The Dispatch-Riders: The Adventures of Two British Motor-cyclists in the Great War

by Percy F. Westerman

  CHAPTER XV

  Captured

  On parting with his comrade on the road to Cortenaeken, Rollo rode at agreat pace towards his goal. He was to a certain extent fortunate infinding people at the various branch roads to give him directions; andin less than an hour from the time of parting company with Kenneth hewas in sight of the hamlet where he hoped to meet Major Foveneau.

  The place seemed deserted. Perhaps, he thought, the Belgian troopswere entrenched on the other side of the slightly rising ground. At agreat distance off he could hear the rumble of guns in action.Evidently there were two separate battles in progress. From thedirection of one cannonade it seemed as if the rival forces wereengaged in the district through which he had so recently ridden, yet hecould have sworn that he had not seen either a single Belgian or Germansoldier.

  Suddenly, as he glanced to the left, Rollo's heart gave a tremendousthump. He had already ridden more than half-way past the rear of amasked German battery. There were perhaps a dozen guns placed inposition behind a ridge. The weapons were trained for high-anglefiring, while, to render them invisible from Belgian aircraft, theywere screened by branches of trees. By the side of each field-piecewas an armoured ammunition cart. The body of the vehicle was upturnedto a perpendicular position, the shells being kept in place by a"pigeon-hole" arrangement. The gunners were "standing easy", while,from the tip of a neighbouring haystack, a number of officers wereobserving the Belgian position through their field-glasses.

  Hearing the sound of the motor-cycle, several of the men turned andlooked at the dispatch-rider, but they made no attempt to stop him.Evidently they thought he was one of their cyclists, for Rollo'suniform was smothered in grey dust, so that there was no perceptibledifference between him and a motor-cyclist attached to the invadingarmy.

  Fortunately Rollo kept his head. Without slackening his speed hecontinued on his way until he was within two hundred yards of thenearest house in the village. Here he dismounted and began to rack hisbrains as to the best course to pursue.

  He had fallen into a trap. Cortenaeken had been taken and was now inthe possession of the enemy. He could see that several of thebuildings were damaged by shell-fire. Unknown to himself he had riddenthrough the advanced German lines without any suspicion that thousandsof men were concealed in the fields and thickets on either side of theroad. The German left flank had been thrown forward a considerabledistance, and their motor-scouts had been constantly in touch with thecentre. Thus, by a pure fluke, Rollo had ridden through with a Germanmotor-cyclist ten minutes ahead of him and another five minutes behind.

  "I'll destroy the dispatch at once," decided the lad. "After that I'lltry and ride back by the way I came. So here goes!"

  He drew the petrol-soaked paper from the tank, and carried it to a dryditch by the side of the road. The dispatch flared as soon as Rollostruck a match and set light to it. Its destruction was rapid andcomplete.

  Before he could regain his mount a motor-cyclist dashed up. As heapproached he slackened speed, gripped the exhaust-lifter, and tookadvantage of the consequent reduction of sound to shout something inGerman. Rollo shook his head; his knowledge of German was tooelementary for him to reply, but he gathered that the man was askingwhether he required any assistance.

  Then, to the lad's consternation, the German dispatch-rider stopped,dismounted, and walked towards him.

  "There's only one thing I can do---I must pretend I'm deaf anddumb--temporary effect of the concussion of a shell, although I can'tshow a wound," thought Rollo. "It wouldn't be cricket to shoot thechap, especially as he stopped in all good faith. Well, here goes!"

  Opening his mouth and working his chin like a gasping cod-fish, the ladawaited with considerable misgivings the result of his experiment.

  The German was a round-faced, fair-haired fellow of about twenty--astudent fresh from college. He looked quite sympathetic, and whenRollo explained by means of signs that there was something wrong withthe electric ignition of his cycle, his face lighted up. Strolling upto the British lad's mount, he proceeded in quite a natural way toexamine the sparking-plug, and, for the benefit of the supposeddistressed rider, he made a pantomimic display of rubbing it withemery-cloth.

  This done, he walked across to the spot where he had left his owncycle, still holding the plug in his hand.

  "He's going to clean the blessed thing for me," thought Rollo, "andit's in perfect order, too."

  But the next moment his amusement was changed to consternation, for,leaping into his saddle, the German made off at full speed, leavingRollo with a motor-cycle that was now out of action with a vengeance.

  Rollo was not left long in doubt as to the fellow's intentions. Soonhe reappeared from the village accompanied by a patrol of Uhlans. TheBritish-made motor-cycle had aroused his suspicions, and a closerinspection of Rollo's dust-covered uniform had confirmed them.

  "The brute!" ejaculated Rollo. "At all events those fellows won't makeuse of my cycle."

  With a quick movement he unscrewed the cap of the petrol tank, andthrew his highly-prized mount on its side. Then, striking a match anddeliberately waiting till it was well alight, he threw it into theescaping spirit. With a flash and a roar the petrol caught, and in aninstant the cycle was enveloped in flames.

  Rollo did not wait to see the end of his act of destruction. Taking tohis heels he ran towards a wood about a couple of furlongs from theroad. The hoarse shouts of the pursuing Uhlans rang in his ears as hefled, while a bullet, missing him handsomely, whizzed ten feet abovehis head.

  Another shot followed with no better result. It was not the rifles ofthe pursuing horsemen that he feared; it was their obvious superiorityin speed.

  He could hear the thud of the horses' hoofs in the soft ground growingmomentarily louder and louder. Only twenty yards more, and the Uhlanswould be balked by the dense foliage. Ahead was a ditch, six feet inwidth, with a fairly high bank on the opposite side. In his heatedimagination the fugitive could almost feel the points of those uglylances thrust into his back.

  With a stupendous effort he leapt, alighting on the other side of theditch on his hands and knees. The Germans, fearing to risk the jump,began to rein in their horses. For the time being he had won.

  Rollo staggered to his feet and clambered up the bank, when to hishorror he found himself confronted by a dozen levelled rifles. It wasa case of "out of the frying-pan into the fire" with a vengeance.

  Had there been a ghost of a chance to break away Rollo would haveseized it, but there was none. He raised both hands above his head.

  The next instant he was held by two powerful soldiers, while others,with a dexterity acquired by much practice, searched him. Not only washe stripped, and the lining of his coat ripped open, but his boots wereremoved and the soles cut through, in case a hidden dispatch might befound. They even forced open his mouth to make certain he was notswallowing any document; and they took good care to retain the lettershe had received from home.

  Finding nothing of the nature they suspected, the sergeant in charge ofthe men gruffly ordered him in very imperfect French to dress. Then,escorted by four men, and followed by the patrol of Uhlans and themotor-cyclist who had raised the alarm, Rollo was taken into thevillage and brought before a group of officers.

  "Ah, Englishman! We have caught you, then," exclaimed one of thePrussian officers.

  Rollo looked straight at him. The German was in the uniform of theline. His head was swathed in surgical bandages, but there was enoughof his face left exposed to give the British lad a clue to the identityof the speaker. He was the major who had treacherously attempted toshoot the Belgian officer by whom he had been given quarter, on theoccasion of the night attack upon Fort de Barchon. On the fall of theLiege fortresses the Prussian had been released by his comrades, and inspite of his wound was once more at the front.

  For the next ten minutes Rollo was closely questioned. He replied onlywhen he felt fairly certain that there was no harm in s
o doing; but,when pressed to give information respecting the Belgian forces, heresolutely refused.

  The German officers swore, and threatened him.

  "You cannot make me disclose information," declared Rollo. "It isagainst the rules of war to coerce a prisoner."

  A chorus of loud jeering laughter greeted this statement.

  "My young friend," quoth the Major when the mirth had subsided, "you donot understand. When Germany makes war she makes war: there are nohalf-measures. Why should we, the greatest nation upon earth, be boundby rules and regulations laid down by a self-constituted peaceparty--the Geneva Convention?"

  "But Germany was a party to it."

  "Because at the time it suited her purpose. It is no use arguing,young Englishman. The point is, do you answer all our questions, ormust we exercise pressure? Bear in mind that if you give falseinformation, which we are certain to find out, you will be shot."

  Rollo felt far from comfortable. His faith in the traditions of war,in which he had been versed by his father, was ruthlessly destroyed bythe cold-blooded declaration of his captor. It was as well that he wasgiven to pondering rather than to forming a hasty and impulsiveresolution, otherwise he might have told the German major to do hisworst. Under similar circumstances the impetuous Kenneth might havesealed his own death-warrant; but Rollo remembered that a still tonguemakes a wise head.

  Fortunately at this juncture an orderly knocked at the door. Inresponse to an ungracious permission to enter he strode stiffly intothe room, clicked his heels, and saluted.

  "What is it?" demanded the Major.

  The soldier handed his officer a sealed dispatch. The German broke theflap of the envelope with a violent movement of his thick fingers. Itwas characteristic of him and his profession: the use of brute force,even when dealing with the frailest thing that balked him.

  His brows darkened. With an oath he tossed the document to his brotherofficers. They, too, swore. The news was not at all reassuring.

  "Sergeant!" roared the Major. "Tell one of your men to have theswiftest motor-car he can find brought here at once. Those Belgianbrutes have been causing trouble near Tirlemont. Then pick out areliable patrol to escort this prisoner to Tirlemont, where I will dealwith him in due course."

  The sergeant saluted, and ran as hard as he could to execute hissuperior's commands. Rollo was removed in charge of the guards, untilthe arrival of the Uhlans detailed to act as his escort. Then, havingmade arrangements with his brother officers for the hurrying up of theregiment to repel the new phase of the Belgian offensive, the Majorentered the waiting car and was whirled off along the Tirlemont road.

  Rollo smiled grimly as he noted the numbers of the Uhlan escort.

  "Seven of them: they are not going to take much risk of my giving themthe slip," he thought. "All the same I'll keep my eyes well open, andif there is the faintest possible chance I'll take it. Anything isbetter than being threatened by that brute of a Prussian major. I wishI had knocked him over the head that night."

  After traversing about two miles of the road the Uhlans relaxed theirvigilance. No longer did they carry their lances across thesaddle-bow, ready to transfix their prisoner at the first sign oftrouble. Out came their pipes, and, under the soothing influence ofthe tobacco, the Uhlans attempted a conversation in broken French withtheir youthful charge. It was not a pleasant subject, for, with grimvividness, they impressed upon the lad the fact that they had alreadyseen more than twenty summary executions, and judging by the manner inwhich the prisoners met their fate, the process was sharp andpractically painless. But they could not understand why Herr Major hadgone to the trouble to have the prisoner sent after him to Tirlemont,instead of having him put out of the way without further delay.

  A mounted scout came galloping along the dusty road. The corporal incharge of the Uhlans stopped him to ask whether there were any Belgiantroops in the district. Receiving a negative reply, the Uhlan gruntedthat it was just as well, as he had no desire to be shot at by thosetroublesome rascals.

  "It is as safe as in the Unter den Linden," added the scout. "There isnot an armed Belgian within ten miles of you. Our 43rd and 62nd LineRegiments have just gone forward. You might almost see the rear-guard;so keep up a brave heart, comrade."

  The corporal growled at this joking advice, yet in his own mind he feltgreatly relieved. After all there was no hurry to reach Tirlemont. Ifthe patrol arrived before sunset, it was more than likely they would beordered to perform another and more hazardous service.

  "We'll halt at that farm-house," he said to his men. "There may besomething worth finding. Two of you will be sufficient to keep an eyeon the prisoner. He doesn't seem as if he will give trouble."