CHAPTER IX

A Midnight Retirement

When Rollo opened his eyes he found himself lying in the open air. He was in one of the courtyards of the Palace of Justice. The thunder of the bombardment still roared. The noise of the guns recalled his scattered thoughts to the event that had almost cost him his life.

A Belgian army doctor was kneeling by his side, while Kenneth supported his head. Around him stood a number of soldiers, some of whom had paused in the act of cleaning their rifles in order to watch their English comrade's return to consciousness.

"Hello, Kenneth!" exclaimed Rollo, somewhat vacantly. "What has happened? Ah, I know--those Germans!"

"They won't trouble us again, old man," replied Kenneth. "You're in luck again. It was your suspicions that put the commandant on his guard. But I'll tell you more about it later on."

"You must not unduly excite your friend," cautioned the doctor. "He has no bodily injury, but his nerves are stricken. He must rest until to-morrow. I will have him taken into a safe cellar, where he need fear nothing from those German shells."

"Won't you come with me, Kenneth?" asked Rollo.

"Sorry, old man, but I'm warned for duty at five o'clock--seventeen hours, they call it. All being well, I'll look you up in the morning."

"See that my bike is all right."

"Rather!" replied Kenneth cheerily. "Don't worry about it. I'll look after it."

Later on in the evening Rollo heard of the circumstances under which the supposed British officers were shot down.

The room in which they had been asked to wait was, years ago, used as a place of observation for prisoners awaiting trial. The carved oak panelling terminated about six inches from the heavily-raftered ceiling. At one end was a space between two parallel massive beams, through which, from a gallery without, it was possible to observe all that was taking place, although the watchers were themselves unseen.

Upon his attention being called to the error on the pseudo British major's visiting-card, the commandant's suspicions were aroused. As soon as Rollo was dispatched with his message, a file of skilled riflemen ascended the observation gallery. Noiselessly they took up their positions, and having witnessed the holding up of their British comrade, they delivered a volley that instantly exterminated the treacherous Germans.

Rollo had, indeed, a narrow escape, for his captor in falling had convulsively pressed the trigger of his revolver. The bullet missed the lad's head by a couple of inches, but the blast from the muzzle had scorched his temple.

Barrington was in the midst of a deep slumber, in spite of the thunder of the guns, when he was awakened by someone shaking him by the shoulder.

"What's up?" he asked sleepily, for at the moment he fancied himself back at St. Cyprian's. By the feeble glimmer of a candle-lantern he saw his chum.

"Sorry to disturb you, old man," said Kenneth apologetically, "but if you don't want to find yourself a prisoner in the hands of the Germans you must make a move. The bulk of the Belgian infantry is evacuating the town. The mayor is going to surrender Liege at noon, I believe."

"The forts haven't fallen?" asked Rollo, springing out of bed, only to discover how shaky he felt.

"Not a bit of it," replied Kenneth confidently. "They'll hold out for months, I expect. No, it is only on account of the damage to the public buildings and private property that Liege is to be given up. I don't think it will be of much use to the Germans. They'll have considerable difficulty to pass between the forts. They say the Germans have had another nasty reverse, and that they asked for an armistice in order to bury their dead. Our fellows have refused; they are beginning to sum up the cultured Teuton at his true price. But how do you feel?"

"Pretty fit, though a bit rocky," admitted Rollo. "Where are the bikes?"

"We'll have to wheel them. I've taken off the belts. Orders have been given for the troops intended for the field to withdraw as quietly as possible, you know. Come along."

Rollo had now thrown on his clothes, his chum assisting him to buckle on the belt to which was attached his revolver holster. Together they left the vaulted cellar and gained the street. It was a perfectly dark night. The stars were obscured, the air was misty and hot. Away to the north, south, and east the sky was illuminated by the lightning-like glare of the heavy guns as the forts exchanged a hot fire with the German field artillery.

"Can you manage it?" asked Kenneth anxiously, as Rollo wheeled his deliberately crippled motor into the street.

"Rather," replied his companion with forced determination. "I'm not keen on leaving my jigger for a rascally Prussian to smash. I'm jolly glad we are still attached to the 9th Regiment of the Line. We may see more of Major Resimont. He's quite a decent sort."

"And Captain Planchenoit is a brick," added Kenneth. "I've been talking to some of the men in his company. They swear by him; but he's awfully keen on discipline, they say, and gets plenty of work out of his men."

The dispatch-riders found the regiment drawn up in column of fours in a narrow street behind the Church of St. Jacques. In this dense formation the men would have suffered severely had a shell fallen in their ranks; but owing to the fact that the Germans were hoping to take early possession of the city, their gunners no longer dropped projectiles into Liege, devoting their attention to the stubborn forts that had already thrown the imperial time-table into confusion.

Although the Belgian troops were no longer elated, they were far from being downcast. They realized that strategic reasons necessitated the evacuation of the city. They hoped that the forts could hold out. Already they had proved themselves equal man for man to the vaunted soldiers of the Kaiser. Their object was now to contest every yard of the way to Brussels, their determination being strengthened by the widespread belief that the pick of the English army would speedily be fighting by their side.

Several of the men of the 9th Regiment bore evidences of the hard part they had taken in the repulse of the initial German attacks. Many had bandages round their heads; others had their hands swathed in linen, while a few limped badly; yet one and all showed resolute courage that augured ill for any Prussian regiment which should happen to cross steel with the valiant defenders of the cockpit of Europe.

Presently the Colonel gave an order. The men unfixed bayonets and sloped arms. In the centre of the column the lads could see the cased colours round which a fierce struggle had taken place during the preceding day. Then, at the word of command, the regiment swung briskly along the narrow street.

Kenneth and Rollo found themselves with two other dispatch-riders at the rear of the column. The other motor-cyclists had gone on a journey that knows no return. There was also a detachment of twenty cyclists belonging to the regiment, but most of these silent scouts were far afield, making certain that the line of retreat was in no danger of being ambushed by the wily Uhlans.

The route lay between Forts de Hollogne and de Flemalle, through tortuous by-lanes. Over and over again the column was obliged to halt owing to the congestion of the roads, for twenty thousand Belgian troops--field artillery, cavalry, and infantry--were evacuating the doomed city that night.

Before they were clear of the environs of Liege, Rollo began to feel the effects of his adventure with the German officers. The sweat poured from him as he gamely pushed his unwieldy motor-cycle. Anxiously Kenneth watched him, unable to give assistance save by a few words of encouragement. Every time there was a halt Rollo leant across the saddle, welcoming the rest, yet dreading the exertion required to resume the tortuous march. To lag behind was to risk capture, for small parties of Uhlans were known to have penetrated into the villages of Hollogne and Montegnee, which lay between the as yet unconquered forts and the city of Liege; otherwise he would have fallen out, waited till dawn, and then cycled to overtake the regiment.

During one of these short, unavoidable, halts a voice came through the darkness.

"Monsieur Everest--is Monsieur Everest there?"

"Here I am, sir," replied Kenneth, recognizing the voice as that of Captain Planchenoit.

"Ah, good! I wish to enquire after your English comrade."

"He is here, sir."

"Ah, again good! I thought he would be unfit to move."

"He's not very much up to the mark, sir."

The captain flashed an electric torch upon the motor-cyclists.

"Ciel! you are indeed right, Monsieur Everest. I will see to matters. Private Roulaix," he added, addressing a Belgian who was walking his "push-bike", "place your bicycle in the first wagon that passes. Say that I, Captain Planchenoit, orders it. Then relieve your English comrade of his motor-cycle. Monsieur Barrington, as soon as Private Roulaix returns I will take you to one of the wagons. You are not, at present, fit to walk, still less to push that motor-cycle."

For the rest of that night Kenneth was without the company of his chum. As the grey dawn began to break, he too felt that he was nearly done up, but still the steady retreat continued.

It was not until six o'clock in the morning that the 9th Regiment of the Line was ordered to bivouac outside the village of Omal. Here trenches were dug, barbed-wire entanglements set up, barns and cottages loopholed and placed in a state of defence in order to keep in check the German hordes until the expected aid was forthcoming.

For the next twenty-four hours the 9th Regiment was inactive, as far as actual fighting was concerned. With the rest of the mobile Belgian forces, the men were enjoying a well-earned respite and improving their position.

Although Rollo still remained off duty, Kenneth, with the rest of the motor dispatch-riders, had plenty to do. Frequently the lad had to ride off at full speed to carry orders to bands of armed civilians to cease firing upon Belgian airmen; for these plucky air-scouts were so harried by the fire of their undisciplined fellow-countrymen that it is not to be wondered at that after a time they declined to fly at all.

Kenneth had just returned from one of these errands when the Colonel of the regiment sent for him.

"You know the way to Tongres?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," replied the lad promptly, for although he had never been there, a close study of the map had enabled him to fix its position in his mind.

"Then bear a verbal message to General Fechard. Say that in view of an impending strong attack upon our position reinforcements are urgently requested to hold the village of Omal. Mitrailleuses are particularly desirable. Is that clear? Then repeat the message."

Kenneth did so satisfactorily. The Colonel nodded approval.

"Now go," said he. "As quickly as you can, for the situation is critical."