Getting Ready for Bigger Things
"Now for it, Dale; it's now or never," cried Max in a voice of
suppressed eagerness, as he emerged from under the desk the moment the
party of Germans moved away along the passage. "If we do not get clear
at once I rather think we never shall."
"Yes, we are what you might call 'right on the post' and rowing neck and
neck. 'Twill be a near thing whoever wins," replied Dale, again breaking
out into rowing jargon, as he was apt to do whenever excited.
"The prize is bigger than you imagine," responded Max, dragging out the
bag and glancing quickly about the room. "Could you follow what was said
well enough to understand why they rounded on Schenk, or Schenkendorf,
as his name seems to be?"
"No, old man, my German isn't nearly equal to the job, especially when
I'm submerged in trunks and desks."
"Well, among the papers we've stuffed into this bag are the plans of
some special siege-guns the Germans seem to set no small store on.
Schenk was just going to wire in making them, by the look of it. We've
upset the whole business, and if he isn't under arrest he's very near
it. But come along; we must get out of this."
The bottom panels of the door were quickly removed and Max and Dale
crawled through, carrying the now doubly precious bag with them. The
manager and the two officers had by this time reached the front entrance
of the building but appeared to have halted there and to be talking
earnestly together. Hastily removing their boots, Max and Dale crept
quietly down the stairs to the door of the drawing-office. They paused
and listened before opening it, and heard the party at the entrance
descend the steps, still talking together, and the scrunch of the gravel
under their feet as they strode away. Then, almost immediately, they
heard a harsh command and the rapid tramp of feet as the guard turned
out at the entrance to the works.
Max whipped open the door of the drawing-office and they entered and
closed it behind them. The window through which they had come an hour or
two before gaped before them, and they eagerly moved to it and peered
out. All seemed clear for the moment, but they could hear men in motion
somewhere, and in the passage they had just left they were startled to
hear the voice of the manager talking in a peremptory tone to someone,
one of the guard they imagined, and the tramp of their feet as they
passed the door and began ascending the stairs.
"Quick; jump out," whispered Max, and he assisted his friend to drop as
noiselessly as possible to the ground. Then he handed down the bag and
lowered himself down after it. In silence and in great trepidation they
sped towards the outer walls at the point at which they had entered.
Without mishap they helped one another up and over, and fled at the top
of their speed towards their lodging. At any moment they feared a
general alarm might be sounded, and the truest caution seemed to be to
throw caution momentarily to the winds.
They reached the door of their lodging in safety, and as they entered
Dale whispered triumphantly to his friend: "We've won the final too. By
George we have!"
* * * * *
Day was just beginning to break as the two friends left the town on the
northward side and made their way across country towards the Dutch
frontier. They carefully avoided the roads, and their progress was slow;
but it was sure, and as soon as they were well away from the
neighbourhood of the town they regained the roads and made more rapid
progress. Before the day was out they reached Maastricht, and Max found
his mother and sister safe and sound, though indeed in great distress.
The relief of Madame Durend at the return of her son from beleaguered
Liege was intense. The stories told by the numerous refugees from the
towns and villages of Belgium were so terrible that she could not be
other than most anxious for his safety. Now he had arrived, and had
brought, she soon learned, sufficient funds to enable them all to live
in comfort and security for a long time.
But it was not until Max and his friend unfolded their story that she
fully realized in what peril they had been, and at what cost they had
been able to bring the much-needed assistance. Their story was indeed
amazing. Schenk a traitor, and Schenk outwitted! Priceless German plans
captured, and funds that the enemy had hoped to secure removed from
beyond their grasp! Madame Durend could not but be proud of her son's
exploits, but it was a pride with many a tremble at the frightful
dangers run.
A fuller examination of their captures revealed to Max and Dale how
valuable their prize had been, and sent them both hotfoot to the house
of the nearest British consul, into whose care they confided the
precious plans, with instructions that they wished them handed over to
the British War Office without delay.
A statement briefly describing who the captors were, and how the _coup_
had been brought about, was drawn up and signed, and, in high glee at
the shrewd blow struck against Schenk and his Germans, they returned
once more to the lodging of Madame and Mademoiselle Durend.
A few days spent there in safety, and almost in idleness, were, however,
sufficient to make Max and Dale, and especially the former, restless and
dissatisfied with their inactivity. The onward march of the Germans,
their terrible unscrupulousness and rapacity, and the tales of the
terrific fighting with the English and French vanguards reached their
ears and made them long to be doing something, however small, to aid the
great cause. Max, in addition, had a constant sense of irritation at the
thought that his father's great works were running night and day in the
interests of the Germans and to the vast injury of his own countrymen.
He could not get away from the feeling that he had a responsibility
towards the Durend works--a responsibility which he seemed in honour
bound to discharge. This feeling grew and grew until it became so
intolerable that he was impelled to announce to his mother that he must,
without delay, return to his post in the stricken city.
"But surely you have done enough, Max?" cried Madame Durend, almost in
consternation. "You are not yet of man's age, and ought not to think of
taking upon yourself such fearful tasks. It is no fault of yours that
our property is being used by the Germans. Many other factories and
workshops besides ours have been seized, and who can fairly put the
blame upon the owners?"
"I know, Mother," replied Max in a quiet voice, and with a far-away look
in his eyes. "I know it is no fault of ours. But our workmen--the
faithful and real Belgian workmen--are there bearing alone in silence
the pain and misery of seeing the great business they helped to create
worked to the destruction of their own liberties. They feel nothing so
much as the thought that their masters have deserted them, and left them
to fight the battle for their land and liberties alone. I must go back
and join them, if only to let them know we are with them, hand and foot,
heart and soul. I feel, Mother, that so long as one workman still holds
out against tyranny and oppression, the owners of the Durend workshops
must be by his side to give him both countenance and aid."
Max's voice grew stronger, and thrilled with a deeper and deeper
earnestness, as he went on. It was clear to each of his hearers that the
guardianship of his father's works had become the one great object and
aim of his existence. With such a burning, passionate desire in his
heart, it was almost impossible that he could be persuaded to abandon
his project if he were not to be rendered miserable for life, and Madame
Durend realized almost at once that she dare not attempt it. But the
thought of the desperate character of the undertaking made her mother's
heart sink with dread.
"I dare not say you nay, Max, my son," she said tremulously, after a
long pause, "for I should feel that I was setting my own wishes against
what is, perhaps, your duty to your country, and still more your duty to
your dear father's name. Go, then--only do not--do not run unnecessary
risks. Be as cautious as you can--and come back to me often."
"We will be as cautious as we honourably can, will we not, Dale?" cried
Max, appealing to his friend. "It is stratagem that we shall use in
making our war--not force. We have thought it all out together, and hope
to give a good account of ourselves without giving the Germans a chance
to pay us back with usury."
"Yes," replied Dale cheerfully, "we are not going to give the enemy a
chance. Why, you have no idea how cautious and full of dodges Max is. He
just bristles with 'em, and I think we shall give Schenk and his friends
a warm time."
Madame Durend sighed deeply. "It seems terrible to me to think of two
such boys returning to that dreadful place to do battle unaided with
those men. How I pray that you may come safely back!"
"No fear of that," cried Dale confidently, and Max gazed into his
mother's face and nodded reassuringly.
The next day they left the hospitable streets of Maastricht and arrived
safely in Liege, still in their disguises as Walloon workmen. A visit to
a clever hairdresser before they left had completed their disguise.
Their fresh complexions were hidden beneath a stain that darkened the
skin to the tints of the swarthiest Walloons of the Liege district.
Max, as he was by far the better known and ran the greater risk of
detection, had, in addition, his brown hair dyed a much darker hue and
his eyebrows thickened and made to meet in the centre. A few lines
skilfully drawn here and there about his face gave him the appearance of
a much older man than Dale, and enabled them to pose as brothers aged
about twenty-eight and twenty respectively. Their hair was allowed to
run wild and mat about their brows and ears; hands and wrists were left,
much to their discomfort, to get as grubby as possible, and in the end
they were ready to meet the gaze of all as Belgian workmen of the most
out-and-out kind.
The necessity for the constant renewal of their various disguises was
not overlooked, and the hairdresser was prevailed upon to part with a
supply of his dyes and to tell them exactly how and when to apply them.
Max of course could maintain the part of workman to perfection, even if
questioned at length, but Dale was under the necessity of answering only
in monosyllables, as his knowledge of the language was at present not
very great. With Max at his elbow, however, this was not a serious
drawback, and neither anticipated any difficulty on that score.
Max was now a broad-shouldered, well-built young fellow of twenty. He
was not much above medium height, but his rowing and running at
Hawkesley and his hard work in the various shops of the Durend concern
had given him a muscular development that most of the real workmen might
have envied. His responsibilities as stroke at college, and, later, as
the future head of the firm, had given him a self-reliant attitude of
mind that was reflected in his bearing, and enabled him to maintain with
unconscious ease his sudden increase in years over his more
youthful-looking comrade.
Dale was still slim and boyish-looking. He was wiry enough, however, and
was, as we have seen, extremely cool and courageous in any tight corner.
He was quick, too, and the pair made an ideal couple to hunt together.
Had Schenk known that they were bending all their energies to the task
of hindering his use of the Durend workshops for the benefit of the
Germans he would probably have bestowed more than a passing thought upon
them. And had he had an inkling that they were at the bottom of the
shrewd blow already dealt him within the sacred precincts of his office
he would, no doubt, have spent a sleepless night or two.
The few days that had elapsed since Max and Dale left Liege had already
witnessed yet another development in the rapid conversion of the Durend
workshops into a first-class manufactory of war material for the German
army. A large building on the outskirts of the town had been taken over
and converted into a filling-shop, and the shells manufactured within
the works were conveyed thither on a miniature railway, and there filled
with high-explosive drawn from a factory situated about a mile and a
half away, well outside the limits of the town. This new shop was being
staffed with men drawn partly from Germany and partly from former
workmen of the less determined sort, who were gradually returning to
work under stress of hunger.
On Max and Dale applying for work they were promptly drafted to this
shop. Fortunately for them, perhaps, the foreman who was now engaging
fresh workmen was a man sent from Germany, a bullying, overbearing,
Prussian foreman who was expected to bring the methods of the Prussian
drill-sergeant to bear upon the poor half-starved wretches applying for
work, and to reduce them to a proper state of submission. Max had no
difficulty in satisfying the man, especially as he made no demur to
working in the night shift. Few workmen cared for the night shift, and
the foreman was therefore the more ready to clinch the bargain. Soon Max
and Dale were being shown the way to fill the shells and finish them
off, ready to be sent on their mission of destruction.
"Things couldn't have happened better, Dale," remarked Max at the first
opportunity.
"Why, Max? We are safe inside; is that what you mean?"
"Not exactly. What I mean is our being sent to the filling-shops. It's
no end of a piece of luck."
"Ah, I see! You are thinking of wrecking the place, eh?"
"Possibly, later on. But what I mean is that for our plans we need
explosives, and plenty of them. Well, here they are, ready to hand, and
all we have to do for a start is to get what we want away unseen."
"Aye; accumulate a store of our own ready for the day we want them?"
"Yes; the best place to attack we can settle later. In fact we may have
to seize our opportunities as they come along."
"The best places to choose are these filling-shops, old man. Heaps of
explosives about, and, although they watch everyone pretty closely, we
ought to get a chance before long. If this place were blown sky-high it
would damage a lot of the other shops, and probably get Schenk the sack.
He seems to have got over that other affair all right."
"Yes, but I can't bring myself to blow up this great place with all the
workmen in it, Germans or renegade Belgians though they are. I want to
cripple the works, not kill the work-people."
"Don't see much in your scruples, Max. If we don't kill them they are
left to go on sending shells out to kill our men."
"True, old man, but all the same I should like, if I can, to do the
business without causing any loss of life among the workmen. There is
the power-house now. If we could wreck that we should bring the whole of
the works to an absolute standstill."
"Phew! Yes. Well, and why shouldn't we?"
"I've been thinking, and I believe we ought to be able to do it. Of
course you know there is a soldier always posted at each entrance?"
"We must dispose of him--that's all."
"Or else we must get jobs as stokers. But enough of this--see that man
coming along there eyeing the benches?"
"Yes."
"I believe he's a spy. He is really looking more at the men than at the
benches. We must be very careful, or one of those fellows will get in
our way."
"It will be the worse for him," muttered Dale under his breath, as he
went on with his work with redoubled energy.
"And for us too," replied Max, lifting a heavy shell with an ease that
many of the regular workmen, practised though they were, could not have
excelled.
The man stopped when he reached the bench on which Max and Dale were
working. "Where are you from?" he enquired sharply, in very indifferent
Walloon.
"Yonder," replied Max, nodding towards the poorer quarter of the town.
"Back of Rue Gheude."
"You're a Belgian, eh?"
"Yes," admitted Max with an appearance of reluctance.
"Why do you come here to work? Many of your countrymen refuse to work."
"One must live," replied Max sullenly. Then he went on in an angry tone:
"We have been deserted and left to starve. Why shouldn't we work? They
should protect us, these French and English, if they want us to remain
on their side. Are we to let our little ones perish for their sakes?"
"You are right, my friend," replied the man approvingly. "These English
and Frenchmen care naught so long as their country is safe. Why should
Belgians fight their battles for them? No, no, my friend."
Max nodded and turned back to his work. The man watched him for a minute
or two and then continued on his way along the shop, scarcely glancing
at Dale, who was to all appearances too engrossed in his work to pay
much attention to what was going on about him.
"End of round No. 1," whispered Max to his friend. "We've got the better
of Mr. Ferret so far, but I fear we shall have trouble in getting many
live shells away from under the noses of him and his tribe."
"We shall do it," replied Dale confidently. "We may get the job of
loading them up on the lorries presently and find an opportunity. If the
worst comes to the worst we must carry medium-sized ones away one by one
in our folded coats."
"H'm!" grunted Max. "We must find a safer way than that I fancy. I doubt
if our ferret friends would let us do much of that sort of thing."
Dale shrugged his shoulders in contempt of the whole of the spy crew,
and the conversation dropped.
For some two weeks Max and Dale worked in the filling-shops, observing
the routine and making careful note of every circumstance that seemed to
offer a chance of making off with supplies of finished shells. They soon
found that they had reason to congratulate themselves upon having joined
the night shift. Max had accepted the foreman's offer of the night shift
for two reasons: first, because he thought that their disguises were
less likely to be penetrated in artificial light, and, secondly, because
they might reasonably expect to be quite safe during their journeys to
and fro in the dark. But he found that an even greater advantage to
their projects lay in the fact that the shop was only half manned at
night, the work, and especially the supervision, were less efficient,
and the yards, while well lighted, contained plenty of deep shadows
suited to shelter those on dubious errands.
As soon as he could, Max got into touch with his friend Dubec and the
workmen who had remained faithful to their country's cause. He had
brought ample funds with him from the moneys recovered from the firm,
and hoped to relieve any who might be in acute distress. He soon found
plenty of outlet for his funds, for the men who refused to work in the
shops were drawing terribly near the edge of starvation.
As Max had expected, the knowledge that their employers were standing by
them, and were ready to aid them at every opportunity, greatly heartened
the men, and a small but loyal band steadily refused to work, and fought
a gallant battle with starvation in the cause of their country's
freedom. Between Max and these men an unbreakable, unforgettable bond of
union was gradually forged; and several times, to their unbounded
delight, he was able to use them in furthering his projects. He found
them particularly useful in obtaining information and in keeping watch
over the movements of M. Schenk and his numerous spies. Patriotism,
resentment at their sufferings, and hatred of Schenk, all combined to
render them zealous auxiliaries, and lightened, in some measure at
least, the heavy task fate seemed to have cast upon Max's own shoulders.