Shells were intermittently dropping upon the houses and in the streets as Kenneth and Rollo entered the apparently deserted city of Liége. The majority of the inhabitants, their numbers augmented by hundreds of terrified refugees from the surrounding villages, had taken refuge in cellars, while crowds, under the mistaken belief in the immunity of the churches from shell-fire, had sought doubtful shelter in the sacred edifices. Others, again, fearful at the threat of von Emmich to begin a general bombardment upon the city unless the forts surrendered—a threat that the gallant General Leman treated with contempt—were boarding the last trains to leave Liége.
The day was excessively hot and close. The wind that had blown strongly during the preceding night had dropped. Several of the houses had taken fire, and the pungent smell of smoke filled the air. Frequently, before the dispatch-riders reached their destination, they were compelled to slacken pace, owing to the clouds of smoke that drifted slowly across the almost deserted streets.
They found the commandant, with several of his staff, calmly engaged in his work, and heedless of the fact that several shells had already burst in front of the Palace of Justice in which he had taken up his quarters.
Commandant Fleurus was a short, stocky man of about fifty, and rather inclined to corpulence. His head was as bald as an egg, with the exception of a ring of jet-black hair like a monkish tonsure. His eyes were small, resembling black beads, and rapid in their movements.
He was writing when Kenneth was shown in. Without moving his head, which was slightly inclined, he fixed the dispatch-rider with his piercing stare.
"Message, sir, from Major le Tourneur."
The commandant took the letter and, with a swift movement, tore open the flap of the envelope.
"This is marked 7.15 a.m.!" he exclaimed. "It's now a quarter to nine. Why this delay?"
"We—that is, my comrade—crippled a Taube, sir."
"Crippled a Taube? What, pray, has a dispatch-rider to do with Taubes?" demanded Commandante Fleurus sternly. "Do you know that it is your duty to deliver messages at all costs, and in the least possible time, regardless of Taubes, Zeppelins, and the German Emperor himself?"
Kenneth did not reply. The fiery nature of the little Belgian literally consumed him. He had, however, the good sense to see that the rebuke was merited.
"Well, sir, what have you to say?"
"It was an error of judgment, sir, which I regret," said Kenneth. "We crippled the Taube as it was on the point of rising. Otherwise——"
"Were there no troops available?"
"Some lancers arrived while the Taube was burning."
The commandant turned and took hold of a telephone that stood on the table at his side.
"Send Captain Planchenoît to me," he ordered; then, leaning back in his chair, he again fixed the British lad with his beady eyes.
It was quite two minutes before the captain appeared, and the time seemed like two hours to the crestfallen Kenneth. He had yet to learn the lesson that cast-iron discipline demands, and it seemed galling that his part in crippling one of the aerial spies should be practically ignored by the man who ought to have gone into ecstasies over the news.
Presently Captain Planchenoît entered, clicked his heels and saluted, then waited his superior officer's pleasure. The captain was a smart-looking man of more than average height, with a pleasant, open countenance. He was on the intelligence staff, attached to the brigade that had been hurriedly brought up from Diest.
"Any information respecting the destruction of one of the enemy's aeroplanes?" demanded the commandant.
"Yes, mon commandant. It descended near the village of Jupille. Before our lancers could approach it took fire. Our men found both pilot and observer wounded and brought them back. The captain of the troop reported that the Taube was set on fire by the pistol-shots of two dispatch-riders."
"At any risk to themselves?"
"I know not, sir."
"At any risk?" repeated Commandant Fleurus, shifting his glance from Captain Planchenoît to Kenneth.
In reply the lad removed his Belgian military cap and pointed to the double hole made by the German observer's bullet.
To Kenneth's surprise the commandant leant back in his chair and gave vent to a hearty laugh. Then he stood up and grasped the hand of the astonished youth.
"Go, bring in your compatriot," he exclaimed.
"What's the game, old man?" asked Rollo, who was cooling his heels in the corridor.
"Goodness knows! I can't make the little commandant out. He's an enigma. I've had a gruelling. Come along."
Kenneth jerked out his sentences awkwardly, then, catching hold of his chum's arm, led him into the commandant's presence.
"Captain Planchenoît," said the latter, after returning Rollo's salute. "You applied for two additional dispatch-riders, I believe?"
"That is so, mon commandant," replied the captain.
"Good! Now listen to this, you brave Englishmen. This is the dispatch you brought. It is from Major Résimont: 'In reply to your request for dispatch-riders I send you two English motor-cyclists, MM. Kenneth Everest and Rollo Barrington. From what I already know of them they are courageous and resolute, and their services are likely to be of more use in the operations before Brussels than within the fortress of Barchon. More so in view of the possible early appearance of the English forces who are to co-operate with the Belgian armies in the field.'"
"It is very good of Major Résimont to speak so well of us," said Kenneth. "Of course we must go where we are ordered, and that willingly; but we should be sorry to part from Major Résimont and the 9th Regiment of the Line."
"It does not necessarily mean severing your connection with your old regiment—if old I might term it," declared the commandant. "In strict confidence I may tell you—I know that English gentlemen are always honourable—that perhaps before to-morrow we must abandon the city to the invaders. Our numbers are insufficient to hold the trenches linking the chain of forts. We must concentrate our armies to the west of Liége, leaving the forts to hold out until the English and French armies arrive. It is a sad thing to have to abandon such a city as this to the ruthless Germans, but sacrifices must be made for the honour of our country. Captain Planchenoît will give you instruction where to proceed."
Just at that moment an orderly-sergeant entered the room, his face purple with excitement.
"Sir," he announced, "four English officers are without. They have arrived from Ostend by motor-car and desire to see the General Leman."
Commandant Fleurus took the pieces of pasteboard the sergeant held in his hand, and passed them on first to Kenneth and then to Rollo.
"See if you know any of these gentlemen," he said.
"Yes," replied Rollo. "I know Major Athol Duncan-Dean of the Duke of Cornwall's Light Infantry. Hello! What's the meaning of this?" he added in his native tongue.
"Jolly rummy, anyhow," commented Kenneth, for in the word "Cornwall's" the apostrophe was after the "s".
"And Major Duncan-Dean is too mighty particular to pass a mistake on his visiting-card like that," added Rollo.
"Perhaps he lost his own and had them printed in Belgium, and didn't notice the mistake until it was too late."
"I'll mention it to the commandant. It's fishy."
"Since you know the officer, Monsieur Barrington," said the commandant, when Kenneth had explained the nature of the error, "perhaps you will go with this sergeant. Present my compliments, and say that the General Leman is at Fort de Loncin, and that I, Commandant Fleurus, will be pleased to receive the English officers in his absence. But, listen; if by any chance the Major Duncan-Dean is not the one you know, say that the General will receive presently, ask them to wait, and return immediately to me."
Escorted by the sergeant, Rollo was taken to a room where four officers, correctly dressed in British field-service uniform, were seated. One glance was sufficient. None of them bore any resemblance to the Major Duncan-Dean whom the lad knew well. There was only one major of that name in the Duke of Cornwall's Light Infantry, and he was a fairly frequent visitor at Colonel Barrington's house, especially during the shooting season.
Rollo delivered the commandant's message in English, explaining that he was British but attached to the Belgian army, and that he was a son of Colonel Barrington of Holmfrith, near Truro.
There was no sign of recognition on the part of the supposed Major Duncan-Dean; instead, an awkward silence prevailed. None of the four officers seemed at all anxious to reply. They all looked disappointed and embarrassed.
"Our message is of great importance and for only the ears of General Leman," said one of them at last. "We will not trouble the commandant except to give us permits to enter Fort Loncin and to telephone to the General that we are about to arrive."
Suddenly a hand grasped Rollo's shoulder in a vice-like grip, and the muzzle of a revolver was clapped against his temple.
"One sound and you are dead!" exclaimed a stern voice.
The lad was already convinced that the so-called British army officers were Germans in disguise. Not only was he sure that the pseudo Major Duncan-Dean was an impostor; the peculiar phraseology of the man who had replied to the commandant's message confirmed his conclusions. To crown everything, there was the conviction carried by the muzzle of that revolver.
Rollo spent a nasty minute. His mind was working furiously, weighing up the factors of the situation. To raise the alarm meant death to himself; to fail to do so might result in the cold-blooded massacre of Commandant Fleurus and several of the staff; while, with the head-quarters telephone at their disposal, the four Germans might play havoc with the plans of the Belgian Commander-in-Chief.
The Germans were talking rapidly in a low tone. The one who held Rollo prisoner still kept the revolver against the lad's temple; the rest had each drawn an automatic pistol, and were evidently about to force their way into the presence of the commandant.
"I'll wait till those fellows go out into the corridor," thought the lad, "then I'll try the effect of a sudden blow in this gentleman's wind. It may do the trick; if not, my number's up. Anyway, it's better than being snuffed out without making an attempt to fight for it."
Although he kept as quiet as he possibly could, Rollo could feel his heart thumping violently, while his temples throbbed until the muzzle of the German's revolver seemed to be beating a tattoo.
"Keep steady!" hissed his captor. "This pistol has hair-trigger. Might go off if you shake."
It was on the tip of Rollo's tongue to reply that he was not shaking by reason of fear; but realizing that such a statement might put the German additionally upon his guard, the lad kept silent.
Presently one of the conspirators replaced his revolver, and with his free hand grasped the handle of the door. The other two stood behind, ready to sally forth on their murderous and treacherous work.
Rollo mentally pulled himself together. Another ten or twenty seconds would decide the fate of his plan—and of himself.
Suddenly the subdued daylight of the room was pierced by a dozen simultaneous flashes. The rattle of musketry sounded like the discharge of a twenty-one-inch howitzer. The place was filled with the haze of smokeless powder.
Instinctively the lad ducked. There was a tremendous crash above his head. A thousand lights danced before his eyes, and he lost consciousness.
When Rollo opened his eyes he found himself lying in the open air. He was in one of the courtyards of the Palace of Justice. The thunder of the bombardment still roared. The noise of the guns recalled his scattered thoughts to the event that had almost cost him his life.
A Belgian army doctor was kneeling by his side, while Kenneth supported his head. Around him stood a number of soldiers, some of whom had paused in the act of cleaning their rifles in order to watch their English comrade's return to consciousness.
"Hello, Kenneth!" exclaimed Rollo, somewhat vacantly. "What has happened? Ah, I know—those Germans!"
"They won't trouble us again, old man," replied Kenneth. "You're in luck again. It was your suspicions that put the commandant on his guard. But I'll tell you more about it later on."
"You must not unduly excite your friend," cautioned the doctor. "He has no bodily injury, but his nerves are stricken. He must rest until to-morrow. I will have him taken into a safe cellar, where he need fear nothing from those German shells."
"Won't you come with me, Kenneth?" asked Rollo.
"Sorry, old man, but I'm warned for duty at five o'clock—seventeen hours, they call it. All being well, I'll look you up in the morning."
"See that my bike is all right."
"Rather!" replied Kenneth cheerily. "Don't worry about it. I'll look after it."
Later on in the evening Rollo heard of the circumstances under which the supposed British officers were shot down.
The room in which they had been asked to wait was, years ago, used as a place of observation for prisoners awaiting trial. The carved oak panelling terminated about six inches from the heavily-raftered ceiling. At one end was a space between two parallel massive beams, through which, from a gallery without, it was possible to observe all that was taking place, although the watchers were themselves unseen.
Upon his attention being called to the error on the pseudo British major's visiting-card, the commandant's suspicions were aroused. As soon as Rollo was dispatched with his message, a file of skilled riflemen ascended the observation gallery. Noiselessly they took up their positions, and having witnessed the holding up of their British comrade, they delivered a volley that instantly exterminated the treacherous Germans.
Rollo had, indeed, a narrow escape, for his captor in falling had convulsively pressed the trigger of his revolver. The bullet missed the lad's head by a couple of inches, but the blast from the muzzle had scorched his temple.
Barrington was in the midst of a deep slumber, in spite of the thunder of the guns, when he was awakened by someone shaking him by the shoulder.
"What's up?" he asked sleepily, for at the moment he fancied himself back at St. Cyprian's. By the feeble glimmer of a candle-lantern he saw his chum.
"Sorry to disturb you, old man," said Kenneth apologetically, "but if you don't want to find yourself a prisoner in the hands of the Germans you must make a move. The bulk of the Belgian infantry is evacuating the town. The mayor is going to surrender Liége at noon, I believe."
"The forts haven't fallen?" asked Rollo, springing out of bed, only to discover how shaky he felt.
"Not a bit of it," replied Kenneth confidently. "They'll hold out for months, I expect. No, it is only on account of the damage to the public buildings and private property that Liége is to be given up. I don't think it will be of much use to the Germans. They'll have considerable difficulty to pass between the forts. They say the Germans have had another nasty reverse, and that they asked for an armistice in order to bury their dead. Our fellows have refused; they are beginning to sum up the cultured Teuton at his true price. But how do you feel?"
"Pretty fit, though a bit rocky," admitted Rollo. "Where are the bikes?"
"We'll have to wheel them. I've taken off the belts. Orders have been given for the troops intended for the field to withdraw as quietly as possible, you know. Come along."
Rollo had now thrown on his clothes, his chum assisting him to buckle on the belt to which was attached his revolver holster. Together they left the vaulted cellar and gained the street. It was a perfectly dark night. The stars were obscured, the air was misty and hot. Away to the north, south, and east the sky was illuminated by the lightning-like glare of the heavy guns as the forts exchanged a hot fire with the German field artillery.
"Can you manage it?" asked Kenneth anxiously, as Rollo wheeled his deliberately crippled motor into the street.
"Rather," replied his companion with forced determination. "I'm not keen on leaving my jigger for a rascally Prussian to smash. I'm jolly glad we are still attached to the 9th Regiment of the Line. We may see more of Major Résimont. He's quite a decent sort."
"And Captain Planchenoît is a brick," added Kenneth. "I've been talking to some of the men in his company. They swear by him; but he's awfully keen on discipline, they say, and gets plenty of work out of his men."
The dispatch-riders found the regiment drawn up in column of fours in a narrow street behind the Church of St. Jacques. In this dense formation the men would have suffered severely had a shell fallen in their ranks; but owing to the fact that the Germans were hoping to take early possession of the city, their gunners no longer dropped projectiles into Liége, devoting their attention to the stubborn forts that had already thrown the imperial time-table into confusion.
Although the Belgian troops were no longer elated, they were far from being downcast. They realized that strategic reasons necessitated the evacuation of the city. They hoped that the forts could hold out. Already they had proved themselves equal man for man to the vaunted soldiers of the Kaiser. Their object was now to contest every yard of the way to Brussels, their determination being strengthened by the widespread belief that the pick of the English army would speedily be fighting by their side.
Several of the men of the 9th Regiment bore evidences of the hard part they had taken in the repulse of the initial German attacks. Many had bandages round their heads; others had their hands swathed in linen, while a few limped badly; yet one and all showed resolute courage that augured ill for any Prussian regiment which should happen to cross steel with the valiant defenders of the cockpit of Europe.
Presently the Colonel gave an order. The men unfixed bayonets and sloped arms. In the centre of the column the lads could see the cased colours round which a fierce struggle had taken place during the preceding day. Then, at the word of command, the regiment swung briskly along the narrow street.
Kenneth and Rollo found themselves with two other dispatch-riders at the rear of the column. The other motor-cyclists had gone on a journey that knows no return. There was also a detachment of twenty cyclists belonging to the regiment, but most of these silent scouts were far afield, making certain that the line of retreat was in no danger of being ambushed by the wily Uhlans.
The route lay between Forts de Hollogne and de Flémalle, through tortuous by-lanes. Over and over again the column was obliged to halt owing to the congestion of the roads, for twenty thousand Belgian troops—field artillery, cavalry, and infantry—were evacuating the doomed city that night.
Before they were clear of the environs of Liége, Rollo began to feel the effects of his adventure with the German officers. The sweat poured from him as he gamely pushed his unwieldy motor-cycle. Anxiously Kenneth watched him, unable to give assistance save by a few words of encouragement. Every time there was a halt Rollo leant across the saddle, welcoming the rest, yet dreading the exertion required to resume the tortuous march. To lag behind was to risk capture, for small parties of Uhlans were known to have penetrated into the villages of Hollogne and Montegnée, which lay between the as yet unconquered forts and the city of Liége; otherwise he would have fallen out, waited till dawn, and then cycled to overtake the regiment.
During one of these short, unavoidable, halts a voice came through the darkness.
"Monsieur Everest—is Monsieur Everest there?"
"Here I am, sir," replied Kenneth, recognizing the voice as that of Captain Planchenoît.
"Ah, good! I wish to enquire after your English comrade."
"He is here, sir."
"Ah, again good! I thought he would be unfit to move."
"He's not very much up to the mark, sir."
The captain flashed an electric torch upon the motor-cyclists.
"Ciel! you are indeed right, Monsieur Everest. I will see to matters. Private Roulaix," he added, addressing a Belgian who was walking his "push-bike", "place your bicycle in the first wagon that passes. Say that I, Captain Planchenoît, orders it. Then relieve your English comrade of his motor-cycle. Monsieur Barrington, as soon as Private Roulaix returns I will take you to one of the wagons. You are not, at present, fit to walk, still less to push that motor-cycle."
For the rest of that night Kenneth was without the company of his chum. As the grey dawn began to break, he too felt that he was nearly done up, but still the steady retreat continued.
It was not until six o'clock in the morning that the 9th Regiment of the Line was ordered to bivouac outside the village of Omal. Here trenches were dug, barbed-wire entanglements set up, barns and cottages loopholed and placed in a state of defence in order to keep in check the German hordes until the expected aid was forthcoming.
For the next twenty-four hours the 9th Regiment was inactive, as far as actual fighting was concerned. With the rest of the mobile Belgian forces, the men were enjoying a well-earned respite and improving their position.
Although Rollo still remained off duty, Kenneth, with the rest of the motor dispatch-riders, had plenty to do. Frequently the lad had to ride off at full speed to carry orders to bands of armed civilians to cease firing upon Belgian airmen; for these plucky air-scouts were so harried by the fire of their undisciplined fellow-countrymen that it is not to be wondered at that after a time they declined to fly at all.
Kenneth had just returned from one of these errands when the Colonel of the regiment sent for him.
"You know the way to Tongres?" he asked.
"Yes, sir," replied the lad promptly, for although he had never been there, a close study of the map had enabled him to fix its position in his mind.
"Then bear a verbal message to General Féchard. Say that in view of an impending strong attack upon our position reinforcements are urgently requested to hold the village of Omal. Mitrailleuses are particularly desirable. Is that clear? Then repeat the message."
Kenneth did so satisfactorily. The Colonel nodded approval.
"Now go," said he. "As quickly as you can, for the situation is critical."
Rollo was standing by his chum's motor-cycle when Kenneth left the Colonel's quarters—a cottage standing well apart from the rest of the village.
"Thought you'd be off somewhere when the Colonel sent for you, old man," he said. "Well, I could go with you, but I feel absolutely rotten. Look here," and Barrington opened his coat and displayed the tops of two soda-water bottles, "I managed to get hold of these. Take one."
"No, thanks," replied Kenneth. "You want them a jolly sight more than I do."
"But you must," persisted Rollo. "It's fearfully hot to-day. Besides, I think I can get hold of some more."
"All right," agreed his chum reluctantly, and taking one of the bottles he placed it in the outside breast-pocket of his coat, resolving to restore it intact upon his return.
The request of the Colonel of the 9th Regiment was most essential. To the north of Omal was a gap of nearly two miles in the Belgian line, as a portion of one of the brigades had failed to take up its allotted position. Omal was a salient angle in the defenders' formation, and should the village be carried by the Germans the Belgian army would be split asunder by the wedge-like advance of their far more numerous foes.
Although the country was fairly open Kenneth rode cautiously. It was a nerve-racking ordeal, since every bush or tree might be affording concealment to the Uhlans, who were known to have already penetrated far into the country. Almost as dangerous were the Belgian guerrillas, who often fired indiscriminately upon any man in a uniform that they failed to recognize.
But beyond being twice stopped by Belgian patrols and made to produce his military pass, Kenneth reached his destination without being molested. He delivered his message, receiving a reply that a machine-gun detachment would be sent off as quickly as possible, and set off on his return journey.
Perhaps the fact that he had but recently passed along the same road without difficulty made him slightly reckless. He increased his speed till the motor-cycle was travelling at nearly forty miles an hour.
Soon he came to a straight, narrow road lined with gaunt trees—one of the avenues that are a common feature in the eastern part of Belgium. Suddenly he gave a gasp of surprise. A horseman had just appeared at the farthermost end of the avenue. At first the lad took him to be one of the Belgian lancers, whose similarity to the German Uhlans was somewhat pronounced, but a rapidly nearing view assured him that the man was one of the enemy.
Another Uhlan joined the first. They both lowered their lances and waited.
Kenneth slipped out his clutch and applied both brakes. The motor-cycle came quickly to a stop, the engine running furiously, while the open "cut-out" emitted a rapid succession of sharp reports like the detonations of a Maxim-gun.
There was yet time to turn his cycle, remount, and escape by the way he had come, he reasoned; but, even as he was in the act of facing about, he made the additionally disconcerting discovery that his retreat was cut off. Five or six Uhlans had evidently been in ambush, and, having allowed the solitary dispatch-rider to pass them, were waiting to assist in his capture. The ditch and the trees formed an impassable barrier for the heavy motor-cycle; while without it flight was almost out of the question, when it was the case of a man on foot pursued by the fleet Uhlan horses.
For one brief instant the thought of surrendering tamely flashed through the lad's mind. He bore no written dispatch; his capture would result in no important information being gained by the enemy. It seemed the easiest solution to the problem.
"I'm dashed if I do," ejaculated Kenneth, banishing the temptation almost as soon as it suggested itself. "Here goes; it's neck or nothing."
He was back in the saddle in double-quick time. With the clutch in and the engine barking furiously he tore towards the two Uhlans, who were sitting on their horses at a distance of about fifty yards from each other.
Kenneth drew his revolver. With his right hand thus occupied, throttle and air lever had to take care of themselves. At thirty miles an hour he tore towards the nearmost of his antagonists.
The Uhlan lowered his lance-point. He was trembling to such an extent that the glittering point was describing erratic curves in the sunlight. His resolution had vanished at the sight of the rapidly-approaching motor-cycle. His horse began to rear, alarmed by the loud and rapid pulsations of the engine.
Kenneth's hopes rose. He saw the possibility of being able to slip past the plunging, terrified animal, and in order to improve his chances he let fly a couple of shots, both of which missed their mark.
No longer was the long lance a menace. The Uhlan's whole efforts were centred in trying to keep his seat, while the now maddened animal snorted and plunged in a most frantic manner.
Still grasping his revolver, although he made no further attempt to use it, the young dispatch-rider placed his wrist upon the right handle-grip in order to steady the steering. He shut his jaw tightly. The critical moment was nigh.
Suddenly the horse backed, barring the narrow path to safety. Kenneth saw in the fraction of a second that a collision was inevitable. He had a momentary glimpse of the Uhlan's panic-stricken face, his staring eyes and wide-open mouth—then crash!
KENNETH HAD A MOMENTARY GLIMPSE OF THE UHLAN'S PANIC-STRICKEN FACE ... THEN CRASH!KENNETH HAD A MOMENTARY GLIMPSE OF THE UHLAN'S PANIC-STRICKEN FACE ... THEN CRASH!
KENNETH HAD A MOMENTARY GLIMPSE OF THE UHLAN'S PANIC-STRICKEN FACE ... THEN CRASH!KENNETH HAD A MOMENTARY GLIMPSE OF THE UHLAN'S PANIC-STRICKEN FACE ... THEN CRASH!
Hardly knowing whether he was injured or not, Kenneth scrambled to his feet. His motor-cycle was on its side within a yard of the prostrate and still kicking horse. His revolver had vanished. In his fall it had flown from his grasp into the ditch. The Uhlan lay upon the ground motionless—whether killed or merely stunned the lad knew not; nor had he an opportunity to ascertain, for in front of him was another German, and four hundred yards behind him the five or six who had cut off his retreat.
The man in front had succeeded in regaining control over his less startled horse and, lance in rest, bore down upon the defenceless motor-cyclist.
Hardly knowing how he did it, Kenneth cleared the ditch and sought a temporary refuge behind a tree. He realized that the respite would be but a brief one, for on the approach of the rest of the patrol his "number would be up". Infuriated by the mishap to their comrade, the savage Uhlans, whose chief mission it was to strike terror into the inhabitants of a conquered district, would not be likely to give quarter.
Suddenly Kenneth's hand came in contact with the soda-water bottle that Rollo had pressed upon him. He drew it from his pocket, and as the Uhlan rode up to the edge of the ditch he dashed it to the ground at the feet of the restless horse.
The result exceeded the lad's wildest expectations, for the bottle broke with a report almost equal to that of a small shell. Fragments of glass flew in all directions. The horse reared, maddened by the slight wounds caused by the sharp pieces of the broken bottle. Its rider, quite as terrified, formed but one conclusion, that the desperate Belgian (as he took Kenneth to be) was armed with bombs. Spurring his horse he rode for dear life towards his comrades, who, rendered cautious at the sight of two of their number being worsted, hesitated to advance.
Kenneth, too, was on the horns of a dilemma. To all appearances his cycle was hopelessly damaged, and although the road was clear he stood little chance of escaping from the rest of the Uhlans. To remain where he was was equally hazardous. With his revolver in his possession he would readily have made a brave stand, but the weapon was lying in five feet of mud and water.
Suddenly came the tap, tap, tap of a machine-gun. The rest of the Uhlan patrol broke and fled across the fields, leaving two of their number writhing on the ground. Another had his horse shot under him, but, quite callous to their comrades' fate, the three remaining fugitives never slackened rein, their sole thoughts being for their own safety.
Kenneth recrossed the ditch—far less agilely than he had a few moments before, for his thigh was aching dully. He could see no signs of his rescuers. The fire had evidently been a long-range one.
He made his way to his motor-cycle. With considerable effort he raised it and placed it on its stand. Upon examination he found that the damage done was not so great as he fully expected. The actual collision had smashed the lamp and bent the stem of the handle-bars, but, thanks to the powerful springs, the front forks had stood the severe strain of the impact. The controls were intact, while the only other damage was that the left foot-rest was bent. In falling sideways the weight of the cycle had been thrown upon this exposed part, which had, to a great extent, saved the machine.
At the second attempt the motor fired. The hind wheel revolved without showing any signs of wobbling. The lad gave a whoop of delight; his precious mount was still serviceable.
He next directed his attention towards the Uhlan whom, in naval parlance, he had "rammed". The fellow had been stunned by the fall from his horse, but was on the point of regaining consciousness.
"You look a tough customer, my friend," soliloquized the lad as he looked upon the coarse, brutal features of his vanquished assailant. "I think you will be quite capable of looking after yourself, without requiring any attention from me. I'll take your helmet as a souvenir, though; and, while I am about it, I think I'll stop you from doing further mischief."
With this Kenneth removed the Uhlan's sword, lance, and carbine. The lance, being made of light steel, he broke into three pieces; the other weapons and the German's ammunition he threw into the ditch to keep company with his own revolver.
While thus engaged the motor-cyclist perceived the approach of a body of men accompanied by dogs. They were the Belgian machine-gun battery whose fire had effectually routed the Uhlan patrol.
"They'll be at Omal before me," thought Kenneth. "I suppose it would be best to stop and explain matters; for if I made off they might take it into their heads to pot me."
"So you have settled with one of this scum," exclaimed the Belgian major in charge of the detachment as he returned Kenneth's salute. "Ma foi! I am of a mind to shoot him."
"But he is a prisoner of war," expostulated the lad.
The Belgian shrugged his shoulders.
"You have but to go to that burning cottage"—he pointed to a building about a mile and a half away—"to see what these wretches have been doing. A whole family of inoffensive peasants shot—men, women, and children. Yes, children," he added, noting the incredulous look on the British lad's face.
"However, we Belgians must set an example to those savages," continued the officer. "We will at least take him with us, and put him on a fair trial. But you are unarmed: how did you vanquish this fellow?"
Kenneth told him. The Belgian major and those of his men who were within ear-shot simply roared with laughter.
"Charged his horse with your motor-cycle, and frightened away another Uhlan with a soda-water bottle!" exclaimed the officer when he recovered himself. "Excellent! It shows that these Germans are not a quarter as formidable as they would have us believe. Were you hurt?"
"Only bruised a little, sir. But, with your permission, I will go, or your men will be with my regiment before I am."
The lad ran his cycle and vaulted into the saddle. The motor ran as well as before, and, beyond a slight difficulty in the steering, it was none the worse for its rough handling. The damage to the lamp mattered but little, as, by night, riding lights were forbidden, since they might betray the rider to the enemy.
Having reported the success of his mission and the approach of the dog-drawn machine-gun detachment, Kenneth went to find his chum.
Rollo was sitting, in company with others of the dispatch-rider section, in a shelter made of branches of trees and rough thatch.
"Hullo, old man!" he exclaimed. "What have you there—a Uhlan helmet? And what's the matter with your bike?"
Kenneth explained, and afterwards had to repeat his story in French for the benefit of the others.
"I will help you to straighten the handle-bars," volunteered one of the Belgian cyclists, who was a motor-repairer by trade. "Meanwhile, if you are desirous of sending that helmet to your friends in England, you will do well to pack it up at once. There is a dispatch leaving for Brussels within half an hour."
"I wonder what the governor will say to this," observed Kenneth as he directed the bulky package. "My first trophy! Goodness only knows when we shall hear from home."
The lads had already written to their respective parents informing them of the drastic step they had taken, but, owing to the dislocation of the postal service, no reply had been forthcoming, and they had hardly expected one.
It took two hours' hard work in the blazing sunshine for Kenneth and his Belgian friend to set the motorcycle to rights.
"If I hadn't been so inconsiderate as to throw that bottle of soda-water away we might have had a decent drink," observed Kenneth as he fanned his perspiring brow.
"Never mind," rejoined Rollo. "You might have drunk it as soon as I gave you the bottle; in which case I don't suppose you would have felt the benefit of it now."
"I don't suppose I would," agreed Kenneth grimly.
During the next few days events moved rapidly, the Belgians having to retire before vastly superior forces in point of numbers.
It so happened that on the Sunday, the 9th of August, Kenneth and Rollo were sent to Tongres with a message to the burgomaster, giving him instructions as to the removal of the town treasury to a place of greater safety.
The place had little appearance of being in the war area when the two lads rode into it. The Belgian troops had evacuated it on the previous day, and since there were no signs of the invaders, the remaining inhabitants were almost at their ease. Many of them, dressed in their best, were on their way to church.
Alighting outside the town hall, the two dispatch-riders enquired for the chief magistrate, only to be informed that he was in another part of the town on official business, but was expected back within an hour.
"Is there no way of sending for him?" asked Rollo of the member of the Civil Guard who had answered their summons.
The man shook his head doubtfully.
"It is just possible," he replied. "I will see my sergeant, and he will doubtless give the necessary orders. Meanwhile messieurs might like to rest at the inn? Immediately upon the burgomaster's return I will see that you are informed."
"Not a bad idea that," was Kenneth's comment. "We'll put up the bikes and order a decent meal. Roughing it on active service is all very fine, but there are times when one likes to have a slightly more civilized table than that of mother earth. I wonder if we could get a bath?"
Everest's hopes were not to be realized, for, with many apologies, the landlord informed the British lads that he had nothing in the way ofdéjeuner. Bacon and eggs? No; he was without either. He might see if his friend, Monsieur Jambonne, could oblige; but, in the meanwhile, would messieurs care to sit in thesalle à manger?Café au lait? Yes; that would be ready in a few minutes.
Selecting two comfortable chairs in front of the wide-open window, the chums awaited the return of the burgomaster. There was plenty to be seen, for the townsfolk were still streaming along the broad thoroughfare, discoursing mainly upon the all-absorbing topic of the war.
All at once the people stopped. Some of them turned and fled; others backed against the walls of the houses, or else took refuge in the hastily-opened doors.
"What's up now, I wonder?" asked Rollo, leaning out of the window only to retire hastily.
Trotting along the road was a squadron of German cavalry. The enemy had made a totally unexpected raid upon the town of Tongres.
"It won't do for us to be seen," exclaimed Kenneth, "especially in uniform. And those fellows are particularly certain to make a bee-line for the various inns as soon as they break ranks. Let's clear out."
Just then up ran the landlord, who had taken the precaution of closing and barring his doors, an example which many of his neighbours hastened to follow.
"Do not remain here, messieurs, I implore you," he began in rapid sentences punctuated with excited gestures. "If the Bosches find men in uniform in my house they will be furious with me."
"All right," said Kenneth reassuringly. "If we can get our cycles out by the back way we'll clear off and give the alarm. Two regiments ought to be sufficient to trap these fellows."
"It is impossible to escape, messieurs. The Germans are holding all the approaches to the town."
"Then what do you suggest?" asked Rollo calmly.
"The roof, monsieur; thence you can make your way along by the parapets of many houses, till you reach the roof of thechapelle. There you ought to be safe, unless these rascals take it into their heads to burn the town."
"Very well; show us the way," agreed Rollo. "Only see if you can manage to hide our motor-cycles."
Having shown the lads the exit on to the roof, their host left them to their own devices. It was a comparatively easy matter to creep along the gutters, for they were hidden from observation by the parapets of the various adjacent buildings. The only difficult part of the journey was crossing the gap between the end house and the roof of thechapelle—a distance of about five feet in width. Sixty feet below there was a narrow alley, through which several terrified townsfolk were hurrying, all too intent to gaze skywards as the lads made their daring leap.
"Now we're safe for the present," exclaimed Kenneth. "We can even look over the parapet and see what's going on."
"Right-o! only take your cap off. It might attract attention," cautioned Rollo. "If we keep close to this pinnacle it ought to be as safe as anything, unless some fool of a civilian starts taking pot-shots at those fellows."
From their lofty refuge the lads were enabled to observe the methods adopted by the Germans in "holding-up" the town. With the cavalry were four armoured motor-cars in which were mounted quick-firing guns. These were stationed in the square so as to command the principal approaches. Meanwhile most of the horsemen had dismounted, and had set off on various prearranged missions. Some proceeded to the post-office, where they destroyed the telephone and telegraph instruments and, as was afterwards ascertained, seized the sum of 10,000 francs from the safe. Others tore up the railway lines at the junction, thus interrupting communications with both Hasselt and St. Trond. This work of destruction they took care to achieve without the use of explosives, in order to avoid giving the alarm to the nearest Belgian troops.
Presently the lads saw a dignified man, whom they rightly concluded was the burgomaster, being led to the town hall. Outside the building floated the Belgian tricolour, and this his captors ordered him to haul down. He refused; they threatened, but their threats failed to move the stanch patriot. In the end, one of the Germans had to perform the task; but the invaders made a counter-stroke by compelling the burgomaster to hand over the keys of the town treasury.
This done, the Germans ordered a meal to be provided, and this they paid for out of the money they had taken from the authorities. Then, having loaded their booty on a couple of commandeered wagons, they prepared to evacuate the town.
"Well, up to the present those fellows haven't done anything that any combatant force wouldn't do," declared Rollo. "I suppose it is because the townsfolk kept their heads and didn't start firing at them from the houses."
"Yes; but they're off. See, their vedettes are returning. I say, the coast is clear; let's make a dash for it."
"Easier said than done, old man," objected Rollo. "Jumping across a five-foot gap is fairly easy when the landing-place is lower than the kick-off spot. Returning is quite another matter."
"There must be some way down from these leads," persisted Kenneth. "Let's have a look round."
Investigation showed that there was a means of communication between the roof and the interior of thechapelleby a small door in one of the angle-turrets. The disconcerting part of the discovery lay in the fact that the door was heavily bolted on the inside.
"Why not try climbing down by means of the lightning-conductor?" suggested Kenneth. "It's bound to be fairly strong, and we have our motor-gloves to protect our hands."
"Thanks, I'd rather try the jump," declared his companion. "But I'd much rather try an easier method."
"I'll tackle it, and then I can get into this building, ascend the turret, and let you out."
"No you don't," objected Rollo firmly. "If we cannot find a better way, here we stop till the Germans are gone, and then we can shout for assistance."
But the restless Kenneth was far from remaining inactive. He continued his investigations on the sides of the edifice away from the view of the invaders.
"I have it!" he exclaimed. "See that spout? It runs close to that open window, you'll notice. If you can give me a hand I can lower myself sufficiently to clear the bulging top of the spout, and the rest will be easy."
The scheme looked feasible, and Rollo made no further objection. It was risky, of course, but with ordinary caution Kenneth could reach the window after he had descended about ten feet of piping—which was infinitely better than climbing down sixty feet or so of copper tape.
Having secured a firm hold upon the spouting, Kenneth began to descend hand-over-hand fashion, although he took care to let his weight act as perpendicularly as possible, lest any outward thrust with his feet might wrench the securing nails of the pipe from the cement.
Without mishap he descended until he was almost on a level with the open window, the iron casement frame of which swung outward. Then, to his consternation, Kenneth found that he had miscalculated the distance, and that the upper edge of the casement was six inches beyond his reach. At the same moment he became aware of the effect of his collision with the Uhlan. His limbs began to feel stiff and cramped.
Frantically he began to clamber back to the parapet, but the effort was too great. With a sickening shudder he felt the pipe working loose from the wall. For the first time in his attempt he gave a downward glance that wellnigh proved fatal. The pavement, fifty feet below, exercised a horrible fascination.
"What's wrong?" enquired Rollo anxiously, for he could see by his chum's ashen-grey face that something was amiss.
"Can't reach the window," gasped Kenneth. "I believe I've strained a muscle, too. I must have a shot at climbing all the way down."
"Hold hard a moment," exclaimed Rollo. "I'll half-close the window and you might reach it."
"Be quick, then," gasped his unfortunate comrade. "I can't hold on much longer."
At that moment he failed to see how Rollo could reach the casement, although his chum's confident assertion cheered him. He knew by experience that Rollo rarely suggested a plan without being able to carry it through.
Already Rollo was at work. Producing a length of stout string from his pocket, he removed his boot.
To this he attached the string, which was about four yards in length. Leaning over the parapet he lowered his boot until it dangled an inch or so before the iron rod that held the window open. A rapid upward jerk and the casement was free to swing; a little skilful manoeuvring and the weighted string drew the hitherto unattainable window frame within Kenneth's reach.
Perhaps the climber was over-anxious, and in consequence neglected to observe the precautions he had hitherto taken, but as he swung off from the pipe he gave a heavy jerk. With a loud crash about ten feet of the spouting fell into the narrow lane.
Fortunately the casement held, and white and well-nigh breathless, Kenneth slipped through the open window just as three or four Germans, alarmed by the clatter, rushed up to ascertain the cause of the uproar.
"Steady!" cautioned Rollo as his chum opened the door of the turret. "There are some Germans on the prowl. They seem a bit suspicious owing to that iron-work falling."
"They didn't spot you?"
"No, I took good care of that."
"Then we'll descend. This building is full of people; they think they are safe, being in a place of worship. Poor creatures! they don't know the Germans."
"But the Germans haven't molested them."
"There is no saying that they won't. Fortunately the people haven't tried to shoot any of their unwelcome visitors. Come, we'll descend."
As Kenneth had announced, thechapellewas packed with terrified townsfolk. Unnoticed, the lads made their way behind the altar, and gained the vestry. Here a small door communicated with the alley. The Germans, having discovered what had created the commotion, were content; they had not troubled to find out the cause but had rejoined their comrades in the market-place. The last of the pickets were already back, and the raiders were on the point of retiring.
Gaining the courtyard of the inn, the lads made sure that the German cavalrymen had, no doubt reluctantly, ceased to pester the troubled host with their attentions.
"Your motor-cycles are safe, messieurs," announced the innkeeper. "Ciel! Once those Bosches get wedded to the bottle——" and he threw up his hands and raised his eyebrows with a gesture of utter dismay.
Refusing any payment for his services, and charging only for the coffee, the landlord escorted the two British dispatch-riders to yet another door, opening into a deserted street.
"Take the third turning to the right, messieurs," he directed; "it will bring you on the high road. Yet I accept no responsibility; so take care. The Uhlans—le diable les importe!—may be prowling about."
Having walked their cycles till they felt fairly certain that the noise of the engines would not reach the ears of the German raiders, the dispatch-riders set off at a furious pace towards the position occupied by their regiment.
Suddenly Kenneth raised his hand, at the same time stopping his motor. Rollo likewise dismounted.
"Uhlans!" whispered Kenneth.
A mile or so ahead were hundreds of cavalry, the men standing easy, while the horses were picketed in lines. Apparently the enemy had thrown a strong wedge far into the position held a few hours previously by Belgian troops.
"If those fellows are acting as supports to the crowd that entered Tongres, we are nicely trapped, by Jove!" remarked Kenneth. "The best thing we can do is to risk cutting across the fields, although, frankly, I don't relish the idea of making towards that wooded district. It is too jolly favourable for an ambush."
"Half a minute," rejoined Rollo, unstrapping the case of his binoculars. "Let's make sure. Kenneth, old man, it's all right. These chaps are Belgian lancers."
In his excitement Kenneth almost snatched the glasses from his chum.
"You're right!" he exclaimed joyously, after a hasty view. "Let's push on and tell them the position of affairs. They might be able to get a little of their own back."
Three minutes later the two dispatch-riders were making a brief yet concise report to the Colonel commanding the Belgian cavalry. As soon as they had finished, a bugle call, equivalent to the British "boot and saddle", rang out, and the lancers were soon cantering along the highway, followed by a mounted machine-gun section.
"We may as well see the fun, considering what we've done in the matter," said Kenneth, to which proposal Rollo raised no objections. Following at a discreet distance, they waited until the lancers halted; then, leaving their cycles by the side of a haystack, they overtook the Belgian troops.
Thanks to his intimate knowledge of the locality, the Colonel made his dispositions skilfully. At this spot the road from Tongres to Liége entered a shallow defile through which the returning Germans were practically certain to pass. At a distance of two hundred yards on either side of the road were clumps of trees and patches of thick undergrowth, affording admirable cover for a considerable number of troops.
The machine-gun detachment was split up, an equal number of mitrailleuses, screened with torn-up undergrowth, being placed on the rising ground on each side of the road, their line of fire sweeping the approach to the defile. With the guns were posted strong bodies of dismounted lancers, armed with carbines. In a steep dip in the road, the hollow of which was invisible beyond a distance of a hundred yards, shallow trenches, sufficient to wreck the armoured motor-cars, were dug, the excavated earth being carefully removed so as not to betray the presence of these obstructions.
The bulk of the lancers, posted out of sight, were ready at the word of command to swoop down upon the rear of the German column and complete the work of destruction that the quick-firers and the rifles might leave undone.
Hardly were these preparations made when the Belgian vedettes reported the approach of the raiders from Tongres, and that the column was preceded by four men forming an advance-guard.
The Belgian Colonel gave vent to an exclamation of annoyance. He had reckoned upon the Germans making use of their armoured motor-cars for that purpose. Bagging these would be a material loss to the enemy, whereas the capture of a few scouts would be of very little value, and the main body would be warned.
He immediately detached a dozen dismounted men, ordering them to lie in ambush close to the road, and if possible to capture the scouts without having recourse to the use of fire-arms. The men quickly took up their positions in a ditch lined with tall grass, and so closely did they lie concealed that they were invisible even to their comrades on the rising ground behind them.
Presently the German advance-guard entered the defile. They had dined not wisely but too well, and, jubilant over the result of their successful raid, were sadly lax in the exercise of their military duties. Two of them had removed their helmets, which were dangling from their saddles. All of them, almost overcome with wine and the heat of the day, were drowsy.
Suddenly the Belgian ambush sprang to their feet. The startled Germans were confronted by a row of rifles, levelled from a distance that would make a miss almost an impossibility.
The lances fell from the nerveless hands of the astounded Teutons, and with machine-like precision they raised their hands above their heads. In quick time they were disarmed, secured, and led away to the rear of the Belgian machine-guns.
Barely was this done when two more troopers—the link between the advance-guard and the main body—rode up, only to be captured and secured as their predecessors had been.
But, however lax the military discipline of the scouts, the commander of the German troops was not to be caught napping so easily. Having failed to receive a signal from the advance-guard that all was well, he halted his men.
The Belgian Colonel shrugged his shoulders. His keen insight told him that the enemy was suspicious; yet, knowing that the German officers were equipped with powerful field-glasses, he dared not order two of his men to give the supposed signal to advance.
"At what range is the head of yonder column?" he asked, addressing the captain in charge of the mitrailleuse section.
"Five hundred and fifty metres, Monsieur le Major."
Thinking it better to open fire upon the Germans, who were as yet in close formation, rather than wait for them to extend and take cover, the Belgian commander was about to give the necessary order when the four armoured motor-cars were observed to dash forward.
They advanced in pairs, ten yards separating the first two, with an interval of about a hundred yards between the second and third. The third and last were the same distance apart as were the first and second.
To give the Belgians their due, although they had good cause to think that their position had been divulged, they maintained perfect discipline and kept admirable cover.
Into the silent defile tore the first pair of cars, the gunners training their quick-firers in readiness to greet a possible but as yet unseen foe. Down into the hollow plunged the first car. Its front wheels dropped into the pitfall, and the next instant it toppled completely over. The second car tried in vain to pull up. The driver tugged at the steering-wheel; the heavy vehicle swerved, crashed into the wreckage of the first, and instantly burst into flame.
The remaining cars, their occupants alarmed by the crash, halted. The road was too narrow to turn; to back at any rate of speed was impossible.
The valley now echoed and re-echoed to the rattle of the mitrailleuses and the sharp crackle of musketry. The armoured cars were swept by a hail of bullets that killed or wounded every member of their crew, while the German horsemen were greeted with a devastating fire that threw them into disorder. Some attempted to advance against the unseen foe, others threw themselves from their horses and, taking cover, replied with a feeble and futile rifle-fire. The majority turned and fled in spite of the threats and efforts of the officers.
Taking advantage of the confusion of their foes, the Belgian mounted lancers were ordered to charge. In grand style they cleared the intervening ground, and, although several saddles were emptied, rode dashingly through the broken ranks of the invaders. In ten minutes they were in possession of the field, with the bulk of the money captured at Tongres.
"Ha!" exclaimed Captain Planchenoît when, an hour later, the two British dispatch-riders reported themselves. "What is the adventure this time? Have you delivered the message to the Burgomaster of Tongres?"
"No, sir," replied Kenneth. "We had no chance to do so. The Germans have raided the town."
"Peste!" exclaimed the Captain. "Have they burned the place? Did they seize the treasury?"
"They did little damage, sir. They took the money with them, but our lancers ambushed them and recovered it."
"Just like our intrepid cavalry," remarked the Captain complacently. "Well, you may go, messieurs. I do not think you will be required any more at present."
But before the day was done both lads were required. An account of their part in the successful counter-operations had been sent to the Colonel of the 9th Regiment of the Line by the officer commanding the Belgian lancers, and in front of their comrades Kenneth Everest and Rollo Barrington were promoted to the rank of corporal.