The Dispatch Riders Part 18

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 pa.s.sed 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. Ab.u.t.ting 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 b.u.t.t 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-gla.s.ses. 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 a.s.sisted 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.