The Dispatch Riders Part 19

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 s.p.a.ce.

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.

"a.s.sist 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!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed 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 rea.s.sure 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 ma.s.sive 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 s.p.a.ce 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 s.h.i.+rt-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 s.e.xes.

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 ma.s.sacred."

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 pa.s.sed. 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-hara.s.sed 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 pa.s.sed 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.

CHAPTER XV

Captured

On parting with his comrade on the road to Cortenaeken, Rollo rode at a great pace towards his goal. He was to a certain extent fortunate in finding people at the various branch roads to give him directions; and in less than an hour from the time of parting company with Kenneth he was in sight of the hamlet where he hoped to meet Major Foveneau.

The place seemed deserted. Perhaps, he thought, the Belgian troops were entrenched on the other side of the slightly rising ground. At a great distance off he could hear the rumble of guns in action.

Evidently there were two separate battles in progress. From the direction of one cannonade it seemed as if the rival forces were engaged in the district through which he had so recently ridden, yet he could have sworn that he had not seen either a single Belgian or German soldier.

Suddenly, as he glanced to the left, Rollo's heart gave a tremendous thump. He had already ridden more than half-way past the rear of a masked German battery. There were perhaps a dozen guns placed in position behind a ridge. The weapons were trained for high-angle firing, while, to render them invisible from Belgian aircraft, they were screened by branches of trees. By the side of each field-piece was an armoured ammunition cart. The body of the vehicle was upturned to a perpendicular position, the sh.e.l.ls being kept in place by a "pigeon-hole" arrangement. The gunners were "standing easy", while, from the tip of a neighbouring haystack, a number of officers were observing the Belgian position through their field-gla.s.ses.

Hearing the sound of the motor-cycle, several of the men turned and looked at the dispatch-rider, but they made no attempt to stop him.

Evidently they thought he was one of their cyclists, for Rollo's uniform was smothered in grey dust, so that there was no perceptible difference between him and a motor-cyclist attached to the invading army.

Fortunately Rollo kept his head. Without slackening his speed he continued on his way until he was within two hundred yards of the nearest house in the village. Here he dismounted and began to rack his brains as to the best course to pursue.

He had fallen into a trap. Cortenaeken had been taken and was now in the possession of the enemy. He could see that several of the buildings were damaged by sh.e.l.l-fire. Unknown to himself he had ridden through the advanced German lines without any suspicion that thousands of men were concealed in the fields and thickets on either side of the road. The German left flank had been thrown forward a considerable distance, and their motor-scouts had been constantly in touch with the centre. Thus, by a pure fluke, Rollo had ridden through with a German motor-cyclist ten minutes ahead of him and another five minutes behind.

"I'll destroy the dispatch at once," decided the lad. "After that I'll try and ride back by the way I came. So here goes!"

He drew the petrol-soaked paper from the tank, and carried it to a dry ditch by the side of the road. The dispatch flared as soon as Rollo struck a match and set light to it. Its destruction was rapid and complete.

Before he could regain his mount a motor-cyclist dashed up. As he approached he slackened speed, gripped the exhaust-lifter, and took advantage of the consequent reduction of sound to shout something in German. Rollo shook his head; his knowledge of German was too elementary for him to reply, but he gathered that the man was asking whether he required any a.s.sistance.

Then, to the lad's consternation, the German dispatch-rider stopped, dismounted, and walked towards him.

"There's only one thing I can do---I must pretend I'm deaf and dumb--temporary effect of the concussion of a sh.e.l.l, although I can't show a wound," thought Rollo. "It wouldn't be cricket to shoot the chap, especially as he stopped in all good faith. Well, here goes!"

Opening his mouth and working his chin like a gasping cod-fish, the lad awaited with considerable misgivings the result of his experiment.

The German was a round-faced, fair-haired fellow of about twenty--a student fresh from college. He looked quite sympathetic, and when Rollo explained by means of signs that there was something wrong with the electric ignition of his cycle, his face lighted up. Strolling up to the British lad's mount, he proceeded in quite a natural way to examine the sparking-plug, and, for the benefit of the supposed distressed rider, he made a pantomimic display of rubbing it with emery-cloth.