A Friend in Need
"Seems a bit low-down, but there was no other way as far as I could
see," commented Kenneth as he made his way down the stairs.
It was a relief to get into the open air once more. Inserting four
fresh cartridges into the chambers of his revolver, he replaced the
weapon in his holster, and without giving another glance at the house
of death and destruction he made his way to the stables, where the
Uhlans' horses were tethered. He would not leave the helpless brutes
to be fastened up perhaps for days. They would at least have a chance
to eat and drink, for there was plenty of pasture and the river was
handy.
Having given the animals their liberty, the lad remounted his cycle and
rode along the only possible route. By the position of the sun he knew
that he was going nearly due north, which was not in the direction he
supposed Cortenaeken to be. To add to the difficulties of the
situation there was the unpleasant fact that patrols of German cavalry
were already in the district. Where, then, was the Belgian force that
was supposed to be holding the district between Diest and Tirlemont?
There were houses scattered about in plenty; some to all outward
appearance intact, others either burning furiously or reduced to four
smoke-blackened walls.
After traversing about five miles of the indifferent lane, Kenneth
found himself on a broad highway, bordered on both sides with trees.
Here were civilians in throngs--men, women, and children--and a more
woebegone crowd the British lad had never before beheld. Most of them
were on foot, staggering under weighty bundles. Even the children had
their burdens, mostly domestic pets. There were fowls in crates,
rabbits, cats, and pigeons; masterless dogs tore frantically through
the sad procession; others, harnessed to small carts piled high with
goods and chattels, trotted docilely by the side of their masters.
There were large farm-carts, too, creaking under the weight of
furniture, on the top of which were perched refugees either too old or
too young to make the journey afoot. The men were stolid of feature,
but several of the women were crying; while with few exceptions the
children, unable to comprehend the real nature of their hurried exodus,
were laughing and chattering with excitement at their novel experience.
Kenneth dismounted and stopped an old Belgian, who by his dress had
evidently been well-to-do.
"Can you direct me to Cortenaeken, monsieur?"
"To where Cortenaeken was," corrected the man. "It has been burnt by
the accursed Prussians."
"And the troops? I have a message for Major Foveneau, who was holding
the village----"
"You will not find a single Belgian there, monsieur--at least, not a
living one. They have been compelled to retire on Louvain."
The Belgian courteously raised his hat and passed on hurriedly, for
while he was speaking came the distant intermittent reports of
rifle-firing. The whole procession of refugees quickened its pace.
The menace was too close to be ignored.
Kenneth pulled out his map. He was now able to form a fairly accurate
idea of where he was. He had no desire to return. His anxiety
concerning his chum urged him to make his way as quickly as possible to
Louvain. There, at least, he might be able to gain information
concerning the British dispatch-rider who ought to have reported
himself to Major Foveneau.
According to the map, Kenneth saw that there was a road to the left at
a mile or so from where he stood. It struck the village of Winghe St.
Georges, which was on the main road between Diest and Tirlemont and
slightly nearer to the latter town.
Springing into the saddle Kenneth set off at a furious pace. Ahead,
but slightly to the right, was a dense column of smoke that marked the
site of the destroyed village of Cortenaeken. Farther away were more
pillars of black vapour, the handiwork of the vengeful invaders, whose
principle was to terrorize the luckless Belgians into a spirit of
non-resistance.
The lad was heartily glad when he gained the branch road, since it led
away from the desolated area. But before he had gone very far he
became aware that he was crossing the tracks of a fighting force in
retreat. Over the fields on either side and across the road were
numerous deep ruts caused by wheels of artillery and service wagons.
Here and there were abandoned carts, while half-buried in a muddy ditch
was a field-piece with one wheel shattered. Its limber and several
either dead or wounded horses still in the traces had overturned on the
other side of the road. Yet, apart from the distant cannonade, there
were no sounds of actual combat.
Kenneth was sorely tempted to follow the tracks of the retirement. It
would be hard going, he argued, but where a gun could go his
motor-cycle ought to be able to follow. But on further consideration
he decided to keep to the road, at least as far as Winghe St. Georges.
Onwards he rode till he approached a ruined homestead. Four shattered
walls, two gaunt gables, and a few scorched rafters were all that
remained of the house. Surrounding it was a wall, broken in many
places. Abutting on the wall were several roofless sheds.
"Halte-la!" exclaimed a voice. "There is danger ahead."
Kenneth pulled up sharply and, dismounting, looked in the direction
from which the voice came. As he did so a man in the uniform of the
Belgian lancers came out of the ruined house. He had lost his helmet,
his coat was torn and covered with dust. Above his right knee was a
blood-stained bandage. He was supporting himself by means of a rifle,
using the weapon as a crutch with the butt under his armpit.
"What has happened, comrade?" asked the lad.
The soldier regarded him with evident suspicion.
"You are not a Belgian," he said pointedly, "yet you are in the uniform
of our dispatch-riders."
"Quite so," replied Kenneth, producing his identification card. "I am
a British subject in the Belgian service."
"British?" repeated the man. "What, then, is British? In faith, I do
not know."
"English, then."
"Ah, English--good! Now I comprehend. But, monsieur, it is unsafe to
go farther. There are Germans in force a few kilometres along the
road. Their cavalry screens are thrown out over yonder. We had to
retire. To me it is amazing how you came so far without falling in
with the accursed Prussians."
"I saw a few Uhlans," announced Kenneth.
"Tete bleu! And what did they do?"
"Very little as far as I was concerned," replied the lad. "They
murdered some civilians, so I shot them."
The Belgian's eyes glistened.
"You are a brave youth," he exclaimed.
"I think not in this case," objected Kenneth. "They were half-drunk,
and had only just awoke. It seemed hardly fair play, yet----"
"Do not apologize, monsieur," growled the lancer. "After what these
devils have done they have no right to expect any consideration. Over
there, for example--but come within. It is hazardous to remain in the
open. Perhaps, even now, we have been observed through some Prussian
field-glasses. Your bicycle? It will be of no further use. It is
better to destroy it and throw the remains into the ditch."
Kenneth shook his head.
"No fear," he objected resolutely. "I'd rather take my chances on the
road."
"Impossible," declared the Belgian. "You would be shot before you went
another three kilometres. And if the Germans see your motor-cycle they
will be doubly suspicious and search the house."
"I'll leave it for the time being in one of those sheds," suggested the
lad. "It won't be seen from the road."
The Belgian, beyond muttering "imbecile" under his breath, made no
further objection. He even assisted Kenneth, as well as his wound
would permit, to lift the heavy mount over the rubble in the gap of the
outer wall.
"This place will do," declared the lad as he reached the furthermost
shed. The roof and one angle of the brickwork had been demolished, but
the rest of the building was almost intact. Having removed the
sparking-plug, so as to render the cycle useless to the enemy in the
event of its discovery, Kenneth placed the cycle on its side and
covered it with a thick layer of damp and rotten straw. To all
appearance the interior of the shed was a farm refuse-heap. No
prowling German would be likely to want to use the straw for bedding or
any other purpose.
"Come this way," said the Belgian, who, during the progress of
Kenneth's operations, had begun to alter his opinion as to the danger
of leaving the cycle as "incriminating evidence". "We will go to the
house. In the cellar we can rest and perhaps have food. Have you
anything to eat?"
"Two rolls and some chocolate," replied Kenneth. "We will share that."
"Good!" exclaimed the lancer, his eyes glistening at the prospect of
food. "But there are others--three comrades of mine. We have not
eaten anything to-day but raw turnips, and raw turnips are not very
sustaining food on which to make a cavalry charge. It was in front of
Cortenaeken that I got this," and he pointed to his wounded leg.
"Yet it is nothing," he added lightly, "a mere scratch; but I repaid
the Prussian who gave it to me. Ah! This is what I require. I will
now be able to discard this rifle. My own carbine is within."
He had stopped in the midst of his narrative, and was pointing to a
hay-rake that rested in a corner of the wall.
"I will knock off the teeth and shorten the handle. Ciel! It will
make an excellent crutch. As for the rifle, I may safely throw it down
the well, unless you, monsieur, might care to have it. It may be
useful to you."
"I have no cartridges."
"We have enough--about four hundred between the four of us.
Nevertheless, you will have to clean the barrel carefully, for it is
caked with earth. If you fired it in that state, without doubt it
would do you more harm than the man at whom you pointed it. There, did
I not say so?"
With a wave of his disengaged arm the Belgian indicated a cloud of dust
rising from the road.
"We must hasten, yet be cautious," he continued. "That dust hides a
column of German infantry."
Kenneth followed his new comrade into the house. The upper floor had
almost disappeared. The ground floor was littered with charred
fragments of rafters and boards, cakes of plaster and partly-burned
thatch, in addition to broken articles of furniture. The parting-walls
had been overthrown, so that the interior of the building presented the
appearance of an open space.
Scrambling over the debris the wounded lancer made his way to a corner
of the tottering walls. He stooped painfully and with considerable
effort, and thrusting his fingers between the rubbish took hold of an
iron ring. At this he heaved, and lifted a large flap about six inches.
"Assist me, monsieur," he said. "I am not quite so strong as I was
four hours ago."
"One minute," exclaimed Kenneth. "I'll clear some of this rubbish
away."
"Tiens!" ejaculated the Belgian. "Let it remain, for when we let the
flap fall it will spread and hide the cracks in the floor. No one will
then suspect that there is a cellar. Now, lift together.--Soyez
tranquille!" he shouted, to reassure his comrades in hiding.
At a gesture from his newly-found friend, Kenneth descended the steep
wooden ladder till his feet touched the stone floor of the cellar. The
Belgian lancer followed more slowly, uttering maledictions under his
breath at every step. Another of the occupants of the cellar ascended,
and pulled the flap down with a resounding crash. The place seemed in
total darkness.
"A new comrade--an Englishman in the service of our country," announced
the lancer; and Kenneth's hands were warmly grasped by his unseen hosts.
After a while his eyes grew accustomed to the semi-gloom, for the
daylight filtered through a small irregular opening at one end of the
underground room. The Belgians present did not belong to the same
regiment. One was a corporal of infantry, another an artilleryman, the
third a Civil Guard, whose head-gear, somewhat resembling a bowler hat,
made him easily recognizable. Their rifles were resting against the
wall, their cartridge pouches and heavy packs had been thrown on the
floor, and by their sides were some partly-consumed slices of turnip.
Kenneth promptly shared his rations, which were ravenously eaten by the
half-famished men. The corporal, having swallowed his portion of roll
and chocolate, took up his position at the opening through which the
daylight could be seen.
"They come!" he announced. "The pigs! Look!"
The rest of the men made their way to the post of observation. The
cellar was of brick, with massive oaken rafters overhead and a stone
floor. At one end was a flight of stone steps that at one time
communicated with the outside of the house. A fall of brick-work had
almost entirely closed this exit, leaving a space about two inches in
height and a little more than a foot in width between the top of the
debris and the underside of the arch. The aperture was thus broad
enough to afford an outlook for two persons without the faintest risk
of discovery.
The corporal, as observation man, remained at his post, the others
taking turn to gaze upon the approaching regiment of their hated foes.
The German troops had evidently gone through a rough experience. They
looked utterly done up. Most of them were in their shirt-sleeves,
their coats and accoutrements hanging from their rifles. Several were
without caps, and many had been wounded. In spite of the sweltering
heat they marched in close column, wellnigh choked with dust, and only
kept at a brisk pace by the unsympathetic orders and threats of their
officers.
As the head of the column approached, several men were ordered to
double up to the ruined house. Already the German commander had good
reason to dread the fury of the Belgian civil population, and every
house on the line of march was searched for possible snipers before the
regiment was allowed to march past it.
Kenneth could hear the Prussians' boots crunching on the rubble
overhead, and their guttural shouts as they reported that the building
was untenanted.
Then the column was again set in motion, and as the troops marched
stolidly by, Kenneth saw that in their midst were about twenty peasants
of both sexes.
The Belgian corporal rapped out an oath.
"The cowards!" he hissed. "They will use these people--countrymen--to
screen their advance. They did so at Haelen and Landen. I would
gladly bring down that red-faced Colonel but for the fact that those
peasants would be instantly massacred."
Reluctantly the man closed the safety-catch of his rifle. The impulse
to shoot had been tantalizing. Only his concern for his luckless
fellow-countrymen had prevented the Belgian from sending a bullet
through the Prussian officer's heart. Ignorant of his escape the
Colonel rode past, followed by the rest of the regiment, for, from
motives of extraordinary caution, he was in the centre of the column.
Another and yet another grey-clad regiment tramped past. With feelings
akin to consternation, Kenneth realized that a considerable portion of
the German army was now between him and his regiment. And Rollo--what
had become of him?
Several hours passed. The Belgians, unable to control their natural
vivacity, chattered gaily, relating their individual adventures, and
closely questioning Kenneth as to his views on British aid for the
sorely-harassed country. Occasionally, when their look-out reported
fresh troops in sight, they would relapse into silence. The
artilleryman jotted down in a pocket-book particulars and estimated
numbers of all the German regiments that passed along the road,
remarking that to-morrow, perhaps, the information might be useful to
his officers.
About five in the afternoon the stream slackened, and half an hour
later there were no signs of the invaders. The Belgians discussed the
possibility of making a dash for their own lines, and eventually
decided to attempt to put their plan into execution shortly after
midnight. Even the wounded lancer expressed his confidence in his
ability to keep up with his comrades.
"And will you accompany us?" he asked, addressing his British comrade.
"There's my motor-cycle," said Kenneth tentatively.
"Pouf! It is of no consequence. Let it remain; there are others to be
obtained. It is useless to attempt to take it with you. The roads are
unsafe, while in the open the ditches are too wide to take it across."
Still Kenneth hesitated. He had no doubt that the Belgian spoke
truthfully, and that he could obtain another mount at head-quarters;
but it would not be the same cycle, to which he was greatly attached.
While the wounded lancer was still endeavouring to persuade Kenneth to
make the attempt on foot, the corporal, from the post of observation,
reported that a patrol of Uhlans was approaching.
"There are but seven," he announced, "and they have a prisoner with
them. Shall we----?" and he significantly tapped his rifle.
After a short interval one of the Belgians stood aside to allow Kenneth
to look at the approaching patrol. They were riding their horses at a
walking pace, their long lances being stepped in "buckets" behind their
backs. Most of them were smoking large curved pipes.
Suddenly Kenneth uttered a half-stifled shout of surprise, for the
prisoner was his chum, Rollo Barrington.