A TRAMP ACROSS BELGIUM
The stranger, a Monsieur Jules Pochard, proved a most useful friend. In
the first instance, he was a cool-headed person, who did not allow
imagination to run riot. "No," he said, when questioned as to the chance
of reaching Namur by a forced march along country lanes, "every road in
that section of the province is closed by cavalry patrols. You cannot
avoid them, monsieur. Come with me to Huy, and you'll be reasonably
safe."
"Why safer in Huy than here, or anywhere else where these brutes may
be?"
"Huy has been occupied by the Germans since the 12th, and is their
temporary headquarters. From what I gather, they usually spare such
towns. That is why we never dreamed of Andenne being sacked."
Dalroy remembered the aged cure's exposition of _Kultur_ as a policy.
"Is this sort of thing going on generally, then?" he asked.
Monsieur Pochard was a Frenchman. He raised his eyebrows. "Where can you
have been, monsieur, not to know what has happened at Liege, Vise,
Flemelle Grande, Blagny Trembleur, and a score of other places?"
"Vise!" broke in the cracked, piping voice of Joos. "What's that about
Vise?"
"It is burnt to the ground, and nearly all the inhabitants killed."
"Is anything said of a fat major named Busch, whom Henri Joos the miller
stuck with a fork?"
"A Prussian, do you mean?"
"Ay. One of the same breed--a Westphalian."
"I haven't heard."
"He tried to assault my daughter, so I got him. The second one, a Uhlan,
killed my wife, and I got _him_ too. I cut his throat down there in the
main street. It's easy to kill Germans. They're soft, like pigs."
Though Joos's half-demented boasting was highly injudicious, Dalroy did
not interfere. He was in a mood to let matters drift. They could not
well be worse. He had tried to control the course of events in so far as
they affected his own and Irene Beresford's fortunes, but had failed
lamentably. Now, fate must take charge.
Pochard's comment was to the point, at any rate. "I congratulate you,
monsieur," he said. "I'll do a bit in that line myself when this little
one is lodged with his aunt in Huy. If every Belgian accounts for two
Prussians, you'll hold them till the French and English join up."
"Do you know for certain where the English are?" put in Dalroy eagerly.
"Yes, at Charleroi. The French are in Namur. Come with me to Huy. A few
days, and the _sales Alboches_ will be pelting back to the Rhine."
For the second time Dalroy heard a slang epithet new to him applied to
the Germans. He little guessed how familiar the abbreviated French form
of the word would become in his ears. Briton, Frenchman, Slav, and
Italian have cordially adopted "Boche" as a suitable term for the common
enemy. It has no meaning, yet conveys a sense of contemptuous dislike.
Stricken France had no heart for humour in 1870. The merciless foe was
then a "Prussian"; in 1914 he became a "Boche," and the change held a
comforting significance.
Dalroy, of course, did not share the Frenchman's opinion as to the
speedy discomfiture of the invader; but night was falling, the offer of
shelter was too good to be refused. Nevertheless, he was careful to
reveal a real difficulty. "Unfortunately, we have a dead woman in the
cart," he said. "Madame Stauwaert, too, is ill, but she has recovered
from a fainting fit, I see."
"Ah, poor Stauwaert!" murmured the other. "A decent fellow. I saw them
kill him. And that's his wife, of course. I didn't recognise her
before."
Dalroy was relieved to find that the Frenchman and the bereaved woman
were friends. He had not forgotten the priest's statement that there
would be a spy in every group in that part of Belgium. Later he
ascertained that Monsieur Pochard was a well-to-do leather merchant in
Andenne, who, like many others, refused to abandon a long-established
business for fear of the Germans; doubtless he was destined to pay a
heavy price for his tenacity ere the war ended. He behaved now as a true
Samaritan, urging an immediate move, and promising even to arrange for
Madame Joos's burial. Dalroy helped him to carry the child, a
three-year-old boy, who was very sleepy and peevish, and did not
understand why he should not be at home and in bed.
Joos suffered them to lead him where they listed. He walked by the side
of the cart, and told "Lise" how he had dealt with the Uhlan. Leontine
sobbed afresh, and tried to stop him, but he grew quite angry.
"Why shouldn't she know?" he snapped. "It is her affair, and mine. You
screamed, and turned away, but I hacked at him till his wind-pipe
hissed."
Monsieur Pochard brought them to Huy by a rough road among the hills.
It was a dreadful journey in the gloaming of a perfect summer's evening.
The old man's ghoulish jabbering, the sobs of the women, the panting of
two exhausted dogs, and the wailing of the child, who wanted his
father's arms round him rather than a stranger's, supplied a tragic
chorus which ill beguiled that _Via Dolorosa_ along the heights of the
Meuse.
Irene insisted on taking the boy for a time, and the youngster ceased
his plaint at once.
"That's a blessed relief," she confided to Dalroy. "I'm not afflicted
with nerves, but this poor little chap's crying was more than I could
bear."
"He is too heavy that you should carry him far," he protested.
"You're very much of a man, Arthur," she said quietly. "You don't
realise, I suppose, that nature gives us women strong arms for this very
purpose."
"I hadn't thought of that. The fact is, I'm worried. I have a doubt at
the back of my head that we ought to be going the other way."
"Which other way?"
"In precisely the opposite direction."
"But what can we do? At what stage in our wanderings up to this very
moment could we have parted company with our friends? Do you know, I
have a horrible feeling that we have brought a good deal of avoidable
misery on their heads? If we hadn't gone to the mill----"
"They would probably all have been dead by this time, and certainly both
homeless and friendless," he interrupted. Then he began telling her the
fate of Vise, but was brought up short by an imperative whisper from
Pochard. They were talking English, without realising it, and Huy was
near.
"And why carry that sword?" added the Frenchman. "It is useless, and
most dangerous. Thrust it into a ditch."
Dalroy obeyed promptly. He had thoughtlessly disregarded the sinister
outcome if a patrol found him with such a weapon in his hand.
They came to Huy by a winding road through a suburb, meeting plenty of
soldiers strolling to and from billets. Luck befriended them at this
ticklish moment. None saw a little party turning into a lane which led
to the back of the villa tenanted by Monsieur Pochard's married sister.
This lady proved both sympathetic and helpful. The cart, with its sad
freight, was housed in a wood-shed at the bottom of the garden, and the
dogs were stabled in the gardener's potting-shed.
"The ladies can share my bedroom and my daughter's," she said. "You men
must sleep in the greenhouse, as every remaining room is filled with
Uhlans. Their supper is ready now, but there is plenty. Come and eat
before they arrive. They left on patrol duty early this morning."
And that is where the fugitives experienced a stroke of amazing good
fortune. That particular batch of Uhlans never returned. It was supposed
that they were cut off while scouting along the Tirlemont road.
Apparently their absence only contributed to an evening of quiet talk
and a night of undisturbed rest. In reality, it saved the lives of the
whole party, including the hostess and her family.
Early next morning Monsieur Pochard interviewed an undertaker, and
Madame Joos was laid to rest in the nearest cemetery. Maertz, Madame
Stauwaert, and Leontine attended the funeral. Joos showed signs of
collapse. His mind wandered. He thought his wife was living, and in
Verviers. They encouraged the delirium, and dosed him with a narcotic.
Irene helped in the kitchen, and Dalroy dug the garden. Thus, the
confederacy remained split up during the morning, and was not noticed by
an officer who came to inquire about the missing Uhlans.
About noon Monsieur Pochard drew Dalroy aside. "Monsieur," he said, and
his face wore anxious lines, "last night the old man implied that he was
Henri Joos, of Vise. No, please listen. I don't want to be told. I can
only give you certain facts, and leave you to draw your own conclusions.
Active inquiries are being made by the authorities for Henri Joos,
Elisabeth Joos, Leontine Joos, their daughter, and Jan Maertz, all
of Vise. With them are an Englishwoman aged twenty, and an English
officer named Dalroy, both dressed as Belgian peasants. The appended
descriptions seem to be remarkably accurate, and a reward of one
thousand marks is offered for their capture."
"They may be willing to pay double the price for freedom," said Dalroy.
The Frenchman was not offended. He realised that this was not a
suggestion of a personal bribe.
"You have not heard all," he continued. "These people were traced to
Verviers, but the trail was lost after Maertz bought a cart and a
dog-team in that town three days ago. Unfortunately, some Uhlans,
passing through Andenne last night, have reported the presence of just
such a party on the main road. Other soldiers believe they saw a similar
lot entering Huy after dark, and the burgomaster is warned that the
strictest search must be made among refugees at Huy. To make sure, a
German escort will assist. It is estimated that Joos and the others will
be caught, because they will probably depend on a _laisser passer_
issued in Argenteau under false names, which are known. Joos figures as
Wilhelm Schultz, for instance. Don't look so surprised, monsieur. The
burgomaster is my brother-in-law's partner. He will not reach this
quarter of Huy till half-past three or four o'clock."
"But there is the record of Madame Joos's burial," put in Dalroy
instantly.
"No. The poor creature remains a 'woman unknown, found dead.' The
Germans don't worry about such trifles. But, by a strange coincidence,
Madame Stauwaert practically takes her place for identification
purposes. By the mercy of Providence, no German soldier was in this
house last night, or he would now be the richer by a thousand marks. The
notice is placarded at the _Kommandantur_, and is being read by the
multitude."
"We shall not bring further trouble on a family which has already run
grave risk in our behalf," vowed Dalroy warmly. "We must scatter at
once, and, if caught, suffer individually."
"I was sure you would say that, monsieur; but sworn allies carry
friendship to greater lengths. Now, let us take counsel. Madame
Stauwaert can remain here. Fifty people in Huy will answer for her. My
sister can hire a servant, Leontine. If Joos is tractable he can lodge
in safety with some cottagers I know. Maertz wishes to join the Belgian
army, and you the British; while that charming young lady will want to
get to England. Well, we may be able to contrive all these things. I
happen to be a bit of an antiquary, and Huy owns more ruined castles and
monasteries than any other town of similar size in Belgium, or in the
world, I imagine. Follow my instructions to the letter, and you will
cheat the Germans yet. They are animals of habit and cast-iron rule.
When searching for six people they will never look for one or two. Yet
it would be folly if you and mademoiselle wandered off by yourselves in
a strange country. Then, indeed, even German official obtuseness might
show a spark of real intelligence; whereas, by gaining a few days, who
knows whether your armies may not come to you, rather than you go to
them?"
The good-hearted Frenchman's scheme worked without a hitch. The cart was
broken up for firewood, the harness burnt, and the dogs taken a mile
into the country by Maertz, who sold them for a couple of francs, and
came back to a certain ruined priory by a roundabout road.
Irene and Dalroy had gone there already. The place lay deep in trees and
brushwood, and was approachable by a dozen hidden ways. Although given
over to bats and owls, its tumbledown walls contained one complete room,
situated some twenty feet above the ground level, and reached by a
winding staircase of stone slabs, which looked most precarious, but
proved quite sound if used by a sure-footed climber.
Here, then, the three dwelt eleven weary days. During daylight their
only diversion was the flight of hosts of aeroplanes toward the French
frontier. Twice they saw Zeppelins. For warmth at night they depended on
horse-rugs and bundles of a species of bracken which throve among the
piles of stones. They were well supplied with food, deposited at dusk in
a fosse, and obtained when the opening bars of "La Brabanconne" were
whistled at a distance. The air itself was a guarantee that no German
was near, because the Belgian national anthem is not pleasing to Hun
ears.
A typed note in the basket formed their sole link with the outer world.
And what momentous issues were conveyed in the briefest of sentences!
"Namur has fallen after a day's bombardment by a new and terrible
cannon."
"Brussels has capitulated without resistance."
"After a fierce battle, the French and English have retired from
Charleroi and Mons."
"The retreat continues. France is invaded. Valenciennes has fallen."
On the eleventh morning Dalroy hid among the bushes until the daily
basket was brought. Monsieur Pochard himself was the go-between. He
feared lest Leontine would contrive to meet Maertz, so the girl did not
know where her lover was hidden.
The Frenchman started visibly when Dalroy's voice reached him; but the
latter spoke in a tone which would not carry far. "I'm sorry to seem
ungrateful," he said, "but we are growing desperate. Do us one last
favour, monsieur, and we impose no more on your goodness. Tell me
where and when we can cross the Meuse, and the best route to take
subsequently. Sink or swim, I, at any rate, must endeavour to reach
England, and mademoiselle is equally resolved to make the attempt."
"I don't blame you," came the sorrowful reply. "This is going to be a
long war. Twenty years of deadly preparation are bearing fruit. I am
sick with anxiety. But I dare not loiter in this neighbourhood, so, as
to your affair, my advice is that you cross the Meuse to-morrow in broad
daylight. The bridge is repaired, and no very strict watch is kept.
Make for Nivelles, Enghien, and Oudenarde. The Belgians hold the
Antwerp-Gand-Roulers line, but are being driven back daily. I have
been thinking of you. If you delay longer you will--at the best--be
imprisoned in Belgium for many months. Are you determined?"
"Yes."
"Do you want money?"
"We have plenty."
"Farewell, then, and may God protect you!"
"Is there no chance of nearing the British force?" was Dalroy's final
and almost despairing question.
"Not the least. You would be following on the heels of a quick-moving
and victorious army. Progress is slower toward the coast. You have a
fighting chance that way, none the other. Good-bye, monsieur."
"Good-bye, best of friends!"
The sudden collapse of Namur, and the consequent failure of the
Anglo-French army's initial scheme, had served to alter this shrewd
man's opinion completely. His confidence was gone, his nerve shaken. The
pressure of the jack-boot was heavy upon him. Dalroy was certain that
he walked away with a furtive haste, being in mortal fear lest the
people he had helped so greatly might put forth some additional request
which he dared not grant.
Next morning they left the priory grounds separately, and strolled into
the town, keeping some fifty yards apart. It was only after a struggle
that Jan Maertz relinquished the notion of trying to see Leontine before
going from Huy, but the others convinced him that he might imperil both
the girl and their benefactors. As matters stood, her greatest danger
must have nearly vanished by this time; it would be a lamentable thing
if her lover were arrested, and it became known that he had visited the
villa.
They crossed the river on pontoons. The Germans were already rebuilding
the stone bridge. They seemed to have men to spare for everything. That
the bridge was being actually rebuilt, and not made practicable by
timber-work only, impressed Dalroy more forcibly than any other fact
gleaned during his Odyssey in a Belgium under German rule. There was no
thought of relinquishing the occupied territory, no hint of doubt that
it might be wrested from their clutch in the near future. He noticed
that the post-office, the railway station, the parcels vans, even the
street names, were Germanised. He learnt subsequently that the schools
had been taken over by German teachers, while the mere sound of French
in a shop or public place was scowled at if not absolutely forbidden.
There were not many troops on the roads, but crowded troop-trains passed
on both sides of the Meuse, and ever in the same direction. Two long
hospital trains came from the south-west, and Dalroy knew what _that_
meant. Another long train of closed wagons, heavily laden, as a panting
engine testified, perplexed him, however. He spoke of it to Maertz, the
three being on the road in company as they climbed the hill to Heron,
and the carter promptly sought information from a farmer.
The man eyed them carefully. "Where are you from?" he demanded in true
Flemish.
"What has that to do with it?" grinned Maertz, in the same _patois_.
The questioner was satisfied. He jerked a thumb toward the French
frontier. "Dead uns!" he said. "They're killing Germans like flies down
yonder. They can't bury them--haven't time--so they tie the corpses
together, slinging four on a pole for easy handling, ship them to
Germany, and chuck them into furnaces."
"So," guffawed Maertz, "the swine know where they are going then!"
To Dalroy's secret amazement, Irene, who understood each word, laughed
with the others. Campaigning had not coarsened, but it had undeniably
hardened her nature. A month ago she would have shuddered at sight of
these dun trucks, with their ghastly freight. Now, so long as they only
contained Germans, she surveyed them with interest.
"Allowing forty bodies to one wagon," she said, "there are over a
thousand dead men in that train alone."
The farmer spat approval. "I've been busy, and have missed some; but
that's the tenth lot which has gone east this morning," he remarked
cheerfully.
"Is the road to Nivelles fairly open?" Dalroy ventured to inquire.
"One never knows. Anyhow, always give the next village as your
destination. If doubtful, travel by night."
This counsel was well meant. In the silent bitterness of hours yet to
come, Dalroy recalled it, and wished he had profited by it.
Roughly speaking, they had set out on a fifty miles' tramp, which the
men could have tackled in two days, or less. But the presence of Irene
lowered the scale, and Dalroy apportioned matters so that twelve miles
daily formed their programme, with, as the _entrepreneurs_ say, power to
increase or curtail. Thus, that first afternoon, the date being
September 2nd, they pulled up at Gembloux, quite a small place, finding
supper and beds in a farm beyond the village.
Next day they pushed ahead through Nivelles, and entered the forest of
Soignies, that undulating woodland on which Wellington depended for the
protection of a dangerous flank during the unavoidable retreat to the
coast if Napoleon had beaten the British army at Waterloo.
Dalroy explained the Iron Duke's strategy to Irene as they paced a road
which provides an ideal walking tour.
"That a General was not worth his salt who did not secure the track of
his army if defeated was one of his fixed principles," he said. "He
would never depart from it, and his dispositions at Waterloo were based
on it. In fact, his solicitude in that respect nearly caused a row
between him and Bluecher."
"Let me see," mused the girl aloud. "The Germans have never fought the
British in modern times until this war."
"That is correct."
"And how far away is Mons?"
Dalroy smiled at the thought which had evidently occurred to her.
"We are now just half-way between Mons and Waterloo. Each is about ten
miles distant."
"We were allied then with the Belgians, Germans, and Russians against
the French. Now we have joined the Belgians, French, and Russians
against the Germans. It sounds like counting in a game of cribbage. A
hundred years from to-day our combination may be with the Belgians,
Germans, and French against the Russians."
"You mustn't even hint treason against our present Allies," he laughed.
"What are Allies? Of what avail are treaties? You men have mismanaged
things woefully. It is high time women took a lead in governing."
"Awful! I do verily believe you are a suffragette."
"I am. During what periods has England been greatest? In the reigns of
Elizabeth and Victoria."
"Why leave out poor Queen Anne?"
"She was a very excellent woman. As soon as she came to the throne she
declared her resolution 'not to follow the example of her predecessors
in making use of a few of her subjects to oppress the rest.' The common
people don't err in their estimate of rulers, and they knew what they
were about in christening her 'Good Queen Anne.'"
"Now I'm sure."
"Sure of what?"
"You have never told me what you were doing in Berlin."
"You haven't asked me," she broke in.
"Did it matter? I----"
Irene's intuition warned her that this harmless chatter had swung round
with lightning rapidity to a personal issue. Sad to relate, she had not
washed her face or hands for eleven days, so a blush told no tales; but
she interrupted again rather nervously, "What is it you are sure of?"
"You must have been a governess-companion in some German family of
position. I can foresee a trying future. I must brush up my dates, or
lose caste forever. Isn't there a doggerel jingle beginning:
"In fifty-five and fifty-four
Came Caesar o'er to Britain's shore?
"If I learn it, it may save me many a trip."
"Here, you two," growled Jan Maertz, "talk a language a fellow can
understand."
The road was deserted save for themselves, and the others had
unconsciously spoken English. Dalroy turned to apologise to their rough
but trusty friend, and thus missed the quizzical and affectionate glance
which Irene darted at him. She was still smiling when next he caught her
eye.
"What is it now?" he asked.
"I was thinking how difficult it is to see a wood for the trees," she
replied.
Maertz took her literally.
"I'll be glad when we're in the open country again, mademoiselle," he
said. "I don't like this forest. One can't guess what may be hiding
round the corner."
Yet they stopped that night at Braine le Comte, and crossed Enghien next
day without incident. It is a pity that such a glorious ramble should be
described so baldly. In happier times, when Robert Louis Stevenson took
that blithe journey through the Cevennes with a donkey, a similar
excursion produced a book which will be read when the German madness
has long been relegated to a detested oblivion. But Uhlan pickets and
"square-head" sentries supply wretched sign-posts in a land of romance,
and the wanderers were now in a region where each kilometre had to be
surveyed with caution.
Maertz owned an aunt in every village, and careful inquiry had, of
course, located one of these numerous relatives in Lierde, a hamlet on
the Grammont-Gand road. Oudenarde was strongly held by the enemy, but
the roads leading to Gand were the scene of magnificent exploits by the
armoured cars of the Belgian army. Certain Belgian motorists had become
national heroes during the past fortnight. An innkeeper in Grammont told
with bated breath how one famous driver, helped by a machine-gun crew,
was accounting for scores of marauding cavalrymen. "The English and
French are beaten, but our fellows are holding them," he said with a
fine air. "When you boys get through you'll enjoy life. My nephew, who
used to be a great _chasseur_, says there is no sport like chasing
mounted Boches."
This frank recognition of Dalroy as one of the innumerable young
Belgians then engaged in crossing the enemy's lines in order to serve
with their brothers was an unwitting compliment to a student who had
picked up the colloquial phrases and Walloon words in Maertz's uncouth
speech. A man who looked like an unkempt peasant should speak like one,
and Dalroy was an apt scholar. He never trod on doubtful ground.
Strangers regarded him as a taciturn person, solely because of this
linguistic restraint. Maertz made nearly all inquiries, and never erred
in selecting an informant. The truth was that German spies were rare in
this district. They were common as crows in the cities, and on the
frontiers of Belgium and France, but rural Brabant harboured few, and
that simple fact accounts for the comparatively slow progress of the
invaders as they neared the coast.
It was at a place called Oombergen, midway between Oudenarde and Alost,
that the fugitives met the Death's-Head Hussars. And with that
ill-omened crew came the great adventure.