CHAPTER XX
Stranded in Brussels
It was late in the day when Kenneth and Rollo having partaken of aplain but satisfying meal on the way, arrived in Belgium's capital.
The streets were crowded with refugees from the war-inundateddistricts. Throngs of pale-faced women and children, for the most partunnaturally apathetic, stood in mute despair around the country cartspiled high with their belongings. Many of them had seen their housestorn by shot and shell, their neighbours slain by the German guns.Rendered homeless, they had fled to Brussels; their villages might beoverrun and occupied by the invaders, but the capital--never! TheAllies would never permit that.
Old men related the tales of their grandsires, how, almost a hundredyears ago, England saved Brussels from the invader. History would,they felt convinced, repeat itself. So in their thousands the refugeespoured into the already congested streets of the city.
Kenneth and his companion were indeed fortunate in securing the roomthey had occupied during their previous stay in the Belgian capital.Quickly divesting themselves of the civilian garb that they had managedto procure, they threw themselves into bed and slept like logs untilnine the next morning.
When Rollo attempted to rise he found that his ankle had swollen tosuch an extent that it was almost a matter of impossibility to set footto ground. The excitement and continual movement of the previous dayhad tended to make him forget the injury, but once his boot was removedand the limb allowed to rest, inflammation and consequent enlargementof the joint were the result.
"Take it easy, old man," suggested Kenneth. "When we've had breakfastI'll saunter out and see how things are progressing. Let me see,what's the programme? New uniforms; money--we have about ten centimesbetween the pair of us. It's lucky the pater placed that fifty poundsto my credit in the bank. The trouble is, how am I to prove myidentity? Then there's Thelma. Perhaps Major Resimont's family hasreturned to the Rue de la Tribune, so I'll find out. I'll be gone somelittle time, old man."
"I don't mind," replied Rollo. "Before you go, you might get hold of apaper."
The cost of their simple breakfast was an "eye-opener". Already famineprices were being asked in the overcrowded city. Somewhat shamefacedlyKenneth had to explain the reason for his pecuniary embarrassment; butto his surprise the short, podgy woman who corresponded to the Britishlandlady expressed her willingness to wait until messieurs les Anglaiswere accommodated.
"Perhaps, although I trust not, I may have to entertain Prussians," sheadded. "Then I know it is hopeless to expect payment."
Having had breakfast, Kenneth went out. He had put on an overcoat,lent by his obliging hostess, in order to conceal the nondescriptgarments he had obtained as civilian clothes.
The crowded streets were strangely quiet. Beyond the occasional cryingof a child or the barking of some of the numerous dogs, there waslittle sound from the listless throng.
When Kenneth was last in Brussels the people were vociferouslydiscussing the situation, especially the momentarily expected arrivalof the British Expeditionary Force. Now hope seemed dead. No longerwas there any talk of foreign aid. People began to accept as a matterof course the fact that their city would be handed over to the Germanswithout opposition. Already the seat of government had been removed toAntwerp. The Civil Guards, who had at first commenced to erectbarricades on the roads approaching from the eastward, had been orderedto remove the obstructions and to disarm themselves. In order to sparetheir city from sack and destruction, the Bruxellois had decided toadmit the Huns without opposition.
Before Kenneth had gone very far his progress was barred by a vastconcourse of people. Civil Guards were forcing a way through thethrong, to allow the passing of a Red Cross convoy. There were thirtywagons, all filled to their utmost capacity, for the most part withmangled specimens of humanity. For every soldier wounded by arifle-bullet there were, roughly, twenty-nine maimed by shell-fire.
Another battle had just taken place, with the now usual result. TheBelgians, utterly outnumbered and outranged, had been compelled to fallback in spite of a determined and vigorous defence. Of their army aportion had retreated towards Ostend, while the greater part hadretired to the shelter of the vast and supposedly impregnable fortressof Antwerp.
As soon as the convoy had passed, Kenneth hurried to the militarydepot. He found the place locked up. Not a soldier was to be seen.Enquiries brought the information that, regarding the fall of Brusselsas inevitable, the authorities had transferred practically the whole ofthe military stores to Antwerp and Bruges.
"You want a uniform?" repeated the old citizen to whom Kenneth hadannounced his requirements. "Ma foi! Your only chance, unless you geta discarded uniform from the hospital (and there, alas! there aremany), is to follow the army to Antwerp. But you are not a Belgian?"
"No, English," replied Kenneth. "And I must remain in Brussels for afew days."
"Then, mon garcon, put the idea of a uniform out of your head whilstyou are here. Otherwise, when the Bosches arrive---- Ah, mon Dieu,they are barbarians!"
"Perhaps the old chap is right," thought Kenneth as he resumed his way."I cannot desert Rollo, and if I were to be found in Belgian uniform itwould mean at least a trip across the Rhine and confinement in abarbed-wire compound till the end of the war. Now for the CreditBelgique."
Upon arriving at the bank the lad had another setback. The premiseswere closed; all the windows were heavily shuttered, whilst on the doorwas a notice, printed in French and Flemish, to the effect that thewhole of the bullion and specie had been taken over by the Government,and that the bonds had been sent to London for security until Belgiumwas free from the invading German armies.
"Bang goes my fifty pounds!" thought Kenneth. "We'll have to exist onour corporal's pay--one franc fifty centimes a week, if we can get it."
From the bank Kenneth made his way to the Rue de la Tribune. Here mostof the shops were shut and every other private house deserted. At thehouse owned by the Resimont family there was no sign of occupation.One of the windows on the ground floor had been broken. Through theempty window-frame a curtain fluttered idly in the breeze. Already itwas frayed by the action of the wind. Obviously the damage had beengoing on for some considerable time, without any attempt to prevent it.
Hoping against hope, Kenneth hammered at the knocker, but the doorremained unanswered.
From the doorway of a tobacconist's shop opposite, the portly,well-groomed proprietor appeared. Raising a jewel-bedecked hand, hebeckoned to the shabby youth standing on the Resimonts' doorstep.
"Monsieur requires----?" he asked, raising his eyebrows to complete hisquestion.
"I wish to see Madame Resimont, monsieur."
"Madame set out soon after the war broke out. Whither I know not. ButMonsieur is not Belgian?"
"No, English," replied Kenneth promptly, at the same time wondering whytwo people had asked that question that morning. It was a shock to hisself-confidence, for he was beginning to pride himself upon his perfectFrench accent.
"You live in the city?"
"For a few days, monsieur."
"Good! Perchance I may hear news of madame. If you will let me haveyour address, I will in that case let you know." Kenneth furnished thedesired information, and, having thanked the tobacconist, began toretrace his steps. As he did so he glanced at the name over the shop.In brass letters were the words "Au bon fumeur--Jules de la Paix ".
The worthy Jules did not wait until Kenneth was out of sight. Trippingback into the shop, he grabbed an envelope from the counter and wrotethe name and address which he had obtained.
"English. Spy undoubtedly," he muttered gleefully. "In another twodays that will be worth much to me."
For Jules de la Paix was Belgian only as far as his assumed name went.In reality he was a Prussian, a native of Charlottenburg, and a spy inthe pay of the German Government. For over twenty years he had been inbusiness as a tobacconist in the Rue de la Tribune, fostere
d byTeutonic subsidies, waiting for the expected day when the Kaiser'sgrey-clad legions were to strike at France through the supposedlyinviolate territory of Belgium.
"I'll call at the post office," decided Kenneth. "I don't suppose itwill be of any use, but on the off-chance there may be letters waitingfor Rollo or me. There's no harm in trying."
In blissful ignorance of the danger that overshadowed him, Kenneth madehis way through the crowd invading the post office. It was nearlyforty minutes before his turn came. In reply to his request, ahopelessly overworked clerk went to a pigeonhole and removed a pile ofenvelopes.
"Nothing, Monsieur Everest," he announced, after a perfunctory glanceat the various addresses. "Nor is there anything for MonsieurBarrington."
"Hullo, Everest, old boy! What on earth are you doing here?" exclaimeda voice in Kenneth's ear.
Turning, the lad found himself confronted by a tall, erect Englishman,whose features were partly concealed by the turned-down brim of a softfelt hat.
"I'm afraid I don't---- Why, it's Dacres!"
"Right, old boy! But you haven't answered my question. What are youdoing in Brussels at this lively moment?"
Dick Dacres was an old St. Cyprian's boy. He was Kenneth's senior byseveral years, having left the Upper Sixth while young Everest wasstill in the Third. Kenneth ought to have recognized him sooner, forhe had been Dacres's fag for one term.
"Let's get out of this crush," continued Dacres, grasping his oldschoolfellow by the arm. Once clear of the crowd he noticed for thefirst time the lad's shabby clothes, but with inborn courtesy herefrained from passing any remark that might cause any confusion on thepart of young Everest. "I'm out here on service; can't give you anyparticulars. What are you doing here?"
"I'm with Barrington--you remember him? We're corporals of the 9thRegiment of the Line--motor-cyclist section."
"Indeed! Where is Barrington?"
"In bed with a sprained ankle. Would you like to see him? It isn'tvery far."
Dacres glanced at his watch.
"I should, only I can't stop very long. I have an appointment withthe----" He broke off suddenly.
"You're not in uniform, I see."
"No; we had to discard ours. I have been trying to get a freshequipment, but it seems hopeless in this place."
"Fire away and let's have your yarn," said Dacres encouragingly, asthey walked side by side along one of the fairly-unfrequented streetsrunning parallel with the Rue de la Tribune.
Before they reached the modest lodging Dacres had skilfully extractedthe main thread of his late college-chums' adventures.
"Then you're temporarily on the rocks," he observed.
"I didn't say so," expostulated Kenneth.
"My dear man, I know you didn't, but I can put two and two together.It's a delicate subject, Everest, and I'm afraid I'm rather a bluntsort of chap, so excuse me. You're on your beam-ends?"
"Unfortunately, yes," admitted Kenneth. "The pater sent a draft to theCredit Belgique, but before I could draw on it the bank's beentransferred. But it will be all right soon, I expect."
"Very well then, until things get a bit straight, let me give you aleg-up. Don't be uppish, old man. Remember we're Britons in a strangeland. Luckily I'm fairly flush."
So saying, Dacres produced his purse, and extracting five twenty-francpieces forced them into Kenneth's hand, abruptly checking the lad'smingled protestations and thanks.
"Rollo, old man, I've brought someone to see you," announced hiscomrade, as he opened the door of the room in which Rollo was lying inbed.
"Hulloa, Barrington!"
"Hulloa, Dacres!"
That was the prosaic greeting, nothing more and nothing less; yet therewas a wealth of cordial surprise in the interchange of exclamations.
The time Dacres had at his disposal was only too short. He was, heexplained, a sub-lieutenant in one of the recently-raised navalbrigades, and had accompanied an officer of rank upon an importantmission to Belgium. More he was unable to say. He had already been toOstend, and was now about to proceed to Antwerp.
"We're returning home to-night," he concluded. "If you like to entrustme with a letter, I'll see that it's posted safely the moment I setfoot ashore in England. If I've time I'll look your people up and letthem know you're doing your little bit. It all depends upon whether Ican get leave, but we are hard at it whipping recruits into shape."
"Awfully decent chap," commented Kenneth, when Dick Dacres had takenhis departure. "He would insist upon lending me a hundred francs.Otherwise, old man, we would be on the rocks--absolutely. I've drawnthree blanks--no uniforms obtainable, no tidings of the Resimontfamily, and no letters from home. I think we ought to hang on here alittle while until your ankle's fit. We may see the beastly Germansmarching through the city, for the burgomaster has gone, so I hear, toobtain terms of capitulation."
"Where are the Belgian troops?"
"Mostly in Antwerp."
"Then if I were you, I'd make tracks for Antwerp while there's time."
"Are you fit, then?"
"I wasn't referring to myself. This ankle will keep me here some dayslonger, I'm afraid. But you go, and if I have a ghost of a chance I'llfind you again within a week."
Kenneth shook his head.
"Can't be done," he declared. "I mean to stand by you till you're wellagain. It would be interesting to watch how those Germans behave inBrussels."
"It's risky," remarked Rollo.
"So is everything connected with this business, old man. Besides, weare acting under the orders of Captain Doublebois, so that settles it."
The Dispatch-Riders: The Adventures of Two British Motor-cyclists in the Great War Page 20