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

by Percy F. Westerman

  CHAPTER XXVIII

  When the City Fell

  Shells were beginning to fall upon the roofs of the houses when thelads entered the devoted city. The bulk of the population had alreadyfled. A seemingly never-ending procession of tired, hungry, anddespondent refugees poured along the dusty road leading toBergen-op-Zoom. Others, debarred from taking train owing to Germanshaving occupied St. Nicholas Station, were making their way bycircuitous routes towards Ostend. More were embarking upon craft ofall sorts and sizes, whose masters were only too willing to give theirsuffering countrymen a passage either to the nearest Dutch port oracross the North Sea to the shores of hospitable England.

  Night had now fallen. It was by no means cold, the frosty nights ofmid-September having given place to an autumnal heat-wave. There waslittle or no wind. The dense smoke from the burning petrol-tanks,which the Belgians had fired rather than let the precious spirit fallinto the hands of the enemy, rose straight in the air. Elsewhere othersmaller columns of smoke marked the localities where the Germanincendiary shells had fired portions of the city.

  In one of the principal squares, swarms of ragamuffins, acting underthe orders of the military, were taking a hideous delight in their workof destruction; for they were busily engaged in smashing costlymotor-cars and lorries to useless fragments. Nothing that could be ofuse to the enemy was permitted to be left intact.

  From the direction of the river came the sounds of muffled explosionsas the Belgians methodically proceeded to cripple the engines of afleet of merchant shipping, and to sink lighters filled with stone andconcrete to block up the entrances to the various docks.

  The Germans were about to take Antwerp--but they were to find in itanother Moscow, as Napoleon found it.

  Keeping to the almost deserted side streets, Kenneth and Rollo hurriedtowards the Hospital of St. Nicholas. Their motor-cycles had gone,being destroyed in the retirement of the 9th Regiment of the Line fromthe fire-swept trenches.

  "What's the programme?" asked Rollo. "What do you propose to do if wefind the girls?"

  "Clear out," replied Kenneth promptly. "The train service is done; I'mnot anxious to enter Holland and cool my heels till the end of thisbusiness. We can't expect the girls to tramp twenty miles, with thepossibility of being cut off by the enemy; and carts are apparently outof the question. There remains the sea."

  "Yes, we may be able to get a passage on a fishing-boat."

  "That's not my plan. Do you remember the motor-launch in the shed atthe end of Jules de la Paix's garden?"

  "Can't see how that can help us," objected Rollo. "We haven't a crew."

  "If we can get the motor to start, the worst of the difficulty isover," declared Kenneth. "At the trial, you'll recollect, the sergeantof the Civil Guard reported that the craft was provisioned and readyfor sea. He was ordered to refrain from damaging the vessel."

  "She may have disappeared."

  "We'll soon see."

  Kenneth led the way along a dark, deserted alley, till he came to awall on the top of which was a formidable array of broken glass. Thiswall marked the side boundary to the spy's premises.

  "A tough nut to crack," remarked Rollo, as he noticed for the firsttime the jagged glass gleaming in the red glare of the burning houses.

  "We'll come across a door, unless I'm much mistaken---- Hullo! that'sa nasty one," said Kenneth.

  A shower of shrapnel, rattling on the roofs and shattering the windowsof some houses in the street they had just left, occasioned thisexclamation; for the Germans were mostly using shells of this variety,to terrify the inhabitants rather than to cause great material damage.

  "Quite near enough," rejoined Rollo coolly. "Here's the door."

  The lads tried it. It was locked and bolted. The stout oakenframework resisted their efforts to burst it open with their shoulders.

  Kenneth unslung his rifle. One shot amidst that chaos of terrificdetonations would be practically inaudible, and even if it were heardthere were none sufficiently curious to ascertain the reason.

  The heavy lock was not proof against the high-velocity bullet. Asecond shot demolished the bolt. The gate creaked on its hinges.

  Passing along the garden path amidst autumn flowers mown down by theexplosion of shells, several of which had fallen close to the house,the lads arrived at the boat-house. The windows were shattered; therewas a gaping hole in the roof. Kenneth began to entertain grave doubtsas to whether the motor-boat had escaped damage.

  "She's there, right enough," he announced, as he peered through one ofthe broken windows and saw the grey-painted outlines of the craftwithin. "The door's locked. I'll try another shot."

  "Steady on, man!" cautioned his companion. "Mind you don't bore a holethrough the boat as well. See, here is a crowbar, or something likeit. We'll prise the door open."

  They seized the bar and forced the pointed end between the door and thejamb.

  "Now!" exclaimed Kenneth.

  At that very moment, before the lads could exert any pressure upon thecrowbar, a blinding flash came from overhead, immediately followed by aterrific detonation. Splinters, broken glass, tiles, clods of earthand leaves flew in all directions, while a pungent cloud of smokeenveloped everything.

  For nearly ten seconds the two chums held on to the crowbar, thenKenneth spoke.

  "I'm hit, confound it!" he exclaimed. "It's not much, though."

  He relaxed his grasp of the iron bar as he spoke, and reeled slightly.Rollo held out his hand to steady him, and perceived for the first timethat it was wet with blood and practically devoid of the sense offeeling.

  "What! You hit too?" asked Kenneth, pulling himself together on seeingthe dark stain on his companion's wrist.

  "Yes; a shrapnel ball clean through my right wrist," announced Rollo,"It doesn't hurt much."

  "And I've a bullet through the palm of my left hand," added Kenneth,displaying a small punctured wound about two inches from the base ofthe little finger. "It might have been worse. We'll tie ourhandkerchiefs over the wounds; that will do all right for the time.Now for the door. The sooner we open it the better. Buck up, man; thegirls must be terribly anxious."

  Thus exhorted, although feeling giddy from the effects of the shock,Rollo grasped the crowbar with his unwounded hand. Kenneth boreagainst the lever with all his might, and with a crash the door flewopen.

  The motor-boat was on a cradle, just clear of the water. It was nowhalf-tide and on the ebb. A hasty examination failed to reveal signsof structural damage to the little craft, although the scuttle-glassesof the cabin were all either cracked or completely demolished. Thecraft was fully equipped, but the provisions had vanished. Doubtlessthey had been removed by the Civil Guards at or after the arrest of thespy.

  "Let's launch her, then we can see if she leaks," exclaimed Kenneth.He was feverishly working against time. His energy seemedinexhaustible. "There's the windlass; let her go gently."

  Down glided the boat into the sullen waters of the canal. Kennethleapt on board and secured her along-side, then lifted the floor-boardsover the well.

  "She's making a few drops," he announced. "I think it's only becauseshe has been hauled up in the dry for some time. By the time we getthe girls down she'll take up."

  Rollo offered no remark. In his mind there were doubts as to whetherThelma Everest and Yvonne Resimont were still in the hospital; if theywere, would they abandon their duties? But he followed his chum,nursing his wounded hand, wincing at every step he took as the painshot through the nerves of his arm.

  Kenneth strode on, indifferent to his injuries. Hardly a word passedbetween them as they hurried along the alley and into the smoke-filledstreets. There were still a few persons about, mostly men of thecriminal class, who seized the opportunity for indiscriminate looting.Here and there were the corpses of fugitives, stricken down in theirfinal mad rush for the safety that was denied them. The air was filledwith the crash of exploding shells and the clatter of broken glass,
tothe accompaniment of the distant booming of the hostile guns.

  Closely followed by his companion, Kenneth dashed up the steps of thehospital. The door was wide open. A portion of the facade of theportico had been shattered by a shell. Hardly a window remained intactin the building.

  A nurse, her face serenely peaceful in spite of the scene ofdestruction around her, came forward.

  "You men are wounded? Come this way; we will speedily attend to yourhurts."

  Kenneth shook his head.

  "Our wounds are slight," he protested. "I have come for my sister,Thelma Everest, and her friend, Mademoiselle Resimont--if they can bespared," he added, for the sight of this woman calmly on duty causedhim to take a different view of the reason lot his sister's presence inthe hospital.

  "They can be spared," replied the nurse. "Already we have sent theleast serious cases away, and have dismissed the younger nurses.Mademoiselle Everest and her friend refused to take advantage of thepermission. They were expecting you, and you have not failed them, Isee. I will inform them."

  Quickly Thelma and Yvonne appeared, heavily cloaked, and carryinghandbags, in readiness for their flight.

  "We would not have gone, Kenneth," said his sister, "only there is nomore work for us to do. But is it not already too late to leave thecity? We were told that the bridge of boats had been destroyed, andthat all communication with outside is interrupted. Four of our nursesleft by the last train that got away from here."

  "We'll manage that all right," declared Kenneth stoutly, although inhis mind he dreaded taking the girls on the journey along theshell-endangered streets.

  "We are ready," said Thelma simply; then, having taken a hasty yettender farewell of the head nursing sister, the girls accompanied thetwo lads into the now deserted thoroughfare.

  Unhurt, although several highly-charged projectiles burst above theroofs on either side of the road, the four refugees gained theboat-house of the late spy. No more shells had fallen there in theinterval. The boat had made but half an inch of water, and this couldeasily be got under by means of the pump. The fuel tanks were filledwith petrol; there were a dozen intact tins in the after locker.

  For provisions each lad had a couple of long rolls of bread in hishaversack. Thelma had brought biscuits and butter; Yvonne had provideda tin of ground coffee and condensed milk--a meagre fare on which toessay a voyage across the North Sea, but enough to hazard the journeywithout fear of actual starvation.

  Kenneth was by no means a novice in seamanship, On more than onevacation he had spent part of the time in motor-boating in SouthamptonWater, where a cousin of his kept a high-powered craft. After verylittle delay he succeeded in finding the position of the variousswitches and taps. At the third attempt the engine fired. Thepropeller blades, set at the neutral, churned the water. The motorpurred rhythmically, as a well-conducted motor should.

  "Cast off there, for'ard!" ordered Kenneth, addressing Rollo, who hadtaken up his post in the bows. "Thelma, undo that rope, quickly now!"

  It was no time for courtesies. Kenneth was skipper, and his crew hadto be told peremptorily; it was his notion of showing authority.

  Swiftly gathering stern-way the boat glided away from the staging;then, with a jerk as the propeller began to churn ahead, the littlecraft headed towards the Scheldt and the North Sea.

  Kenneth's was by no means an easy task. Having the use of only onearm, he was severely handicapped. Steering by means of a wheel is farfrom satisfactory when literally "single-handed", while the intricaciesof the canal required a certain amount of quickness with the helm.Twice the boat nearly collided with the partly submerged hulls ofdestroyed barges. The canal was now little better than a ditch, forthe tide had already fallen twelve feet out of sixteen. Onesatisfaction Kenneth had: there were no lock-gates to negotiate. Thefalling tide told him that.

  "Something ahead!" shouted Rollo. "Wreckage, I think."

  His chum immediately throttled down, keeping his unwounded hand on thereversing lever. By the lurid glare in the sky he could discern theobstruction: the shattered timbers of the lock-gates. Would there beenough water to clear the sill of the basin? If not, they would haveto remain for hours, in danger of the falling shells, until the tiderose sufficiently to float the boat over the barrier.

  Kenneth prudently stopped the engine. He would not risk losing theblades of the propeller. Slowly and with bare steerage-way the boatglided towards the ruined gates. Her bows passed the gaunt timbers,then, with a horrid grinding noise, she hung up by the stern.

  "Get for'ard, all hands!" shouted Kenneth. "We may be able to jump herover."

  The four members of the crew made their way to the bows. Regardless oftheir injuries the two lads heaved and pushed with the boat-hooks.They could hear the keel grate on the stone-work. The tide was stillfalling.

  A shell, fortunately without exploding, dropped into the water twentyyards astern, throwing a shower of spray over the boat and her crew.

  Kenneth glanced at the girls. By the glare of the burning city hecould see that their faces were calm. Either they were ignorant oftheir narrow escape or quite unperturbed by their hazardous position.

  "All together; push for all you are worth!" exclaimed Kennethdesperately.

  Inch by inch the boat was urged onwards, till with a sudden jerk itdropped across the sill into deep water. Rollo, faint with pain, satlimply in the for'ard well; then, concealing his injuries, he assistedthe girls to the doubtful shelter of the cabin.

  Kenneth, too, was in a sorry plight. Setting his teeth tightly herestarted the engine; then, taking up his post at the wheel, he guidedthe swift little craft towards the centre of the River Scheldt.

  In spite of the still pressing danger the crew were enthralled by thescene that presented itself to their gaze. Antwerp was in the throesof its death-struggle. Dominating the houses on the river bank rosethe spire of the cathedral, its delicate tracery silhouetted clearlyagainst the dull red glare of the burning oil-tanks. Overhead thethick pall of smoke had spread far and wide, its lower edges tintedblood-red by the blaze of the numerous fires. High above the roofswere the rapid, seemingly interminable brilliant flashes of theexploding shells, while away to the southward the sky was stabbed bythe incessant lightning-like glare of the bombarding guns.

  Antwerp had fallen. Belgium as a country had practically ceased toexist; Belgium as a nation, still undaunted, had made a supremesacrifice. She had saved Europe--and Europe's task was clear. Notuntil the brave little nation was rehabilitated, and the German menacecrushed once and for all time, could the Allies hope to lay down thesword that they had been reluctantly compelled to unsheathe.