The Day of Wrath Part 28

Bates offered no objection, as long as they followed in rear. The hussar's cloaks came in useful, and Dalroy buckled on a sword-belt. Jan announced that he was good for another twenty miles provided he could win clear of those _sales Alboches_. He was eager to relate his adventures, but Dalroy quieted him by the downright statement that if his tongue wagged he might soon be either a prisoner again or dead.

A night so rife with hazard could hardly close tamely. The rain cleared off, and the stars came out ere they reached the ferry on the Schelde, and a scout sent ahead came back with the disquieting news that a strong cavalry picket, evidently on the alert, held the right bank. But the thirteen had made a specialty of disposing of German pickets in the dark. In those early days of the war, and particularly in Flanders, Teuton nerves were notoriously jumpy, so the little band crept forward resolutely, dodging from tree to tree, and into and out of ditches, until they could see the stars reflected in the river. Dalroy and Irene had dismounted at the first tidings of the enemy, turning a pair of contented horses into a meadow. They and Maertz, of course, had to keep well behind the main body.

The troopers, veritable Uhlans this time, had posted neither sentry nor vedette in the lane. Behind them, they thought, lay Germany. In front, across the river, the small army of Belgium held the last strip of Belgian territory, which then ran in an irregular line from Antwerp through Gand to Nieuport. So the picket watched the black smudge of the opposite bank, and talked of the Kron-Prinz's stalwarts hacking their way into Paris, and never dreamed of being a.s.sailed from the rear, until a number of st.u.r.dy demons pounced on them, and did some pretty bayonet-work.

Fight there was none. Those Uhlans able to run ran for their lives. One fellow, who happened to be mounted, clapped spurs to his charger, and would have got away had not Dalroy delivered a most satisfactory lunge with the hussar sabre.

No sooner had Bates collected and counted sixteen people than the tactics were changed. Five rounds rapid rattled up the road and along the banks.

"I find that a bit of noise always helps after we get the windup with the bayonet, sir," he explained to Dalroy. "If any of 'em think of stopping they move on again when they hear a hefty row."

A Belgian picket, guarding the ferry, and, what was of vast importance to the fugitives, the ferry-boat, wondered, no doubt, what was causing such a commotion among the enemy. Luckily, the officer in charge recognised a new ring in the rifles. He could not identify it, but was certain it came from neither a Belgian nor a German weapon.

Thus, in a sense, he was prepared for Jan Maertz's hail, and was even more rea.s.sured by Irene's clear voice urging him to send the boat.

Two volunteers manned the oars. In a couple of minutes the unwieldy craft b.u.mped into a pontoon, and was soon crowded with pa.s.sengers. Never was sweeter music in the ears of a little company of Britons than the placid lap of the current, followed by the sharp challenge of a sentry: "_Qui va la?_"

"A party of English soldiers, a Belgian, and an English lady," answered Dalroy.

An officer hurried forward. He dared not use a light, and, in the semi-obscurity of the river bank, found himself confronted by a sinister-looking crew. He was cautious, and exceedingly sceptical when told briefly the exact truth. His demand that all arms and ammunition should be surrendered before he would agree to send them under escort to the village of Aspen was met by a blank refusal from Bates and his myrmidons. Dalroy toned down this cartel into a graceful plea that thirteen soldiers, belonging to eight different regiments of the British army, ought not to be disarmed by their gallant Belgian allies, after having fought all the way from Mons to the Schelde.

Irene joined in, but Jan Maertz's rugged speech probably carried greater conviction. After a prolonged argument, which the infuriated Germans might easily have interrupted by close-range volleys, the difficulty was adjusted by the unfixing of bayonets and the slinging of rifles. A strong guard took them to Aspen, where they arrived about eleven o'clock. They were marshalled in the kitchen of a comfortable inn, and interviewed by a colonel and a major.

Oddly enough, Corporal Bates was the first to gain credence by producing his map, and describing the villages he and his mates had pa.s.sed through, the woods in which they hid for days together, and the cures who had helped them. Bates's story was an epic in itself. His men crowded around, and grinned approvingly when he rounded off each curt account of a "sc.r.a.p" by saying, "Then the Yewlans did a bunk, an' we pushed on."

Dalroy, acting as interpreter, happened to glance at the circle of cheerful faces during a burst of merriment aroused by a reference to Smithy's ingenuity in stealing a box of hand grenades from an ammunition wagon, and destroying a General's motor-car by fixing an infernal machine in the gear-box. The mere cranking-up of the engine, it appeared, exploded the detonator.

"Is that what you were doing under the car outside the barn?" he inquired, catching Smithy's eye.

"Yes, sir. I've on'y one left aht o' six," said Smithy, producing an ominous-looking object from a pocket.

"Is the detonator in position?"

"Yus, sir."

"Will you kindly take it out, and lay it gently on the table?"

Smithy obeyed, with rea.s.suring deftness.

Dalroy was about to comment on the phenomenal risk of carrying such a destructive bomb so carelessly when he happened to notice the roll collar of a khaki tunic beneath Smithy's blue linen blouse.

"Have you still retained part of your uniform?" he inquired.

"Oh, yus, sir. We all 'ave. We weren't goin' to strip fer fear of any bally Germans--beg pawdon, miss--an' if it kime to a reel show-dahn we meant ter see it through in reggelation kit."

Every man of twelve had retained his tunic, trousers, and puttees, which were completely covered by the loose-fitting garments supplied by the priest of a hamlet near Louvignies, who concealed them in a loft during four days until the ma.s.s of German troops had surged over the French frontier. The thirteenth, a Highlander, actually wore his kilt!

The Belgian officers grew enthused. They insisted on providing a _vin d'honneur_, which Irene escaped by pleading utter fatigue, and retiring to rest.

Dalroy opened his eyes next morning on a bright and sunlit world. It might reasonably be expected that his thoughts would dwell on the astounding incidents of the past month. They did nothing of the sort. He tumbled out of a comfortable bed, interviewed the proprietor of the "_Trois Couronnes_," and asked that worthy man if he understood the significance of a Bank of England five-pound note. During his many and varied 'scapes, Dalroy's store of money, carried in an inner pocket of his waistcoat, had never been touched. _Monsieur le Patron_ knew all that was necessary about five-pound notes. Very quickly a serviceable cloth suit, a pair of boots, some clean linen, a tin bath, and a razor were staged in the bedroom, while the proprietor's wife was instructed to attend to mademoiselle's requirements.

Dalroy was shaving, for the first time in thirty-three days, when voices reached him through the open window. He listened.

Smithy had cornered Shiney Black in the hotel yard, and, in his own phrase, was puttin' 'im through the 'oop.

"You don't know it, Shiney, but you're reely a verdamd Henglishman," he said, with an accurate reproduction of Von Halwig's manner if not his accent. "The grite German nytion is abart ter roll yer in the mud, an'

wipe its big feet on yer tummy. You've awsked fer it long enough, an'

nah yer goin' ter git it in the neck. Blood an' sausage! The cheek o' a silly little josser like you tellin' the Lord-'Igh-c.o.c.k-a-doodle-doo that 'e can't boss everybody as 'e dam well likes! Shiney, you're done in! The Keyser sez so, an' 'e ought ter know. W'y? That shows yer miserable hignorance! The Keyser sez so, I tell yer, so none o' yer lip, or I, Von Schmit, o' the Dirty 'Alf-Hundredth, will biff you on the boko. But no! I must keep me 'air on. As you an' hevery hother verdamd Henglishman will be snuffed aht before closin'-time, I shall grashiously tell thee wot's wot an' 'oo's 'oo. Germany, the friend o' peace--no, you blighter, not Chawlie Peace, the burglar, but the lydy in a nightie, wiv a dove in one 'and an' a holive-branch in the other--Germany will wide knee-deep in Belgian an' French ber-lud so as to 'and you the double Nelson. By land an' sea an' pawcels post she'll rine fire an' brimstone on your pore thick 'ead. What 'ave _you_ done, you'd like ter know? Wot _'aven't_ you done? Aren't you alive? Wot crime can ekal that when the Keyser said, 'Puff! aht--tallow-candle!' _Ach_, pig-dorg, I shpit on yer!"

"You go an' wash yer fice once more, Smithy," said Shiney, forcing a word in edgeways. "It'll improve your looks, per'aps. I dunno."

"That's done it," yelped Smithy, warming to his theme. "That's just yer narsty, scoffin' British w'y o' speakin' to quiet, respectable Germans.

That's wot gets us mad. I'm surprised at yer, Shiney! Yer hatt.i.tude brings tears to me heyes. Time an' agine you've 'eard ahr bee-utiful langwidge----"

"I 'ave, indeed," interrupted Shiney. "But none o' it 'ere, me lad.

There's a reel born lydy in one o' them bedrooms."

"I'm not torkin' o' the kind of tosh _you_ hunderstand," retorted Smithy. "I'm alludin' to the sweet-sahndin' langwidge o' our conquerors.

You've 'eard it hoffen enuf from the sorft mowves o' Yewlans. On'y larst night you 'eard it spoke by that stawr hactor, Von 'Allwig, of the Potsdam Busters. Yet you can git nothink orf yer chest but a low-dahn c.o.c.kney wheeze w'en a benefactor's givin' yer the strite tip. Pore Shiney! Ye think yer goin' back to Hengland, 'ome, an' beauty--to the barrick-square, bully-beef an' booze, an' plenty o' it. Dontcher believe it! Wot you're in fer is a dose o' German _Kultur_. W'en yer ship's been torpedoed fourteen times between Hostend an' Dover, w'en yer sarth-eastern trine 'as b.u.mped inter a biker's dozen o' different sorts o' mines, w'en you're Zepped the minnit you crorse the Strend to the nearest pub, you'll begin ter twig wot the Hemperor of All the 'Uns is ackshally a-doin' of. It's hall hup wiv yer, Shiney! You've ether got ter lie dahn an' doi, er learn German. Nah, w'ich is it ter be? Go west wiv yer benighted country, or go nap on the Keyser?"

"Torkin' o' pubs reminds me," yawned Shiney. "I couldn't get any forrarder on that ginger-pop the Belgian horficers gev us. In one o'

them Yewlans' pawket-books there was five French quid. Wot abart a bottle o' beer?"

"What abart it?" agreed Smithy instantly.

The soap was drying on Dalroy's face, but he thrust his head out of the window to look at two of Britain's first line swaggering through the gateway of the inn, and whistling, "It's a long, long way to Tipperary."

Smith and Shiney were true types of the somewhat cynical but ever ready-witted and laughter-loving Londoner, who makes such a first-rate fighting man. They were just a couple of ordinary "Tommies." The deadly fury of Mons, the daily and nightly peril of the march through a land stricken by a brutal enemy, the score of little battles which they had conducted with an amazing skill and hardihood--these phases of immortality troubled them not at all. An eye-rolling and sabre-rattling emperor might rock the social foundations of half the world, his braggart henchmen destroy that which they could never rebuild, his frantic gang of poets and professors indite Hymns of Hate and blasphemous catch-words like "Gott strafe England"; but the Smithies and Shinies of the British army would never fail to c.o.c.k a humorous eye at the vapourers, and say sarcastically, "Well, an' wot abart it?"

Somehow, on 7th September 1914, there was a hitch in the naval programme devised by the _Deutscher Marineamt_. The Belgian packet-boat, _Princess Clementine_, steamed from Ostend to Dover through a smiling sea unvexed by Krupp or any other form of _Kultur_. Warships, big and little, were there in squadrons; but gaunt super-Dreadnought and perky destroyer alike was aggressively British.

England, too, looked strangely unperturbed. There had been sad scenes on the quay at the Belgian port, but a policeman on duty at the sh.o.r.e end of the gangway at Dover seemed to indicate by a majestic calm that any person causing an uproar would be given the alternative of paying ten shillings and costs or "doing" seven days.

The boat was crowded with refugees; but Dalroy, knowing the wiliness of stewards, had experienced slight difficulty in securing two chairs already loaded with portmanteaus and wraps. He heard then, for the first time, why Irene fled so precipitately from Berlin. She was a guest in the house of a Minister of State, and one of the Hohenzollern princelings came there to luncheon on that fateful Monday, 3rd August.

He had invited himself, though he must have been aware that his presence was an insult and an annoyance to the English girl, whom he had pestered with his attentions many times already. He was excited, drank heavily, and talked much. Irene had arranged to travel home next day, but the wholly unforeseen and swift developments in international affairs, no less than the thinly-veiled threats of a royal admirer, alarmed her into an immediate departure. At the twelfth hour she found that her host, father of two girls of her own age--the school friends, in fact, to whom she was returning a visit--was actually in league with her persecutor to keep her in Berlin.

She ran in panic, her one thought being to join her sister in Brussels, and reach home.

"So you see, dear," she said, with one of those delightfully shy glances which Dalroy loved to provoke, "I was quite as much sought after as you, and I would certainly have been stopped on the Dutch frontier had I travelled by any other train."

The two were packed into a carriage filled to excess. They had no luggage other than a small parcel apiece, containing certain articles of clothing which might fetch sixpence in a rag-shop, but were of great and lasting value to the present owners.

At Charing Cross, while they were walking side by side down the platform, Irene shrieked, "There they are!" She darted forward and flung herself into the arms of two elderly people, a brother in khaki, with the badges of a Guard regiment, and a sister of the flapper order.

Dalroy had been told at Dover to report at once to the War Office, as he carried much valuable information in his head and Von Halwig's well-filled note-book in his pocket. He hung back while the embracing was in progress. Then Irene introduced him to her family.