They were rough individuals, but loyal to their word. Feeling that
I could not be in safer company, I threw in my lot with theirs for
nearly a fortnight, hiding by day in the cottage of their leader, on
the outskirts of a village "somewhere in France," but not far from
Erquelinnes, and assisting them at night in carrying their goods along
the little-known paths which intersect the Franco-Belgian frontier.
Bit by bit I told mine host my tale. He was touched as much as you
could expect a hardened smuggler to be, swore eternal friendship over
an excellent bottle of wine, and promised that on the very next day he
would bring me a surprise.
He was as good as his word. Out of his pocket he drew a paper--a
duly-signed and stamped pass, obtained from the Prussian officer at the
frontier village of ----, authorizing the bearer to cross into Belgium
without let or hindrance. He did more than this: he gave me the name
and address of a confederate at Charleroi, who would furnish me with
the means of effecting my escape _viâ_ Holland.
I crossed the frontier, wheeling a barrow belonging to a friendly
peasant, who went daily to a bit of land he possessed on Belgian
territory.
My twenty-mile walk to Charleroi, and a stay of a week in that city,
were uneventful. On leaving, my smuggler's friend gave me a useful
introduction to a person in Brussels, whence, with a little borrowed
money in my pocket, I set off, towards the end of November. The train
was still running the four miles between Charleroi and Gosselies.
The thirteen miles to Nivelles I covered on foot; the eighteen miles
past Waterloo and over ground every yard of which recalled memories
of Napoleon and the closing scenes of the Hundred Days I traversed by
train again.
The long sojourn which I was destined to make in Brussels was
uneventful compared to my late experiences. There I obtained papers
certifying that I was a Belgian commercial traveller, but discretion,
you will readily understand, forbids me going into details. Oh, no; I
did not put those forged papers to too severe a test by use. As much
as possible, I sought to remain hidden in the terrorized city, and to
slip out of it for Malines and the villages near the Dutch frontier,
without showing my _papiers_ any more than was absolutely necessary.
The frontier between Belgium and Holland is of so serrated a nature
that at the time of which I am speaking it was comparatively easy for
a hunted man like myself to cross into neutral territory. To do so now
would be almost impossible, so well do the Germans guard the irregular
line, the configuration of which is such that it is difficult, in
places, to tell whether you are in Holland or in Belgium. Fortunately,
I had come into contact with a person who was expert in getting young
Belgians across the frontier into Holland, and he agreed to help me.
Here, again, I cannot--on account of those who risked their lives in
befriending me--go into too many details. Suffice it to say, that on
the evening of my escape from the frontier village of A---- I was
instructed to walk to a certain milestone, where I should find a man
with a red muffler, sitting on a heap of stones.
There, sure enough, I found him--an elderly man with his hands folded
over the top of his stick, his chin resting on his hands, and his eyes
gazing innocently into the gathering dusk.
As I passed him I uttered the word "Belgica," which I had been told to
pronounce, and keep on, without once turning my head.
Very soon I heard his footsteps and the tap, tap of his stick. He
overtook me with alert step, and on reaching me, said: "Follow me."
We shot off from the main road into a small winding pathway, which we
followed for some fifty yards. Then, suddenly stopping, the man in the
red muffler exclaimed: "Holland!"
No word ever before sounded to me so sweet as that. Overcome by the
thought that once more I was standing on free ground--that I had but to
follow the pathway on which I stood to reach a Dutch village--and that
the journey thence to a port and my beloved France _viâ_ England, was
but a question of time, I remained for a few seconds lost in reverie.
At last, mastering my emotion, I prepared to set off before darkness
completely enveloped the wild landscape which surrounded me. Before
putting my best foot foremost, however, I was seized with a desire to
thank the man who had guided me there, so I turned half-round to press
his hand. To my surprise, however, I found that he had disappeared, and
that only the gleam of his red muffler marked his progress down the
path.