making sure that the magazine was charged, he dashed out of the gallery, Rollo following hard on his heels.
A weird sight met their eyes. The blackness of the night was pierced by the dazzling rays of powerful searchlights and punctuated by the rapid flashes from the heavy ordnance. The thunder of the guns was ear-splitting, the crash of the exploding projectiles appalling, yet the attention of the two lads was directed towards the scene that lay before them.
All along the parapet, protected by sandbags, were the Belgian infantry, ready, with their rifles sighted to 800 yards, to open fire at the word of command. Beyond the turf of the glacis, where almost every blade of grass stood up under the sweeping rays of the searchlights as if made of gleaming silver, were dense masses of grey-coated, spike-helmeted Germans.
On they came as steadily as if on parade, while between the rapid crashes of the artillery could be distinguished the harsh voices of the men as they sang "Deutschland über Alles" and the "Wacht am Rhein". The only relief to those grey-clad battalions was the glitter of the forest of bayonets.
If numbers could annihilate, the fate of the comparative handful of Belgians was sealed; but von Emmich had, like many another man, underrated the courage of the plucky little Belgians.
The Germans were now within the danger-zone of shell-fire. Shrapnel tore ghastly lanes through their serried ranks, but other men were instantly forthcoming to fill up the gaps. On and on they came till they reached the outer edge of the glacis. Here the huge fortress-guns in the armoured cupolas could not be sufficiently depressed to do them harm.
The crackle of the Belgian musketry added to the din. The men, firing steadily, swept away hundreds of their Teutonic foes, but the ant-like swarm of ferocious humanity still swept onwards.
Kenneth and Rollo were firing away as hard as they could thrust home the bolts of the rifles and press trigger. The hostile gun-fire had now ceased, lest German should fall by German shell. The infantry, firing with the butts of their rifles at the hip, let loose a terrific volley. The air was torn by thezippof the bullets, but for the most part the hail of missiles either flew high or harmlessly expended itself in the soft earth. Now, in spite of the withering fire, the foremost of the German stormers were almost up to the parapet of the outer defences. Victory seemed within their grasp. Their shouts redoubled. Drunk with the apparent success of their suicidal tactics, they rushed to overwhelm the slender line of Belgian riflemen.
Through the rapidly-drifting clouds of smoke—for there was a strong wind blowing athwart the line of attack—the two British lads could clearly see the features of the exultant foes, as they recklessly plunged straight into the dazzling rays of the searchlight.
Mechanically Kenneth began to wonder what would happen next, for it seemed imminent that bayonet would cross bayonet, and that the handful of Belgian infantry would be cut off to the last man.
Then, even as he faced the enemy, the dense masses of Germans seemed to melt away. They fell, not in sixes and sevens, but in scores and hundreds, till a barricade of dead prevented the massacre of the living. The Belgians had machine-guns in readiness to take up the work that the heavier weapons had been obliged to suspend.
The commandant of the 9th regiment of the line saw his chance. The rattle of the Berthier machine-guns ceased as if by magic, and the shout was heard "A la baïonnette!"
Instantly the active Belgians swarmed over the glacis and threw themselves upon the demoralized foe. The repulse of the Germans became a rout.
Carried away by the enthusiasm of the charge, the British dispatch-riders tore along with their Belgian comrades, Kenneth with rifle and bayonet, while Rollo was brandishing his Mauser and using the butt-end like an exaggerated hockey-stick.
Just in front of them was a little Belgian officer who, on the point of cutting down a burly German major, had arrested the fatal stroke upon the latter crying out for quarter. The German, who had been beaten to the ground, tendered his sword, and the Belgian, casting it aside, rushed on to continue the counter-charge.
Before he had taken two strides he fell, hit in the ankle, and Kenneth, who was following, promptly tripped across his body.
The sight of his chum pitching on his face caused Rollo's heart to jump into his mouth. He stopped, and to his great relief Kenneth regained his feet. The Belgian also attempted to rise, but could only raise himself to the extent of his outstretched arms.
Rollo was on the point of going to assist his chum, who was directing his attention to the wounded Belgian officer, when he saw the German major stealthily produce his revolver and take aim at the man who had spared his life.
Perhaps it was well for the ungrateful major that Rollo was a keen footballer. Forgetting that he held a clubbed rifle in his hand the lad took a flying kick; his boot caught the German major on the wrist, and the revolver, exploding harmlessly, went spinning a dozen paces away.
Standing over the recreant officer Rollo swung the butt of his rifle. The German howled for mercy.
"Hold hard, old man!" shouted Kenneth, grasping his chum by the shoulder. He could scarcely credit his senses, seeing the usually deliberate and self-possessed Rollo about to kill a defenceless German officer.
"That brute was about to shoot down a fellow who had given him quarter," hissed Rollo: "that captain over there, the one sitting up with a wounded leg."
"We'll collar the cad in any case," declared Kenneth, for the Belgian troops were now being recalled. The attack had been repulsed, but the defenders were too wary to risk being caught out in the open.
Drawing his revolver Rollo ordered the German to rise. The Major apparently did not understand French, for he only cried the more.
"Get up instantly," exclaimed Rollo in English.
The German looked at his captor in surprise. His appeals for mercy ceased. He stood up.
"I surrender," he said in the same language.
With one of the British lads on either side the prisoner was urged onwards at a rapid pace, surrounded by swarms of exultant Belgians, many of whom were limping or nursing their wounded arms. Others were supporting or carrying those of their comrades who were more seriously hurt, yet all were uplifted by their enthusiasm at the thought of having vanquished von Emmich's hordes.
Upon gaining the shelter of Fort de Barchon the British lads handed their prisoner over to the charge of a corporal and a file of men. It was well for the German that his captors refrained from giving the Belgian soldiers an account of the circumstances under which he had been made prisoner.
The German major seemed dazed. He could not understand how he had been captured by Englishmen; for it had been given out to the troops of von Emmich's division that Great Britain had decided to remain neutral. Her attitude had been gained by a promise on the part of the German Government that only the French and Belgian colonies should be annexed, and that no permanent occupation of these two countries was contemplated. And now he had been informed that Great Britain and her vast empire beyond the seas had fallen into line to aid right against might. The news troubled him beyond measure—far more than the probability of what the result of his treacherous act would be; for he was a Teuton imbued with the belief that all is fair in war, and that treaties and conventions are alike mere matters of form.
"Ah! you have been in the fight," exclaimed Major Résimont. "That should not be. Dispatch-riders are required for other things."
Kenneth and Rollo saluted.
"Couldn't help it," explained Kenneth. "When the men charged we simply had to go. It was splendid."
"You think so? So do we," said the Major proudly. "We have taught the Bosches a lesson; we have shown them that Belgians can fight. We must hold them in front of the Liége forts for a few days, and then the French and the English armies will be here. A matter of three days, perhaps, and then,pouf!they blow the Kaiser and his armies upon the bayonets of the Russians. It is good to think that the English are so close."
"Here is the money and the letter you entrusted us with, sir," said Kenneth. "We couldn't get within five miles of Visé."
"The place is burned to the ground, I hear," announced Major Résimont. "Those Prussians are like devils, they spare neither man, woman, nor child. Liége is filled with terrible stories brought by the peasants who escaped. I could, alas! gather no definite tidings of my daughter or of her friend your sister, Monsieur Everest. One thing is certain. They left before the German shells began to fall in Visé, but whither, I know not. Let us hope they went to Maastricht."
It was now early morning. The bombardment, which had ceased during the futile assault, was now being renewed, although the fire lacked the fierceness that characterized the beginning of the siege of Liége.
The Belgian reply, too, had almost ceased, for so rapidly had the big guns been served that they had become overheated. Moreover—a further proof of German methods—the ordnance supplied by Krupp's to the Belgian Government before the war was obviously inferior in workmanship and material, and in consequence had rapidly deteriorated.
The two British dispatch-riders had run across Major Résimont in one of the vaulted galleries. He looked tired and worried: tired owing to the fact that he had been for seventeen hours on duty in the trenches or in the fort; worried by reason of anxiety for his daughter. Yet he was willing and anxious to face the Germans at any time they should take it into their heads to attempt another assault.
"If I were you I would take the chance to get a few hours' sleep," he advised as he bade the lads au revoir. "Remember what I said the next time there is an attack: a dispatch-rider's duty is not in the firing-line. His work lies in another sphere, equally hazardous and equally important."
"Jolly good advice about getting some sleep, at all events," remarked Kenneth, after the Major had gone. "I vote we turn in. I had no idea I was so horribly sleepy until just now."
"Guns or no guns, I think I can do my share of sleep," agreed Rollo. "Let us put the scheme into practice."
Just then the heavy armoured door of the gallery was thrown open, and an authoritative voice shouted:
"Dispatch-riders! Are there any dispatch-riders here?"
"Here, sir," replied the lads promptly.
"Ah! The English motor-cyclists," exclaimed the Belgian—a staff officer. "Do you know the headquarters offices in the Palace of Justice in Liége?"
"Yes, sir," was again the reply.
"Good! Take this paper—you!" (pointing to Kenneth)—"and deliver it into the hands of Commandant Fleurus at all costs, and await his commands. Your comrade will accompany you, so that should you meet with any mishap he is to take the paper from you and proceed. You understand? Good! Now, away!"
"A good spin will be almost as refreshing as a few hours' sleep, Rollo," said Kenneth, as the two chums made their way to the place where their motor-cycles were stored, protected by three feet of concrete and six feet of earth from hostile shells.
"With plenty of excitement thrown in," added Rollo. "We'll have a difficulty to dodge those shells as we get clear of the fort, I'm thinking."
"Rush it and trust to luck. We'll do it all right," declared Kenneth optimistically, as he hurriedly overhauled his cycle and proceeded to warm up the engine.
It was a tricky business getting out of the fort, for the sunken lane that wound through the extensive glacis was littered with debris of exploded shells. There were deep holes in several places, while at various points the effect of the German projectiles was evident by the fact that the approach to the fort was choked by landslides. Thrice the lads had to dismount and push their cycles over obstacles, to the accompaniment of the dull crash of the shells, some of which burst unpleasantly near.
All the while, although not a defender was visible, the armoured cupolas were appearing and disappearing with the regularity of clockwork, sending out their iron hail upon the pontoons which the German engineers were constructing to replace the broken bridges at Visé and Argenteau.
"All out!" exclaimed Rollo as they reached the open road.
With throttle well open and spark advanced, both motor-cycles bounded forward. The pace was terrific. At times the riders were almost jerked from the saddles as their steeds leapt across the irregularities on the surface of thepavé. The lads could no longer hear the thunder of the guns: it was drowned by the roar of their exhausts. The wind shrieked past their ears, grit flew in showers, a cloud of dust followed in their wake. Suddenly they saw a large silvery-grey object swoop down about a quarter of a mile ahead, close to the outskirts of the village of Jupille, which had been abandoned by the terrified inhabitants. The riders recognized it as one of the German Taubes that had been aggressively active during the operations by locating the position of the Belgian trenches.
The monoplane was in difficulties. It took all the skill of the pilot to prevent it from making a nose-end dive to earth. With superb presence of mind he managed to restore the disturbed equilibrium and to bring the Taube to rest without much damage.
Bringing his motor-cycle to a halt, Kenneth dismounted and placed his mount on its stand. Rollo did likewise.
"What's the game?" he asked as his companion unfastened the flap of his holster.
"We'll collar those fellows," declared Kenneth resolutely "They must not get away."
"But the dispatch?"
"This is more important, I guess. See, those fellows are already setting things to rights. Before any of the Belgian vedettes can come up they will be off again."
Kenneth was right in his surmise. There were no troops within a mile of the place. The two men who formed the crew of the monoplane were feverishly tackling the work of making good the damage. One of the wires actuating the elevating gear had been cut through by a chance Belgian bullet—one amongst a thousand more that had been fired at the troublesome Taube.
"Surrender!" shouted Kenneth, advancing to within fifty feet of the aviators and levelling his revolver. Rollo, cooler than his companion, steadied the barrel of his heavy pistol in the crook of his arm.
The pilot had been so engrossed in his work that he had not noticed the arrival of the lads. At the sound of Kenneth's voice he had just completed the joining up of the severed wire. He made a rush to the propeller and began to swing it in order to start the engine.
This was more than Kenneth had bargained for. It seemed too much like shooting down a man in cold blood. He need not have been so chivalrous, for the next instant a bullet tore through his hair and sent his cap a couple of yards away. The observer of the Taube had, at the first alarm, flung himself upon the ground and had fired at the lad with a rifle.
Before the man could thrust home a fresh cartridge Kenneth was snug behind a rise in the ground. Rollo, twenty paces to the right, had likewise taken cover.
The powerful motor was now working. The propeller blades glittered like a circle of light as they revolved with a terrific buzz. The draught of the propeller threw up a cloud of dust as high as a three-storied house. Through the haze thus caused the lads could distinguish the forms of the aviators as they scrambled into their seats.
Both dispatch-riders emptied the contents of their revolvers, perhaps a little wildly, but the result was none the less disastrous to the Taube. There was a blinding flash, a report, and a rush of air that drove the dust-cloud in all directions. One of the bullets had pierced the petrol-tank, and a spark had done the rest.
In an instant the Taube was enveloped in flame. The pilot, his hands held to his face, was stumbling blindly away from the inferno, his clothes burning furiously. The observer ran for nearly twenty yards, spun round thrice, and collapsed.
Rollo was the one in this instance to take the initiative. He ran to the pilot, tripped him up, and began to heap handfuls of dust upon his burning clothing. By Kenneth's aid the flames were extinguished, but by this time the unfortunate German was unconscious.
As for the observer, he was found severely wounded, one of the heavy revolver bullets having passed completely through his shoulder.
"Now, what's to be done?" asked Rollo, as the lads ejected the expended ammunition and reloaded their revolvers.
"Carry on with the dispatch, of course," replied Kenneth. "We can do no more here. Hello! Here are the Belgian cavalry."
Up rode a patrol of lancers. Dismounting, and leaving their horses in charge of one-third of their number, the men advanced. The officer in charge took in the situation at a glance, for the twelve empty revolver cartridges on the ground told their own tale.
"You had better proceed; enough time has already been wasted," he said, when he learnt the mission of the dispatch-riders. "We will attend to these."
"That's a nasty knock," observed Rollo ruefully, as they hurried back to their motor-cycles.
"H'm, yes," admitted his companion reluctantly. "Perhaps the chap was a bit nettled because his men didn't bag the Taube."
But as they rode past the scene of their exploit the Captain called his men to attention—a tribute to the resource and daring of the British lads. Already the Belgian cavalrymen had shown signs of their humanity, for by means of their lances two stretchers had been improvised, and the wounded aviators were on the way to one of the hospitals in the beleaguered city.