Separated
Major Resimont's sentiments were shared by the majority of his
deep-thinking compatriots. The great faith in the prompt action of
Great Britain in sending a strong Expeditionary Force to Belgium had
received a severe set-back. Even yet the promised aid might be
forthcoming--but it would be too late to spare the greater portion of
the country, including the capital, from invasion.
When the Major stated that the Belgians had "certain hopes" in the
French, he spoke with a justifiable sense of caution. He realized that
the object of throwing French troops into Belgium was not to stay the
threatened occupation of Brussels, but to avoid, if possible, the
disastrous results of the presence of a German army on French soil. In
short, Belgium was once more to be made the battle-ground between
French and German troops, provided the fortresses on the borders of
Alsace-Lorraine were strong enough to hold back the invaders in this
quarter.
Unfortunately, in spite of the utmost efforts of the War Office, backed
by the whole-hearted support of a united Parliament, Great Britain was
just four days too late in the dispatch of her Expeditionary Force.
Yet the brave Belgians did not repine, nor did they relax for one
instant their opposition to the enormous and relentless masses of
Germans who were now pouring in through the strategic railways between
Aix-la-Chapelle and Liege.
But the sacrifice of Belgium was not in vain. By the heroic resistance
of General Leman the clockwork regularity of the German time-table had
been thrown hopelessly out of gear. The stubborn defence of Liege had
delayed the Teuton advance to such an extent that France and England
were able to complete their respective mobilizations, and to thwart the
German Emperor's hopes of "rushing" Paris and thus forcing France to
conclude a humiliating and disastrous peace.
"Corporal Everest!"
"Sir?"
"You are to take this dispatch to Major Foveneau, who is holding the
village of Cortenaeken. Your compatriot may accompany you. Exercise
particular care, for there are numerous Uhlan patrols in the
neighbourhood of Diest."
It was on the second day after the British dispatch-riders' return with
the mail-escort. Captain Planchenoit, who had already fully recognized
the intrepidity and common sense of the two lads, had been instructed
by his Colonel to communicate with the isolated post of Cortenaeken,
and he could decide upon no fitter messengers than Kenneth Everest and
his friend Rollo Barrington.
"You will observe that the dispatch is at present unsealed," continued
Captain Planchenoit. "You must commit the text to memory. Should you
be in danger of capture, destroy the dispatch at all costs. It is far
too important to risk being hidden, yet Major Foveneau must have, if
humanly possible, written orders."
"Very good, sir," replied Kenneth, saluting.
He then went off to find his chum, whom he found cleaning his mount.
Kenneth had given up cleaning his motor-cycle days ago; beyond
satisfying himself that it had plenty of oil and was in good running
order, he troubled nothing about its appearance. Both lads had,
moreover, wrapped the handle-bars in strips of brown linen, while the
remaining bright parts had been covered with dull-grey paint.
"It's Cortenaeken this time," announced Kenneth. "Goodness knows how
we get to the place, for there doesn't seem to be a vestige of a road
leading to it, according to the map. Here's the dispatch--sounds
important, doesn't it? We have to commit the words to memory, in case
we have to destroy the paper."
"The best thing we can do is to ride for Tirlemont and make enquiries
there," suggested Rollo, handing the dispatch back to his chum. "As
regards concealing the paper, we must place it somewhere where we can
get at it easily. I have it: we'll stow it in your petrol tank; the
stuff won't injure the paper or interfere with the writing, and if
things came to the worst, you can whip it out and set fire to it."
Accordingly the dispatch, cleverly rolled, was placed inside the gauze
strainer to the patrol tank, and the metal cap replaced. Five minutes
later the two motor-cyclists were buzzing along the congested road at a
modest twenty miles an hour, dodging between the lumbering transport
wagons and the military vehicles with an agility that surprised
themselves.
Presently, as they struck towards the rear of the long lines of troops,
the road became less encumbered and speed was materially increased.
Soon the pace reached nearly forty miles an hour, for the highway was
fairly broad, and ran as straight as a Roman road as far as the eye
could reach.
"Puncture!" shouted Kenneth, as the front wheel of his cycle began to
slither and bump upon the _pave_, the machine running nearly fifty
yards before he brought up and dismounted.
A hasty examination showed that a rusty iron nail, quite six inches in
length, had penetrated the tread of the tyre, while to make matters
worse its point had worked out close to the rim. The offending piece
of metal, catching against the front forks, had already enlarged the
hole in the tread till it became a slit nearly half an inch in length.
"Don't wait," he continued, as he unscrewed the cap of the petrol tank
and produced the dispatch. "Take this, and hurry on. I'll patch this
up and follow. If you can, wait for me at Cortenaeken till two
o'clock."
"Right-o!" assented Rollo. "You can manage all right?"
"I can't ask you to bear a hand if I don't," replied Kenneth. "I'll
make a job of it somehow. Good luck!"
Rollo was off. Kenneth stood beside his crippled steed and watched his
friend's receding figure out of sight; then taking out his repair
outfit he began his task. It was a long job. The cover, being
practically a new one, was an obstinate one to remove. It had to be
patched with canvas, while the double puncture in the inner tube took a
considerable time to clean and prepare.
While he was waiting for the solution to get "tacky", a peculiar
buzzing sound greeted his ears.
"Aeroplanes!" he muttered. "Whose, I wonder?"
He looked upwards. The sun shining in a cloudless sky dazzled his
vision. He put on his tinted goggles, which during the repair
operations he had removed. Then he saw, perhaps three thousand feet
above him, a large Zeppelin moving in a westerly direction. He watched
it with a sort of contemptuous interest.
"The vaunted German terror of the air--perhaps!" he soliloquized. "I
wouldn't give much for its chances if even half a dozen aeroplanes
tackled it. Ah! Thinking better of it?"
This last remark was uttered as the gigantic airship began to turn,
pitching as it did so like a lively ship in a sea-way.
Bringing his binoculars to bear upon the Zeppelin, Kenneth watched its
undignified progress. Apparently it had encountered a strong
air-current that tended to drive it in a westerly direction. By the
aid of the glasses Kenneth could see that the immense fabric showed, in
spite of its supposed rigidity, a decided tendency to "whip" as it
swung broadside on to the direction of the wind. Then, steadying
itself on a course in exactly the opposite direction to that which it
had previously been following, the Zeppelin forged ahead, still
see-sawing ominously.
Suddenly the bow portion dipped, then with ever-increasing velocity the
huge airship plunged earthwards. Its propeller ceased to revolve; from
the cars, ballast--not loose sand, but solid material--was thrown out
in the hope of checking the now terrific descent. Then it disappeared
from the motor-cyclist's view, beyond a slight ridge of hills about
five miles off.
"That's done for it, thank goodness!" ejaculated Kenneth, as he
replaced his binoculars and reapplied himself to the repairs to the
tyre; "if it were not for this rotten puncture I'd slip over and have a
look at the remains. I hope the thing's fallen within the Belgian
lines. It will cheer the plucky beggars up a bit."
It took him quite another half-hour to patch the torn canvas and coax
the stubborn cover back into its rim. Then, with a feeling of
gratification that he had overcome difficulties, he began to inflate
the tyre.
"Almost hard enough," he said to himself, ceasing his efforts to prod
the rubber with his thumb. "I'll give it another dozen strokes just to
show there's no ill-feeling."
Bang! With a report like the discharge of a small field-piece the tyre
collapsed. A portion of the inner tube had been nipped, with the
result that a gash four inches in length was demanding attention.
"Confound it!" exclaimed Kenneth angrily.
With the perspiration pouring off him, he again tackled the obstinate
cover with savage energy. This time the repair was a complicated one.
Three times the patch failed to hold, but finally, at the end of an
hour and a half's hard work, the tedious task was accomplished.
At Tirlemont Kenneth made enquiries, and was given such minute
directions that before he had gone another five miles he was hopelessly
befogged. The roads were little better than narrow lanes; there were
no direction posts, and he had long forgotten whether he had to take
the first turning to the left and the third to the right, or the third
to the left and the first to the right. There were several isolated
cottages, but their inhabitants had fled. The whole district seemed
depopulated, for the great exodus to Brussels had begun. There was
plenty of evidence of the hurried flight of the civil population.
Articles of domestic use, found to be too heavy to carry far, had been
jettisoned by the roadside. Here and there was an abandoned cart,
still laden with the household goods of some unfortunate Belgian family.
At length Kenneth found that the lane he was following came upon a
small stream. Here a bridge had recently been destroyed. Further
progress in that direction was impossible, unless he decided to abandon
his cycle and swim across the fifteen feet of water to the opposite
bank. Following the stream was a rough path, badly cut up by the
tracks of cattle. It was the only possible way unless he retraced his
route.
Producing his military map Kenneth attempted to fix his position. He
could only come to the conclusion that the stream was the River Velp,
on which the hamlet of Cortenaeken stands. He was, he decided, about
ten miles from the village, which ought to be reached by following the
path he had struck.
It was bad going. The deep ruts made riding a nerve-racking ordeal.
Here and there the path had slipped bodily into the reed-grown mud that
fringed the stream. Dismounts were frequent; speed was out of the
question.
After a mile or so of this unsatisfactory mode of progression the path
ended abruptly, but here the stream was crossed by a narrow plank
bridge. On the opposite side, at about two hundred yards from the
bank, was a cottage, and--thanks be!--from the chimney a wreath of
faint blue smoke was rising.
Kenneth dismounted, set his motor-cycle on its stand, and proceeded to
examine the apparently frail bridge. It sagged considerably under his
weight; what would it do with the additional weight of his mount? In
addition there was the transport problem. He could not carry the heavy
cycle; the plank was too narrow for him to attempt to ride across. Yet
he did not feel at all inclined to go back along that rutty path.
"I'll give a few toots on the horn," he declared. "Perhaps the people
in the house will come out and bear a hand. Hullo! There's a punt
over there in the rushes. With assistance I could get my bike across
in that."
The raucous blasts on the horn disturbed the quietude of the sylvan
scene, but without the desired result. He tried again, still without
success.
"Perhaps these people have also cleared out in a hurry and left a fire
burning," he soliloquized. "Otherwise they must have heard the
explosions of the engine as I rode up. Well, here goes!"
Crossing the stream he took his way to the spot where the punt was made
fast. Here, again, his hopes were dashed to the ground, for not only
was the flat-bottomed craft chained and padlocked to a massive post,
but it had a gaping hole at one end and was half-full of water.
"It's only waste of time tramping across to that cottage," he said to
himself. "I'll have a shot at getting the bike across first, and make
enquiries later."
With that he retraced his steps to where his cycle was standing on the
wrong side of the tantalizing stream. Throwing out the clutch and
standing astride the saddle, Kenneth walked his motor-cycle towards the
plank bridge; then shuffling very cautiously, he began the hazardous
crossing.
At every step the soles of his boots were almost at the very edge of
the worn plank. As he approached the centre it creaked ominously,
while, to add to his difficulties, the motion of the water as it flowed
underneath tended to make him giddy. He dared not look up unless he
stopped, and that he was loath to do. One false step would send
himself and his motor-cycle into six or seven feet of mud and water.
At length, safe and sound, Kenneth found himself on the farther bank.
Here a road, very little better than the one he had recently traversed,
led away from the house, the only visible approach to which was by
means of a stone stile and a footpath.
Again leaving his cycle, the lad leapt over the low wall and hastened
towards the building.
The door was wide open. Across the threshold lay the body of an old
man, with a ghastly wound in his head. Kenneth recoiled in horror;
then, thinking perhaps that the unfortunate farmer--for such he
was--might still be living, he again approached.
Even in the attempt to move the man, he heard the sound of a heavy
snore, while, as if in answer to the noise, a horse began to neigh.
"Germans!" ejaculated Kenneth. Once more he began to back, when,
recollecting that even the sound of his motor had not disturbed the
brutal slumberer, he drew his revolver and stepped across the threshold.
Coming in from the brilliant sunshine the place seemed almost
pitch-dark, but in a few seconds the dispatch-rider's eyes grew
accustomed to the gloom. He found himself in what was at one time the
living-room of the farm. There was no hall or passage; the outer door
opened straight into it.
The whole place was in a state of almost indescribable confusion. The
table had been overthrown, the chairs smashed--and smashed
deliberately, for no ordinary struggle would have resulted in such
complete demolition of the furniture. On the walls were a few cheap,
highly-coloured prints, slashed by a keen instrument, while the glass
was shattered to fragments. On the floor were the remains of broken
bottles and crockery. The cupboards had been ransacked, and their
contents hurled all over the room. Even the hearthstone had been
forced up; the despoilers had evidently thought that the thrifty farmer
had hidden a store of money beneath it.
The rest of the rooms on the ground floor were in a similar state of
confusion. Kenneth set his jaw tightly. He no longer had any
inclination to beat a retreat. The sight of the foully-murdered
Belgian and his devastated home filled him with rage.
Holding his revolver ready for instant action, the lad began to ascend
the stairs. They creaked horribly under his weight, but still the
sounds of drunken slumber continued.
At the head of the stairs four rooms opened on to a fairly spacious
landing. Three of these were unoccupied by any living creature. In
one was a huddled-up form.
"Brutes!" muttered the British lad. "No quarter!"
He pushed open the door of the remaining bedroom, whence the porcine
grunts proceeded. Here were four men in the uniform of the dreaded
Uhlans. Three, fully dressed and wearing their heavy boots, were
sprawling in drunken slumber on the bed. They were nursing
partly-consumed wine bottles, while the bed-clothes and floor were
stained with the spilt liquid.
The fourth Uhlan was sitting in a chair, with his head resting on his
chest. Across his forehead and over both ears was a blood-stained
bandage. The wound had but recently been inflicted, so the Belgian
farmer had apparently made a brave but unavailing stand in defence of
his home. On the floor by the Uhlan's side lay his sword; his carbine
was propped up against the arm of the chair.
"The brutes!" ejaculated Kenneth again. "Hang it, I can't shoot these
fellows while they are asleep!"
Just at that moment the wounded Uhlan opened his eyes and raised his
head. His brain had not been dulled by drink, for with a swift
movement he seized his carbine, at the same time shouting to his
comrades that the Belgians were upon them.