Part 42 (1/2)
Daylight found them at a small river. The bridge was not broken down, and they inferred that it was within the lines of defense. An hour later they learned from a peasant that a British force was camped about fifteen miles north and west, and they induced him with good gold to drive them nearly the whole way in his cart. About a mile from the roadside he insisted on their getting out and drove back rapidly.
”He's afraid his cart and horse would be seized,” said Carstairs. ”We could have forced him to go on, but we'll not set a bad example.”
The road now led over a hill and at its crest Carstairs took off his hat and waved it proudly.
”Don't you see?” he exclaimed. ”Look! Look! The British flag!”
”What British flag?” said Wharton. ”You've a lot of your rags.”
”Never mind they're all glorious. See it, waving there by the tents!”
”Yes, I see it, but why are you English so excitable? Any way it's probably waving over valiant Scotchmen and Irishmen.”
”Wharton, you grumpy old Yankee, descendant of sour Puritan ancestors, we've won our way through in face of everything!”
He seized Wharton about the waist, and the two waltzed up and down the road, while John laughed from sheer joy.
”Bill come an' look at the crazy Frenchmen dancin' in the road,” said a voice that reeked of the Strand.
Bill who was from London himself came out of some bushes by the side of the road, and gazed with wonder at the whirling figures. John knew that they belonged on the first line of the British outposts and he said politely:
”You're partly wrong. My friends are crazy right enough, but they're not Frenchmen. One is an Englishman like yourselves, and the other is an American, but regularly enlisted in the Franco-British service, as I am too.”
Carstairs and Wharton stopped dancing. Carstairs took off his hat, and made a deep bow to the astonished pickets.
”I'm not bowing to you, though G.o.d knows you deserve it,” he said. ”I'm bowing instead to the British nation which is here incarnate in your khaki clad persons.”
”Touched a bit 'ere, Bill,” said one of the men, putting his finger to his forehead.
”A bit off says I too, 'Arry. We used to get 'em sometimes on our 'bus in the Strand. Speak 'em gentle, and they'll stop carrying on.”
Carstairs exuded joy and he extended a welcoming hand.
”I take it that you were the driver and conductor of a 'bus in the Strand.”
”Right you are sir,” they replied together, and then one added:
”If you'll go down to the foot of the hill you'll see the good old 'bus itself with all the signs still on it. But I'll 'ave to ask you first, sir, who you are and what do you want?”
John had never thought before that the c.o.c.kney accent would be so grateful to his ear, but his pleasure at seeing the men was scarcely less than that of Carstairs. They did not come from his own land, but they came from the land of his ancestors, and that was next best.
Carstairs and Wharton quickly showed their dispatches. Bill promptly took them to a sergeant, and in a half hour they stood beside the general's tent in the center of ten thousand men, the vanguard of the British army. Dispatches have never been read more eagerly and when Wharton, in addition, told the story of the chateau roof and the wireless the general felt a great thrill of excitement.
”I'm bound to believe all that you say,” he said looking into the three honest young faces. ”Darrell, see that they have refreshment at once, because we move in an hour.”
Darrell, a young aide procured them food and horses. Soon the whole detachment was marching toward the main force, and the three true to the promise of their c.o.c.kney friends saw London 'buses, still covered with their hideous signs lumbering along as transports. At noon they joined the chief British army, and the next day they were in touch with the French.
The preceding night the three received places in wagons and slept heavily. By morning their strength was fully restored and pending the arrival of the Strangers, with whom they intended to remain they served as aides.