A Baptism of Fire
At eight o'clock on the following morning the motorcyclist
section--nine in number--was paraded in front of the orderly-room of
Fort de Barchon. Already the bulk of the regiments had marched out to
take up a position in the trenches between the fortifications and the
right bank of the Meuse.
The two English lads had been served out with a dark-blue uniform, with
heavy boots and brown gaiters, and had been armed with a Belgian
service revolver--a .45-bore, made by the famous firm of Cockerill of
Seraing.
Already they had been instructed in its use, and had--thanks to their
cadet training--met with the approval of their musketry instructor.
Their motor-cycles had also been subjected to a critical inspection.
The officer--who in civil life had been in the motor industry at
Liege--had to report, in spite of slight professional jealousy, that
the English motor-cycles were fit for service, and almost equal to
those owned by the other members of the dispatch-riding section.
One by one the men were called into the orderly-room, where they
received instructions and dispatches, till only Kenneth and Rollo
remained.
"Private Ever-r-rest and Private Bar-r-rington," shouted the
orderly-room sergeant, sounding his r's like the roll of a drum.
Within they found Major Resimont, and, as befitting their relative
rank, the lads saluted and stood at attention.
"Deliver this to Captain Leboeuf at Vise," ordered the Major. "In view
of the German advance, he is to cross the river and impede the enemy as
much as possible, retiring upon Fort de Pontisse if in danger of being
outflanked." Then dropping the official voice, he added in English,
"Since Madame de la Barre would pay no heed to my request, it is
necessary for strategic reasons to occupy her house. You may now have
an opportunity of seeing your sister, Monsieur Everest. There are, I
believe, only our pupils there during the holidays. Captain Leboeuf
will arrange for them to be sent into Maastricht by train, or by a
carriage if railway communication is interrupted. They can then
proceed to Brussels in the ordinary way. You might give this to
Mademoiselle Yvonne for incidental expenses for herself and her friend,
your sister," and the Major handed Kenneth a packet containing a sheaf
of notes.
"Be cautious," he added. "The Germans have already advanced upon
Lembourg."
The lads saluted and withdrew. A minute later they were dashing over
the drawbridge, bound on their first duty as dispatch-riders in the
Belgian army, though with a semi-official motive.
Away on their right came the rapid booming of light artillery fire.
Beyond the woods of Verviers a thick cloud of black smoke rose sullenly
in the heavy air.
Their route lay along a fairly level road bounded on each side by tall
trees. In the centre was a strip of _pave_, but between it and the
ditch on either hand was a dusty path which afforded good going. The
cyclists were soon touching thirty miles an hour, the rapid beats of
their engines drowning the noise of the distant cannonade.
Once they had to slow down in order to allow a cart to draw up on one
side. The floor of the cart was covered with straw, and on the straw
lay some strange objects. The lads did not realize what these burdens
were. They were new to the game of war, but not for long.
Presently they noticed a group of soldiers approaching. Thrice the
lads sounded their horns without effect. Again they had to slow down.
"Good heavens! Look!" ejaculated Kenneth.
The men were limping painfully. One had his arm thrown around a
comrade's neck, and his head falling limply upon the other's shoulder.
Another, his head bound by a blood-stained scarf, was using the butt of
his rifle as a crutch.
"There's been an action already," said Rollo.
"Yes, and on the Vise road," added his companion. "Let's push on. I
hope we are not too late."
During the slowing-down process the thunder of the guns became horribly
distinct. There was terrific firing in the direction of Argenteau.
More, there were heavy Belgian losses, for the men they had just passed
were but the van of a ghastly procession of wounded.
At Argenteau a body of reserves was in possession of the village.
Barricades had been hastily constructed, walls of buildings loopholed,
and barbed-wire entanglements placed across the road.
"Halte-la!"
Rollo came to a standstill with the point of a Belgian bayonet within a
couple of inches of his chest. Kenneth, who was twenty yards in the
rear, almost as promptly alighted.
"Qui v'la?" demanded the sentry.
"Dispatches for Captain Leboeuf," replied Kenneth.
The man recovered his arms.
"May you have the good fortune to find him!" said he. "Our troops have
been compelled to fall back in the face of superior numbers. Turn to
the right, then take the first road to the left. It will bring you
back to the Vise road."
Following the sentry's direction the lads found that the route was
still open, although soldiers and peasants were standing ready to
barricade that exit.
A couple of miles farther on the motor-cyclists reached the
firing-line--a comparatively weak detachment of infantry holding a
hastily-constructed trench.
Overhead the shrapnel was flying, the iron hail for the most part
bursting harmlessly in the rear. On the left the great guns of Fort de
Pontisse were shelling the dense masses of German troops as they vainly
sought to cross the Meuse.
A shell, happily without exploding, struck the pave five yards from the
spot where Kenneth dismounted, burying itself in a hole at least two
feet in depth.
"Into the ditch with the bikes," shouted Kenneth; and having assisted
Rollo to place his steed in a place of comparative safety, he returned,
and, helped by his companion, managed to shelter his own cycle.
"What's to be done now?" asked Rollo.
"See if the Captain is with these men. We must hasten: it will be a
jolly sight safer in the trench."
Abandoning their motor-cycles, the two lads made their way along the
ditch, which fortunately ran with considerable obliquity to the
direction of the fire of the German artillery.
At length they reached the trench where the Belgian infantry, taking
admirable cover, were replying steadily to the hail of ill-directed
rifle bullets. The only unwounded officer was a slim young
lieutenant--a mere boy.
"We have dispatches for Captain Leboeuf, sir," announced Kenneth. "He
was in charge of an outpost at Vise."
"Vise is all aflame," replied the officer. "No doubt the Captain has
crossed the Meuse. But we are about to retire, so look to yourselves.
The enemy is threatening our right flank, otherwise we might hold this
trench for another twenty-four hours."
"Any orders, sir, before we return to Fort de Barchon?"
"Yes; ride as quickly as you can to Saint Andre. The rest of our
company is there. Tell the officer in command that I am retiring, and
that unless he falls back he is in danger of being cut off. You
understand? Good, now----"
The lieutenant's instructions ended in a faint shriek. His hands flew
to his chest, and he pitched forward on his face.
A grizzled colour-sergeant instantly took command.
"Retire by sections!" he shouted. "Steady, men, no hurry. Keep them
back as long as you can."
The caution was in vain. While the untried troops were lining the
trench and replying to the German fire, all went well; but at the order
to retire, men broke and ran for their lives. Heedless of the cover
afforded by the ditch, they swarmed along the road in the direction of
Argenteau, shrapnel and bullet accounting for half their numbers. Only
the sergeant, two corporals, and the British dispatch-riders remained.
The Germans, advancing in close formation, were now eight hundred yards
off.
Without a word the Belgian sergeant crawled along the trench, picking
up the rifles and caps of the slain and placing them at intervals along
the top of the mound; while the rest, including Kenneth and Rollo, who
had taken possession of a couple of abandoned rifles, maintained a
rapid magazine fire at the approaching troops.
"Each for himself, mes enfants," said the veteran at length. "One at a
time and trust to luck."
With that a corporal cast aside his greatcoat and heavy knapsack. He
was about to make a plunge through the zone of hissing bullets when
Kenneth stopped him.
"There's a ditch farther along," he announced. "We came that way."
The man hesitated, then, communicated the news to his sergeant.
"Come then, mes braves," exclaimed the veteran.
One by one, crawling along the ditch the five made their way, till they
gained the comparative shelter afforded by the walls of a ruined
cottage. Proof against bullets, the house had been practically
demolished by shell-fire.
"We must go back and get our bikes," declared Kenneth. "It's fairly
safe. Those fellows are apparently directing their fire against those
caps and rifles showing above the trench."
They found their steeds uninjured. In record time they were in the
saddle and tearing along the avenue, which here and there was dotted
with dead Belgians. The wounded had evidently been carried off by
their comrades.
As they passed the ruined cottage where they had parted from the three
soldiers the latter were no longer to be seen, but a hoarse cry of "A
moi, camarades!" caused Rollo to turn. He alone caught the appeal, for
Kenneth had secured a slight start and the noise of his engine had
drowned the shout for aid.
"Hold on!" shouted Rollo; but Kenneth, unaware of the call, was out of
ear-shot, and doing a good thirty or forty miles an hour.
Leaving his engine still running, Rollo dismounted and made his way
towards the building. Shots were whistling overhead. He crouched as
he hastened, for he had not yet acquired the contempt for the screech
of a bullet that the old soldier has, knowing that with the whizzing of
the missile that particular danger has passed.
Lying against the bullet-spattered wall was the old sergeant. A
fragment of shrapnel, rebounding from the masonry, had fractured his
left ankle.
There was no time for first-aid. The Germans were now within three
hundred yards of the abandoned trench. Throwing his arms round the
sergeant's body, Rollo lifted him from the ground, then kneeling, he
managed to transfer him across his back. Fortunately the wounded man
was not very heavy, and the lad, staggering under his burden, carried
him to the place where he had left his motor-cycle.
Just then came the rapid pop-pop of another motor-bike. Kenneth,
having discovered that his chum was no longer in his company, had
returned.
"Give me a push off, old man," panted Rollo, as he set his burden
across the carrier and stood astride his steed.
In went the clutch; Kenneth, running by the side of the cycle for a few
yards, steadied the wounded sergeant, who was clinging desperately to
the young dispatch-rider.
"All right, let go!" shouted Rollo.
The bike wobbled dangerously under the unusual burden. The sergeant's
grip wellnigh destroyed the lad's power of command on the steering.
The _zipp_ of a bullet did much to add to the difficulty, and
momentarily Rollo thought that nothing could save him from toppling
into the ditch.
"Let go my arms and catch hold of my waist," he shouted desperately.
The sergeant fortunately understood and obeyed; the motor-cycle began
to recover its balance, and as Rollo opened the throttle and increased
speed it settled down to its normal condition.
On either side the trees seemed to slip past like the spokes of a
wheel; the pace was terrific, and although the wounded man must have
been suffering agonies, not a groan came from his lips.
Presently Kenneth rode up alongside, for they were out of range and the
road was no longer encumbered with the fallen. Five minutes later the
two lads dismounted at the barricade of Argenteau.
Here ready arms relieved Rollo of his burden; soldiers assisted in
lifting the cycles over the barrier. As they did so one of them
pointed to one of the tool-bag panniers on Rollo's cycle. It was
pierced by a bullet.
"Where are you going to?" demanded a major.
"To Saint Andre, to warn a half-company of the 9th regiment to retire,
sir."
"It is unnecessary. The men have already rejoined. Return to Fort de
Barchon and say that if need be we can still hold the enemy in check,
but that we are losing heavily."
Soon they were back again at Argenteau, with instructions for the
remains of the badly-mauled regiment to fall back upon the lines of
defence prepared between the two forts in the north-eastern side of the
circle surrounding Liege.
The invaders had been delayed sufficiently to allow General Leman to
complete his dispositions. They were yet to learn that even the
much-vaunted German infantry could not afford to despise the gallant
Belgians.
"It's a jolly sight better than Rugby, anyway," declared Kenneth, as at
the end of their first day on active service they returned to their
quarters at Fort de Barchon.
But Rollo did not reply. He was thinking of the bullet hole in the
pannier of his cycle. It had been a narrow squeak.