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

by Percy F. Westerman

  Produced by Al Haines

  Dust cover art]

  Cover art]

  [Frontispiece: "OF WHAT OFFENCE AM I ACCUSED, SIR?" _Page_ 202._Frontispiece_]

  The

  Dispatch-Riders

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

  BY

  PERCY F. WESTERMAN

  Author of "Rivals of the Reef" "The Sea-girt Fortress" &c. &c.

  _Illustrated by F. Gillett_

  BLACKIE & SON LIMITED

  LONDON AND GLASGOW

  1915

  By Percy F. Westerman

  The Red Pirate. The Call of the Sea. Standish of the Air Police. Sleuths of the Air. The Black Hawk. Andy All-Alone. The Westow Talisman. The White Arab. The Buccaneers of Boya. Rounding up the Raider. Captain Fosdyke's Gold. In Defiance of the Ban. The Senior Cadet. The Amir's Ruby. The Secret of the Plateau. Leslie Dexter, Cadet. All Hands to the Boats. A Mystery of the Broads. Rivals of the Reef. A Shanghai Adventure. The Junior Cadet. Captain Starlight. The Sea-Girt Fortress. On the Wings of the Wind. Captain Blundell's Treasure. The Third Officer. Unconquered Wings. The Riddle of the Air. Chums of the "Golden Vanity". Clipped Wings. Rocks Ahead! King for a Month. The Disappearing Dhow. The Luck of the "Golden Dawn". The Salving of the "Fusi Yama". Winning his Wings. A Lively Bit of the Front. The Good Ship "Golden Effort". East in the "Golden Gain". The Quest of the "Golden Hope". Sea Scouts Abroad. Sea Scouts Up-Channel. The Wireless Officer. A Lad of Grit. The Submarine Hunters. Sea Scouts All. The Thick of the Fray at Zeebrugge. A Sub and a Submarine. Under the White Ensign. With Beatty off Jutland. The Dispatch Riders.

  _Printed in Great Britain by Blackie & Son, Ltd., Glasgow_

  Contents

  CHAP.

  I. THE COMING STORM II. A BREAK-DOWN III. MAJOR RESIMONT IV. ENLISTED V. A BAPTISM OF FIRE VI. A VAIN ASSAULT VII. DISABLING A TAUBE VIII. IN BRITISH UNIFORMS IX. A MIDNIGHT RETIREMENT X. THE UHLAN PATROL XI. THE RAID ON TONGRES XII. THE MAIL ESCORT XIII. SEPARATED XIV. A FRIEND IN NEED XV. CAPTURED XVI. ENTOMBED XVII. THE WAY OUT XVIII. THROUGH THE ENEMY'S LINES XIX. ARRESTED AS SPIES XX. STRANDED IN BRUSSELS XXI. DENOUNCED XXII. THE SACK OF LOUVAIN XXIII. A BOLT FROM THE BLUE XXIV. ACROSS THE FRONTIER XXV. THELMA EVEREST XXVI. SELF-ACCUSED XXVII. WITH THE NAVAL BRIGADE AT ANTWERP XXVIII. WHEN THE CITY FELL XXIX. ON THE NORTH SEA XXX. THE VICTORIOUS WHITE ENSIGN

  Illustrations

  "OF WHAT OFFENCE AM I ACCUSED, SIR?" . . . . . . . . . _Frontispiece_

  KENNETH HAD A MOMENTARY GLIMPSE OF THE UHLAN'S PANIC-STRICKEN FACE ...THEN CRASH!

  KENNETH SUCCEEDED IN THROWING THE SPY TO THE FLOOR

  THE DISPATCH-RIDERS

  CHAPTER I

  The Coming Storm

  "Let's make for Liege," exclaimed Kenneth Everest.

  "What's that?" asked his chum, Rollo Harrington. "Liege? What onearth possesses you to suggest Liege? A crowded manufacturing town,with narrow streets and horrible _pave_. I thought we decided to fightshy of heavy traffic?"

  The two speakers were seated at an open window of the Hotel Dore, inthe picturesque town of Dinant. In front of them flowed the Meuse; itsplacid water rippled with craft of varying sizes. Huge barges, towedby snorting tugs, were laboriously passing along the busy internationalwaterway that serves an empire, a kingdom, and a republic. On theremote bank, and to the right of a bridge, were the quaint red-tiledhouses of the town, above which rose the fantastic, pinnacled tower ofthe thirteenth-century church of Notre Dame, in turn overshadowed bythe frowning limestone crag on which stands the citadel.

  Kenneth was a well-set-up English youth of seventeen. He was tall forhis age, and withal broad-shouldered and well-knit. His features weredark, his skin burnt a deep tan by reason of more than a noddingacquaintance with an open-air life. In character and action he wasimpulsive. He had the happy knack of making up his mind on the spur ofthe moment, and yet at the same time forming a fairly sound judgment.He was quick, too, with his fingers, having been gifted with a keen,mechanical turn of mind.

  Rollo Barrington, who was his companion's junior by the space of threedays, was rather the reverse of his versatile friend. He was shorterin height by a good four inches; he was slightly built, although hepossessed an unlooked-for reserve of physical strength and endurance.He was fresh-complexioned, with blue eyes and wavy chestnut hair.

  If Kenneth acted upon impulse, Rollo went by rule of thumb. He wascool and calculating when occasion served; but when in the company ofhis chum he was generally content to allow his will to be dominated bythe impetuous Everest.

  Both lads were at St. Cyprian's--a public school of note in the HomeCounties. The vacation started about the middle of July, and it wasthe custom for the senior members to put in a fortnight's camp with theOfficers' Training Corps during the latter part of that month.

  At the time this story opens--the first day of August, 1914--the twochums were on a motor-cycling tour through Northern France and Belgium.The parents of neither had offered any objection when their respectivesons announced their intention of wandering through the high-roads andby-roads of that part of the Continent.

  Kenneth had sprung the suggestion upon his father like the proverbialbombshell; and Mr. Everest, who was largely responsible for his son'simpetuosity, merely acquiesced by observing: "You lucky young dog! Ididn't have the chance when I was your age. Well, I hope you'll have agood time."

  On his part Rollo had broached the subject with his customarydeliberation, and Colonel Barrington had not only given his consent,but had gone to the extreme toil of producing maps and a Baedeker, andhad mapped out a route--to which neither of the lads had adhered. TheColonel also realized that there was a considerable amount ofself-education to be derived from the tour. There was nothing liketravel, he declared, to expand the mind; following up this statement bythe practical action of "forking out", thereby relieving his son of anyfear of pecuniary embarrassment.

  Both lads rode identically similar motor-cycles--tourist models, of 3-1/2horse-power, fitted with three-speed hubs. But again the difference incharacter manifested itself in the care of their respective steeds.

  Rollo had been a motor-cyclist ever since he was fourteen--as soon ashe was qualified in point of age to obtain a driver's licence. Theclose attention he bestowed upon his motor-bike never varied; he keptit as clean as he did in the first few days after taking over his newpurchase. He had thoroughly mastered its peculiarities, and studiedboth the theory and practice of its mechanism.

  Kenneth Everest had first bestrode the saddle of a motor-cycle a weekbefore their Continental tour began. No doubt his experience as a"push-cyclist" helped him considerably; he quickly mastered the use ofthe various controls, without troubling to find out "how it worked".With his companion's knowledge at his back he felt quite at ease,since, in the event of any mechanical break-down, Rollo would point outthe fault, and Kenneth's ready fingers would either do or undo the rest.

  But so far, with the exception of a few tyre troubles, bothmotor-cyclists had done remarkably well. Landing at Havre, they hadpushed on, following the route taken by the English army that had wonAgincourt. This, by the by, was Rollo's suggestion. From the site ofthe historic battle-field they had sped eastward, through Arras, St.Quentin, and Mezieres. Here, finding themselves in the valley of theMeuse, they had turned northward, and passing through the Frenchfrontier fort
ress of Givet, entered Belgium, spending the first nighton Belgian soil in picturesque Dinant.

  Hitherto they had overcome the initial difficulty that confrontsBritish road users in France--the fact that all traffic keeps, or issupposed to keep, to the right. They had endured the horrible andseemingly never-ending cobbles or _pave_. The language presentedlittle difficulty, for Kenneth, prior to having joined St. Cyprian's,had been educated in Paris; and although his Parisian accent differedsomewhat from the patois of the Ardennes, he had very little trouble inmaking himself understood. Rollo, too, was a fairly proficient Frenchlinguist, since, in view of his future military career, he had appliedhimself with his usual diligence to the study of the language.

  "I say, what's this wheeze about Liege?" persisted Harrington."There's something in the wind, old chap."

  "It's not exactly Liege I want to see," replied Kenneth, "although it'sa fine, interesting old place, with a history. Fact is, my sisterThelma is at a boarding-school at Vise--that's only a few miles fartheron--and we might just as well look her up."

  "By Jove! I ought to have remembered. I knew she was somewhere inBelgium. Let me see, she's your youngest sister?"

  "Twelve months my junior," replied Kenneth, "and a jolly good pal sheis, too. It's rather rough luck on her. The pater's just off on thatMediterranean trip, so she hasn't been able to go home for theholidays. We'll just cheer her up a bit."

  Rollo gave a final glance at the map before folding it and placing itin his pocket. In response to a summons, the garcon produced the billand gratefully accepted the modest tip that Everest bestowed upon himwith becoming public schoolboy dignity.

  This done, the two lads took their travelling cases and made their wayto the hotel garage, where their motor-cycles had been placed underlock and key, out of the reach of sundry inquisitive and mischievousBelgian gamins.

  "Hello! What's the excitement?" asked Kenneth, pointing to a crowd ofgesticulating townsfolk gathered round a notice that had just beenpasted to a wall.

  "Ask me another," rejoined his companion. "A circus or something ofthe sort about to turn up, I suppose. If you're curious I'll hang onhere while you go and find out."

  Kenneth was off like a shot. Half-way across the bridge that herespans the Meuse he nearly collided with the proprietor of the HotelDore. The man's face was red with excitement.

  "Quel dommage!" he exclaimed, in reply to the lad's unspoken question."The Government has ordered the army to mobilize. Whatinconsideration! Jules, Michel, Georges, and Etienne--all will have togo. I shall be left without a single garcon. And the busy seasonapproaches also."

  "Why is the army to be mobilized, then?"

  "Ciel! I know not. We Belgians do not require soldiers. We are menof peace. Has not our neutrality been guaranteed by our neighbours?And, notwithstanding, the Government must have men to vie with theFrench _piou-piou_, give them rifles, and put them in uniforms at theexpense of the community. It is inconceivable!"

  The proprietor, unable to contain his feelings, rushed back to thehotel, while Kenneth, still wishing to satisfy his curiosity by oculardemonstration, made his way to the edge of the semicircular crowd ofexcited townsfolk.

  The proclamation, dated the 31st day of July, was an order for partialmobilization, calling up the First Division of the Reserves. No reasonwas given, and the lack of it, rather than the fact that the order hadto be obeyed, was the subject of general comment. From the nature ofthe conversation the lad gathered that military service was notregarded by the Belgians in anything approaching a tolerant spirit.

  "Nothing much; only a mobilization," announced Everest in reply to hiscompanion's enquiry. "Let's make a move. We may see something of theBelgian troops. It would be rather interesting to see how they take toplaying at soldiering."

  "Why playing?" asked Rollo as he proceeded to secure his valise to thecarrier.

  "What else would you expect from Belgians?" rejoined Kenneth. "Evenold Gallipot--or whatever the hotel proprietor's name is--was grumblingabout the uselessness of the business, and most of those johnnies overthere are of the same opinion. No, Rollo, take my word for it, theBelgians are not a fighting race. Let me see--didn't they skedaddle atWaterloo and almost let our fellows down?"

  "They may have done," remarked Rollo. "But that's nearly a centuryold. Ready?"

  With half-closed throttles, and tyres sufficiently soft to absorb mostof the shocks, the young tourists bumped over the _pave_, swung round,and soon settled down to a modest fifteen miles an hour along the Namurroad.

  For the best part of the journey the Meuse, with its limestone cragsand dense foliage, was within a few yards on their right, while treeson either side of the road afforded a pleasant shade from the fiercerays of the sun. The dust, too, rose in dense clouds whenever, asfrequently happened, a motor-car tore past, or a flock of frightenedsheep scampered madly all across the road. At Namur their wishesregarding the Belgian troops were gratified. The narrow street swarmedwith soldiers and civil guards. There were men with head-dressesresembling the busbies of the British guardsmen, leading teams of dogsharnessed to light quick-firing "Berthier" guns; infantry who, in spiteof the broiling heat, wore heavy greatcoats; cavalry whose mounts werepowerful enough to evoke the admiration of the critical Kenneth.

  "I wonder what all this fuss is about," he exclaimed.

  Before Rollo could furnish any remark a little Belgian officer accostedthem.

  "You gentlemen are English, without doubt?"

  "We are."

  "It then is well," continued the officer, speaking in English withconsiderable fluency. "You have not heard, eh? The news--the gravenews?"

  "No, monsieur."

  "Germany has declared war upon the Russians."