A Midnight Retirement
When Rollo opened his eyes he found himself lying in the open air. He
was in one of the courtyards of the Palace of Justice. The thunder of
the bombardment still roared. The noise of the guns recalled his
scattered thoughts to the event that had almost cost him his life.
A Belgian army doctor was kneeling by his side, while Kenneth supported
his head. Around him stood a number of soldiers, some of whom had
paused in the act of cleaning their rifles in order to watch their
English comrade's return to consciousness.
"Hello, Kenneth!" exclaimed Rollo, somewhat vacantly. "What has
happened? Ah, I know--those Germans!"
"They won't trouble us again, old man," replied Kenneth. "You're in
luck again. It was your suspicions that put the commandant on his
guard. But I'll tell you more about it later on."
"You must not unduly excite your friend," cautioned the doctor. "He
has no bodily injury, but his nerves are stricken. He must rest until
to-morrow. I will have him taken into a safe cellar, where he need
fear nothing from those German shells."
"Won't you come with me, Kenneth?" asked Rollo.
"Sorry, old man, but I'm warned for duty at five o'clock--seventeen
hours, they call it. All being well, I'll look you up in the morning."
"See that my bike is all right."
"Rather!" replied Kenneth cheerily. "Don't worry about it. I'll look
after it."
Later on in the evening Rollo heard of the circumstances under which
the supposed British officers were shot down.
The room in which they had been asked to wait was, years ago, used as a
place of observation for prisoners awaiting trial. The carved oak
panelling terminated about six inches from the heavily-raftered
ceiling. At one end was a space between two parallel massive beams,
through which, from a gallery without, it was possible to observe all
that was taking place, although the watchers were themselves unseen.
Upon his attention being called to the error on the pseudo British
major's visiting-card, the commandant's suspicions were aroused. As
soon as Rollo was dispatched with his message, a file of skilled
riflemen ascended the observation gallery. Noiselessly they took up
their positions, and having witnessed the holding up of their British
comrade, they delivered a volley that instantly exterminated the
treacherous Germans.
Rollo had, indeed, a narrow escape, for his captor in falling had
convulsively pressed the trigger of his revolver. The bullet missed
the lad's head by a couple of inches, but the blast from the muzzle had
scorched his temple.
Barrington was in the midst of a deep slumber, in spite of the thunder
of the guns, when he was awakened by someone shaking him by the
shoulder.
"What's up?" he asked sleepily, for at the moment he fancied himself
back at St. Cyprian's. By the feeble glimmer of a candle-lantern he
saw his chum.
"Sorry to disturb you, old man," said Kenneth apologetically, "but if
you don't want to find yourself a prisoner in the hands of the Germans
you must make a move. The bulk of the Belgian infantry is evacuating
the town. The mayor is going to surrender Liege at noon, I believe."
"The forts haven't fallen?" asked Rollo, springing out of bed, only to
discover how shaky he felt.
"Not a bit of it," replied Kenneth confidently. "They'll hold out for
months, I expect. No, it is only on account of the damage to the
public buildings and private property that Liege is to be given up. I
don't think it will be of much use to the Germans. They'll have
considerable difficulty to pass between the forts. They say the
Germans have had another nasty reverse, and that they asked for an
armistice in order to bury their dead. Our fellows have refused; they
are beginning to sum up the cultured Teuton at his true price. But how
do you feel?"
"Pretty fit, though a bit rocky," admitted Rollo. "Where are the
bikes?"
"We'll have to wheel them. I've taken off the belts. Orders have been
given for the troops intended for the field to withdraw as quietly as
possible, you know. Come along."
Rollo had now thrown on his clothes, his chum assisting him to buckle
on the belt to which was attached his revolver holster. Together they
left the vaulted cellar and gained the street. It was a perfectly dark
night. The stars were obscured, the air was misty and hot. Away to
the north, south, and east the sky was illuminated by the
lightning-like glare of the heavy guns as the forts exchanged a hot
fire with the German field artillery.
"Can you manage it?" asked Kenneth anxiously, as Rollo wheeled his
deliberately crippled motor into the street.
"Rather," replied his companion with forced determination. "I'm not
keen on leaving my jigger for a rascally Prussian to smash. I'm jolly
glad we are still attached to the 9th Regiment of the Line. We may see
more of Major Resimont. He's quite a decent sort."
"And Captain Planchenoit is a brick," added Kenneth. "I've been
talking to some of the men in his company. They swear by him; but he's
awfully keen on discipline, they say, and gets plenty of work out of
his men."
The dispatch-riders found the regiment drawn up in column of fours in a
narrow street behind the Church of St. Jacques. In this dense
formation the men would have suffered severely had a shell fallen in
their ranks; but owing to the fact that the Germans were hoping to take
early possession of the city, their gunners no longer dropped
projectiles into Liege, devoting their attention to the stubborn forts
that had already thrown the imperial time-table into confusion.
Although the Belgian troops were no longer elated, they were far from
being downcast. They realized that strategic reasons necessitated the
evacuation of the city. They hoped that the forts could hold out.
Already they had proved themselves equal man for man to the vaunted
soldiers of the Kaiser. Their object was now to contest every yard of
the way to Brussels, their determination being strengthened by the
widespread belief that the pick of the English army would speedily be
fighting by their side.
Several of the men of the 9th Regiment bore evidences of the hard part
they had taken in the repulse of the initial German attacks. Many had
bandages round their heads; others had their hands swathed in linen,
while a few limped badly; yet one and all showed resolute courage that
augured ill for any Prussian regiment which should happen to cross
steel with the valiant defenders of the cockpit of Europe.
Presently the Colonel gave an order. The men unfixed bayonets and
sloped arms. In the centre of the column the lads could see the cased
colours round which a fierce struggle had taken place during the
preceding day. Then, at the word of command, the regiment swung
briskly along the narrow street.
Kenneth and Rollo found themselves with two other dispatch-riders at
the rear of the column. The other motor-cyclists had gone on a journey
that knows no return. There was also a detachment of twenty cyclists
belonging to the regiment, but most of these silent scouts were far
afield, making certain that the line of retreat was in no danger of
being ambushed by the wily Uhlans.
The route lay between Forts de Hollogne and de Flemalle, through
tortuous by-lanes. Over and over again the column was obliged to halt
owing to the congestion of the roads, for twenty thousand Belgian
troops--field artillery, cavalry, and infantry--were evacuating the
doomed city that night.
Before they were clear of the environs of Liege, Rollo began to feel
the effects of his adventure with the German officers. The sweat
poured from him as he gamely pushed his unwieldy motor-cycle.
Anxiously Kenneth watched him, unable to give assistance save by a few
words of encouragement. Every time there was a halt Rollo leant across
the saddle, welcoming the rest, yet dreading the exertion required to
resume the tortuous march. To lag behind was to risk capture, for
small parties of Uhlans were known to have penetrated into the villages
of Hollogne and Montegnee, which lay between the as yet unconquered
forts and the city of Liege; otherwise he would have fallen out, waited
till dawn, and then cycled to overtake the regiment.
During one of these short, unavoidable, halts a voice came through the
darkness.
"Monsieur Everest--is Monsieur Everest there?"
"Here I am, sir," replied Kenneth, recognizing the voice as that of
Captain Planchenoit.
"Ah, good! I wish to enquire after your English comrade."
"He is here, sir."
"Ah, again good! I thought he would be unfit to move."
"He's not very much up to the mark, sir."
The captain flashed an electric torch upon the motor-cyclists.
"Ciel! you are indeed right, Monsieur Everest. I will see to matters.
Private Roulaix," he added, addressing a Belgian who was walking his
"push-bike", "place your bicycle in the first wagon that passes. Say
that I, Captain Planchenoit, orders it. Then relieve your English
comrade of his motor-cycle. Monsieur Barrington, as soon as Private
Roulaix returns I will take you to one of the wagons. You are not, at
present, fit to walk, still less to push that motor-cycle."
For the rest of that night Kenneth was without the company of his chum.
As the grey dawn began to break, he too felt that he was nearly done
up, but still the steady retreat continued.
It was not until six o'clock in the morning that the 9th Regiment of
the Line was ordered to bivouac outside the village of Omal. Here
trenches were dug, barbed-wire entanglements set up, barns and cottages
loopholed and placed in a state of defence in order to keep in check
the German hordes until the expected aid was forthcoming.
For the next twenty-four hours the 9th Regiment was inactive, as far as
actual fighting was concerned. With the rest of the mobile Belgian
forces, the men were enjoying a well-earned respite and improving their
position.
Although Rollo still remained off duty, Kenneth, with the rest of the
motor dispatch-riders, had plenty to do. Frequently the lad had to
ride off at full speed to carry orders to bands of armed civilians to
cease firing upon Belgian airmen; for these plucky air-scouts were so
harried by the fire of their undisciplined fellow-countrymen that it is
not to be wondered at that after a time they declined to fly at all.
Kenneth had just returned from one of these errands when the Colonel of
the regiment sent for him.
"You know the way to Tongres?" he asked.
"Yes, sir," replied the lad promptly, for although he had never been
there, a close study of the map had enabled him to fix its position in
his mind.
"Then bear a verbal message to General Fechard. Say that in view of an
impending strong attack upon our position reinforcements are urgently
requested to hold the village of Omal. Mitrailleuses are particularly
desirable. Is that clear? Then repeat the message."
Kenneth did so satisfactorily. The Colonel nodded approval.
"Now go," said he. "As quickly as you can, for the situation is
critical."