Thelma Everest
The detention of Rollo Barrington and Kenneth Everest on Dutch soil was
of comparatively short duration. Well before the end of September they
were allowed to recross the frontier within a few miles of the strong
fortress of Antwerp.
The Northumberland Fusilier--his companions in peril never learnt his
name--did not accompany them. At the first available opportunity he
got into communication with a British Consul, and, through that
official's instrumentality, was sent back to England. Here he reported
himself at the nearest regimental depot, and, greatly to his
satisfaction, was again sent across the Channel to rejoin his
comrades-in-arms.
Upon gaining Dutch territory, almost the first act of Kenneth and Rollo
was to communicate the news of their safety to their anxious parents,
at the same time stating their intention of proceeding to Antwerp to
continue their work as dispatch-riders to the Belgian forces.
Upon arriving at the great Belgian fortress the lads found, to their
huge satisfaction, that the 9th Regiment of the Line--or rather the
remains of it--formed part of the garrison, their duty being to man the
trenches between Fort de Wavre Ste Catherine and Fort de Waelhem--posts
that, owing to their strategical position, seemed likely to bear the
brunt of the threatened German attack.
"Dieu soit loue!" exclaimed Major Planchenoit. He was captain no
longer, having gained well-merited promotion. "It is messieurs the
English dispatch-riders. What has befallen you?"
As briefly as possible Kenneth related their adventures from the time
of their ill-starred ride to Cortenaeken.
"And now we wish to report ourselves again for duty, sir," concluded
Everest. "Ought we to see Major Resimont?"
Major Planchenoit shook his head sadly.
"My gallant comrade, alas! has been severely wounded. There is,
however, one consolation; he is safe in England, enjoying the
hospitality of your incomparable fellow-countrymen. If we had not an
assured refuge in England, where would we be? But, messieurs, it will
be necessary to provide you with uniforms and equipment. I will give
you an order for the Quartermaster. When you are fitted out, report
yourselves at the divisional staff office."
Obtaining new uniforms was out of the question: there were none to be
had. So, in place of their motor-cyclists' kit, the lads had to be
content with second-hand infantryman's uniform--heavy blue coat, loose
trousers tucked into black-leather gaiters, and a blue, peakless cap
similar to the British "pill-box" of half a century ago, but worn
squarely on the head instead of being perched at a rakish angle. To
render their head-gear more conspicuous it was adorned by a band of
dark-red cloth.
The Quartermaster was deeply apologetic.
"But, after all, messieurs," he added, "a uniform is a uniform all the
world over. It entitles, or should entitle, its wearer to the
courtesies of war."
The lads agreed on this point, although they realized that the heavy
clothing was not at all suitable for dispatch-riding, where agility on
the part of the cyclist and a near approach of invisibility in the
matter of his uniform were essential conditions to efficiency.
Nor were revolvers served out to them. Instead, they were given Mauser
rifles and short bayonets, the ammunition for the former being kept
loosely in two large black-leather pouches attached to the belt.
"As regards your motor-cycles," continued the Quartermaster, "you may
choose for yourselves. Believe me, we have a large and varied
assortment."
As soon as Kenneth and Rollo had donned their cumbersome uniforms and
equipment they were handed over to the care of a sergeant, who was told
to escort them to the store where the reserve motor-transport vehicles
were kept. This building, formerly a brewery, stood at a distance of
two miles from the advanced line of trenches, and on the banks of the
River Nethe.
In the brewery yard were nearly two hundred motor-cars and lorries
arranged in various grades of efficiency; while in the cellars were
rows and rows of motor-cycles and ordinary bicycles in all sorts of
conditions.
"Voila, messieurs!" exclaimed the sergeant with a comprehensive wave of
the hand.
In spite of the fact that the lads were but corporals the sergeant
invariably addressed them as "messieurs". From the staff officers
downwards, all with whom the British lads came in contact paid this
courteous tribute to their devotion to Belgium's cause.
Kenneth and Rollo were some time making their selection. They realized
that their lives might depend upon the reliability of their mounts.
Finally they decided upon two motor-cycles of British make, very
similar to their own, although of an earlier pattern. Examination
showed that the tyres were in excellent condition, and that with a
slight overhauling the machines ought to prove most serviceable.
There was petrol in abundance, more than was likely to be required
during the impending operations around Antwerp. Having filled up the
tanks of their motor-cycles, the lads started back to the lines, the
sergeant being perched upon the carrier of Rollo's mount.
The English lads were warmly welcomed by their new comrades of the
motor section. Not one of the Belgian dispatch-riders who had taken
part in the operations between Liege and Brussels was left. All of
them had either been killed or wounded in the execution of their duty.
Of the seven motor-cyclists now serving, one was in civil life an
advocate, two were diamond merchants, a fourth a professor of
languages, and the others railway mechanics. Yet, in spite of the
great variations of social grades, the men were excellent comrades,
united by a common cause.
There were twenty ordinary cyclists as well, while the section also
manned an armoured motor-car mounting a machine-gun. This travelling
fortress had already gained a reputation as a hard nut for the Germans
to crack. Up to the present they had not succeeded, while the
machine-gun had accounted for several of the invaders.
Kenneth and Rollo were not allowed to be idle. Eager to get to work
again, they were taken in hand by a captain, who by the aid of a map
pointed out the position of the various forts forming the outer and
inner lines of defences. The lads had also to memorize the principal
roads of communication between the city and the advanced works, as well
as the chief thoroughfares and public buildings of Antwerp itself.
Until they had a fair topographical knowledge they could be of little
use as dispatch-riders, but, owing to the comparatively narrow limits
of the Belgian forces, this information could be mastered after a brief
concentrated effort.
Major Planchenoit took good care to put the rejoined dispatch-riders to
a practical test. Although glad of the help of the two British
subjects, he was not an officer likely to employ them on important work
until they knew the locality. Of their courage and sagacity he already
had proof, but these qualifications were almost of a negligible
quantity unless they knew the "lay of the land".
Next morning the lads had their instructions.
"You will proceed with the dispatch to the officer commanding the
outpost at Lierre," ordered Major Planchenoit. "This done, go on to
Vremde. There you will find a detachment of the regiment. This packet
is for the company officer. This done, proceed to the city, seek
Commandant Fleurus, and deliver this dispatch. Await further
instructions from him, and report to me."
Kenneth and Rollo saluted, and hastened to the shed where their
motor-cycles were stored. As they were giving them a final overhaul,
Private Labori--formerly a diamond merchant and now a
dispatch-rider--hailed them.
"Are you going into the city, camarades? You are? Good! Bring me
some cigars, and I will be eternally indebted to you. I smoked my last
yesterday, and without cigars I am as a man doomed to perdition. Of
your charity, camarades, do me this favour."
Private Labori pressed a ten-franc piece into Kenneth's hand, and with
a hurried expression of gratitude returned to his task of peeling
potatoes for the midday meal.
"He's taken it for granted that we get the cigars," remarked Kenneth.
"I suppose it would not be a breach of discipline to get them."
"Almost like old times," declared Rollo, as the riders sped side by
side over the tree-lined road. "Pity we haven't our own motor-bikes,
though."
He spoke with the same sort of affection as the huntsman has for his
favourite horse, but Kenneth was more practical and unimaginative.
"We're lucky to be riding at all," he said. "After all, this jigger
gets along pretty well. We're doing a good twenty-five."
The three dispatches were delivered in quick time. Commandant Fleurus
greeted the lads warmly, and questioned them at great length on the
subject of their adventures.
"It is not possible to give you a reply at once," he said at the close
of the interview. "Come back at three o'clock, and the dispatch for
Major Planchenoit will be handed you. Meanwhile it will not be
necessary for you to return to Wavre Ste Catherine. You are at liberty
to amuse yourselves until the hour named."
"Jolly considerate of him," remarked Kenneth after the lads had
withdrawn from the Commandant's presence. "We'll put up the bikes and
have a stroll round. It wouldn't be half a bad idea to call at the
post office. There may be something for us, but we had better not
reckon too much on it."
They were not disappointed, for on making application at the post
office they were each handed quite a bulky packet of correspondence.
There were letters from their respective parents and relatives, and a
number from old school chums. These had been written when a part of
their adventures in Belgium had been related by their proud parents to
the head of St. Cyprian's. He, in turn, had passed on the news to the
rest of the school, and the result was a swarm of congratulatory
letters, sent to Mr. Everest and Colonel Harrington, who, upon
receiving news of their sons' safety, had promptly forwarded the batch
of correspondence.
"By Jove!" exclaimed Kenneth, "the pater's written to say that Thelma
is a nurse in one of the hospitals here--St. Nicholas is the name. He
wants me to keep an eye on her, so to speak, and pack her off to
England if there's danger of the city being taken by the enemy."
"Let's find out where St. Nicholas Hospital is, and go there at once,"
suggested Rollo. "Only I hope we'll have better luck than when we
tried to see your sister at Madame de la Barre's."
"We do look like a couple of brigands," said Kenneth as they hurried
through the crowded streets; for their uniforms were far from being
smart, while their rifles slung across their backs gave them a truly
ferocious appearance.
"Think so?" asked Rollo with considerable misgivings. "Then I think
I'll wait outside, if you don't mind."
"Nonsense, man," rejoined his companion heartily. "We're like the rest
of the troops. It's an honour to wear a Belgian uniform, after what
these fellows have done to delay the German advance and to upset the
Kaiser's time-table. Only I'll bet that Thelma doesn't know me."
Kenneth was wrong in his surmise, for on calling at the hospital,
Thelma happened to be passing through the hall. She recognized her
brother at once, but he hardly knew the tall, graceful girl in the neat
and becoming nurse's uniform as his sister.
"So you are my brother's chum," she remarked quite unaffectedly when
Kenneth had introduced the bashful Rollo. "I've heard a lot about you
from Kenneth when you were at St. Cyprian's, you know. And now you are
soldiers fighting for brave little Belgium."
"And what are you doing here?" asked Kenneth with a display of
fraternal authority. "There are at least three British hospitals in
Antwerp, I believe. I wonder why you didn't join one of these."
"I wonder why you didn't join the British army instead of enlisting in
the Belgian one," retorted Thelma in mock reproof.
"For one thing, we weren't old enough," explained her brother. "For
another, we saw most of the fun before our troops landed in France.
It's been a rotten time, but it's well worth it."
"Yes, I am glad you were able to do your bit," agreed Thelma. "And now
I'll tell you why I'm here. My friend Yvonne Resimont and I both
entered as nurses, so as to be together."
"Yvonne Resimont here?" asked Kenneth.
"Yes--do you know her?"
"No; but I might have done, had Madame de la Barre not been so
confoundedly pigheaded. But it's not too late now," he added.
Thelma laughed.
"I'll find her," she said.
"One moment," exclaimed Rollo, who had hitherto held his tongue but had
made good use of his eyes. "Does Mademoiselle Resimont know about her
father?"
"No; she has not heard anything of or from him for weeks. He is not
dead?"
"Badly wounded, and now somewhere in England. I don't know where; but
perhaps Major Planchenoit could give further particulars. And Madame
Resimont?"
"She is in Holland--at Bergen-op-Zoom. The doctors ordered her to go,
otherwise she would have remained here and helped with the wounded.
I'll find Yvonne."
In less than a minute Thelma Everest returned, accompanied by her
Belgian chum.
Yvonne Resimont was a girl of medium height and well-proportioned. Her
features were dark and clear, her hair of a deep brown.
Notwithstanding the grimness of her surroundings she had a natural
vivacity that could not fail to charm all with whom she came in contact.
"You, then, are Kenneth," she exclaimed in good English, with a slight
foreign accent. "I know much about you from Thelma, but I did not
expect to see you in the uniform of our brave Belgians."
Kenneth coloured slightly.
"I wish to goodness the uniform were a little better fitting," he
thought; but it would not have mattered in the slightest degree.
Yvonne was a patriot to her finger-tips. Every man in the uniform of
her beloved country was to her a hero. The uniform, ill-fitting or
otherwise, was in her eyes an emblem of right against might.
"Tell me, Kenneth," she continued, using his Christian name quite as a
matter of course. It was excusable, since Thelma had never spoken of
her brother by any other name, and Kenneth had not the faintest
objection. "Tell me, how came you to be fighting with us in Belgian
uniform?"
"Time, old man," announced Rollo, for during the animated conversation
the minutes fled with astonishing rapidity. "It's nearly three
o'clock."
"You'll both come to see us again whenever you have the chance, won't
you?" asked Thelma, as the two chums bade the girls farewell. "For the
next ten days we are on night duty, so you can call at any hour between
eight and eight."
"And if we are asleep," added Yvonne, "tell them to awaken us. I will
not be cross at being disturbed, and I do not think Thelma will be."
"Ripping girl, your sister, old man," remarked Rollo enthusiastically,
as the twain hurried towards the staff office.
"Is she?" asked Kenneth absent-mindedly. He was thinking deeply of
someone else.