For some time the little village of Meer slept quietly in the
moonlight. There was not a sound to break the stillness, except once
when Mother Van Hove's old rooster caught a glimpse of the waning moon
through the window of the chicken-house, and crowed lustily, thinking
it was the sun. The other roosters of the village, wiser than he, made
no response to his call, and in a moment he, too, returned to his
interrupted slumbers. But though there was as yet no sound to tell of
their approach, the moon looked down upon three horsemen galloping over
the yellow ribbon of road from Malines toward the little village. Soon
the sound of the horses' hoofs beating upon the hardened earth throbbed
through the village itself, and Fidel sat up on the kitchen doorstep,
pricked up his ears, and listened. He heard the hoof-beats and awakened
the echoes with a sharp bark.
Mother Van Hove sat up in bed and listened; another dog barked, and
another, and now she, too, heard the hoof-beats. Nearer they came, and
nearer, and now she could hear a voice shouting. She shook her husband.
"Wake up!" she whispered in his ear, "something is wrong! Fidel barks,
and I hear strange noises about. Wake up!"
"Fidel is crazy," said Father Van Hove sleepily. "He thinks some weasel
is after the chickens very likely. Fidel will attend to it. Go to
sleep."
He sank back again upon his pillows, but his wife seized his arm and
pulled him up.
"Listen!" she said. "Oh, listen! Weasels do not ride on horseback!
There are hoof-beats on the road!"
"Some neighbor returning late from Malines," said Father Van Hove,
yawning. "It does not concern us."
But his wife was already out of bed, and at the window. The horsemen
were now plainly visible, riding like the wind, and as they whirled by
the houses their shout thrilled through the quiet streets of the
village: "Burghers, awake! Awake! Awake!"
Wide awake at last, Father Van Hove sprang out of bed and hastily began
putting down his clothes. His wife was already nearly dressed, and had
lighted a candle. Other lights sparkled from the windows of other
houses. Suddenly the bell in the church-steeple began to ring wildly,
as though it, too, were shaken with a sudden terror. "It must be a
fire," said Father Van Hove.
Still fastening her clothing, his wife ran out of the door and looked
about in every direction. "I see no fire," she said, "but the village
street is full of people running to the square! Hurry! Hurry! We must
take the children with us; they must not be left here alone."
She ran to wake the children, as she spoke, and, helped by her
trembling fingers, they, too, were soon dressed, and the four ran
together up the road toward the village church. The bell still clanged
madly from the steeple, and the vibrations seemed to shake the very
flesh of the trembling children as they clung to their mother's hands
and tried to keep up with their father's rapid strides.
They found all the village gathered in front of the little town-hall.
On its steps stood the Burgomeister and the village priest, and near
them, still sitting astride his foam-flecked steed, was one of the
soldiers who had brought the alarm. His two companions were already far
beyond Meer, flying over the road to arouse the villages which lay
farther to the east. The church-bell suddenly ceased its metallic
clatter, and while its deep tones still throbbed through the night air,
the wondering and frightened people crowded about the steps in
breathless suspense.
The Burgomeister raised his hand. Even in the moonlight it could be
seen that he was pale. He spoke quickly. "Neighbors," he said, "there
is bad news! the German army is on our borders! It is necessary for
every man of military age and training to join the colors at once in
case the army is needed for defense. There is not a moment to lose.
This messenger is from headquarters. He will tell you what you are to
do."
The soldier now spoke for the first time. "Men of Belgium," he cried,
"your services are needed for your country and your King! The men of
Meer are to report at once to the army headquarters at Malines. Do not
stop even to change your clothing! We are not yet at war, and our good
King Albert still hopes to avert it by an armed peace, but the
neutrality of Belgium is at stake, and we must be ready to protect it
at any cost, and at an instant's notice. Go at once to the Brussels
gate of Malines. An officer will meet you there and tell you what to
do. I must ride on to carry the alarm to Putte." He wheeled his horse
as he spoke, and, turning in his saddle, lifted his sword and cried,
"Vive le Roi!"
"Vive le Roi! Vive la Belgique!" came in an answering shout from the
people of Meer, and he was gone.
There was a moment of stunned silence as he rode away; then a sound of
women weeping. The Burgomeister came down from the steps of the
town-hall, said farewell to his wife and children, and took his place
at the head of the little group of men which was already beginning form
in marching order. The priest moved about among his people with words
of comfort.
Father Van Hove turned to his wife, and to Jan and Marie, who were
clinging to her skirts. "It is only a bad dream, my little ones," he
said, patting their heads tenderly; "we shall wake up some day. And
you, my wife, do not despair! I shall soon return, no doubt! Our good
King will yet save us from war. You must finish the harvest
alone--but--" "Fall in!" cried the voice of the Burgomeister, and
Father Van Hove kissed his wife and children and stepped forward.
Mother Van Hove bravely checked her rising sobs. "We shall go with you
to Malines, at any rate," she said firmly. And as the little group of
men started forward along the yellow road, she and many more women and
children of the village marched, away with them in the gray twilight
which precedes the coming of the dawn. The priest went with his people,
praying for them as he walked, in a voice that shook with feeling.
The sky was red in the east and the larks were already singing over the
quiet fields when the men of Meer, followed by their wives and
children, presented themselves at the Brussels gate of the city.