Part 39 (1/2)
”'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 sh.e.l.ls 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 ma.s.ses came the grey-uniformed legions, intent upon forcing the pa.s.sage 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 sh.e.l.l-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 uber 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.”
CHAPTER XXVIII
When the City Fell
Sh.e.l.ls were beginning to fall upon the roofs of the houses when the lads entered the devoted city. The bulk of the population had already fled. A seemingly never-ending procession of tired, hungry, and despondent refugees poured along the dusty road leading to Bergen-op-Zoom. Others, debarred from taking train owing to Germans having occupied St. Nicholas Station, were making their way by circuitous routes towards Ostend. More were embarking upon craft of all sorts and sizes, whose masters were only too willing to give their suffering countrymen a pa.s.sage either to the nearest Dutch port or across the North Sea to the sh.o.r.es of hospitable England.
Night had now fallen. It was by no means cold, the frosty nights of mid-September having given place to an autumnal heat-wave. There was little or no wind. The dense smoke from the burning petrol-tanks, which the Belgians had fired rather than let the precious spirit fall into the hands of the enemy, rose straight in the air. Elsewhere other smaller columns of smoke marked the localities where the German incendiary sh.e.l.ls had fired portions of the city.
In one of the princ.i.p.al squares, swarms of ragam.u.f.fins, acting under the orders of the military, were taking a hideous delight in their work of destruction; for they were busily engaged in smas.h.i.+ng costly motor-cars and lorries to useless fragments. Nothing that could be of use to the enemy was permitted to be left intact.
From the direction of the river came the sounds of m.u.f.fled explosions as the Belgians methodically proceeded to cripple the engines of a fleet of merchant s.h.i.+pping, and to sink lighters filled with stone and concrete to block up the entrances to the various docks.
The Germans were about to take Antwerp--but they were to find in it another Moscow, as Napoleon found it.
Keeping to the almost deserted side streets, Kenneth and Rollo hurried towards the Hospital of St. Nicholas. Their motor-cycles had gone, being destroyed in the retirement of the 9th Regiment of the Line from the fire-swept trenches.
”What's the programme?” asked Rollo. ”What do you propose to do if we find the girls?”