"How fortunate my hair is short!" she said, contemplating her reflection. "Otherwise it would be a perfect tangle. I make a very nice boy, do you not think so?"
"An adorable boy!" agreed Stewart, heartily.
She glanced up at him.
"Thank you! But are you not going to wash?"
"Not until you have finished. You are such a radiant beauty, that it would be a sin to miss an instant of you. My clothes are even more becoming to you than your own!"
She glanced down over her slender figure, so fine, so delicately rounded, then sprang quickly to her feet and snatched up the coat.
"I will reconnoiter our position while you make your toilet," she said, and slipped out of sight among the trees.
Ten minutes later, Stewart found her seated on a little knoll at the edge of the wood, looking out across the country.
"There is a house over yonder," she said, nodding to where the corner of a gable showed among the trees. "But it may be dangerous to approach it."
"We can't starve," he pointed out. "And we seem to be lucky. Suppose I go on ahead?"
"No; we will go together," and she sprang to her feet.
The way led over a strip of rocky ground, used evidently as a pasture, but there were no cattle grazing on it; then along a narrow lane between low stone walls. Presently they reached the house, which seemed to be the home of a small farmer, for it stood at the back of a yard with stables and sheds grouped about it. The gate was open and there was no sign of life within. Stewart started to enter, but suddenly stopped and looked at his companion.
"There is something wrong here," he said, almost in a whisper. "I feel it."
"So do I," said the girl, and stared about at the deserted space, shivering slightly. Then she looked upward into the clear sky. "It was as if a cloud had come between me and the sun," she added.
"Perhaps it is just that everything seems so deserted," said Stewart, and stepped through the gate.
"No doubt the people fled when they saw the Germans," she suggested; "or perhaps it was just a rumor that frightened them away."
Stewart looked about him. It was not only people that were missing from this farmyard, he told himself; there should have been pigs in the sty, chickens scratching in the straw, pigeons on the roof, a cat on the door-step.
"We must have food," he said, and went forward resolutely to the door, which stood ajar.
There was something vaguely sinister in the position of the door, half-open and half-closed, but after an instant's hesitation, he knocked loudly. A minute passed, and another, and there was no response. Nerving himself as though for a mighty effort, he pushed the door open and looked into the room beyond.
It was evidently the living-room and dining-room combined, and it was in the wildest disorder. Chairs were overturned, a table was lying on its side with one leg broken, dishes lay smashed upon the floor.
Summoning all his resolution, Stewart stepped inside. What frightful thing had happened here? From the chairs and the dishes, it looked as if the family had been surprised at breakfast. But where was the family? Who had surprised them? What had——
And then his heart leaped sickeningly as his eyes fell upon a huddled figure lying in one corner, close against the wall. It was the body of a woman, her clothing disordered, a long, gleaming bread-knife clutched tightly in one hand; and as Stewart bent above her, he saw that her head had been beaten in.
One look at that disfigured countenance imprinted it indelibly on Stewart's memory—the blue eyes staring horribly upward from under the shattered forehead, the hair matted with blood, the sprawling body, the gleaming knife caught up in what moment of desperation! Shaking with horror, he seized his companion's hand and led her away out of the desecrated house, out of the silent yard, out into the narrow lane where they could breathe freely.
"The Uhlans have passed this way," said the girl, staring up and down the road.
"But," stammered Stewart, wiping his wet forehead, "but I don't understand. Germany is a civilized nation—war is no longer the brutal thing it once was."
"War is always brutal, I fear," said the girl, sadly; "and of course, among a million men, there are certain to be some—like that! I am no longer hungry. Let us press on."
Stewart, nodding, followed along beside her, across fields, over little streams, up and down stretches of rocky hillside, always westward. But he saw nothing; his mind was full of other things—of the gray-clad thousands singing as they marched; of the radiant face of the Crown Prince; of that poor murdered woman, who had risen happily this Sunday morning, glad of a day of rest, and looked up to see strange faces at the door——
And this was war. A thousand other women would suffer the same fate; thousands and thousands more would be thrown stripped and defenseless on the world, to live or die as chance might will; a hundred thousand children would be fatherless; a hundred thousand girls, now ripening into womanhood, would be denied their rightful destiny of marriage and children of their own——
Stewart shook the thought away. The picture his imagination painted was too horrible; it could never come true—not all the emperors on earth could make it come true!
He looked about him at the mellow landscape. Nowhere was there a sign of life. The yellow wheat stood ripe for the harvest. The pastures stretched lush and green—and empty. Here and there above the trees he caught a glimpse of farmhouse chimneys, but no reassuring smoke floated above then. A peaceful land, truly, so he told himself—peaceful as death!
Gradually the country grew rougher and more broken, and ahead of them they could see steep and rocky hillsides, cleft by deep valleys and covered by a thick growth of pine.
"We must find a road," said Stewart at last; "we can't climb up and down those hills. And we must find out where we are. There is a certain risk, but we must take it. It is foolish to stumble forward blindly."
"You are right," his companion agreed, and when presently, far below them at the bottom of a valley, they saw a white road winding, they made their way down to it. Almost at once they came to a house, in whose door stood a buxom, fair-haired woman, with a child clinging to her skirts.
The woman watched them curiously as they approached, and her face seemed to Stewart distinctly friendly.
"Good-morning," he said, stopping before the door-step and lifting his hat—an unaccustomed salutation at which the woman stared. "We seem to have lost our way. Can you tell us——"
The woman shook her head.
"My brother and I have lost our way," said his companion, in rapid French. "We have been tramping the hills all morning. How far is it to the nearest village?"
"The nearest village is Battice," answered the woman in the same language. "It is three kilometers from here."
"Has it a railway station?"
"But certainly. How is it you do not know?"
"We come from the other direction."
"From Germany?"
"Yes," answered the girl, after an instant's scrutiny of the woman's face.
"Then you are fugitives? Ah, do not fear to tell me," she added, as the girl hesitated. "I have no love for the Germans. I have lived near them too long!"
There could be no doubting the sincerity of the words, nor the grimace of disgust which accompanied them.
"Yes," assented the girl, "we are fugitives. We are trying to get to Liège. Have the Germans been this way?"
"No; I have seen nothing of them, but I have heard that a great army has passed along the road through Verviers."
"Where is your man?"
"He has joined the army, as have all the men in this neighborhood."
"The German army?"
"Oh, no; the Belgian army. It is doing what it can to hold back the Germans."
The girl's face lighted with enthusiasm.
"Oh, how splendid!" she cried. "How splendid for your brave little country to defy the invader! Bravo, Belgium!"
The woman smiled at her enthusiasm, but shook her head doubtfully.
"I do not know," she said, simply. "I do not understand these things. I only know that my man has gone, and that I must harvest our grain and cut our winter wood by myself. But will you not enter and rest yourselves?"
"Thank you. And we are very hungry. We have money to pay for food, if you can let us have some."
"Certainly, certainly," and the good wife bustled before them into the house.
An hour later, rested, refreshed, with a supply of sandwiches in their pockets, and armed with a rough map drawn from the directions of their hostess, they were ready to set out westward again. She was of the opinion that they could pass safely through Battice, which was off the main road of the German advance, and that they might even secure there a vehicle of some sort to take them onward. The trains, she understood, were no longer running. Finally they thanked her for the twentieth time and bade her good-by. She wished them God-speed, and stood watching them from the door until they disappeared from view.
They pushed forward briskly, and presently, huddled in the valley below them, caught sight of the gabled roofs of the village. A bell was ringing vigorously, and they could see the people—women and children for the most part—gathering in toward the little church, crowned by its gilded cross. Evidently nothing had occurred to disturb the serenity of Battice.
Reassured, the two were about to push on down the road, when suddenly, topping the opposite slope, they saw a squadron of horsemen, perhaps fifty strong. They were clad in greenish-gray, and each of them bore upright at his right elbow a long lance.
"Uhlans!" cried the girl, and the fugitives stopped short, watching with bated breath.
The troop swung down the road toward the village at a sharp trot, and presently Stewart could distinguish their queer, flat-topped helmets, reminding him of the mortar-board of his university days. Right at the edge of the village, in the shadow of some trees, the horsemen drew rein and waited until the bell ceased ringing and the last of the congregation had entered the church; then, at the word of command, they touched spur to flank and swept through the empty street.
A boy saw them first and raised a shout of alarm; then a woman, hurrying toward the church, heard the clatter of hoofs, cast one glance behind her, and ran on, screaming wildly. The screams penetrated the church, and in a moment the congregation came pouring out, only to find themselves hemmed in by a semicircle of lowered lances.
The lieutenant shouted a command, and four of his men threw themselves from the saddle and disappeared into the church. They were back in a moment, dragging between them a white-haired priest clad in stole and surplice, and a rosy-faced old man, who, even in this trying situation, managed to retain his dignity.
The two were placed before the officer, and a short conference followed, with the townspeople pressing anxiously around, listening to every word. Suddenly there was an outburst of protest and despair, which the priest quieted with a motion of his hand, and the conference was resumed.
"What is it the fellow wants?" asked Stewart.
"Money and supplies, I suppose."
"Money and supplies? But that's robbery!"
"Oh, no; it is a part of the plan of the German General Staff. How many times have I heard Prussian officers boast that a war would cost Germany nothing—that her enemies would be made to bear the whole burden! It has all been arranged—the indemnity which each village, even the smallest, must pay—the amount of supplies which each must furnish, the ransom which will be assessed on each individual. This lieutenant of Uhlans is merely carrying out his instructions!"
"Who is the old man?"
"The burgomaster, doubtless. He and the priest are always the most influential men in a village."
The conference was waxing warmer, the lieutenant was talking in a loud voice, and once he shook his fist menacingly; again there was a wail of protest from the crowd—women were wringing their hands——
"He is demanding more than the village can supply," remarked the girl. "That is not surprising," she added, with a bitter smile. "They will always demand more than can be supplied. But come; we must be getting on."
Stewart would have liked to see the end of the drama, but he followed his companion over the wall at the side of the road, and then around the village and along the rough hillside. Suddenly from the houses below arose a hideous tumult—shouts, curses, the smashing of glass—and in a moment, a flood of people, wailing, screaming, shaking their fists in the air, burst from the town and swept along the road in the direction of Herve.
"They would better have given all that was demanded," said the girl, looking down at them. "Now they will be made to serve as an example to other villages—they will lose everything—even their houses—see!"
Following the direction of her pointing finger, Stewart saw a black cloud of smoke bulging up from one end of the village.
"But surely," he gasped, "they're not burning it! They wouldn't dare do that!"
"Why not?"
"Isn't looting prohibited by the rules of war?"
"Certainly—looting and the destruction of property of non-combatants."
"Well, then——"
But he stopped, staring helplessly. The cloud of smoke grew in volume, and below it could be seen red tongues of flame. There before him was the hideous reality—and he suddenly realized how futile it was to make laws for anything so essentially lawless as war, or to expect niceties of conduct from men thrown back into a state of barbarism.
"What do the rules of war matter to a nation which considers treaties mere scraps of paper?" asked the girl, in a hard voice. "Their very presence here in Belgium is a violation of the rules of war. Besides, it is the German theory that war should be ruthless—that the enemy must be intimidated, ravaged, despoiled in every possible way. They say that the more merciless it is, the briefer it will be. It is possible that they are not altogether wrong."
"True," muttered Stewart. "But it is a heartless theory."
"War is a heartless thing," commented his companion, turning away. "It is best not to think too much about it. Come—we must be going on."
They pushed forward again, keeping the road, with its rabble of frenzied fugitives, at their right. It was a wild and beautiful country, and under other circumstances, Stewart would have gazed in admiring wonder at its rugged cliffs, its deep precipitous valleys, its thickly-wooded hillsides; but now these appeared to him only as so many obstacles between him and safety.
At last the valley opened out, and below them they saw the clustered roofs of another village, which could only be Herve. Around it were broad pastures and fields of yellow grain, and suddenly the girl caught Stewart by the arm.
"Look!" she said, and pointed to the field lying nearest them.
A number of old men, women, and children were cutting the grain, tying it into sheaves, and piling the sheaves into stacks, under the supervision of four men. Those four men were clothed in greenish-gray and carried rifles in their hands! The invaders were stripping the grain from the fields in order to feed their army!
As he contemplated this scene, Stewart felt, mixed with his horror and detestation, a sort of unwilling admiration. Evidently, as his companion had said, when Germany made war, she made war. She was ruthlessly thorough. She allowed no sentiment, no feeling of pity, no weakening compassion, to interfere between her and her goal. She went to war with but one purpose: to win; and she was determined to win, no matter what the cost! Stewart shivered at the thought. Whether she won or lost, how awful that cost must be!
The fugitives went on again at last, working their way around the village, keeping always in the shelter of the woods along the hillsides, and after a weary journey, came out on the other side above the line of the railroad. A sentry, with fixed bayonet, stood guard over a solitary engine; except for him, the road seemed quite deserted. For half a mile they toiled along over the rough hillside above it without seeing anyone else.
"We can't keep this up," said Stewart, flinging himself upon the ground. "We shall have to take to the road if we are to make any progress. Do you think we'd better risk it?"
"Let us watch it for a while," the girl suggested, so they sat and watched it and munched their sandwiches, and talked in broken snatches. Ten minutes passed, but no one came in sight.
"It seems quite safe," she said at last, and together they made their way down to it.
"The next village is Fléron," said Stewart, consulting his rough map. "It is apparently about four miles from here. Liège is about ten miles further. Can we make it to-night?"
"We must!" said the girl, fiercely. "Come!"
The road descended steadily along the valley of a pretty river, closed in on either side by densely-wooded hills. Here and there among the trees, they caught glimpses of white villas; below them, along the river, there was an occasional cluster of houses; but they saw few people. Either the inhabitants of this land had fled before the enemy, or were keeping carefully indoors out of his way.
Once the fugitives had an alarm, for a hand-car, manned by a squad of German soldiers, came spinning past; but fortunately Stewart heard it singing along the rails in time to pull his companion into a clump of underbrush. A little later, along the highway by the river, they saw a patrol of Uhlans riding, and then they came to Fléron and took to the hills to pass around it. Here, too, clouds of black smoke hung heavy above certain of the houses, which, for some reason, had been made the marks of German reprisals; and once, above the trees to their right, they saw a column of smoke drifting upward, marking the destruction of some isolated dwelling.
The sun was sinking toward the west by the time they again reached the railroad, and they were both desperately weary; but neither had any thought of rest. The shadows deepened rapidly among the hills, but the darkness was welcome, for it meant added safety. By the time they reached Bois de Breux, night had come in earnest, so they made only a short détour, and were soon back on the railroad again, with scarcely five miles to go. For an hour longer they plodded on through the darkness, snatching a few minutes' rest once or twice; too weary to talk, or to look to right or left.
Then, as they turned a bend in the road, they drew back in alarm; for just ahead of them, close beside the track, a bright fire was burning, lighting up the black entrance of a tunnel, before which stood a sentry leaning on his rifle. Five or six other soldiers, wearing flat fatigue caps, were lolling about the fire, smoking and talking in low tones.
Stewart surveyed them curiously. They were big, good-humored-looking fellows, fathers of families doubtless—honest men with kindly hearts. It seemed absurd to suppose that such men as these would loot villages and burn houses and outrage women; it seemed absurd that anyone should fear them or hide from them. Stewart, with a feeling that all this threat of war was a chimera, had an impulse to go forward boldly and join them beside the fire. He was sure they would welcome him, make a place for him——
"Wer da?" called, sharply, a voice behind him, and he spun around to find himself facing a leveled rifle, behind which he could see dimly the face of a man wearing a spiked helmet—a patrol, no doubt, who had seen them as they stood carelessly outlined against the fire, and who had crept upon them unheard.
"We are friends," Stewart answered, hastily.
The soldier motioned them forward to the fire. The men there had caught up their rifles at the sound of the challenge, and stood peering anxiously out into the darkness. But when the two captives came within the circle of light cast by the fire, they stacked their guns and sat down again. Evidently they saw nothing threatening in the appearance of either Stewart or his companion.
Their captor added his gun to the stack and motioned them to sit down. Then he doffed his heavy helmet with evident relief and hung it on his rifle, got out a soft cap like the others', and finally sat down opposite his prisoners and looked at them closely.
"What are you doing here?" he demanded in German.
"We are trying to get through to Brussels," answered Stewart, in the best German he could muster. "I have not much German. Do you speak English?"
"No. Are you English?" And the blue eyes glinted with an unfriendly light which Stewart was at a loss to understand.
"We are Americans," and Stewart saw with relief that the man's face softened perceptibly. On the chance that, if the soldier could not speak English, neither could he read it, he impressively produced his passport. "Here is our safe-conduct from our Secretary of State," he said. "You will see that it is sealed with the seal of the United States. My brother and I were passed at Herbesthal, but could find no conveyance and started to walk. We lost our way, but stumbled upon the railroad some miles back and decided to follow it until we came to a village. How far away is the nearest village?"
"I do not know," said the man, curtly; but he took the passport and stared at it curiously. Then he passed it around the circle, and it finally came back to its owner, who placed it in his pocket.
"You find it correct?" Stewart inquired.
"I know nothing about it. You must wait until our officer arrives."
Stewart felt a sickening sensation at his heart, but he managed to smile.
"He will not be long, I hope," he said. "We are very tired and hungry."
"He will not be long," answered the other, shortly, and got out a long pipe, but Stewart stopped him with a gesture.
"Try one of these," he said, quickly, and brought out his handful of cigars and passed them around.
The men grinned their thanks, and were soon puffing away with evident enjoyment. But to Stewart the single cigar he had kept for himself seemed strangely savorless. He glanced at his companion. She was sitting hunched up, her arms about her knees, staring thoughtfully at the fire.
"This man says we must wait here until their officer arrives," he explained in English. "My brother does not understand German," he added to the men.
"How stupid!" said the girl. "I am so tired and stiff!"
"It is no use to argue with them, I suppose?"
"No. They will refuse to decide anything for themselves. They rely wholly upon their officers."
She rose wearily, stretched herself, stamped her foot as if it were asleep, and then sat down again and closed her eyes. She looked very young and fragile, and was shivering from head to foot.
"My brother is not strong," said Stewart to the attentive group. "I fear all this hardship and exposure will be more than he can bear."
One of the men, with a gesture of sympathy, rose, unrolled his blanket, and spread it on the bank behind the fire.
"Let the young man lie down there," he said.
"Oh, thank you!" cried Stewart. "Come, Tommy," he added, touching the girl on the arm. "Suppose you lie down till the officer comes."
She opened her eyes, saw the blanket, nodded sleepily, and, still shivering, followed Stewart to it, lay down, permitted him to roll her in it, and apparently dropped off to sleep on the instant. Stewart returned to the circle about the fire, nodding his satisfaction. They all smiled, as men do who have performed a kind action.
But Stewart, though doing his best to keep a placid countenance, was far from easy in his mind. One thing was certain—they must escape before the officer arrived. He, no doubt, would be able both to read and speak English, and the passport would betray them at once. For without question, a warning had been flashed from headquarters to every patrol to arrest the holder of that passport, and to send him and his companion, under close guard, back to Herbesthal. But how to escape!
Stewart glanced carefully about him, cursing the carelessness that had brought them into this trap, the imbecility which had held them staring at this outpost, instead of taking instantly to the woods, as they should have done. They deserved to be captured! Nevertheless——
The sentry was pacing slowly back and forth at the tunnel entrance, fifteen yards away; the other men were lolling about the fire, half-asleep. It would be possible, doubtless, to bolt into the darkness before they could grab their rifles, so there was only the sentry to fear, and the danger from him would not be very great. But it would be necessary to keep to the track for some distance, because, where it dropped into the tunnel, its sides were precipices impossible to scale in the darkness. The danger, then, lay in the fact that the men might have time to snatch up their rifles and empty them along the track before the fugitives would be able to leave it. But it was a danger which must be faced—there was no other way. Once in the woods, they would be safe.
Stewart, musing over the situation with eyes half-closed, recalled dim memories of daring escapes from Indians and outlaws, described in detail in the blood-and-thunder reading of his youth. There was always one ruse which never failed—just as the pursuers were about to fire, the fugitive would fling himself flat on his face, and the bullets would fly harmlessly over him; then he would spring to his feet and go safely on his way. Stewart smiled to remember how religiously he had believed in that stratagem, and how he had determined to practice it, if ever need arose! He had never contemplated the possibility of having to flee from a squad of men armed with magazine rifles, capable of firing twenty-five shots a minute!
Then he shook these thoughts away; there was no time to be lost. He must warn his companion, for they must make the dash at the same instant. He glanced toward where she lay in the shadow of the cliff, and saw that she was turning restlessly from side to side, as though fevered. With real anxiety, he hastened to her, knelt beside her, and placed his hand gently on her forehead. At the touch, she opened her eyes and stared dazedly up at him.
"Ask for some water," she said, weakly; and then, in the same tone, "we must flee at the moment they salute their officer."
Stewart turned to the soldiers, who were listening with inquiring faces.
"My brother is feverish," he explained. "He asks for a drink of water."
One of the men was instantly on his feet, unscrewing his canteen and holding it to the eager lips while Stewart supported his comrade's head. She drank eagerly and then dropped back with a sigh of satisfaction, and closed her eyes.
"He will go to sleep now," said Stewart. "Thank you," and he himself took a drink from the proffered flask.
He was surprised to find how cool and fresh the water tasted, and when he looked at the flask more closely, he saw that it was made like a Thermos bottle, with outer and inner shells. He handed it back to its owner with a nod of admiration.
"That is very clever," he said. "Everything seems to have been thought of."
"Yes, everything," agreed the other. "No army is equipped like ours. I am told that the French are in rags."
"I don't know," said Stewart, cautiously, "I have never seen them."
"And their army is not organized; we shall be in Paris before they can mobilize. It will be 1870 over again. The war will be ended in two or three months. It has been promised us that we shall be home again for Christmas without fail."
"I hope you will," Stewart agreed; and there was a moment's silence. "How much longer shall we have to wait?" he asked, at last.
"Our officer should be here at any moment."
"It is absolutely necessary that we wait for him?"
"Yes, absolutely."
"We are very hungry," Stewart explained.
The soldier pondered for a moment, and then rose to his feet.
"I think I can give you food," he said. "It is permitted to give food, is it not?" he asked his comrades; and when they nodded, he opened his knapsack and took out a package of hard, square biscuits and a thick roll of sausage. He cut the sausage into generous slices, while Stewart watched with watering mouth, placed a slice on each of the biscuits, and passed them over.
"Splendid!" cried Stewart. "I don't know how to thank you. But at least I can pay you," and he dove into his pocket and produced a ten-mark piece—his last. The soldier shook his head. "It is for the whole squad," added Stewart, persuasively. "You will be needing tobacco some day, and this will come in handy!"
The soldier smiled, took the little coin, and placed it carefully in his pocket.
"You are right about the tobacco," he said. "I thank you."
He sat down again before the fire, while Stewart hastened to his companion and dropped to his knees beside her.
"See what I've got!" he cried. "Food!"
She opened her eyes, struggled to a sitting posture, and held out an eager hand. A moment later, they were both munching the sausage and biscuits as though they had never tasted anything so delicious—as, indeed, they never had!
"Oh, how good that was!" she said, when the last crumb was swallowed, and she waved her thanks to the watching group about the fire. "Remember," she added, in a lower tone, as she sank back upon her elbow, "the instant——"
She stopped, staring toward the tunnel, one hand grasping the blanket.
Stewart, following her look, saw the sentry stiffen, turn on his heel, and hold his rifle rigidly in front of him, as a tall figure, clad in a long gray coat and carrying an electric torch, stepped out of the darkness of the tunnel. At the same instant, the men about the fire sprang to their feet.
"Now!" cried the girl, and threw back the blanket.
In an instant, hand in hand, they had glided into the darkness.
A savage voice behind them shouted, "Halt!" and then a bullet sang past and a rifle went off with a noise like a cannon—or so it seemed to Stewart; then another and another. It was the sentry, of course, pumping bullets after them. Stewart's flesh crept at the thought that any instant might bring a volley, which would sweep the track with a storm of lead. If he could only look back, if he only knew——
Suddenly the girl pulled him to the right, and he saw there was a cleft in the steep bank. Even as they sprang into it, the volley came, and then a second and a third, and then the sound of shouting voices and running feet.
Savagely the fugitives fought their way upward, over rocks, through briars—scratched, torn, bleeding, panting for breath. Even in the daytime it would have been a desperate scramble; now it soon became a sort of horrid nightmare, which might end at any instant at the bottom of a cliff. More than once Stewart told himself that he could not go on, that his heart would burst if he took another step—and yet hedidgo on, up and up, close behind his comrade, who seemed borne on invisible wings.
At last she stopped and pressed close against him. He could feel how her heart was thumping.
"Wait!" she panted. "Listen!"
Not a sound broke the stillness of the wood.
"I think we are safe," she said. "Let us rest a while."
They sat down, side by side, on a great rock. Gradually their gasping breath slackened and the pounding of their hearts grew quieter.
"I have lost my cap," she said, at last. "A branch snatched it off and I did not dare to stop."
Stewart put his hand to his head and found that his hat also was gone. Until that instant he had not missed it.
"I feel as if I had been flayed," he said. "Those briars were downright savage. It was lucky we didn't break a leg—or stop a bullet."
"We must not run such risks again. We must keep clear of roads—the Germans seem to be everywhere. Let us keep on until we reach the crest of this hill, and then we can rest till daylight."
"All right," agreed Stewart. "Where thou goest, I will go. But please remember I don't travel on angelic wings as you do, but on very human legs! And they are very tired!"
"So are mine!" she laughed. "But we cannot remain here, can we?"
"No," said Stewart, "I suppose not," and he arose and followed her.
The ground grew less rough as they proceeded, and at last they came to the end of the wood. Overhead, a full moon was sinking toward the west—a moon which lighted every rock and crevice of the rolling meadow before them, and which seemed to them, after the darkness of the woods and the valleys, as brilliant as the sun.
"We must be nearly at the top," said the girl. "These hills almost all have meadows on their summits where the peasants pasture their flocks."
And so it proved, for beyond the meadow was another narrow strip of woodland, and as they came to its farther edge, the fugitives stopped with a gasp of astonishment.
Below them stretched a broad valley, and as far as the eye could reach, it was dotted with flaring fires.
"The German army!" said the girl, and the two stood staring.
Evidently a countless host lay camped below them, but no sound reached them, save the occasional rumble of a train along some distant track. The Kaiser's legions were sleeping until the dawn should give the signal for the advance—an advance which would be as the sweep of an avalanche, hideous, irresistible, remorseless, crushing everything in its path.
"Oh, look, look!" cried the girl, and caught him by the arm.
To the west, seemingly quite near, a flash of flame gleamed against the sky, then another and another and another, and in a moment a savage rumble as of distant thunder drifted to their ears.
"What is it?" asked Stewart, staring at the ever-increasing bursts of flame. "Not a battle, surely!"
"It is the forts at Liège!" cried the girl, hoarsely. "The Germans are attacking them, and they resist! Oh, brave little Belgium!"
The firing grew more furious, and then a battery of searchlights began to play over the hillside before the nearest fort, and they could dimly see its outline on the hilltop—strangely like a dreadnaught, with its wireless mast and its armored turrets vomiting flame. Above it, from time to time, a shell from the German batteries burst like a greenish-white rocket, but it was evident that the assailants had not yet got their guns up in any number.
Then, suddenly, amid the thunder of the cannon, there surged a vicious undercurrent of sound which Stewart knew must be the reports of machine-guns, or perhaps of rifles; and all along the slope below the fort innumerable little flashes stabbed upward toward the summit. Surely infantry would never attack such a position, Stewart told himself; and then he held his breath, for, full in the glare of the searchlights, he could see what seemed to be a tidal wave sweeping up the hill.
A very fury of firing came from the fort, yet still the wave swept on. As it neared the fort, what seemed to be another wave swept down to meet it. The firing slackened, almost stopped, and Stewart, his blood pounding in his temples, knew that the struggle was hand to hand, breast to breast. It lasted but a minute; then the attacking tide flowed back down the hill, and again the machine-guns of the fort took up that deadly chorus.
"They have been driven back!" gasped the girl. "Thank God! the Germans have been driven back!"
How many, Stewart wondered, were lying out there dead on the hillside? How many homes had been rendered fatherless in those few desperate moments? And this was but the first of a thousand such charges—the first of a thousand such moments! There, before his eyes, men had killed each other—for what? The men in the forts were defending their Fatherland from invasion—they were fighting for liberty and independence. That was understandable—it was even admirable. But those others—the men in the spiked helmets—what were they fighting for? To destroy liberty? To wrest independence from a proud little people? Surely no man of honor would fight for that! No, it must be for something else—for some ideal—for some ardent sense of duty, strangely twisted, perhaps, but none the less fierce and urgent!
Again the big guns in the armored turrets were bellowing forth their wrath; and then the searchlights stabbed suddenly up into the sky, sweeping this way and that.
"They fear an airship attack!" breathed the girl, and she and Stewart stood staring up into the night.
Shells from the German guns began again to burst about the fort, but its own guns were silent, and it lay there crouching as if in terror. Only its searchlights swept back and forth.
Suddenly a gun spoke—they could see the flash of its discharge, seemingly straight up into the air; then a second and a third; and then the searchlights caught the great bulk of a Zeppelin and held it clearly outlined as it swept across the sky. There was a furious burst of firing, but the ship sped on unharmed, passed beyond the range of the searchlights, blotted out the setting moon for an instant, and was gone.
"It did not dare pass over the fort," said the girl. "It was flying too low. Perhaps it will come back at a greater altitude. I have seen them at the maneuvers in Alsace—frightful things, moving like the wind."
This way and that the searchlights swept in great arcs across the heavens, in frenzied search for this monster of the air; but it did not return. Perhaps it had been damaged by the gunfire—or perhaps, Stewart told himself with a shiver, it was speeding on toward Paris, to rain terror from the August sky!
Gradually the firing ceased; but the more distant forts were using their searchlights, too. Seeing them all aroused and vigilant, the Germans did not attack again; their surprise had failed; now they must wait for their heavy guns.
"Well," asked Stewart, at last, "what now?"
"I think it would be well to stay here till morning—then we can see how the army is placed and how best to get past it. It is evident we cannot go on to-night."
"I'm deadly tired," said Stewart, looking about him into the darkness, "but I should like a softer bed than the bare ground."
"Let us go to the edge of this meadow," the girl suggested. "Perhaps we shall find another field of grain."
But luck was against them. Beyond the meadow the woods began again.
"The meadow is better than the woods," said Stewart. "At least it has some grass on it—the woods have nothing but rocks!"
"Let us stay in the shelter of the hedge. Then, if a patrol happens into the field before we are awake, it will not see us. Perhaps they will attempt a pursuit in the morning. They will guess that we have headed for the west."
"I don't think there's much danger—it would be like hunting for a needle in a haystack—in a dozen haystacks! But won't you be cold?"
"Oh, no," she protested, quickly; "the night is quite warm. Good-night, my friend."
"Good-night," Stewart answered, and withdrew a few steps and made himself as comfortable as he could.
There were irritating bumps in the ground which seemed to come exactly in the wrong place; but he finally adjusted himself, and lay and looked up at the stars, and wondered what the morrow would bring forth. He was growing a little weary of the adventure. He was growing weary of the restraint which the situation imposed upon him. He was aching to take this girl in his arms and hold her close, and whisper three words—just three!—into her rosy ear—but to do that now, to do it until they were in safety, until she had no further need of him, would be a cowardly thing—a cowardly thing—a cowardly——
He was awakened by a touch on the arm, and opened his eyes to find the sun high in the heavens and his comrade looking down at him with face almost equally radiant.
"I did not like to wake you," she said, "but it is getting late."
Stewart sat up and rubbed his eyes and looked at her again. Her hair was neatly combed, her face was fresh and shining, her hands showed some ugly scratches but were scrupulously clean. Even her clothing, though torn here and there, had evidently been carefully brushed.
"What astounds me," said Stewart, deliberately, "is how you do it. You spend the first half of the night scrambling over rocks and through briars, and the second half sleeping on the bare ground, and you emerge in the morning as fresh and radiant as though you had just stepped from your boudoir. I wish I knew the secret."
"Come and I will show you," she said, laughing gayly, and she led him away into the wood.
Presently he heard the sound of falling water, and his guide brought him triumphantly to a brook gurgling over mossy rocks, at whose foot was a shallow basin.
"There is my boudoir," she said. "The secret of beauty is in the bath. I will reconnoiter the neighborhood while you try it for yourself."
Stewart flung off his clothes, splashed joyously into the cold, clear water, and had perhaps the most delicious bath of his life. There was no soap, to be sure, but much may be done by persistent rubbing; and there were no towels, but the warm wind of the morning made them almost unnecessary. He got back into his clothes again with a sense of astonishing well-being—except for a most persistent gnawing at his stomach.
"I wonder where we shall breakfast to-day?" he mused as he laced his shoes. "Nowhere, most probably! Oh, well, if that dear girl can stand it, I oughtn't to complain!"
And he fell to thinking of her, of her slim grace, of the curve of her red lips——
"Confound it!" he said. "I can't stand it much longer. Friendship is all very well, and the big brother act may do for a while—but I can't keep it up forever, and what's more, I won't!"
And then he heard her calling, in the clear, high voice he had grown to love.
"All right!" he shouted. "Come along!"
Presently she appeared between the trees, and he watched her with beating heart—so straight, so supple, so perfect in every line.
"Did the magic work?" she inquired, gayly.
"Partly; but it takes more than water to remove a two-days' growth of beard," and Stewart ran a rueful finger over his stubbly chin. "But can it be only two days since you burst into my room at the Kölner Hof, and threw your arms around my neck and kissed me!"
"Please do not speak of it!" she pleaded, with crimson cheeks. "It was not an easy thing for a girl to do; but that spy was watching—so I nerved myself, and——"
"You did it very well, indeed," he said, reminiscently. "And to think that not once since then——"
"Once was quite enough."
"Oh, I don't blame you; I know I'm not an attractive object. People will be taking us for beauty and the beast."
"Neither the one nor the other!" she corrected.
"Well, I take back the beast; but not the beauty! You are the loveliest thing I ever saw," he added, huskily. "The very loveliest!"
She looked down at him for an instant, and her eyes were very tender; then she looked hastily away.
"There were to be no compliments until we were out of Germany," she reminded him.
"We are out of Germany," he said, and got slowly to his feet, his eyes on fire.
"No, no," she protested, backing hastily away from him. "This is German ground—let me show you!" and she ran before him out into the meadow. "Look down yonder!"
Looking down, Stewart saw the mighty army which had been mustered to crush France.
As far as the eye could reach, and from side to side of the broad valley, it stretched—masses of men and horses and wagons and artillery—masses and masses—thousands upon thousands—mile upon mile. A broad highway ran along either side of the river, and along each road a compact host moved steadily westward toward Liège.
Suddenly from the west came the thunder of heavy guns, and Stewart knew that the attack had commenced again. Again men were being driven forward to death, as they would be driven day after day, until the end, whatever that might be. And whatever it was, not a single dead man could be brought to life; not a single maimed man made whole; not a single dollar of the treasure which was being poured out like a flood could be recovered. It was all lost, wasted, worse than wasted, since it was being used to destroy, not to create! Incredible—impossible—it could not be! Even with that mighty army beneath his eyes, Stewart told himself for the hundredth time that it could not be!
The voice of his comrade broke in upon his thoughts.
"We must work our way westward along the hills until we come to the Meuse," she said. "This is the valley of the Vesdre, which flows into the Meuse, so we have only to follow it."
"Can't you prevail upon your fairy godmother to provide breakfast first?" asked Stewart. "I'm sure you have only to wish for it, and the table would appear laden with an iced melon, bacon and eggs, crisp rolls, yellow butter, and a pot of coffee—I think I can smell the coffee!" He closed his eyes and sniffed. "How perfect it would be to sit right here and eat that breakfast and watch the Germans! Oh, well," he added, as she turned away, "if not here, then somewhere else. Wait! Isn't that a house over yonder?"
It was indeed a tiny house whose gable just showed among the trees, and they made their way cautiously toward it. It stood at the side of a small garden, with two or three outbuildings about it, and it was shielded on one side by an orchard. No smoke rose from the chimney, nor was there any sign of life.
And then Stewart, who had been crouching behind the hedge beside his companion, looking at all this, rose suddenly to his feet and started forward.
"Come on," he cried; "the Germans haven't been this way—there's a chicken," and he pointed to where a plump hen was scratching industriously under the hedge.
"Here is another sign," said the girl, as they crossed the garden, and pointed to the ground. "The potatoes and turnips have not been dug."
"It must be here we're going to have that breakfast!" cried Stewart, and knocked triumphantly at the door.
There was no response and he knocked again. Then he tried the door, but it was locked. There was another door at the rear of the house, but it also was locked. There were also three windows, but they were all tightly closed with wooden shutters.
"We've got to have something to eat, that's certain," said Stewart, doggedly. "We shall have to break in," and he looked about for a weapon with which to attack the door.
"No, no," protested the girl, quickly. "That would be too like the Uhlans! Let us see if there is not some other way!"
"What other way can there be?"
"Perhaps there is none," she answered; "and if there is not, we will go on our way, and leave this house undamaged. You too seem to have been poisoned by this virus of war!"
"I only know I'm starving!" said Stewart. "If I've been poisoned by anything, it's by the virus of appetite!"
"If you were in your own country, and found yourself hungry, would you break into the first house you came to in order to get food?" she demanded. "Certainly not—you would do without food before you would do that. Is it not so?"
"Yes," said Stewart, in a low tone. "That is so. You are right."
"Perhaps I can find something," she said, more gently. "At least I will try. Remain here for a moment," and she hurried away toward the outbuildings.
Stewart stared out into the road and reflected how easy—how inevitable almost—it was to become a robber among thieves, a murderer among cut-throats. And he understood how it happens that in war even the kindliest man may become blood-thirsty, even the most honest a looter of defenseless homes.
"See what I have found!" cried a voice, and he turned to see the girl running toward him with hands outstretched. In each hand she held three eggs.
"Very well for a beginning," he commented. "Now for the melon, the bacon, the rolls, the butter, and the coffee!"
"I fear that those must wait," she said. "Here is your breakfast," and she handed him three of the eggs.
Stewart looked at them rather blankly.
"Thanks!" he said. "But I don't quite see——"
"Then watch!"
Sitting down on the door-step, she cracked one of her eggs gently, picked away the loosened bit of shell at its end, and put the egg to her lips.
"Oh!" he said. "Sothat'sit!" and sitting down beside her, he followed her example.
He had heard of sucking eggs, but he had never before tried it, and he found it rather difficult and not particularly pleasant. But the first egg undoubtedly did assuage the pangs of hunger; the second assuaged them still more, and the third quite extinguished them. In fact, he felt a little surfeited.
"Now," she said, "for the dessert."
"Dessert!" protested Stewart. "Is there dessert? Why didn't you tell me? I never heard of dessert for breakfast, and I'm afraid I haven't room for it!"
"It will keep!" she assured him, and leading him around the larger of the outbuildings, she showed him a tree hanging thick with ruddy apples. "There are our supplies for the campaign!" she announced.
"My compliments!" he said. "You would make a great general."
They ate one or two apples and then filled their pockets. From one of hers, the girl drew a pipe and pouch of tobacco.
"Would you not like to smoke?" she asked. "I have been told that a pipe is a great comfort in times of stress!"
And Stewart, calling down blessings upon her head, filled up. Never had tobacco tasted so good, never had that old pipe seemed so sweet, as when he blew out the first puff upon the morning air.
"Salvation Yeo was right," he said. "As a hungry man's food, a sad man's cordial, a chilly man's fire, there's nothing like it under the canopy of heaven! I only wish you could enjoy it too!"
"I can enjoy your enjoyment!" she laughed as they set happily off together.
At the corner of the wood, Stewart turned for a last look at the house.
"How glad I am I didn't break in!" he said.
The sound of cannonading grew fiercer and fiercer, as they advanced, and the undertone of rifle fire more perceptible. It was evident that the Germans were rapidly getting more and more guns into action, and that the infantry attack was also being hotly pressed. Below them in the valley, they caught glimpses from time to time, as the trees opened out a little, of the gray-clad host marching steadily forward, as though to overwhelm the forts by sheer weight of numbers; and then, as they came out above a rocky bluff, they saw a new sight—an earnest that the Belgians were fighting to some purpose.
In a level field beside the road a long tent had been pitched, and above it floated the flag of the Red Cross. Toward it, along the road, came slowly a seemingly endless line of motor ambulances. Each of them in turn stopped opposite the tent, and white-clad assistants lifted out the stretchers, each with its huddled occupant, and carried them quickly, yet very carefully, inside the tent. In a moment the bearers were back again, pushed the empty stretchers into place, and the ambulance turned and sped swiftly back toward the battlefield. Here, too, it was evident that there was admirable and smoothly-working system—a system which alleviated, so far as it was possible to do so, the horror and the suffering of battle.
Stewart could close his eyes and see what was going on inside that tent. He could set the stripping away of the clothing, the hasty examination, the sterilization of the wound, and then, if an operation was necessary, the quick preparation, the application of the ether-cone and the swift, unerring flash of the surgeon's knife.
"That's where I should be," he said, half to himself, "I might be of some use there!" And then he turned his eyes eastward along the road. "Great heavens! Look at that gun."
Along the road below them came a monstrous cannon, mounted on a low, broad-wheeled truck, and drawn by a mighty tractor. It was of a girth so huge, of a weight evidently so tremendous, that it seemed impossible it could be handled at all, and yet it rolled along as smoothly as though it were the merest toy. Above it stretched the heavy crane which would swing it into the air and place it gently on the trunnions of its carriage. Drawn by another tractor, the carriage itself came close behind—more huge, more impressive if possible, than the gun itself. Its tremendous wheels were encircled with heavy blocks of steel, linked together and undulating along the road for all the world like a monster caterpillar; its massive trail seemed forged to withstand the shock of an earthquake.
"So that is the surprise!" murmured the girl beneath her breath.
And she was right. This was the surprise which had been kept so carefully concealed—the Krupp contribution to the war—the largest field howitzer ever built, hurling a missile so powerful that neither steel nor stone nor armored concrete could stand against it.
In awed silence, the two fugitives watched this mighty engine of destruction pass along the road to its appointed task. Behind it came a motor truck carrying its crew, and then a long train of ammunition carts filled with what looked like wicker baskets—but within each of those baskets lay a shell weighing a thousand pounds! And as it passed, the troops, opening to right and left, cheered it wildly, for to them it meant more than victory—it meant that they would, perhaps, be spared the desperate charge with its almost certain death.
Scarcely had the first gone by, when a second gun came rolling along the road, followed by its crew and its ammunition-train; and then a third appeared, seemingly more formidable than either of the others.
"These Germans are certainly a wonderful people," said Stewart, following the three monsters with his eyes as they dwindled away westward along the road. "They may be vain and arrogant and self-confident; apparently they haven't much regard for the rights of others. But they are thorough. We must give them credit for that! They are prepared for everything."
"Yes," agreed his companion; "for everything except one thing."
"And that?"
"The spirit of a people who love liberty. Neither cannon nor armies can conquer that! The German Staff believed that Belgium would stand aside in fear."
"Surely you don't expect Belgium to win?"
"Oh, no! But every day she holds the German army here is a battle won for France. Oh, France will honor Belgium now! See—the army has been stopped. It is no longer advancing!"
What was happening to the westward they could not see, or even guess, but it was true that the helmeted host had ceased its march, had broken ranks, and was stacking arms and throwing off its accouterments in the fields along the road. The halt was to be for some time, it seemed, for everywhere camp-kitchens were being hauled into place, fires started, food unloaded.
"Come on! come on!" urged the girl. "We must reach the Meuse before this tide rolls across it."
They pressed forward again along the wooded hillside. Twice they had to cross deep valleys which ran back into the mountain, and once they had a narrow escape from a cavalry patrol which came cantering past so close upon their heels that they had barely time to throw themselves into the underbrush. They could see, too, that even in the hills caution was necessary, for raiding parties had evidently struck up into them, as was proved by an occasional column of smoke rising from a burning house. Once they came upon an old peasant with a face wrinkled like a withered apple, sitting staring down at the German host, so preoccupied that he did not even raise his eyes as they passed. And at last they came out above the broad plain where the Vesdre flows into the Meuse.
Liège, with its towers and terraced streets, was concealed from them by a bend in the river and by a bold bluff which thrust out toward it from the east—a bluff crowned by a turreted fortress—perhaps the same they had seen the night before—which was vomiting flame and iron down into the valley.
The trees and bushes which clothed its sides concealed the infantry which was doubtless lying there, but in the valley just below them they could see a battery of heavy guns thundering against the Belgian fort. So rapidly were they served that the roar of their discharge was almost continuous, while high above it rose the scream of the shells as they hurtled toward their mark. There was something fascinating in the precise, calculated movement of the gunners—one crouching on the trail, one seated on either side of the breech, four others passing up the shells from the caisson close at hand. Their officer was watching the effect of the fire through a field-glass, and speaking a word of direction now and then.
Their fire was evidently taking effect, for it was this battery which the gunners in the fort were trying to silence—trying blindly, for the German guns were masked by a high hedge and a strip of orchard, and only a tenuous, quickly-vanishing wisp of white smoke marked the discharge. So the Belgian gunners dropped their shells hither and yon, hoping that chance might send one of them home.
They did not find the battery, but they found other marks—a beautiful white villa, on the first slope of the hillside, was torn asunder like a house of cards and a moment later was in flames; a squad of cavalry, riding gayly back from a reconnoissance down the river, was violently scattered; a peasant family, father and mother and three children, hastening along the road to a place of safety, was instantly blotted out.
It was evident now that the Meuse was the barrier which had stopped the army. Far up toward Liège were the ruins of a bridge, and no doubt all the others had been blown up by the Belgians.
Down by the river-bank a large force of engineers were working like mad to throw a pontoon across the swift current. The material had already been brought up—heavy, flat-bottomed boats, carried on wagons drawn by motor-tractors, great beams and planks, boxes of bolts—everything, in a word, needed to build this bridge just here at a point which had no doubt been selected long in advance! The bridge shot out into the river with a speed which seemed to Stewart almost miraculous. Boat after boat was towed into place and anchored firmly; great beams were bolted into position, each of them fitting exactly; and then the heavy planks were laid with the precision and rapidity of a machine. Indeed, Stewart told himself, it was really a machine that he was watching—a machine of flesh and blood, wonderfully trained for just such feats as this.
"Look! look!" cried the girl, and Stewart, following her pointing finger, saw an aëroplane sweeping toward them from the direction of the city. Evidently the defenders of the fort, weary of firing blindly at a battery they could not see, were sending a scout to uncover it.
The aëroplane flew very high at first—so high that the two men in it appeared the merest specks, but almost at once two high-angle guns were banging away at it, though the shells fell far short. Gradually it circled lower and lower, as if quite unconscious of the marksmen in the valley, and as it swept past the hill, Stewart glimpsed the men quite plainly—one with his hands upon the levers, the other, with a pair of glasses to his eyes, eagerly scanning the ground beneath.
And then Stewart, happening to glance toward the horizon, was held enthralled by a new spectacle. High over the hills to the east flew a mammoth shape, straight toward the fort. Its defenders saw their danger instantly, and hastily elevating some of their guns, greeted the Zeppelin with a salvo. But it came straight on with incredible speed, and as it passed above the fort, a terrific explosion shook the mountain to its base. Stewart, staring with bated breath, told himself that that was the end, that not one stone of that great fortress remained upon another; but an instant later, another volley sent after the fleeing airship told that the fort still stood—that the bomb had missed its mark.
The aëroplane scouts, their vision shadowed by the broad wings of their machine, had not seen the Zeppelin until the explosion brought them sharp round toward it. Then, with a sudden upward swoop, they leaped forward in pursuit. But nothing could overtake that monster,—it was speeding too fast, it was already far away, and in a moment disappeared over the hills to the west. So, after a moment's breathless flight, the biplane turned, circled slowly above the fort, and dropped down toward the town behind it.
Five minutes later, a high-powered shell burst squarely in the midst of the German battery, disabling two of the guns. At once the horses were driven up and the remaining guns whirled away to a new emplacement, while a passing motor ambulance was stopped to pick up the wounded.
Stewart, who had been watching all this with something of the feelings of a spectator at some tremendous panorama, was suddenly conscious of a mighty stream of men approaching the river from the head of the valley. A regiment of cavalry rode in front, their long lances giving them an appearance indescribably picturesque; behind them came column after column of infantry, moving like clock-work, their gray uniforms blending so perfectly with the background that it was difficult to tell where the columns began or where they ended. Their passage reminded Stewart of the quiver of heat above a sultry landscape—a vibration of the air scarcely perceptible.
All the columns were converging on the river, and looking toward it, Stewart saw that the bridge was almost done. As the last planks were laid, a squadron of Uhlans, which had been held in readiness, dashed across, and deploying fanshape, advanced to reconnoiter the country on the other side.
"That looks like invasion in earnest!" said Stewart.
The girl nodded without replying, her eyes on the advancing columns. The cavalry was the first to reach the bridge, and filed rapidly across to reënforce their comrades; then the infantry pressed forward in solid column. Stewart could see how the boats settled deep in the water under the tremendous weight.
High above all other sounds, came the hideous shriek of a great shell, which flew over the bridge and exploded in the water a hundred yards below it. A minute later, there came another shriek, but this time the shell fell slightly short. But the third shell—the third shell!
Surely, Stewart told himself, the bridge will be cleared; that close-packed column will not be exposed to a risk so awful. But it pressed on, without a pause, without a break. What must be the soldiers' thoughts, as they waited for the third shell!
Again that high, hideous, blood-curdling shriek split through the air, and the next instant a shell exploded squarely in the middle of the bridge. Stewart had a moment's vision of a tangle of shattered bodies, then he saw that the bridge was gone and the river filled with drowning men, weighed down by their heavy accouterments. He could hear their shrill cries of terror as they struggled in the current; then the cries ceased as the river swept most of them away. Only a very few managed to reach the bank.
Stewart hid his face in his trembling hands. It was too hideous! It could not be! He could not bear it—the world would not bear it, if it knew!
A sharp cry from his companion told him that the awful drama was not yet played to an end. She was pointing beyond the river, where the cavalry and the small body of infantry which had got across seemed thrown into sudden confusion. Horses reared and fell, men dropped from their saddles. The infantry threw themselves forward upon their faces; and then to Stewart's ears came the sharp rattle of musketry.
"The Belgians are attacking them!" cried the girl. "They are driving them back!"
But that cavalry, so superbly trained, that infantry, so expertly officered, were not to be driven back without a struggle. The Uhlans formed into line and swept forward, with lances couched, over the ridge beyond the river and out of sight, in a furious charge. But the Belgians must have stood firm, for at the end of a few moments, the troopers straggled back again, sadly diminished in numbers, and rode rapidly away down the river, leaving the infantry to its fate.
Meanwhile, on the eastern bank of the river, a battery of quick-firers had already been swung into position, and was singing its deadly tune to hold the Belgians back. Already the men of that little company on the farther side had found a sort of refuge behind a line of hummocks. Already some heavier guns were being hurried into position to defend the bridge which the engineers began at once to rebuild farther down the stream, where it would be better masked from the fort's attack.
Evidently the Belgians did not intend to enter that deadly zone of fire, and the fight settled down to a dogged, long-distance one.
"We cannot get across here," said the girl at last. "We shall have to work our way downstream until we are past the Germans. If we can join the Belgians, we are safe."
But to get past the Germans proved a far greater task than they had anticipated. There seemed to be no end to the gray-clad legions. Brigade after brigade packed the stretch of level ground along the river, while the road was crowded with an astounding tangle of transport wagons, cook wagons, armored motors, artillery, tractors, ambulances, and automobiles of every sort, evidently seized by the army in its advance.
As he looked at them, Stewart could not but wonder how on earth they had ever been assembled here, and, still more, how they were ever going to be got away again. Also, he thought, how easily might they be cut to pieces by a few batteries of machine-guns posted on that ridge across the river! Looking across, he saw that the army chiefs had foreseen that danger and guarded against it, for a strong body of cavalry had been thrown across the river to screen the advance, while along the bank, behind hasty but well-built intrenchments, long lines of artillery had been massed to repel any attack from that direction.
But no attack came. The little Belgian army evidently had its hands full elsewhere, and was very busy indeed, as the roar of firing both up and down the river testified. And then, as the fugitives walked on along the hillside, they saw that one avenue of advance would soon be open, for a company of engineers, heavily guarded by cavalry, and quick-firers, was repairing a bridge whose central span had been blown up by the Belgians as they retreated.
The bridge had connected two little villages, that on the east bank dominated by a beautiful white château placed at the edge of a cliff. Of the villages little remained but smoking ruins, and a flag above the château showed that it had been converted into a staff headquarters.
Where was the owner of the château, Stewart wondered, looking up at it. Where were the women who had sat and gossiped on its terrace? Where were all the people who had lived in those two villages? Wandering somewhere to the westward, homeless and destitute, every one of them—haggard women and hungry children and tottering old men, whose quiet world had turned suddenly to chaos.
"Well," he said, at last, "it looks as if we shall have to wait until these fellows clear out. We can't get across the river as long as there is a line like that before it."