The Uhlan Patrol
Rollo was standing by his chum's motor-cycle when Kenneth left the
Colonel's quarters--a cottage standing well apart from the rest of the
village.
"Thought you'd be off somewhere when the Colonel sent for you, old
man," he said. "Well, I could go with you, but I feel absolutely
rotten. Look here," and Barrington opened his coat and displayed the
tops of two soda-water bottles, "I managed to get hold of these. Take
one."
"No, thanks," replied Kenneth. "You want them a jolly sight more than
I do."
"But you must," persisted Rollo. "It's fearfully hot to-day. Besides,
I think I can get hold of some more."
"All right," agreed his chum reluctantly, and taking one of the bottles
he placed it in the outside breast-pocket of his coat, resolving to
restore it intact upon his return.
The request of the Colonel of the 9th Regiment was most essential. To
the north of Omal was a gap of nearly two miles in the Belgian line, as
a portion of one of the brigades had failed to take up its allotted
position. Omal was a salient angle in the defenders' formation, and
should the village be carried by the Germans the Belgian army would be
split asunder by the wedge-like advance of their far more numerous foes.
Although the country was fairly open Kenneth rode cautiously. It was a
nerve-racking ordeal, since every bush or tree might be affording
concealment to the Uhlans, who were known to have already penetrated
far into the country. Almost as dangerous were the Belgian guerrillas,
who often fired indiscriminately upon any man in a uniform that they
failed to recognize.
But beyond being twice stopped by Belgian patrols and made to produce
his military pass, Kenneth reached his destination without being
molested. He delivered his message, receiving a reply that a
machine-gun detachment would be sent off as quickly as possible, and
set off on his return journey.
Perhaps the fact that he had but recently passed along the same road
without difficulty made him slightly reckless. He increased his speed
till the motor-cycle was travelling at nearly forty miles an hour.
Soon he came to a straight, narrow road lined with gaunt trees--one of
the avenues that are a common feature in the eastern part of Belgium.
Suddenly he gave a gasp of surprise. A horseman had just appeared at
the farthermost end of the avenue. At first the lad took him to be one
of the Belgian lancers, whose similarity to the German Uhlans was
somewhat pronounced, but a rapidly nearing view assured him that the
man was one of the enemy.
Another Uhlan joined the first. They both lowered their lances and
waited.
Kenneth slipped out his clutch and applied both brakes. The
motor-cycle came quickly to a stop, the engine running furiously, while
the open "cut-out" emitted a rapid succession of sharp reports like the
detonations of a Maxim-gun.
There was yet time to turn his cycle, remount, and escape by the way he
had come, he reasoned; but, even as he was in the act of facing about,
he made the additionally disconcerting discovery that his retreat was
cut off. Five or six Uhlans had evidently been in ambush, and, having
allowed the solitary dispatch-rider to pass them, were waiting to
assist in his capture. The ditch and the trees formed an impassable
barrier for the heavy motor-cycle; while without it flight was almost
out of the question, when it was the case of a man on foot pursued by
the fleet Uhlan horses.
For one brief instant the thought of surrendering tamely flashed
through the lad's mind. He bore no written dispatch; his capture would
result in no important information being gained by the enemy. It
seemed the easiest solution to the problem.
"I'm dashed if I do," ejaculated Kenneth, banishing the temptation
almost as soon as it suggested itself. "Here goes; it's neck or
nothing."
He was back in the saddle in double-quick time. With the clutch in and
the engine barking furiously he tore towards the two Uhlans, who were
sitting on their horses at a distance of about fifty yards from each
other.
Kenneth drew his revolver. With his right hand thus occupied, throttle
and air lever had to take care of themselves. At thirty miles an hour
he tore towards the nearmost of his antagonists.
The Uhlan lowered his lance-point. He was trembling to such an extent
that the glittering point was describing erratic curves in the
sunlight. His resolution had vanished at the sight of the
rapidly-approaching motor-cycle. His horse began to rear, alarmed by
the loud and rapid pulsations of the engine.
Kenneth's hopes rose. He saw the possibility of being able to slip
past the plunging, terrified animal, and in order to improve his
chances he let fly a couple of shots, both of which missed their mark.
No longer was the long lance a menace. The Uhlan's whole efforts were
centred in trying to keep his seat, while the now maddened animal
snorted and plunged in a most frantic manner.
Still grasping his revolver, although he made no further attempt to use
it, the young dispatch-rider placed his wrist upon the right
handle-grip in order to steady the steering. He shut his jaw tightly.
The critical moment was nigh.
Suddenly the horse backed, barring the narrow path to safety. Kenneth
saw in the fraction of a second that a collision was inevitable. He
had a momentary glimpse of the Uhlan's panic-stricken face, his staring
eyes and wide-open mouth--then crash!
[Illustration: KENNETH HAD A MOMENTARY GLIMPSE OF THE UHLAN'S
PANIC-STRICKEN FACE ... THEN CRASH!]
Hardly knowing whether he was injured or not, Kenneth scrambled to his
feet. His motor-cycle was on its side within a yard of the prostrate
and still kicking horse. His revolver had vanished. In his fall it
had flown from his grasp into the ditch. The Uhlan lay upon the ground
motionless--whether killed or merely stunned the lad knew not; nor had
he an opportunity to ascertain, for in front of him was another German,
and four hundred yards behind him the five or six who had cut off his
retreat.
The man in front had succeeded in regaining control over his less
startled horse and, lance in rest, bore down upon the defenceless
motor-cyclist.
Hardly knowing how he did it, Kenneth cleared the ditch and sought a
temporary refuge behind a tree. He realized that the respite would be
but a brief one, for on the approach of the rest of the patrol his
"number would be up". Infuriated by the mishap to their comrade, the
savage Uhlans, whose chief mission it was to strike terror into the
inhabitants of a conquered district, would not be likely to give
quarter.
Suddenly Kenneth's hand came in contact with the soda-water bottle that
Rollo had pressed upon him. He drew it from his pocket, and as the
Uhlan rode up to the edge of the ditch he dashed it to the ground at
the feet of the restless horse.
The result exceeded the lad's wildest expectations, for the bottle
broke with a report almost equal to that of a small shell. Fragments
of glass flew in all directions. The horse reared, maddened by the
slight wounds caused by the sharp pieces of the broken bottle. Its
rider, quite as terrified, formed but one conclusion, that the
desperate Belgian (as he took Kenneth to be) was armed with bombs.
Spurring his horse he rode for dear life towards his comrades, who,
rendered cautious at the sight of two of their number being worsted,
hesitated to advance.
Kenneth, too, was on the horns of a dilemma. To all appearances his
cycle was hopelessly damaged, and although the road was clear he stood
little chance of escaping from the rest of the Uhlans. To remain where
he was was equally hazardous. With his revolver in his possession he
would readily have made a brave stand, but the weapon was lying in five
feet of mud and water.
Suddenly came the tap, tap, tap of a machine-gun. The rest of the
Uhlan patrol broke and fled across the fields, leaving two of their
number writhing on the ground. Another had his horse shot under him,
but, quite callous to their comrades' fate, the three remaining
fugitives never slackened rein, their sole thoughts being for their own
safety.
Kenneth recrossed the ditch--far less agilely than he had a few moments
before, for his thigh was aching dully. He could see no signs of his
rescuers. The fire had evidently been a long-range one.
He made his way to his motor-cycle. With considerable effort he raised
it and placed it on its stand. Upon examination he found that the
damage done was not so great as he fully expected. The actual
collision had smashed the lamp and bent the stem of the handle-bars,
but, thanks to the powerful springs, the front forks had stood the
severe strain of the impact. The controls were intact, while the only
other damage was that the left foot-rest was bent. In falling sideways
the weight of the cycle had been thrown upon this exposed part, which
had, to a great extent, saved the machine.
At the second attempt the motor fired. The hind wheel revolved without
showing any signs of wobbling. The lad gave a whoop of delight; his
precious mount was still serviceable.
He next directed his attention towards the Uhlan whom, in naval
parlance, he had "rammed". The fellow had been stunned by the fall
from his horse, but was on the point of regaining consciousness.
"You look a tough customer, my friend," soliloquized the lad as he
looked upon the coarse, brutal features of his vanquished assailant.
"I think you will be quite capable of looking after yourself, without
requiring any attention from me. I'll take your helmet as a souvenir,
though; and, while I am about it, I think I'll stop you from doing
further mischief."
With this Kenneth removed the Uhlan's sword, lance, and carbine. The
lance, being made of light steel, he broke into three pieces; the other
weapons and the German's ammunition he threw into the ditch to keep
company with his own revolver.
While thus engaged the motor-cyclist perceived the approach of a body
of men accompanied by dogs. They were the Belgian machine-gun battery
whose fire had effectually routed the Uhlan patrol.
"They'll be at Omal before me," thought Kenneth. "I suppose it would
be best to stop and explain matters; for if I made off they might take
it into their heads to pot me."
"So you have settled with one of this scum," exclaimed the Belgian
major in charge of the detachment as he returned Kenneth's salute. "Ma
foi! I am of a mind to shoot him."
"But he is a prisoner of war," expostulated the lad.
The Belgian shrugged his shoulders.
"You have but to go to that burning cottage"--he pointed to a building
about a mile and a half away--"to see what these wretches have been
doing. A whole family of inoffensive peasants shot--men, women, and
children. Yes, children," he added, noting the incredulous look on the
British lad's face.
"However, we Belgians must set an example to those savages," continued
the officer. "We will at least take him with us, and put him on a fair
trial. But you are unarmed: how did you vanquish this fellow?"
Kenneth told him. The Belgian major and those of his men who were
within ear-shot simply roared with laughter.
"Charged his horse with your motor-cycle, and frightened away another
Uhlan with a soda-water bottle!" exclaimed the officer when he
recovered himself. "Excellent! It shows that these Germans are not a
quarter as formidable as they would have us believe. Were you hurt?"
"Only bruised a little, sir. But, with your permission, I will go, or
your men will be with my regiment before I am."
The lad ran his cycle and vaulted into the saddle. The motor ran as
well as before, and, beyond a slight difficulty in the steering, it was
none the worse for its rough handling. The damage to the lamp mattered
but little, as, by night, riding lights were forbidden, since they
might betray the rider to the enemy.
Having reported the success of his mission and the approach of the
dog-drawn machine-gun detachment, Kenneth went to find his chum.
Rollo was sitting, in company with others of the dispatch-rider
section, in a shelter made of branches of trees and rough thatch.
"Hullo, old man!" he exclaimed. "What have you there--a Uhlan helmet?
And what's the matter with your bike?"
Kenneth explained, and afterwards had to repeat his story in French for
the benefit of the others.
"I will help you to straighten the handle-bars," volunteered one of the
Belgian cyclists, who was a motor-repairer by trade. "Meanwhile, if
you are desirous of sending that helmet to your friends in England, you
will do well to pack it up at once. There is a dispatch leaving for
Brussels within half an hour."
"I wonder what the governor will say to this," observed Kenneth as he
directed the bulky package. "My first trophy! Goodness only knows
when we shall hear from home."
The lads had already written to their respective parents informing them
of the drastic step they had taken, but, owing to the dislocation of
the postal service, no reply had been forthcoming, and they had hardly
expected one.
It took two hours' hard work in the blazing sunshine for Kenneth and
his Belgian friend to set the motorcycle to rights.
"If I hadn't been so inconsiderate as to throw that bottle of
soda-water away we might have had a decent drink," observed Kenneth as
he fanned his perspiring brow.
"Never mind," rejoined Rollo. "You might have drunk it as soon as I
gave you the bottle; in which case I don't suppose you would have felt
the benefit of it now."
"I don't suppose I would," agreed Kenneth grimly.