DRIVEN GAME
The stars had faded; a watery grey light glimmered through the forest.
Deer crossed the grassy carrefour by the shrine, picking a dainty way
toward forest depths; rabbits hopped homeward through dew-drenched ferns
and bracken; a cock-pheasant saluted the dawn; the last wild boar still
lingered amid the beech mast, rooting, coughing, following the furrows
that his bristly snout was making while his furry bat-like ears, cocked
forward, remained on duty, and his tail wriggled pleasurably.
The silent watchers aloft behind the rocky escarpement of The Pulpit,
looking down through leafy branches to the carrefour, saw the last
little roedeer trot past on his fastidious way; saw the last rabbit
vanish in the warren; saw the lone boar lift his huge and shaggy head to
listen with piggish suspicion, then turn and go, silent as some
monstrous spectre.
From under hazel bushes pheasants stepped out to ruffle and preen and
peck pensively among the fallen leaves, awaiting the promise of the sun,
their white collars gleamed below their gorgeous heads; the sombre
splendour of their plumage made brilliant spots along the ride. Here and
there a hen-pheasant crept modestly about the business of breakfast. A
blue and rosy jay alighted near, sign that the forest peace promised to
endure.
After a long while far in the west the grey was touched with rose.
Darrel, lying beside Guild, chin on his folded arms, stirred slightly.
"Sunrise," he said.
Michaud, on the other side, reared himself on his hands and lay watching
the west.
"It is too early for the sun," he said. "That is a fire."
Pinker, ruddier, redder grew the western sky. Silent, intent, forester,
garde-de-chasse, charcoal burner, strained their keen eyes.
Then a heavy sigh like a groan escaped Michaud.
"The Lodge," he said, hoarsely, under his breath. "Oh God, my master's
home."
All around among the rocks men were drawing deep breaths, muttering,
restless; their eyes were fixed like the eyes of caged wild things.
"The Grey Wolves," growled an old garde--"Ah, the cowards--the dirty
Prussian whelps! Ah! Look at that; my God! Marie adored, Virgin of
Lesse; stand by us now!"
Against the sky specks like tinsel twinkled; smoke became visible.
"House, stables, granneries, quarters, garage, all are on fire," said
Michaud in a mechanical voice. His face was grey and without expression,
his words accentless.
The smoke appeared further north.
"The cattle-barns and the hay-stacks," he went on monotonously....
Beyond are the green-houses, runs, dove-cotes, and our little shop....
They are now afire... Everything is on fire. Lesse is burning,
burning.... The stubble beyond is burning.... And beyond that the
nursery acres--the seedlings and the--Marie adored, Virgin of Lesse,
have pity on my little trees--my nurslings--my darlings----"
"Hark!" whispered Guild. Far away up the ride horses were coming at a
heavy trot; and now the noise of wheels became audible. And now below
them two German dragoons cantered into view, carbines poised; a waggon
passed--a strange grey vehicle driven by a grey-clad soldier wearing a
vizorless forage cap. It was piled with dead pigeons and chickens.
Behind that another waggon followed, all splashed with blood, and in it
swayed and jolted the carcasses of dead pigs freshly killed, lurching
and slipping over the crimsoned straw. Behind galloped six Uhlans, their
lances perpendicular in the buckets, the cords from their cloth-covered
schapskas bellying behind.
"Not a shot!" said Michaud in a perfectly distinct voice, pushing up the
rifle of the old garde-de-chasse. "There is nothing to do now, nom de
Dieu!--for the necks of our fowls are already wrung and the dead hogs
are tasting their own _boudin_. Our affair is with the living pigs."
After a few moments more dragoons came, trotting their superb horses
along the ride, alertly scanning the woods to right and left as they
passed, their carbines at a ready.
Waggons followed--hay waggons, carts loaded with potato sacks, straw,
apples, bags of flour, even firewood and bundles of faggots--a dozen
vehicles or more of every description.
"Ours," said Michaud in his emotionless tones. "What they could not take
is burning yonder."
More grey dragoons closed the file of waggons, then a dozen Uhlans, who
turned frequently in their saddles and kept looking back.
"Scoundrels!" muttered the garde-de-chasse, laying his rifle level; but
Michaud turned on him and struck up the weapon.
"Thou!" he said coldly--"do thy duty when I tell thee, or I become
angry."
Somebody said: "There are no more. We have not bled one single wolf!"
"Look yonder," whispered Guild.
Out into the carrefour stepped briskly eight or ten German officers,
smart and elegant and trim in their sea-grey uniforms and their spiked
helmets shrouded with grey so that there was not a glitter from point to
spur.
A dozen non-commissioned officers followed, carrying two military rifles
apiece.
The officers looked curiously at the shrine of Our Lady of Lesse, and
the sad-faced Virgin looked back at them out of her carven and sightless
eyes.
One by one the officers took posts at the four corners of the grassy
clearing or on the steps of the shrine. They were laughing and
conversing; some smoked; some inspected the rifles brought up by their
non-com gun-bearers. The sun had not yet risen; the silvery smoke of the
Silverwiltz marked its high waterfall below the gorge of the glen; fern
fronds drooped wet to the wet dead leaves beneath, matted grasses
glistened powdered with dew.
In the still grey air of morning the smoke from the German officers'
pipes and cigars rose upward in straight thin bands; a jeweled bracelet
on the wrist of an infantry major reflected light like a frost crystal.
The officers ceased their careless conversation; one by one they became
quiet, almost motionless where they had taken their several positions.
Behind them, stiff and erect, the non-coms stood with the spare guns,
rifles or fowling-pieces.
An air of silent expectancy settled over the carrefour; officer and
non-com were waiting for something.
Michaud had already divined; Guild knew; so did Darrel. Every woodsman
in The Pulpit knew. Some of them were trembling like leashed dogs.
Then in the forest a sound became audible like a far halloo. Distant
answers came through the woodland silence, from north, from south--then
from west and east.
Guild whispered to Darrel: "They are driving the forest! They have a
regiment out to beat it!"
The German officers at their stands no longer moved as much as a finger.
Against the grey trees they were all but invisible.
Suddenly out into the carrefour stepped a superb red stag, ears alert,
beautiful head half turned at gaze. Instantly a rifle spoke; and the
magnificent creature was down in the ride, scuffling, scrambling, only
to fall and lie panting with its long neck lifted a little.
Crack! The antlered head fell.
Then out of the wood trotted three bewildered pigs--an old boar, a
yearling on which the stripes were still visible, and a huge fierce sow.
A ripple of rifle shots checked them; the old boar stood swinging his
great furry head right and left; the yearling was down, twitching; the
sow ran, screaming horribly. Two shots followed; the old boar kneeled
down very quietly like a trick-horse in a circus, still facing his
enemies. He did not look as though he were dead.
The yearling had ceased its twitching; the sow was down, too, a great
lump of coarse black fur in the ditch.
Then the rifles began again; a company of little roe deer whirled into
the ride and went down or stumbled with delicate limbs dangling broken,
or leaped to a height incredible in the agony of a death wound.
Pell-mell after them galloped a whole herd of red deer; the German
rifles rattled steadily. Now and then blasts from fowling-pieces dropped
running or incoming pheasants, cock and hen alike; or crumpled up some
twisting rabbit or knocked a great hare head over heels.
Faster and faster came the terrified wild things, stag, roe, boar, and
hare; steadily the German rifles cracked and rattled out death; thicker
and swifter pelted the meteor flight of pheasants; birds of all sorts
came driving headlong in their flight; big drab-tinted wood-pigeons, a
wild duck or two, widgeon and mallard; now and then a woodcock fluttered
past like some soft brown bat beating the air; now and then a
coq-de-la-bruyere, planing on huge bowed wings above collapsed and fell
heavily to the loose roar of the fowling-pieces.
Crippled, mutilated creatures were heaped along the ride; over them
leaped their panic-stricken comrades only to stumble in the rifle-fire
and lie struggling or inert.
A veil of smoky haze made the carrefour greyer now, through which at
intervals a dying stag lifted its long neck from the shambles about him
or some strong feathered thing beat its broken wings impotently upon the
grass.
Once a great boar charged, and was shot to pieces, spattering the steps
of the shrine with blood. Once a wounded hare dragged its tortured body
to the shrine, as though for sanctuary. A non-com swung it crashing
against the granite cross.
And now a more sinister thing occurred. Out from the forest, amid the
stampeding game, reeled a man! His blue smock hung in ribbons; one
bleeding fist grasped a rifle; the cartridges en bandoulière glittered.
For a second he stood there, swaying, panting, bewildered in the smoke
haze; then three non-coms fired at him at once.
At that he straightened up, stood so for a second as though listening,
then he took one uncertain step and pitched into a patch of briers on
his face.
Presently some German foot-soldiers appeared in the ride, moving
cautiously, scanning every ditch, every hollow, every thicket, their
rifles poised for a snap-shot. A roebuck floundered up and went off
before them like the wind, unnoticed. Then one of the soldiers fired,
and a boy jumped out from behind a hazel bush and started to run along
the edge of the woods. He was followed by two sheep dogs.
"Jean Pascal!" said Michaud calmly. "May God pardon him now."
As the little shepherd ran, the soldiers stood and fired at him, aiming
carefully. They broke his leg as he passed the carrefour. The lad raised
himself from the ground to a sitting position and was sobbing bitterly,
when they shot him again. That time he fell over on his side, his hands
still covering his dead and tear-wet face. His dogs trotted around him,
nuzzling him and licking his hands. An officer shot them both.
Schultz broke cover in a few moments, his rifle at his cheek; and,
dropping to one knee in the ride, he coolly opened fire on the officers
by the shrine. But he had time only for a single shot which jerked a
spiked helmet from a cavalry major's clipped head. Then they knocked him
flat.
As the herdsman lay gasping in the roadway with a bullet in his stomach,
looking with dull and glazing eyes at the rifle flashes, three men from
Yslemont--blackened, haggard, ragged creatures--burst out, fighting like
wildcats with the beaters behind them.
Two were bayoneted and clubbed to death in the briers; the last man ran
like a crazed hare, doubling, dodging, twisting among the trees where
the rifle hail filled the air with twigs and splinters and tattered
leaves.
After him lumbered a dozen foot-soldiers, clumping along in their
hob-nailed ammunition boots. Then, high above on The Pulpit, Guild spoke
sharply to Michaud, who gave a jerk to his white head and made a little
gesture to the others behind him.
"Now," added Guild in a low voice.
"Fire," said Michaud calmly.
The rocky glen roared with the volley. The foot-soldiers below halted in
astonishment and looked up. One fell sideways against a tree; another
dropped to his knees and remained motionless, the spike of his helmet
buried deep in the soft earth.
They were shouting down by the carrefour now; clear, mellow whistle
signals sounded persistently. Horses were coming, too; the ride
reverberated with their galloping. And all the while The Pulpit
resounded with the rifle-fire of its little garrison, and soldiers were
dropping along the carrefour and the ride.
[Illustration: "The Pulpit resounded with the rifle-fire of its little
garrison"]
"Pigs of Prussians!" shouted the old garde-de-chasse; "does a Belgian
game-drive suit you now! Ah, scoundrels, bandits, sound the _Mort_ on
your imbecile whistles. For the swine of the North are dying fast!"
"Be silent," said Michaud coldly. "You tarnish your own courage!"
Guild and Darrel had taken rifles; they stood firing down at the
carrefour where the horses of the Uhlan advanced guard were plunging
about in disorder under a confusion of lances and fluttering pennons.
But the confusion lasted only a few moments; horsemen whirled their
mounts and cleared out at full speed; the carrefour was empty of
officers now; not a German was visible in the early sunshine, only the
steady clatter of their rifle-fire continued to pelt the heights where
bullets cracked and smacked on the rocks.
"Enough," said Michaud quietly. "It is time to leave. André, bring thou
a bar to me."
A charcoal burner ran to the hole in the rocks and drew out a crowbar.
Michaud took it, shoved it under the edge of the ledge, found a fulcrum,
motioned the men back.
Two other men threw their weight on the bar; the ledge lifted easily.
Suddenly the entire parapet gave way, crashing like an avalanche into
the glen below.
"They shall need wings who follow us," said the old man grimly.
"Monsieur," turning calmly to Guild, "if we cross the Dutch border
unarmed, will they interne us?"
"No, I think not."
"And from there we may be free to find our way to the colours?"
"Yes."
"By sea?"
"By land and sea to Dunkirk. I know of no easier or quicker way."
"Monsieur goes with us?"
"First I must stop at Quellenheim." He added, in a low voice: "By
mistake my papers were sent there last night. Our King must see those
papers."
"Bien," said Michaud. "We bivouac near Quellenheim tonight--time for a
crust, Monsieur, while you go to the house and return. Is it agreeable
to Monsieur?"
"Perfectly." And, to Darrel: "Take your chance while it remains and join
the Courlands when they leave Quellenheim. Will you promise?"
"I'll see," said Darrel, carelessly tossing his rifle across his
shoulder and stepping into the silent file of men which was already
starting across the ridge.