No sooner had the fugitives entered the fort than Kenneth collapsed. The
tension of the last two days, the terrific strain of controlling the
armoured car, and the concussion of the final shock, had been too heavy
a tax upon his nervous system. Pariset was in little better condition.
Granger, an older man, of settled constitution, was less affected than
the others, and he was able to assist the surgeon of the fort in tending
upon his friends.
Much to their surprise, the interior of the fort was quiet and peaceful.
The German batteries had ceased fire, the fort guns were silent.
Lieutenant Montoisy explained that during the past few days there had
been no attack. The enemy's infantry, shattered by fire from the
trenches in their frontal assaults, had retired. The bombardment had
been feeble.
"We can hold out for weeks," said the lieutenant.
"Don't buoy yourself with false hopes," said Granger. "The Germans are
only waiting until they bring up their great guns. There are several
monsters of 42 centimetre calibre on their way. They will bring them
through Liege; as soon as they can place them the fort will be shivered
to atoms."
"Bah! Our cupolas will stand anything. Besides, no one has ever heard
of these great guns. They are probably a myth, invented to frighten
us."
"These gentlemen know better than that," Granger returned. "You had
better tell what you saw, Amory."
Kenneth related the incident near Erkelenz.
"Unluckily we only destroyed the parts of one gun," he concluded. "The
block on the road had evidently caused them to send on the others by
another route."
Lieutenant Montoisy was still sceptical of the effect these guns could
produce. He led the three men round the fort. It was triangular in
shape, with guns in disappearing turrets at each corner. In the centre
was a steel turret armed with two 6-inch howitzers, enclosed in a square
with four similar turrets carrying 5-inch quick-firing guns. The turrets
were embedded in a solid block of concrete, and here and there were
machine guns and searchlight apparatus. The heaviest guns were mounted
on a steel cupola, capable of being raised and lowered. Impressed by the
immense strength of the defences, the Englishmen began to share
Montoisy's confidence in their power to withstand bombardment even by
the heaviest artillery.
"Why aren't our men in the trenches?" asked Pariset.
"They were ordered to withdraw several days ago," replied Montoisy. "You
see, we had only 40,000 men to defend a circuit of thirty-three
miles--impossible against a quarter of a million Germans. But we have
taught them a lesson. We have cut whole regiments to pieces. Our
gallant Garde Civique made a bayonet charge the other day that sent them
helter-skelter just beyond Boncelles yonder. No one will ever again
regard the bosches as invincible."
Bit by bit he drew from Pariset the story of his adventures, and when it
spread among the garrison, the two young men found themselves regarded
as heroes by all, from the commandant downwards.
Their future movements were discussed. It was decided that they should
remain in the fort for a few days until they had recovered their
strength, and then make their way westward if possible to the Belgian
lines. Granger determined to leave at once. Expert in disguises, he
transformed himself into a Belgian peasant, and waited for nightfall to
steal away towards Liege.
"We may meet again; we may not," he said, as he shook hands. "I hope we
may. It will be a long war. We shall win. And if we three lose our
lives--well, who was it said that death is the portal to the life
Elysian? But I won't moralise. We'll stick it out. Good-bye!" and
smiling serenely he went out into the night.
Pariset was eager to know what was happening in other parts of the vast
battlefield, and in particular whether anything had been heard of
General Leman. Montoisy explained that, the telephone communications
having recently been smashed, the fort was cut off as completely as if
it were a desolate island in the midst of an ocean.
Next evening, about six o'clock, two shrapnel shells burst harmlessly
over the fort. A few minutes later an acute buzzing was heard in the
air, then there was a thunderous roar, the whole place trembled, and the
outer slope of the fort was smothered in a cloud of stones, dust, and
black smoke. Montoisy looked grave, and hurried to the arcade under
which the commandant was sheltering. As he stood talking with him, a
shell which, judging from its size, weighed nearly a ton burst near by,
bringing down a shower of shattered masonry, and wounding the
commandant.
"Close the cupola," he signalled. "Every man take shelter."
Montoisy tried in vain to locate the enormous guns which had started on
their fell work. They could not be seen. To fire at them was
impossible. That they had so soon been got into position seemed to show
that their concrete emplacements had been prepared long before.
For two hours the helpless garrison crouched in their shelters, hearing
the roar of the guns, the crashing of masonry and the splintering of
steel, almost choked by the noisome gases emitted by the bursting
shells. The smashing of the dynamo plunged them into pitch darkness;
and all the while, outside, the western sky glowed with the rich hues of
a peaceful sunset.
At eight o'clock the bombardment ceased, and the Belgians, venturing
forth from their subterranean lairs, looked out upon a scene of
devastation. The slopes and counterslopes were a chaos of rubbish: it
was as if an earthquake had shaken the foundations of the globe. Great
chasms yawned; tongues of flame shot up from where one of the cupolas
had been; shapeless shreds of armour plate lay amid jagged masses of
masonry and heaps of stones. No trace of the guns was to be seen.
Far down the slope two German officers were advancing under a white
flag. Coming within hailing distance they called on the garrison to
surrender.
"You have seen what our guns can do," said one of them in French. "You
have been struck by 278 shells; you cannot reply; and we have still more
colossal guns in reserve. Surrender, or you will be annihilated."
The commandant, wounded as he was, half choked by the foul gases that
still clung about the place, stepped forward and gave his answer.
"Honour forbids us to surrender: we shall resist to the end."
The garrison waved their caps and cheered. A nation whose stricken
soldiers showed such a spirit could never be quelled, thought Kenneth.
The Germans laughed and withdrew. In half an hour the bombardment
recommenced, this time from two directions. The men in their galleries
listened helplessly to the destruction of their world.
Darkness fell, and except for an occasional shot the bombardment ceased.
The commandant sent for Pariset.
"It is useless," he said wearily. "Their shells will pierce the
galleries to-morrow. One of my men has already had his hand blown off;
others are seriously wounded. To-night I shall flood the magazines and
break all the rifles and guns; in the morning I must surrender. But you
and your friend are not of my garrison: there is work for you outside;
why should you be carried prisoners to Germany? Slip out in the
darkness. There are no infantry around the fort. I can provide you
with civilian dress. It will be dangerous to attempt to get into Liege.
Make for Seraing, cross the river there, and slip between the Flemalle
and Hollogne forts towards Brussels. And tell General Wonters that we
held out until resistance was hopeless."
Towards midnight the two friends in peasant costume slipped out of the
rear of the fort, and taking the stars as their guide trudged through
the fields and woods and up the hill into the deserted streets of
Seraing. The great iron-foundries were silent; no glare from the
furnaces lit the sky.
"Belgium is paying a heavy price," thought Kenneth.
They crossed the silent bridge in the moonlight, crossed the Namur road
and the railway beyond, and had just reached the road leading through
Waremme and Louvain to Brussels when the sound of voices on their right
caused them to shrink back behind a hedge. Peering out they saw a
patrol of some twenty-five Uhlans riding past at a foot pace.
"We shall have to go across the fields," whispered Pariset, when the
horsemen had gone by. "We dare not pass them. This means a general
advance to-morrow. The bosches lose no time."
They struck across the fields to the south of their true course, and
plodded on, more or less at a venture. Turning by and by into a lane,
they almost collided with a cyclist, who, swerving to avoid them,
skidded on the wet track, and fell to the ground. The sinking moon shed
just enough light for them to distinguish a French uniform, and they ran
forward to assist the fallen man, Pariset speaking to him in French.
"Ah! You are French?" said the cyclist, springing to his feet and
raising his bicycle.
"Belgian and English, monsieur," Pariset answered. "You are a scout?"
"Yes; a troop of Chasseurs are a mile or two south. Have you seen
anything of the enemy?"
"A number of Uhlans are riding up the Waremme road."
"How many?"
"Twenty-five or so."
"Are they riding fast?"
"No; at a walking pace."
"Then we will capture them. I will ride on to the road and keep my eye
on them. You hurry along the lane and tell our men to hurry. There is
no time to be lost."
Willing enough to do something, even at this last moment, for the common
cause, Kenneth and Pariset hurried along the lane. In the course of a
quarter of an hour they met the Chasseurs. Pariset gave the message,
and on explaining that he was a Belgian officer and knew the country
well was invited to mount behind the captain and act as guide. Kenneth
sprang up behind a trooper, and they set off at a trot, riding across
the fields in order not to be heard.
Presently they heard, in the distance, a revolver shot. Immediately
afterwards came the crack of carbines. Quickening their pace, they
galloped in the direction of the sounds, expecting to find that the
scout had been killed.
At Pariset's instructions, they rode in a north-westerly direction, so
as to strike the Waremme road some miles west of the spot where he and
Kenneth had seen the Uhlans. The firing continued; the sound of the
single revolver was clearly distinguishable from the reports of the
carbines. Wondering what was happening, they came suddenly upon a
remarkable scene.
Dawn was stealing over the country. At a turn of the road, the cyclist
was standing behind a tree, resting his revolver against the trunk. No
one was in sight at the moment, but just as the Chasseurs, who had now
reduced their pace to a walk, came up behind the cyclist, he fired his
revolver at a Uhlan who had edged round the corner.
The Chasseur captain took in the situation at a glance. Whispering to
Pariset and Kenneth to get down, he gave his men the order to charge.
With a wild cry they dashed forward, swept round the bend, and fell upon
the Uhlans, grouped indecisively at the side of the road. There was a
brisk fight, lasting half a minute. Ten of the Uhlans were killed or
wounded, the rest flung down their arms and surrendered.
"Many thanks, messieurs," the cyclist was saying to Pariset and Kenneth.
"I was afraid they would not be up in time. But they are a timid lot,
these bosches."
It appeared that, not content with merely watching the Uhlans, he had
conceived the bold notion of holding them up until the Chasseurs
arrived.
The Chasseurs returned with their prisoners towards their own lines. The
captain had invited Pariset to accompany them, but Pariset decided,
tired though he was, to continue his course towards Brussels. With
Kenneth, he plodded along the road, and an hour later they were
challenged by Belgian outposts at Waremme. They were too fatigued to
enter into explanations at once, and sought shelter in a cottage, where
they slept until the sun was high. And when they awoke and went into
the village street, they found the people streaming westward, in carts,
on foot, carrying what they could of their household gear. Fort
Boncelles had surrendered.
Seeking the colonel of the nearest regiment, they told him what they had
seen in the fort. He had just heard by telephone that Fort Loncin also
had surrendered that morning, and General Leman was a prisoner.
They begged a lift in a farmer's cart, and in the evening reached
Brussels, where they found an asylum with a friend of Pariset's. There
they remained for a few days, recuperating after the strain which,
scarcely noticed while they were in action, had told heavily upon them
both. Every day they heard of fresh advances of the Teuton hordes, of
gallant deeds by the sorely tried little army of Belgium. Every day
they saw pallid, nerve-shaken, wounded refugees flocking in from
Tirlemont and other places desolated by German shot and shell.
Pariset was much depressed.
"We shall cease to exist," he said one day. "The brutes will destroy us
all. They are ruthless. They are fiends. What have we done that we
should suffer so?"
"Cheer up, old man," said Kenneth. "Look here! 'Gallant little
Belgium!'" He pointed to the headline of an article in an English
newspaper. "You might have chosen the easy course; you didn't, and the
whole world admires you."
"But that won't save us."
"No, but you've saved France. You've thrown the German war machine out
of gear, and I bet you you've smashed their chances. Lord Kitchener is
raising a great army. The Kaiser scoffs at our men; he'll sing a
different tune some day. I'm going home, Remi, going to join
Kitchener's army. Sorry to leave you, old man, but we'll meet again,
never fear, perhaps soon, perhaps not until British, French and Belgians
meet the Russians in Berlin. And when the war is over, you may be sure
that gallant little Belgium will rise like the phoenix, and grow
stronger and more prosperous than ever."
----
Four days later Kenneth was in London. He found awaiting him at home a
bulky envelope addressed in a strange hand, the postmark Amsterdam.
Opening it, he took out two letters, dated a week back, and posted in
Koenigsborn. One was in the handwriting of Max Finkelstein, the other
in the large round hand of Frieda.
"I hope this will reach you," the former wrote. "I am sending
it through my friend Vandermond. After a few days' detention as
a spy, I was released for want of evidence, and as business is
absolutely dead, we have come to Koenigsborn, where we shall
rusticate and pinch until this dreadful war is over. We hear
all sorts of tales, and the credence paid them by otherwise
intelligent people makes me think that we as a nation have a
good deal to learn. One extraordinary story, by the way, will
amuse you. It was rumoured in Cologne that a French airman had
run off with one of our Taubes, a feat which you, knowing
Cologne, will recognise as impossible. I believe it as little
as I believe that the Irish are in revolt.
"I am glad for our sake that recruiting is a failure in England.
People here are very bitter against the English, but I explain
that you have been hoodwinked by those awful Russians. Your
statesmen are so easily taken in. After the war your people
will admit it.
"Keep the London business together as well as you can. Next
year I dare say I shall settle in London myself, and nothing
shall interfere with our plans for a partnership. Write to me
if you can."
----
"Poor old Max!" thought Kenneth. "Of course, like all Germans, he
thinks they will win: professors and the General Staff have drummed that
into their foolish heads. He'll have a shock when I tell him I have
joined the army. Now for Frieda."
----
"Was it you?" he read. "I daren't suggest it to Father; he scoffs at
the mere idea that any one could do so audacious a thing. But when you
didn't come back for your luggage I was anxious and went down to the
station, and the stationmaster told me that you had gone away with your
ticket and hadn't come for your seat that he had engaged for you, and
when I heard the rumour about the French airman I couldn't help thinking
it was just the mad sort of thing you would delight in. Do tell me if I
am right.
"This is a terrible war, isn't it? What is the good of you English
fighting? Father says your army is too small to do anything, and you
can't get recruits because all your young men want to play football. I
am so sorry for you. Father says you will give it up when we take
Paris, and then you will have to give us some of your colonies. You
have so many that I am sure you can spare some.
"We shall very likely come to London next year, Father says. We shall
always be friends, you and I, shan't we?
"We haven't seen anything of Kurt Hellwig lately. You don't think I
grieve?"
----
"It's amazing!" said Kenneth to himself. "I thought Frieda would have
known better. She would laugh, I suppose, if I told her that I am
likely to be in Berlin before she comes to London."
But Kenneth Amory was to go through many adventures, before he met Remi
Pariset in Berlin.
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