The German Counter-stroke
The fury of the German military governor and his staff at the
destruction of the largest workshop in the Durend concern could hardly
have been greater had the town under their charge successfully revolted.
For the fifth time at least the Durend works--which the Germans had
looked upon as peculiarly their own--had been the scene of successful
blows against their authority. These exploits were too extensive and too
public to be hidden, and the Walloon workmen of Liege--never a docile
race--had been progressively encouraged to commit similar acts
elsewhere, or to resist passively the pressure of their German
taskmasters.
In the view of the German governor it was imperative that a blow, and a
stunning one, should be struck at this tendency among the Liege workmen.
Had the authors of this latest outrage been captured, an example would
have been easy. Unfortunately, they had again escaped, and in a manner
so impudent and daring that the exasperation of the Germans was greatly
intensified. Rewards had been offered before and had proved fruitless.
On this occasion the governor resolved to sweep aside what he termed
trifles, and to use firmly and pitilessly a weapon of terror already in
his hands.
The Durend yards had been entirely closed the moment intelligence had
reached M. Schenk that suspicious persons had broken into one of the
idle workshops. After the fire all workmen found within the yard had
been closely examined, and those definitely known to have Belgian
sympathies placed under arrest. These men numbered thirty-nine, and it
was by using them as hostages that the German governor intended to
strike terror into the hearts of the Walloons. They were hurried before
a military court, briefly examined, and found guilty of conspiring
against the German military occupation. Sentence of death followed as a
matter of course.
Max and Dale had reached their lodging without any particular
difficulty, after again taking refuge in the waters of the Meuse. They
were tired out with their all-night exploit, and, removing their wet
garments, tumbled heavily into bed. It was thus late in the afternoon
before they heard from the landlord of their house the news that the
German governor intended to execute all the Belgian workmen caught
within the precincts of the Durend yards. Even then they could hardly
bring themselves to believe it.
"It's too rascally even for the Germans, Max," declared Dale at last.
"It's probably only a threat to force one of them to give away his
fellows."
"Maybe, Dale, but I know enough of the Germans to believe that if they
don't succeed they will not hesitate to carry out the sentence."
"The cold-blooded murderers!" cried Dale hotly.
"Yes," replied Max in a strained voice, as he began to pace slowly up
and down the length of their room. "Yes, they are; but shall not we have
really had a hand in their deaths?"
"Not one jot," cried Dale emphatically. "No particle of blame can be
laid at our door if they are foully done to death."
"Had we not so harassed the Germans, these men would not be under
sentence of death," Max went on, half to himself. "It seems hard that
they must die for our success."
"Bah! They die for Belgium and to proclaim to the world that the Germans
must be crushed," cried Dale contemptuously. "No, Max, we have nothing
to reproach ourselves with in this business."
"No, but still----" Then, rousing himself with an effort, Max went on:
"But we need not worry ourselves yet. Will you go into the streets and
find out anything else you can? I am going to find Dubec, and we will
then see if aught can be done."
The two parted, and in a few minutes Max was at the door of Dubec's
house. Here a rude shock awaited him, for Madame Dubec, white-faced but
tearless, told him, with a quietude and directness that somehow seemed
to make the news more terrible still, that her husband was one of those
lying under sentence of death.
The shock was a great one, although, in his heart, Max had half expected
it. He knew Dubec had been in the yard, and what more likely than that
he had been detained? Too upset to do more than mumble a few words of
sorrow, Max turned on his heel and hurried from the house.
Taking the road to the open hills, Max strode on and on, his mind filled
with serious and oftentimes conflicting thoughts. He had no doubts as to
the fate of the thirty-nine men if the Germans were unable to lay their
hands upon the real authors of the destruction of the workshop. They
would surely die, and with them Dubec, towards whom Max felt specially
drawn by his constant loyal aid and the memory of the day when he had
answered his mute appeal for succour.
And to Max the responsibility seemed his. These men had no part nor lot
in it. Why should they die? It did not help matters much to blame the
Germans--the worst might always be expected of them--for that would not
give back to Madame Dubec the husband for whom it seemed to Max she had
unconsciously appealed.
Supposing he gave himself up in order that they might go free? Ah, what
a triumph for Schenk! How he would rejoice! True, he did not know that
Max was at the bottom of all the shrewd blows dealt him of late, but he
probably had more than a suspicion of it. At any rate he was known to
have traced much of the money and valuables, recovered from his room, to
the bank at Maastricht which Madame Durend patronized. Knowing, then,
the authorship of that most daring exploit, it would have been strange
if he had not looked to the same quarter for an explanation of the
similar blows dealt him so soon after.
Yes, it would be a great triumph for Schenk, and the end of that
resolute opposition to the use of the Durend workshops for the benefit
of the German army that had taken such a grip upon our hero's mind. That
task he had made peculiarly his own. All the fixity of purpose he
possessed, and it was not a little, was concentrated upon keeping his
father's--his--works from aiding the projects of a brutal and
unscrupulous enemy.
To give it all up would not only be a victory for Schenk but a bitter
pill to himself--the uprooting of something that had taken deep root in
the inmost recesses of his mind.
The struggle was a long one, but it came to an end at last, and Max
returned to the town, scribbled a short note to Dale, which he left at
their lodging, and then walked directly to the governor's house.
At the door the sentry's bayonet barred his entry, but the officer of
the guard, on being informed that a man had applied to see the governor
on urgent business, came out and spoke to him. A few words were
sufficient, and Max was brought inside under a guard of two men while
the officer sought the governor with the welcome news that the man who
had destroyed the Durend workshops had given himself up. The governor
directed that he should be searched to ensure that he was not in
possession of firearms and then admitted to his presence.
The German governor of Liege was quite a typical Prussian officer,
stiffly erect, with bullet-head covered with short bristling grey hair,
well-twisted moustache, and fierce aggressive manner. He was the man who
had called upon Schenk on the never-to-be-forgotten occasion when Max
and Dale had been his uninvited guests underneath his office desk. To
say the least of it, he was not a man who was afraid of being too
severe.
"You are then this rascal who has burned the Durend machine-gun shop?"
he cried in a rasping voice as soon as Max had been led before him.
"Yes," replied Max, "but I am no rascal. The shop is mine, and I have
burned it."
"Yours, impudent?" cried the governor angrily, raising a cane which lay
upon his desk as though about to slash his prisoner about the face.
"Yours? And who are you?"
"I am Max Durend, the son of the owner of the workshops, and I would
sooner see the place burned from end to end than of use to the Germans."
"Ah, that is good!" replied the governor in a voice of satisfaction,
dropping his hand and turning towards the officer who had ushered Max
into the room. "It will have a salutary effect if we execute the son of
Herr Durend. It will aid our cause tremendously."
"Yes, General."
"I have given myself up that the innocent men you have seized upon may
be released," Max interposed. "They know nothing of it. I am solely
responsible."
"Ja, so. I have now no quarrel with them," replied the governor
indifferently. "They are pawns. Now I have the real miscreant I need
them not."
"I am no miscreant. They are miscreants who would slaughter thirty-nine
innocent men because the right one had slipped through their fingers."
The governor glared at Max with eyes that goggled with rage. He was
clearly unaccustomed to such plain speaking. "I remember that Herr von
Schenkendorf once told me that Monsieur Durend had married an
Englishwoman. You are half a mad English dog, and your manners proclaim
it."
"It is true," replied Max steadily.
"Ja, you and your countrymen are half barbarian. You know naught of
Kultur."
"Thank God!" cried Max with an emphasis that caused the governor to
spring to his feet, seize the cane anew, and slash the prisoner heavily
across the cheek. Max flinched--he could not help it--but he moved
neither hand nor foot.
This outburst seemed to calm the Prussian, for he dropped back into his
chair and in a judicial manner, though with a very vindictive and
unjudicial scowl upon his face, he passed judgment.
"The prisoner has pleaded guilty. You will take him to-morrow morning to
Monsieur Durend's works, and at midday you will shoot him there."
"In public, sir?" enquired the officer.
"Yes, as an example to all his late workmen. A placard announcing the
impending execution will be posted outside."
"Yes, sir."
Max was led away. Indignation at the brutality of the Prussian was
strong within him, and he held his head erect, and answered look for
look the hostile glances of those about him. The hot blood still coursed
through his veins, and the sacrifice he had made did not loom over large
in his imagination.
It was not until he had been conducted to a gloomy, ill-lit room in the
basement of the building, and there left in solitude to think and think
upon his impending fate, that things grew different, and his fortitude
partially left him. The end seemed so merciless and hard, and, leaning
heavily against the wall, he fell a prey to unhappy reflections. At
times he went farther than this, and shed a few furtive tears at this
end to all his hopes and secret boyish ambitions.
* * * * *
Shortly after Max had been led away to his cell, the thirty-nine workmen
were released. No reason was vouchsafed for this sudden change of front,
but the curt notice already affixed to the gates of the governor's
palace soon supplied it. Max Durend had been taken, and found guilty of
the deed for which they had been seized, and he was to pay the penalty.
M. Dubec was one of the men released, and at the news he hurried home.
Naturally his wife was overjoyed at seeing him, but he was too
preoccupied by doubt and concern at the fate of his master's son to stay
with her more than a few minutes. From his home he hurried to the
lodging of Max and Dale, and at the door met the latter coming slowly
out. One glance at his face was enough to tell even M. Dubec that he
knew of his friend's terrible position.
"You have seen the notice, sir?" he asked.
"No, I have seen no notice," replied Dale heavily. "I do not want to
know of any notice, thank you, Dubec."
"But you know of Monsieur Max----?"
"Yes."
"Then you must have heard from him or seen him taken. I first knew by
the notice on the gates of the palace."
Dale threw off a little of his lethargy. "What was this notice?" he
said.
"That he is to be shot at noon to-morrow in the Durend yard."
"Ah! And I shall join him there!" cried Dale in so wild a voice that
Dubec looked at him in wonderment. Then Dale told him what had happened.
That Max had not been captured by the Germans, but had voluntarily
surrendered himself to save the imprisoned workmen. The note which Max
had left, and which had told him all, was read aloud to the wondering
man, who, somewhat slow-witted as he was, managed to grasp the one
awe-inspiring fact that his master's son had offered up his own life to
save his and his comrades' lives.
The note which Dale read to him was as follows:--
"DEAR JACK,
"I can't stand it. I cannot bear that those thirty-nine men should
die for my affairs. I know that their blood would not lie at my
door, but at the door of their unscrupulous judges; yet I cannot
feel that this removes from me all responsibility. No; and I must
yield myself up in their place. Do not grieve for me, old man.
Return to England, and, if you will, take a more direct part in the
war. Leave the Durend affairs alone; they must, for the war, die
with me.
"Good-bye, old man, good-bye! Remember me to all at Hawkesley. Tell
them I lost upon a foul, and not in fair fighting.
"Ever your old comrade,
"MAX."
Dale's voice shook as he read the letter. He was obviously much upset,
and, seeing it, Dubec, in his uncouth but good-hearted way, persuaded
him to return with him to his home for a little while. There Madame
Dubec was called to their aid, and as soon as Dale had recovered himself
a little the situation was anxiously discussed. In his desperation Dale
was for interrupting the execution and compelling the Germans to execute
him by the side of his friend. Such an idea as that was quite foreign to
Madame and Monsieur Dubec, and they refused to entertain it. As the
former said, if Monsieur Dale was determined to die, it would be better
to do so in trying to liberate his friend rather than in attempting to
share his fate.
The reasonableness of this struck even Dale, distraught as he was, and
the three settled down to discuss the possibility of rescue, of
reprieve, or whatever seemed likely to put off the evil hour, if only
for a day.