Part 16 (2/2)
”See, sir,” persisted Kenneth, producing the copy of the paper he had purchased in Brussels.
”I have already seen it,” said Major Resimont; ”it is only a rumour.
It is, moreover, false; there is not a single English regiment in Belgium. Your country is, I fear, too late to save Brussels from the invaders.”
CHAPTER XIII
Separated
Major Resimont's sentiments were shared by the majority of his deep-thinking compatriots. The great faith in the prompt action of Great Britain in sending a strong Expeditionary Force to Belgium had received a severe set-back. Even yet the promised aid might be forthcoming--but it would be too late to spare the greater portion of the country, including the capital, from invasion.
When the Major stated that the Belgians had ”certain hopes” in the French, he spoke with a justifiable sense of caution. He realized that the object of throwing French troops into Belgium was not to stay the threatened occupation of Brussels, but to avoid, if possible, the disastrous results of the presence of a German army on French soil. In short, Belgium was once more to be made the battle-ground between French and German troops, provided the fortresses on the borders of Alsace-Lorraine were strong enough to hold back the invaders in this quarter.
Unfortunately, in spite of the utmost efforts of the War Office, backed by the whole-hearted support of a united Parliament, Great Britain was just four days too late in the dispatch of her Expeditionary Force.
Yet the brave Belgians did not repine, nor did they relax for one instant their opposition to the enormous and relentless ma.s.ses of Germans who were now pouring in through the strategic railways between Aix-la-Chapelle and Liege.
But the sacrifice of Belgium was not in vain. By the heroic resistance of General Leman the clockwork regularity of the German time-table had been thrown hopelessly out of gear. The stubborn defence of Liege had delayed the Teuton advance to such an extent that France and England were able to complete their respective mobilizations, and to thwart the German Emperor's hopes of ”rus.h.i.+ng” Paris and thus forcing France to conclude a humiliating and disastrous peace.
”Corporal Everest!”
”Sir?”
”You are to take this dispatch to Major Foveneau, who is holding the village of Cortenaeken. Your compatriot may accompany you. Exercise particular care, for there are numerous Uhlan patrols in the neighbourhood of Diest.”
It was on the second day after the British dispatch-riders' return with the mail-escort. Captain Planchenoit, who had already fully recognized the intrepidity and common sense of the two lads, had been instructed by his Colonel to communicate with the isolated post of Cortenaeken, and he could decide upon no fitter messengers than Kenneth Everest and his friend Rollo Barrington.
”You will observe that the dispatch is at present unsealed,” continued Captain Planchenoit. ”You must commit the text to memory. Should you be in danger of capture, destroy the dispatch at all costs. It is far too important to risk being hidden, yet Major Foveneau must have, if humanly possible, written orders.”
”Very good, sir,” replied Kenneth, saluting.
He then went off to find his chum, whom he found cleaning his mount.
Kenneth had given up cleaning his motor-cycle days ago; beyond satisfying himself that it had plenty of oil and was in good running order, he troubled nothing about its appearance. Both lads had, moreover, wrapped the handle-bars in strips of brown linen, while the remaining bright parts had been covered with dull-grey paint.
”It's Cortenaeken this time,” announced Kenneth. ”Goodness knows how we get to the place, for there doesn't seem to be a vestige of a road leading to it, according to the map. Here's the dispatch--sounds important, doesn't it? We have to commit the words to memory, in case we have to destroy the paper.”
”The best thing we can do is to ride for Tirlemont and make enquiries there,” suggested Rollo, handing the dispatch back to his chum. ”As regards concealing the paper, we must place it somewhere where we can get at it easily. I have it: we'll stow it in your petrol tank; the stuff won't injure the paper or interfere with the writing, and if things came to the worst, you can whip it out and set fire to it.”
Accordingly the dispatch, cleverly rolled, was placed inside the gauze strainer to the patrol tank, and the metal cap replaced. Five minutes later the two motor-cyclists were buzzing along the congested road at a modest twenty miles an hour, dodging between the lumbering transport wagons and the military vehicles with an agility that surprised themselves.
Presently, as they struck towards the rear of the long lines of troops, the road became less enc.u.mbered and speed was materially increased.
Soon the pace reached nearly forty miles an hour, for the highway was fairly broad, and ran as straight as a Roman road as far as the eye could reach.
”Puncture!” shouted Kenneth, as the front wheel of his cycle began to slither and b.u.mp upon the _pave_, the machine running nearly fifty yards before he brought up and dismounted.
A hasty examination showed that a rusty iron nail, quite six inches in length, had penetrated the tread of the tyre, while to make matters worse its point had worked out close to the rim. The offending piece of metal, catching against the front forks, had already enlarged the hole in the tread till it became a slit nearly half an inch in length.
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