I cannot tell you how long I slumbered--probably until two or three
o'clock in the morning. But I was awakened by the sound of the snapping
of dry twigs and muffled voices. I sprang to my feet and listened.
Nearer and nearer came the stealthy footsteps. I retired as cautiously
as I could; but though I trod ever so lightly, it was impossible to
avoid the crackling of dead wood, which seemed to my hypersensitive
ears like so many pistol-shots. Even the thumping of my heart appeared
audible. One curious thing, however, I noticed: whenever, after a noisy
retreat, I stopped to listen, there was a corresponding stoppage and a
long silence on the part of my pursuers. But, thought I, was it at all
certain they _were_ in pursuit? Would they not, in that case, have come
on with a rush? "Suppose I crouch down and run the risk of them passing
without seeing me?" I thought. Whilst I was reflecting; with my back
to what was apparently a fairly large tree, those who were advancing,
emboldened by the silence which had intervened, came on with hastened
steps, and got so near that I could hear their heavy breathing. I
stepped quickly behind my tree, but too late to serve my purpose, for
the next moment a stern voice rapped out an oath almost in my ear and
a flash of light from an electric torch struck me full in the face.
"Hands up, or I shoot!" said the voice. "Who are you?"
"A Frenchman," I replied, obeying the command and deciding, on the
spur of the moment, that one who spoke to me in my native tongue could
hardly be an enemy. "And in need of help."
"Good thing you're not a _Pruscot_, mate, or you'd have been a goner.
In need of help, are you? So are we. Aren't we, _mes vieuz_?"
This last remark was addressed to the speaker's two companions, whose
indistinct forms I could now make out.
"Very well," continued the speaker, slipping the revolver with which
he had covered me into his pocket, "I take it to be a bargain. One good
service deserves another. You help us with some of these parcels, and
we'll help _you_. I'm not going to ask you too many questions, and we
don't expect you to be over inquisitive about _our_ business. _C'est
compris?_ But if we're to get there and back before light we must be
off. Come on!"
Taking two of the heavy packages which they were transporting, I
followed them. In a flash, I saw that I had fallen in with a party
of smugglers, who still continued to ply their calling in the
neighbourhood of Erquelinnes and other villages on the frontier between
Belgium and France. Men of nondescript nationality, though hating the
Teuton with all the ardour of a Frenchman or a Belgian, and ready, if
a favourable opportunity offered, to rid the world of every Boche who
fell into their power, they made it their business to be on friendly
terms with the Prussian officers who were in authority on the frontier.
Many favours, in the early months of the war, could they obtain from
them, in return for a discreetly-offered gift, such as a box of cigars,
or a pound or two of tobacco. When taking any important consignment
of goods to and fro between their dépôts on the road from Maubeuge to
Charleroi, they had, of course, to resort to the traditional methods of
their calling; and it was whilst on one of these nocturnal expeditions
that I had encountered them.