CHAPTER XXVII

With the Naval Brigade at Antwerp

Fort de Wavre Ste Catherine had fallen. Unable to fire an effective shot in reply to the terrible bombardment of the formidable German 28-cm. shells, the strongest of the outer line of Antwerp defences suffered the same fate as the steel-clad cupolas of Liege.

Antwerp was doomed. The Belgians themselves realized the fact. Their one hope was that the German infantry would attempt to rush the trenches. Then it would be proved again that the Belgian infantryman was as good as or better than his Teutonic foe.

Nevertheless, driven from the outer forts on the southern side of the defences, the garrison was not dismayed. In spite of the fact that by their resistance Antwerp itself would presumably suffer at the hands of the Germanic hordes, the Belgians knew that their sacrifice would not be in vain. To take the city a huge force of Germans would be required--and that force was badly needed elsewhere. Day by day, hour by hour, the British and French allied forces were extending their left wing from the Aisne to the Belgian frontier, circumventing all the efforts on the part of their foes to turn their flank. The "holding up" of the German besiegers of Antwerp was sufficient to enable the Allies firmly to establish their threatened left flank upon the coast of the North Sea.

One by one the outer forts fell. A shell demolished the waterworks and threatened the city's water supply. Back fell the Belgians, reluctantly relaxing their hold upon the trenches, in which they were subjected to a heavy fire without even so much as a glimpse of a hostile grey-coat.

During these momentous days Kenneth and Rollo were busily employed conveying important messages under fire. It was a matter of impossibility for them not to realize the hopelessness of the position, but they did not relax their efforts on that account. The Belgians were not fighting with their backs to a wall. Behind them lay the neutral territory of Holland. At any given time they could evacuate the city and allow themselves to be interned; but this they would not do until they received news that their allies were firmly established in their proposed position.

On the second day of October preparations were made for the Government to abandon Antwerp, when suddenly the exodus came to a standstill. The word flew from mouth to mouth that a strong British force was to be thrown into Antwerp, and, with the aid of the Belgian army, to raise the siege and turn the enemy's flank.

"That's good news," remarked Kenneth; but Rollo was far from optimistic.

"We've heard such a lot of this sort of talk before, old man," he said. "Until I see a British regiment in Antwerp I'll have my doubts."

Early on the morning of the 4th, the lads were roused from their slumbers by a roar of cheering. Emerging from their shell-proof shelter, they were surprised and delighted to find that rumour had merged into fact. Surging along towards the trenches in the direction of Lierre were hundreds of men dressed in the well-known British naval uniform. As yet they were not under shellfire, for the German guns were devoting their energies towards the works at Lierre, and the hostile air-craft had not noted the approach of British reinforcements.

Presently the bluejackets halted and piled arms. It was their last breathing-space before they dashed into the shell-swept trenches.

"Let's go and see them," suggested Rollo; and his companion agreeing, the two chums hurried towards the resting bluejackets, who were surrounded by hundreds of their Belgian allies, for the present off duty from the firing-line.

"I wonder how we manage to spare this crowd of sailors," remarked Kenneth as they made their way towards their fellow-countrymen. "I should have thought that every man would be wanted for service with the fleet."

"At any rate, they're here," said Rollo; "and there are fellows in khaki coming along the Lierre road, if I'm not much mistaken."

The lads stood watching the sailors for some time. Their insular reserve kept them from immediately entering into conversation, although they were filled with impatience to know what had happened.

For the most part the bluejackets were young men of good physique. They lacked the bronzed appearance of seamen who have braved the breezes of the five oceans. Many of them were pale, not with apprehension, but with a consciousness that they had before them a stern task that would tax their energies and courage, for they were going under fire for the first time.

Presently one of the bluejackets strolled up to the spot where Kenneth and his chum were standing.

"Est-ce--est-ce que vous--oh, hang it! what's the French for----" he began.

"Try English, old man; it will be a jolly sight easier for you," said Kenneth, laughing.

"Why, you're British, and in Belgian get-up!" exclaimed the bluejacket in surprise. "What are you doing here, I should like to know?"

"Exactly the same question we want to ask you," replied Kenneth. "We're dispatch-riders in the Belgian service. We heard that British troops were to be sent here, but we didn't expect sailors."

"Nor are we," replied the other. "Candidly we're not, although we are the Collingwood Battalion of the Naval Brigade."

"Never heard of it before," remarked Rollo.

"You haven't? Have you heard of Kitchener's army, then?"

The lads shook their heads.

"Then you are behind the times. Whatever have you been doing with yourselves? I'll tell you. As soon as war broke out Kitchener asked for half a million men. He got them right enough. In addition they started Naval Brigades. It was a good wheeze, for a lot of fellows joined for the sake of wearing a naval uniform instead of khaki, although there was no intention of using us at sea--at least, not at present. Two months ago I was an actor. To quote the words of the immortal _Pinafore_: 'I never was upon the sea'."

"'What, never?'" queried Rollo, continuing the words of the song.

"'Well--hardly ever'. Fact is that until I left Walmer to cross the Channel my longest trip was from Portsmouth to Ryde. I was beastly sea-sick crossing, but I'm jolly glad I'm here. We stand a chance of doing a bit before Kitchener's army gets a sniff of a look-in. We'll do our little bit, never fear. Well, so long; hope to see you again."

The division was falling in, preparatory to advancing in open order towards the trenches facing the River Nethe, close to the village of Lierre. Steadfastly, and with the quiet courage that distinguishes Britons under fire, the lads of the Naval Brigade marched into the zone of danger to attempt to stem the advance of the German hordes upon the city of Antwerp.

"Ah, messieurs!" exclaimed Major Planchenoit, as the dispatch-riders reported themselves for orders. He was in high spirits, for, like the rest of the Belgian troops, he was greatly cheered by the fact that the long-promised aid was at last forthcoming. "Ah, messieurs! to-day you will report yourselves at Lierre. You will be of service as interpreters, for your gallant fellow-countrymen do not seem particularly well acquainted with our language."

It was hot work making their way to the trenches, for already the Germans had renewed their destructive fire. Briton and Belgian, lying side by side in the hastily-constructed shelters, were subjected to a galling shrapnel fire without being able to make an adequate reply. From the rear, two British heavy naval guns were resolutely hurtling shells towards the invisible German battery; but of what use were two against so many?

Manfully the untried men of the Naval Brigade took their gruelling. It was one of the hardest tasks that men, going for the first time into action, had to endure: to be subjected to a tremendous bombardment without being able to fire a shot in return. Nevertheless they stuck it grimly, waiting and praying that they might have a chance of meeting the German infantry on anything like level terms.

That chance came at last. At night the German artillery-fire slackened. Pouring onwards in dense masses came the grey-uniformed legions, intent upon forcing the passage of the River Nethe in the neighbourhood of Lierre.

Already the British Marines had blown up the bridge, while across the main street of the shell-wrecked village a strong barricade of carts faced with sandbags had been constructed. Working desperately, the German engineers succeeded in throwing pontoons across the stagnant river. With shouts of "Deutschland ueber Alles" the infantry poured across, greeted by a withering fire from Briton and Belgian.

The Naval Brigade's rifle-firing was as steady as that of a veteran battalion. Maxims added to the general clatter. All along the trenches flashed the deadly spurts of fire from the small-arms. The German infantry, swept away like chaff, failed to make good the position: the Briton proved a better man than the vaunted Teuton. Then came the recurrence of the deadly shrapnel. The Belgian infantry on the right were compelled to retire, and into the position they vacated poured other German regiments, covered by a fierce artillery fire that was impartial as to whether it struck friend or foe.

It was now that the Naval Brigade failed to come up to the standard of thoroughly trained and seasoned troops. Having repelled the attack upon their immediate front, they could not easily be induced to retire. The desire to "stop and have another shot at the beggars" was uppermost in the minds of these stalwart youths. They failed to realize that with the Allied line pressed they were in danger of being enfiladed. But reluctantly and doggedly they eventually fell back within the shelter of the inner line of forts.

For the next two days the German heavy guns pounded the weak line of defence. Inexplicably, although the city was well within range, no projectiles fell in Antwerp. Perhaps it was because the invaders hoped to take a practically undamaged port.

Meanwhile the Belgian army, with the British Naval Brigade, was being withdrawn from Antwerp. Further resistance was hopeless, while by this time the Anglo-French armies were in their allotted positions according to General Joffre's plan. All that remained to be done in Antwerp was to destroy everything likely to be of military value to the enemy, and extricate the defenders from what promised to be a veritable trap.

In vain, during the night of the retirement, Kenneth and Rollo sought to regain their regiment. Whither the 9th of the Line had gone no one seemed to know. Some had it that the devoted regiment had perished almost to a man in the trenches; others that it was on its way to Ostend; others that it had crossed the frontier into Holland.

"Now what's to be done?" asked Rollo.

"Find the girls, if they haven't already left, and get them to a place of safety," replied Kenneth grimly. "We can do no more at present for Belgium; we must look after ourselves and our friends. Lead on: to the St. Nicholas Hospital."