Fort de Wavre Ste Catherine had fallen. Unable to fire an effective shot in reply to the terrible bombardment of the formidable German 28-cm. shells, the strongest of the outer line of Antwerp defences suffered the same fate as the steel-clad cupolas of Liége.
Antwerp was doomed. The Belgians themselves realized the fact. Their one hope was that the German infantry would attempt to rush the trenches. Then it would be proved again that the Belgian infantryman was as good as or better than his Teutonic foe.
Nevertheless, driven from the outer forts on the southern side of the defences, the garrison was not dismayed. In spite of the fact that by their resistance Antwerp itself would presumably suffer at the hands of the Germanic hordes, the Belgians knew that their sacrifice would not be in vain. To take the city a huge force of Germans would be required—and that force was badly needed elsewhere. Day by day, hour by hour, the British and French allied forces were extending their left wing from the Aisne to the Belgian frontier, circumventing all the efforts on the part of their foes to turn their flank. The "holding up" of the German besiegers of Antwerp was sufficient to enable the Allies firmly to establish their threatened left flank upon the coast of the North Sea.
One by one the outer forts fell. A shell demolished the waterworks and threatened the city's water supply. Back fell the Belgians, reluctantly relaxing their hold upon the trenches, in which they were subjected to a heavy fire without even so much as a glimpse of a hostile grey-coat.
During these momentous days Kenneth and Rollo were busily employed conveying important messages under fire. It was a matter of impossibility for them not to realize the hopelessness of the position, but they did not relax their efforts on that account. The Belgians were not fighting with their backs to a wall. Behind them lay the neutral territory of Holland. At any given time they could evacuate the city and allow themselves to be interned; but this they would not do until they received news that their allies were firmly established in their proposed position.
On the second day of October preparations were made for the Government to abandon Antwerp, when suddenly the exodus came to a standstill. The word flew from mouth to mouth that a strong British force was to be thrown into Antwerp, and, with the aid of the Belgian army, to raise the siege and turn the enemy's flank.
"That's good news," remarked Kenneth; but Rollo was far from optimistic.
"We've heard such a lot of this sort of talk before, old man," he said. "Until I see a British regiment in Antwerp I'll have my doubts."
Early on the morning of the 4th, the lads were roused from their slumbers by a roar of cheering. Emerging from their shell-proof shelter, they were surprised and delighted to find that rumour had merged into fact. Surging along towards the trenches in the direction of Lierre were hundreds of men dressed in the well-known British naval uniform. As yet they were not under shellfire, for the German guns were devoting their energies towards the works at Lierre, and the hostile air-craft had not noted the approach of British reinforcements.
Presently the bluejackets halted and piled arms. It was their last breathing-space before they dashed into the shell-swept trenches.
"Let's go and see them," suggested Rollo; and his companion agreeing, the two chums hurried towards the resting bluejackets, who were surrounded by hundreds of their Belgian allies, for the present off duty from the firing-line.
"I wonder how we manage to spare this crowd of sailors," remarked Kenneth as they made their way towards their fellow-countrymen. "I should have thought that every man would be wanted for service with the fleet."
"At any rate, they're here," said Rollo; "and there are fellows in khaki coming along the Lierre road, if I'm not much mistaken."
The lads stood watching the sailors for some time. Their insular reserve kept them from immediately entering into conversation, although they were filled with impatience to know what had happened.
For the most part the bluejackets were young men of good physique. They lacked the bronzed appearance of seamen who have braved the breezes of the five oceans. Many of them were pale, not with apprehension, but with a consciousness that they had before them a stern task that would tax their energies and courage, for they were going under fire for the first time.
Presently one of the bluejackets strolled up to the spot where Kenneth and his chum were standing.
"Est-ce—est-ce que vous—oh, hang it! what's the French for——" he began.
"Try English, old man; it will be a jolly sight easier for you," said Kenneth, laughing.
"Why, you're British, and in Belgian get-up!" exclaimed the bluejacket in surprise. "What are you doing here, I should like to know?"
"Exactly the same question we want to ask you," replied Kenneth. "We're dispatch-riders in the Belgian service. We heard that British troops were to be sent here, but we didn't expect sailors."
"Nor are we," replied the other. "Candidly we're not, although we are the Collingwood Battalion of the Naval Brigade."
"Never heard of it before," remarked Rollo.
"You haven't? Have you heard of Kitchener's army, then?"
The lads shook their heads.
"Then you are behind the times. Whatever have you been doing with yourselves? I'll tell you. As soon as war broke out Kitchener asked for half a million men. He got them right enough. In addition they started Naval Brigades. It was a good wheeze, for a lot of fellows joined for the sake of wearing a naval uniform instead of khaki, although there was no intention of using us at sea—at least, not at present. Two months ago I was an actor. To quote the words of the immortalPinafore: 'I never was upon the sea'."
"'What, never?'" queried Rollo, continuing the words of the song.
"'Well—hardly ever'. Fact is that until I left Walmer to cross the Channel my longest trip was from Portsmouth to Ryde. I was beastly sea-sick crossing, but I'm jolly glad I'm here. We stand a chance of doing a bit before Kitchener's army gets a sniff of a look-in. We'll do our little bit, never fear. Well, so long; hope to see you again."
The division was falling in, preparatory to advancing in open order towards the trenches facing the River Nethe, close to the village of Lierre. Steadfastly, and with the quiet courage that distinguishes Britons under fire, the lads of the Naval Brigade marched into the zone of danger to attempt to stem the advance of the German hordes upon the city of Antwerp.
"Ah, messieurs!" exclaimed Major Planchenoît, as the dispatch-riders reported themselves for orders. He was in high spirits, for, like the rest of the Belgian troops, he was greatly cheered by the fact that the long-promised aid was at last forthcoming. "Ah, messieurs! to-day you will report yourselves at Lierre. You will be of service as interpreters, for your gallant fellow-countrymen do not seem particularly well acquainted with our language."
It was hot work making their way to the trenches, for already the Germans had renewed their destructive fire. Briton and Belgian, lying side by side in the hastily-constructed shelters, were subjected to a galling shrapnel fire without being able to make an adequate reply. From the rear, two British heavy naval guns were resolutely hurtling shells towards the invisible German battery; but of what use were two against so many?
Manfully the untried men of the Naval Brigade took their gruelling. It was one of the hardest tasks that men, going for the first time into action, had to endure: to be subjected to a tremendous bombardment without being able to fire a shot in return. Nevertheless they stuck it grimly, waiting and praying that they might have a chance of meeting the German infantry on anything like level terms.
That chance came at last. At night the German artillery-fire slackened. Pouring onwards in dense masses came the grey-uniformed legions, intent upon forcing the passage of the River Nethe in the neighbourhood of Lierre.
Already the British Marines had blown up the bridge, while across the main street of the shell-wrecked village a strong barricade of carts faced with sandbags had been constructed. Working desperately, the German engineers succeeded in throwing pontoons across the stagnant river. With shouts of "Deutschland über Alles" the infantry poured across, greeted by a withering fire from Briton and Belgian.
The Naval Brigade's rifle-firing was as steady as that of a veteran battalion. Maxims added to the general clatter. All along the trenches flashed the deadly spurts of fire from the small-arms. The German infantry, swept away like chaff, failed to make good the position: the Briton proved a better man than the vaunted Teuton. Then came the recurrence of the deadly shrapnel. The Belgian infantry on the right were compelled to retire, and into the position they vacated poured other German regiments, covered by a fierce artillery fire that was impartial as to whether it struck friend or foe.
It was now that the Naval Brigade failed to come up to the standard of thoroughly trained and seasoned troops. Having repelled the attack upon their immediate front, they could not easily be induced to retire. The desire to "stop and have another shot at the beggars" was uppermost in the minds of these stalwart youths. They failed to realize that with the Allied line pressed they were in danger of being enfiladed. But reluctantly and doggedly they eventually fell back within the shelter of the inner line of forts.
For the next two days the German heavy guns pounded the weak line of defence. Inexplicably, although the city was well within range, no projectiles fell in Antwerp. Perhaps it was because the invaders hoped to take a practically undamaged port.
Meanwhile the Belgian army, with the British Naval Brigade, was being withdrawn from Antwerp. Further resistance was hopeless, while by this time the Anglo-French armies were in their allotted positions according to General Joffre's plan. All that remained to be done in Antwerp was to destroy everything likely to be of military value to the enemy, and extricate the defenders from what promised to be a veritable trap.
In vain, during the night of the retirement, Kenneth and Rollo sought to regain their regiment. Whither the 9th of the Line had gone no one seemed to know. Some had it that the devoted regiment had perished almost to a man in the trenches; others that it was on its way to Ostend; others that it had crossed the frontier into Holland.
"Now what's to be done?" asked Rollo.
"Find the girls, if they haven't already left, and get them to a place of safety," replied Kenneth grimly. "We can do no more at present for Belgium; we must look after ourselves and our friends. Lead on: to the St. Nicholas Hospital."
Shells were beginning to fall upon the roofs of the houses when the lads entered the devoted city. The bulk of the population had already fled. A seemingly never-ending procession of tired, hungry, and despondent refugees poured along the dusty road leading to Bergen-op-Zoom. Others, debarred from taking train owing to Germans having occupied St. Nicholas Station, were making their way by circuitous routes towards Ostend. More were embarking upon craft of all sorts and sizes, whose masters were only too willing to give their suffering countrymen a passage either to the nearest Dutch port or across the North Sea to the shores of hospitable England.
Night had now fallen. It was by no means cold, the frosty nights of mid-September having given place to an autumnal heat-wave. There was little or no wind. The dense smoke from the burning petrol-tanks, which the Belgians had fired rather than let the precious spirit fall into the hands of the enemy, rose straight in the air. Elsewhere other smaller columns of smoke marked the localities where the German incendiary shells had fired portions of the city.
In one of the principal squares, swarms of ragamuffins, acting under the orders of the military, were taking a hideous delight in their work of destruction; for they were busily engaged in smashing costly motor-cars and lorries to useless fragments. Nothing that could be of use to the enemy was permitted to be left intact.
From the direction of the river came the sounds of muffled explosions as the Belgians methodically proceeded to cripple the engines of a fleet of merchant shipping, and to sink lighters filled with stone and concrete to block up the entrances to the various docks.
The Germans were about to take Antwerp—but they were to find in it another Moscow, as Napoleon found it.
Keeping to the almost deserted side streets, Kenneth and Rollo hurried towards the Hospital of St. Nicholas. Their motor-cycles had gone, being destroyed in the retirement of the 9th Regiment of the Line from the fire-swept trenches.
"What's the programme?" asked Rollo. "What do you propose to do if we find the girls?"
"Clear out," replied Kenneth promptly. "The train service is done; I'm not anxious to enter Holland and cool my heels till the end of this business. We can't expect the girls to tramp twenty miles, with the possibility of being cut off by the enemy; and carts are apparently out of the question. There remains the sea."
"Yes, we may be able to get a passage on a fishing-boat."
"That's not my plan. Do you remember the motor-launch in the shed at the end of Jules de la Paix's garden?"
"Can't see how that can help us," objected Rollo. "We haven't a crew."
"If we can get the motor to start, the worst of the difficulty is over," declared Kenneth. "At the trial, you'll recollect, the sergeant of the Civil Guard reported that the craft was provisioned and ready for sea. He was ordered to refrain from damaging the vessel."
"She may have disappeared."
"We'll soon see."
Kenneth led the way along a dark, deserted alley, till he came to a wall on the top of which was a formidable array of broken glass. This wall marked the side boundary to the spy's premises.
"A tough nut to crack," remarked Rollo, as he noticed for the first time the jagged glass gleaming in the red glare of the burning houses.
"We'll come across a door, unless I'm much mistaken—— Hullo! that's a nasty one," said Kenneth.
A shower of shrapnel, rattling on the roofs and shattering the windows of some houses in the street they had just left, occasioned this exclamation; for the Germans were mostly using shells of this variety, to terrify the inhabitants rather than to cause great material damage.
"Quite near enough," rejoined Rollo coolly. "Here's the door."
The lads tried it. It was locked and bolted. The stout oaken framework resisted their efforts to burst it open with their shoulders.
Kenneth unslung his rifle. One shot amidst that chaos of terrific detonations would be practically inaudible, and even if it were heard there were none sufficiently curious to ascertain the reason.
The heavy lock was not proof against the high-velocity bullet. A second shot demolished the bolt. The gate creaked on its hinges.
Passing along the garden path amidst autumn flowers mown down by the explosion of shells, several of which had fallen close to the house, the lads arrived at the boat-house. The windows were shattered; there was a gaping hole in the roof. Kenneth began to entertain grave doubts as to whether the motor-boat had escaped damage.
"She's there, right enough," he announced, as he peered through one of the broken windows and saw the grey-painted outlines of the craft within. "The door's locked. I'll try another shot."
"Steady on, man!" cautioned his companion. "Mind you don't bore a hole through the boat as well. See, here is a crowbar, or something like it. We'll prise the door open."
They seized the bar and forced the pointed end between the door and the jamb.
"Now!" exclaimed Kenneth.
At that very moment, before the lads could exert any pressure upon the crowbar, a blinding flash came from overhead, immediately followed by a terrific detonation. Splinters, broken glass, tiles, clods of earth and leaves flew in all directions, while a pungent cloud of smoke enveloped everything.
For nearly ten seconds the two chums held on to the crowbar, then Kenneth spoke.
"I'm hit, confound it!" he exclaimed. "It's not much, though."
He relaxed his grasp of the iron bar as he spoke, and reeled slightly. Rollo held out his hand to steady him, and perceived for the first time that it was wet with blood and practically devoid of the sense of feeling.
"What! You hit too?" asked Kenneth, pulling himself together on seeing the dark stain on his companion's wrist.
"Yes; a shrapnel ball clean through my right wrist," announced Rollo, "It doesn't hurt much."
"And I've a bullet through the palm of my left hand," added Kenneth, displaying a small punctured wound about two inches from the base of the little finger. "It might have been worse. We'll tie our handkerchiefs over the wounds; that will do all right for the time. Now for the door. The sooner we open it the better. Buck up, man; the girls must be terribly anxious."
Thus exhorted, although feeling giddy from the effects of the shock, Rollo grasped the crowbar with his unwounded hand. Kenneth bore against the lever with all his might, and with a crash the door flew open.
The motor-boat was on a cradle, just clear of the water. It was now half-tide and on the ebb. A hasty examination failed to reveal signs of structural damage to the little craft, although the scuttle-glasses of the cabin were all either cracked or completely demolished. The craft was fully equipped, but the provisions had vanished. Doubtless they had been removed by the Civil Guards at or after the arrest of the spy.
"Let's launch her, then we can see if she leaks," exclaimed Kenneth. He was feverishly working against time. His energy seemed inexhaustible. "There's the windlass; let her go gently."
Down glided the boat into the sullen waters of the canal. Kenneth leapt on board and secured her along-side, then lifted the floor-boards over the well.
"She's making a few drops," he announced. "I think it's only because she has been hauled up in the dry for some time. By the time we get the girls down she'll take up."
Rollo offered no remark. In his mind there were doubts as to whether Thelma Everest and Yvonne Résimont were still in the hospital; if they were, would they abandon their duties? But he followed his chum, nursing his wounded hand, wincing at every step he took as the pain shot through the nerves of his arm.
Kenneth strode on, indifferent to his injuries. Hardly a word passed between them as they hurried along the alley and into the smoke-filled streets. There were still a few persons about, mostly men of the criminal class, who seized the opportunity for indiscriminate looting. Here and there were the corpses of fugitives, stricken down in their final mad rush for the safety that was denied them. The air was filled with the crash of exploding shells and the clatter of broken glass, to the accompaniment of the distant booming of the hostile guns.
Closely followed by his companion, Kenneth dashed up the steps of the hospital. The door was wide open. A portion of the facade of the portico had been shattered by a shell. Hardly a window remained intact in the building.
A nurse, her face serenely peaceful in spite of the scene of destruction around her, came forward.
"You men are wounded? Come this way; we will speedily attend to your hurts."
Kenneth shook his head.
"Our wounds are slight," he protested. "I have come for my sister, Thelma Everest, and her friend, Mademoiselle Résimont—if they can be spared," he added, for the sight of this woman calmly on duty caused him to take a different view of the reason lot his sister's presence in the hospital.
"They can be spared," replied the nurse. "Already we have sent the least serious cases away, and have dismissed the younger nurses. Mademoiselle Everest and her friend refused to take advantage of the permission. They were expecting you, and you have not failed them, I see. I will inform them."
Quickly Thelma and Yvonne appeared, heavily cloaked, and carrying handbags, in readiness for their flight.
"We would not have gone, Kenneth," said his sister, "only there is no more work for us to do. But is it not already too late to leave the city? We were told that the bridge of boats had been destroyed, and that all communication with outside is interrupted. Four of our nurses left by the last train that got away from here."
"We'll manage that all right," declared Kenneth stoutly, although in his mind he dreaded taking the girls on the journey along the shell-endangered streets.
"We are ready," said Thelma simply; then, having taken a hasty yet tender farewell of the head nursing sister, the girls accompanied the two lads into the now deserted thoroughfare.
Unhurt, although several highly-charged projectiles burst above the roofs on either side of the road, the four refugees gained the boat-house of the late spy. No more shells had fallen there in the interval. The boat had made but half an inch of water, and this could easily be got under by means of the pump. The fuel tanks were filled with petrol; there were a dozen intact tins in the after locker.
For provisions each lad had a couple of long rolls of bread in his haversack. Thelma had brought biscuits and butter; Yvonne had provided a tin of ground coffee and condensed milk—a meagre fare on which to essay a voyage across the North Sea, but enough to hazard the journey without fear of actual starvation.
Kenneth was by no means a novice in seamanship, On more than one vacation he had spent part of the time in motor-boating in Southampton Water, where a cousin of his kept a high-powered craft. After very little delay he succeeded in finding the position of the various switches and taps. At the third attempt the engine fired. The propeller blades, set at the neutral, churned the water. The motor purred rhythmically, as a well-conducted motor should.
"Cast off there, for'ard!" ordered Kenneth, addressing Rollo, who had taken up his post in the bows. "Thelma, undo that rope, quickly now!"
It was no time for courtesies. Kenneth was skipper, and his crew had to be told peremptorily; it was his notion of showing authority.
Swiftly gathering stern-way the boat glided away from the staging; then, with a jerk as the propeller began to churn ahead, the little craft headed towards the Scheldt and the North Sea.
Kenneth's was by no means an easy task. Having the use of only one arm, he was severely handicapped. Steering by means of a wheel is far from satisfactory when literally "single-handed", while the intricacies of the canal required a certain amount of quickness with the helm. Twice the boat nearly collided with the partly submerged hulls of destroyed barges. The canal was now little better than a ditch, for the tide had already fallen twelve feet out of sixteen. One satisfaction Kenneth had: there were no lock-gates to negotiate. The falling tide told him that.
"Something ahead!" shouted Rollo. "Wreckage, I think."
His chum immediately throttled down, keeping his unwounded hand on the reversing lever. By the lurid glare in the sky he could discern the obstruction: the shattered timbers of the lock-gates. Would there be enough water to clear the sill of the basin? If not, they would have to remain for hours, in danger of the falling shells, until the tide rose sufficiently to float the boat over the barrier.
Kenneth prudently stopped the engine. He would not risk losing the blades of the propeller. Slowly and with bare steerage-way the boat glided towards the ruined gates. Her bows passed the gaunt timbers, then, with a horrid grinding noise, she hung up by the stern.
"Get for'ard, all hands!" shouted Kenneth. "We may be able to jump her over."
The four members of the crew made their way to the bows. Regardless of their injuries the two lads heaved and pushed with the boat-hooks. They could hear the keel grate on the stone-work. The tide was still falling.
A shell, fortunately without exploding, dropped into the water twenty yards astern, throwing a shower of spray over the boat and her crew.
Kenneth glanced at the girls. By the glare of the burning city he could see that their faces were calm. Either they were ignorant of their narrow escape or quite unperturbed by their hazardous position.
"All together; push for all you are worth!" exclaimed Kenneth desperately.
Inch by inch the boat was urged onwards, till with a sudden jerk it dropped across the sill into deep water. Rollo, faint with pain, sat limply in the for'ard well; then, concealing his injuries, he assisted the girls to the doubtful shelter of the cabin.
Kenneth, too, was in a sorry plight. Setting his teeth tightly he restarted the engine; then, taking up his post at the wheel, he guided the swift little craft towards the centre of the River Scheldt.
In spite of the still pressing danger the crew were enthralled by the scene that presented itself to their gaze. Antwerp was in the throes of its death-struggle. Dominating the houses on the river bank rose the spire of the cathedral, its delicate tracery silhouetted clearly against the dull red glare of the burning oil-tanks. Overhead the thick pall of smoke had spread far and wide, its lower edges tinted blood-red by the blaze of the numerous fires. High above the roofs were the rapid, seemingly interminable brilliant flashes of the exploding shells, while away to the southward the sky was stabbed by the incessant lightning-like glare of the bombarding guns.
Antwerp had fallen. Belgium as a country had practically ceased to exist; Belgium as a nation, still undaunted, had made a supreme sacrifice. She had saved Europe—and Europe's task was clear. Not until the brave little nation was rehabilitated, and the German menace crushed once and for all time, could the Allies hope to lay down the sword that they had been reluctantly compelled to unsheathe.
The crew of the motor-boat had no great difficulty in finding their way down the river. The glare on the water, and on the underside of the enormous expanse of smoke overhead, enabled them to see objects ahead with comparative ease. The actual channel was well defined, at first by several barges still at anchor in the stream, and later by hundreds of small craft making their way to safety.
Those who depended mainly upon sail to propel them were quickly overtaken, for the night was particularly windless and their brown canvas hung idly from the yards. Satisfied with having got beyond the danger zone, the crews of these fishing-vessels were content to drift, save for the occasional assistance of their heavy sweeps. The decks were literally packed with refugees, who, glad to have escaped with their lives, exhibited an uncanny calmness.
Reach after reach of the river was passed, as the motor-boat, gradually working up power, increased her speed. Astern, the funereal pile of Antwerp glowed red; it seemed as if the crew could never get beyond sight of it. The spire of the cathedral had vanished beneath the horizon, but the smoke from the burning city still hung overhead.
The four occupants of the motor-boat had made their way aft. The girls, refusing to go into the cabin, sat on one side of the cockpit, their eyes fixed upon the glare of the fallen port. Rollo, holding his wounded wrist, shut his jaw tightly and endured the pain. Since his chum made no complaint of his injuries, Rollo grimly decided to keep the fact that he was wounded from the others. Kenneth, steadying the steering-wheel with his right hand, had almost forgotten the unpleasant attention of the shrapnel bullet. The sense of responsibility outweighed all other considerations.
"We're across the frontier now," he announced, as the little craft curtsied to the slight undulations of the comparatively wide expanse of the West Scheldt. "Now, girls, which shall it be? Shall I land you on Dutch territory, or will you risk crossing the North Sea?"
Thelma's was a prompt answer.
"We'll stay with you, boys."
"Will it be very rough?" asked Yvonne. She had faced the dangers of the bombardment bravely, but the perils of a voyage upon the open sea in a small, partly-decked craft gave her misgivings that the presence of her companions failed to keep in check.
"Smooth as a mill-pond," declared Kenneth optimistically. "There's no wind. We'll have plenty of company on the way, I fancy; and what is more, the British navy has complete control of this part of the North Sea. We are doing fifteen knots, I think; that's a little over seventeen miles an hour. We ought to be in sight of the Kentish coast a couple of hours after sunrise."
"Then I am satisfied," declared Yvonne.
"That's good! Now, girls, how about a cup of coffee? I can't make it, so perhaps you'll do a good turn. Rollo will light the cabin light and show you where the fresh water is stored."
As soon as his three companions had withdrawn to the cabin Kenneth closed the door. The gleam from within dazzled his eyes, and, with so much traffic about, that would never do. The motor-boat was running without navigation lights. If there were any "steaming" lamps on board he had failed to notice them. But the rule of the road seemed to be sadly neglected that fateful night. There were vessels of all sizes and rigs making for safety, and not one-tenth of their number showed the regulation red and green lights.
Left to himself, Kenneth began to realize once more that his hand was throbbing. The flow of blood had entirely ceased, and a dry, burning pain succeeded the comparative ease of the wound while it bled freely. He was desperately hungry and thirsty. For forty-eight hours he had been on short commons. The reaction of the days and nights of strenuous activity was beginning to tell.
The motor-boat, gliding swiftly through the water, had now outstripped all the fishing luggers. Ahead were three or four steamers making to the westward. Others, shaping a course for Ostend, had swung away to the port hand.
"Rollo!" sang out his chum sharply. "Come and take the helm for a minute."
"I was just coming," answered Rollo as he emerged from the cabin. "There's coffee waiting for you. And the girls have made a rattling good job of my wrist," he added, pointing to a neatly-bandaged arm in a sling.
"Follow that vessel," ordered Kenneth, pointing to a steamer a couple of miles ahead, her stern-light showing brightly in the clear starlit night. "If you overhaul her, or if there's anything likely to be dangerous, give me the word."
"One minute," protested Rollo. "The spray's dashing in through the broken scuttles. I'll try and fix up the strip of canvas. It's long enough to go right round."
Kenneth waited until his chum had completed the necessary and self-imposed task. Being able to use only one hand, it was a difficult, not to say dangerous, business securing the canvas round the raised cabin-top, for the boat was now jumping considerably.
"That's done it!" ejaculated Rollo. "Now, old man, down you go. I'll keep her going somehow."
"You have been a time, Kenneth," exclaimed his sister reproachfully. "Your coffee is getting cold. Why, what's the matter?"
She broke off her reproaches in alarm, for Kenneth's face was grey and drawn in the light of the cabin-lamp.
"Only my hand," announced her brother, with a feeble, ill-disguised attempt at unconcern as he withdrew the badly-bandaged member from the flap of his coat.
"What! Are we still under fire?"
"No; this occurred five or six hours ago. It's a clean wound."
Gently the two girls attended to the injury. The handkerchief had to be soaked before it could be withdrawn from the wound. In five minutes the now experienced young nurses had washed the place with antiseptic and had bound it with lint.
"Right as anything now," declared Kenneth. "I'll have my coffee and get on deck again."
"You had far better rest," replied his sister; "and Rollo, too, is steering; in spite of his wounded wrist. I'll go and take the wheel; it won't be the first time."
Kenneth gave in without a protest. He was "about done". Obediently he stretched himself upon one of the cushions of the bunk and closed his eyes.
Bidding Yvonne keep a watch on the patient, Thelma donned her cloak and went out into the cockpit.
Rollo, too, offered no objections to being relieved of his duty. The vibration of the wheel, almost unnoticeable under ordinary circumstances, was causing his wrist intense pain. He handed Thelma the charge of the helm, told her what course to take, and sat down, admiring, in spite of his physical anguish, the alert, self-possessed girl as she toyed with the spokes of the wheel with the ease of a practised helmsman.
"We're up to that vessel, Rollo," she reported, after an hour had passed. Owing to her superior speed the motor-boat had rapidly gained upon the lumbering ten-knot tramp which was now a couple of cables distant on the port hand.
Her companion bestirred himself and went into the cabin.
"I wouldn't wake Kenneth," he said as he reappeared. "Yvonne tells me he's quite done up."
"I wonder you're not, too."
"I'll make up for it when we get ashore, never fear," declared Rollo. "But the point is, we've got to steer a course. Here's the compass, but it's almost like Greek to me. I suppose if we keep due west we'll do something? There are such things as variation and deviation, but, although I did have a chance, I never troubled to understand them. I wish I had, now."
Providentially, for it was now close on high water, the little craft crossed the dangerous sand-banks that encumber the Scheldt entrance without any of her crew realizing the risk they were running. Once they encountered "overfalls" of rather broken water on the tail of a bank; but, with nothing worse than a couple of waves breaking inboard, the motor-boat gained the comparatively smooth water beyond.
Grey dawn was now breaking. All around was an unbroken expanse of sea and sky. Not a vessel or a buoy of any description was in sight. For the first time Rollo was able to form some idea of the vastness of the North Sea.
Bestirring himself, he examined the petrol-gauge and the quantity of oil in the automatic lubricator reservoirs. The consumption of both had not been excessive, and the motor was running like clockwork.
"It's getting very misty," said Thelma.
"By Jove, it is!" assented her companion. "I hope it won't come on any thicker. Are you cold? Let me take the wheel again."
The girl shook her head.
"I'm quite all right," she declared. "I am enjoying it. How much farther is it, do you think?"
It was Rollo's turn to shake his head. He did not know, and he was too candid to pretend that he did.
"We ought to be meeting shipping in and out of the Thames estuary shortly," he said. "I suppose our merchant vessels sail as freely as they did before the war? Hello! There's something coming up astern."
He pointed to a faint blurr of smoke about three miles away and dead in the wake of the motor-boat.
"Something fairly fast to be able to overtake us," remarked Thelma. "Is there a telescope on board?"
"I'll see," answered Rollo.
Again he entered the cabin. Kenneth was still sound asleep. Yvonne was seated on the opposite bunk, watching him as zealously as a vigilant sentry.
"What are you looking for, Rollo?" she whispered.
"A telescope."
She arose and, steadying herself by means of the cabin table, made her way to the for'ard bulkhead. Drawing back a curtain, she took down the required article from a rack.
"It is a nurse's duty to become quickly acquainted with her surroundings," she said with a smile, as she handed Rollo the telescope.
The lad returned to the cockpit. Standing with his back against the after bulkhead of the cabin he raised the telescope. It was some time, owing to the motion of the boat, before he could get the instrument to bear.
"I must rouse Kenneth," he said calmly.
"Why?" asked Thelma. "Tell me: is there anything wrong? I will not be frightened."
"There is, I fear," he answered. "Unless I am very much mistaken, yonder craft is a German torpedo-boat, and she is standing in pursuit of us."
"Kenneth, old man, wake up!"
Everest opened his eyes listlessly. Aroused in the midst of the sleep of utter exhaustion, he did not at once realize his surroundings.
"What's up?" he asked drowsily, with a suspicion of resentment in his voice.
"Come out into the cockpit," said Rollo. "I want you to see if we are on the right course. We passed the tramp steamer some time ago."
"Then why didn't you call me?" demanded Kenneth, displaying considerable alacrity, and making a dash for the cabin door.
"Stay here a little longer, Yvonne," said Rollo to the Belgian girl as she began to follow her patient. The lad's chief anxiety was to keep her in ignorance of the new danger that threatened them.
"Right as rain," announced Kenneth, glancing at the compass.
"Look astern, old man," said his chum in a low voice. "I didn't want to alarm Yvonne. Thelma knows, though. That torpedo-boat coming up hand over fist is a German."
"Never!" ejaculated Kenneth. The idea of a war vessel flying the Kaiser's black-cross ensign on the high seas seemed incredible.
"Fact," rejoined Rollo. "Take this telescope."
"You're right, by Jove!" exclaimed Kenneth after a brief survey. "We must carry on as long as we can. If they fire at us we must stop, for the sake of the girls."
The motor was running at its utmost possible number of revolutions, yet the boat was no match for the grey-painted craft now a mile and a half astern.
The German torpedo-boat made no sign of firing; she merely hung on doggedly in the wake of the motor-craft, slowly yet surely diminishing the distance between them. The haze had now lifted considerably, so that the range of vision extended for quite five miles. All around, save for the pursuing craft, the horizon was unbroken.
"Perhaps those chaps think that their rotten spy, Jules de la Paix, is on board," suggested Rollo. "They may have a prearranged plan to pick him up at sea."
"Should hardly think so," replied Kenneth. "It would have been easier for him to have run across to Dutch territory, if he hadn't the heart to remain at Antwerp during the bombardment. If that's whom they're after they'll be jolly disappointed."
"They'll spot our uniforms, if they haven't already done so," said Rollo. "I wish the beggars would be stopped by a submarine."
Kenneth did not reply. Seized by an inspiration, he grasped one of the two boat-hooks on deck, released it from its lashings, and tossed it overboard.
"What have you done that for?" asked his chum.
Kenneth pointed to the staff of the boat-hook. Weighted down by the gun-metal head, it was bobbing up and down in a vertical position some yards astern.
"That may give them a bit of a shock," he explained. "They may think it's a periscope of a submarine."
"It's much too small."
"Not when there are no means of comparing it with anything else. Look at it now. You couldn't say with certainty within a hundred yards how far it is away. Anyhow, we'll chance it."
The German torpedo-boat had hoisted four signal-flags to her cross-yards. They were blowing out in a fore-and-aft direction.
"Can't make them out," declared Kenneth, "and wouldn't understand them if I did. Now, watch."
Suddenly two spurts of flame burst from the deck of the pursuing boat. Shells from her three-pounder quick-firers pitched a short distance on her starboard side. Simultaneously the torpedo-boat swung round. Travelling at twenty-seven knots, the sudden porting of her helm caused her to heel outwards till her deck was almost awash.
"By Jove, she's rammed our boat-hook!" shouted Kenneth enthusiastically. "If ever she gets back to port, won't she pitch a yarn about ramming and sinking a British submarine!"
The lad was not wrong in his surmise, for the torpedo-boat slowed down and made a complete circle, steaming over the spot where she imagined the periscope to have been. Luckily the ruse was not discovered, for a chance shot had shattered the boat-hook staff and had sent the weighted end to the bottom; while, on the other hand, the motor-boat had gained at least two miles on her pursuer.
"It's worth while throwing our remaining boat-hook overboard," said Rollo. "I don't suppose we'll want it in any case."
The German torpedo-boat had now resumed the pursuit. Obviously fearing the presence of other submarines she kept a zigzag course, altering her helm every five minutes in order to confuse the aim of a possible torpedo-gunner. Consequently, although she still overhauled her quarry, the distance between them lessened with perceptible slowness.
Ten minutes from the time of resuming her course the torpedo-boat fired her bow gun. The plugged shell, purposely aimed wide, threw up a column of spray a hundred yards from the motor-boat's port quarter.
The lads exchanged glances. Kenneth leant forward and switched off the ignition.
"Hard lines!" he ejaculated. "If it weren't for the girls——"
While the boat still carried way he put the helm hard over, until her bows pointed in the direction of her captor. Dejectedly the crew awaited the arrival of the torpedo-boat, wondering what course the Germans would pursue.
"Look!" exclaimed Thelma, excitedly pointing to the hostile craft.
The sight that met their gaze was an inspiring one. From somewhere at a great distance away a shell had hurtled through the air. Striking the water within twenty yards of its objective, the missile had ricochetted, and had shattered the torpedo-boat's foremost funnel.
Another and another followed in quick succession, both bursting over the deck of the doomed vessel.
The Germans replied, firing with great vigour, but the crew of the motor-boat could form no idea of what they were firing at or the result of their efforts. In five minutes the torpedo-boat was badly holed for'ard and making water fast.
"The cowardly skunks!" exclaimed Kenneth, frantically restarting the motor. The epithet was justifiable, for the commander of the torpedo-boat was endeavouring to use the little motor-boat as a screen from her enemy's fire.
Owing to the already crippled condition of the German craft, Kenneth could easily out-manoeuvre her. In spite of the risk of a shell from the exasperated Teuton, he kept his vessel about half a mile from the torpedo-boat and awaited the inevitable ending.
It was not long in coming. Torn by the well-aimed shells, her mast, funnels, and deck fittings swept clean away, the torpedo-boat settled down. From amidships a cloud of black smoke, tinged with lurid flames, soared skywards. Men were pouring up from the engine-room and throwing themselves into the sea.
The other craft had ceased firing. She was coming up quickly, and could now be distinguished as a British E-class destroyer.
Suddenly the doomed vessel gave a roll to starboard, flung her stern in the air, and with her triple propellers racing madly, disappeared from sight, leaving a heavy pall of smoke to mark the spot when she sank.
"We must pick up those fellows," announced Kenneth, pointing to about twenty heads bobbing in the water. "I'll slow down as close as I can. Mind your wrist, Rollo."
Three minutes later all the crew of the motor-boat were busily engaged in hauling half-drowned, and for the most part wounded, German seamen into their craft, till eleven men, the sole survivors of the luckless torpedo-boat, were rescued.
"You Belgians?" asked one, in broken French, when he saw the lads' uniforms. "Good! We surrender to you."
"You'll be transferred to that vessel," said Kenneth, pointing to the now close British destroyer.
"No, they will shoot us," exclaimed the terrified man.
"Nonsense!" replied Kenneth. "British seamen are not like——" He was on the point of saying "Germans", but pulled himself up and added "pirates".
Nevertheless the German seamen were not easily reassured. Their officers had impressed upon them that the British navy took no prisoners, and they firmly believed it.
"Motor-boat ahoy! What craft is that?" sang out a lieutenant, as the British destroyer reversed her engines and came to a standstill at her own length from the little vessel. It was a grand, inspiring sight to the refugees to see the White Ensign floating proudly from the mast-heads of the destroyer. Practically untouched in her duel with her antagonist, she looked as spick and span as when she first commissioned at Chatham Dockyard, only a week previously.
"We're British in the Belgian service: refugees from Antwerp," replied Kenneth.
"We thought you were one of our Motor-boat Reserve craft in difficulties," said the officer. "Luckily we heard the firing, and closed to investigate. We'll take charge of your prisoners; can you run alongside?"
Stalwart bluejackets, stripped to their singlets, and grimy stokers crowded to the stanchion rails to watch the transhipment of the captured Germans.
"Do you want a passage back to Sheerness?" asked the lieutenant.
"If you wouldn't mind taking my sister and her friend," replied Kenneth, "we'll stick to the motor-boat."
"But you're both wounded," exclaimed the officer. "Come aboard, all of you. We'll make you as comfortable as we can, considering we are cleared for action."
"But the boat?" protested Kenneth; for, having carried them so far, it seemed hard lines that she would have to be abandoned.
"Don't worry about that," said the lieutenant. "I'll put an artificer and a couple of men aboard, and let them run her into the Medway."
The genial officer courteously assisted Thelma and Yvonne over the side. Rollo followed with a fair amount of agility, considering his disabled wrist. Lastly Kenneth left his first command.
As he gained the corticened decks of the destroyer he pulled himself up and thankfully saluted the diminutive quarter-deck, on which floated the White Ensign—the emblem of freedom. Then a grey mist swam before his eyes and he felt himself falling.
*****
Two days later there was a happy reunion at an hotel at Sheerness. Summoned by telegraph, all the members of the Barrington and Everest families who were not employed on active service hastened to welcome home their young heroes. With them came Major Résimont, now well on the road to recovery, and for the time being a guest of Mr. Everest.
"I should think you lads have had enough of this terrible war," remarked Mrs. Everest at the conclusion of their narrative.
"We've only seen the beginning," declared Kenneth gravely. "As soon as this little hurt of mine has healed, I want to go back."
"And I too," added Rollo.
Colonel Barrington flushed with pride.
"Of course," he said, "it ought to be a fairly simple matter, considering your experience, to get a commission. It is merely a case of applying to the War Office."
"And undergoing six months' training at home, pater?"
"Presumably."
"By that time the war may be over," said Kenneth. "In any case we will be out of it for six months. What do you say, Rollo?"
"We've put our hand to the plough, old man. I vote, as soon as we are able, we rejoin our old regiment. The 9th of the Line is now between Ostend and Nieuport, sir?"
"I believe so," replied Major Résimont.
"Then that settles it, unless our people raise serious objection," declared Kenneth resolutely. "As long as we have health and strength we will take our places with our comrades of the 9th, until Belgium is freed from the grey-clad troops of Germany."