For answer a wild whistling sounded overhead; a cry came from those ashore and the next instant there was a loud explosion. Everyone rushed to the side, where Captain Carg was standing, staring at the sky.
“What was it, Captain?” gasped Patsy.
Carg stroked his grizzled beard.
“A German bomb, Miss Patsy; but I think it did no damage.”
“A bomb! Then the Germans are on us?”
“Not exactly. An aeroplane dropped the thing.”
“Oh. Where is it?”
“The aeroplane? Pretty high up, I reckon,” answered the captain. “I had a glimpse of it, for a moment; then it disappeared in the clouds.”
“We must get our ambulances ashore,” said Jones.
“No hurry, sir; plenty of time,” asserted the captain. “I think I saw the airship floating north, so it isn’t likely to bother us again just now.”
“What place is north of us?” inquired the girl, trembling a little in spite of her efforts at control.
“I think it is Nieuport — or perhaps Dixmude,” answered Carg. “I visited Belgium once, when I was a young man, but I cannot remember it very well. We’re pretty close to the Belgian border, at Dunkirk.”
“There’s another!” cried Ajo, as a second whistling shriek sounded above them. This time the bomb fell into the sea and raised a small water-spout, some half mile distant. They could now see plainly a second huge aircraft circling above them; but this also took flight toward the north and presently disappeared.
Uncle John came hurrying on deck with an anxious face and together the group of Americans listened for more bombs; but that was all that came their way that night.
“Well,” said Patsy, when she had recovered her equanimity, “we’re at the front at last, Uncle. How do you like it?”
“I hadn’t thought of bombs,” he replied. “But we’re in for it, and I suppose we’ll have to take whatever comes.”
Now came the doctor, supporting the injured man on one side while Maud Stanton held his opposite arm. Gys was smiling broadly — a rather ghastly expression.
“No bones broken, sir,” he reported to Mr. Merrick. “Only a good shake-up and plenty of bruises. He can’t be induced to stay in bed.”
“Bed, when the Germans come?” exclaimed the invalid, scornfully, speaking in fair English. “It is absurd! We can sleep when we have driven them back to their dirty Faderland — we can sleep, then, and rest. Now, it is a crime to rest.”
They looked at him curiously. He was a small man — almost a tiny man — lean and sinewy and with cheeks the color of bronze and eyes the hue of the sky. His head was quite bald at the top; his face wrinkled; he had a bushy mustache and a half-grown beard. His clothing was soiled, torn and neglected; but perhaps his accident accounted for much of its condition. His age might be anywhere from thirty to forty years. He looked alert and shrewd.
“You are Belgian?” said Uncle John.
He leaned against the rail, shaking off the doctor’s support, as he replied:
“Yes, monsieur. Belgian born and American trained.” There was a touch of pride in his voice. “It was in America that I made my fortune.”
“Indeed.”
“It is true. I was waiter in a New York restaurant for five years. Then I retired. I came back to Belgium. I married my wife. I bought land. It is near Ghent. I am, as you have guessed, a person of great importance.”
“Ah; an officer, perhaps. Civil, or military?” inquired Ajo with mock deference.
“Of better rank than either. I am a citizen.”
“Now, I like that spirit,” said Uncle John approvingly. “What is your name, my good man?”
“Maurie, monsieur; Jakob Maurie. Perhaps you have met me — in New York.”
“I do not remember it. But if you live in Ghent, why are you in Dunkirk?”
He cast an indignant glance at his questioner, but Uncle John’s serene expression disarmed him.
“Monsieur is not here long?”
“We have just arrived.”
“You cannot see Belgium from here. If you are there — in my country — you will find that the German is everywhere. I have my home at Brussels crushed by a shell which killed my baby girl. My land is devastate — my crop is taken to feed German horse and German thief. There is no home left. So my wife and my boy and girl I take away; I take them to Ostend, where I hope to get ship to England. At Ostend I am arrested by Germans. Not my wife and children; only myself. I am put in prison. For three weeks they keep me, and then I am put out. They push me into the street. No one apologize. I ask for my family. They laugh and turn away. I search everywhere for my wife. A friend whom I meet thinks she has gone to Ypres, for now no Belgian can take ship from Ostend to England. So I go to Ypres. The wandering people have all been sent to Nieuport and Dunkirk. Still I search. My wife is not in Nieuport. I come here, three days ago; I cannot find her in Dunkirk; she has vanished. Perhaps — but I will not trouble you with that. This is my story, ladies and gentlemen. Behold in me — a wealthy landowner of Liege — the outcast from home and country!”
“It is dreadful!” cried Patsy.
“It is fierce,” said the man. “Only an American can understand the horror of that word.”
“Your fate is surely a cruel one, Maurie,” declared Mr. Merrick.
“Perhaps,” ventured Beth, “we may help you to find your wife and children.”
The Belgian seemed pleased with these expressions of sympathy. He straightened up, threw out his chest and bowed very low.
“That is my story,” he repeated; “but you must know it is also the story of thousands of Belgians. Always I meet men searching for wives. Always I meet wives searching for husbands. Well! it is our fate — the fate of conquered Belgium.”
Maud brought him a deck chair and made him sit down.
“You will stay here to-night,” she said.
“That’s right,” said Dr. Gys. “He can’t resume his search until morning, that’s certain. Such a tumble as he had would have killed an ordinary man; but the fellow seems made of iron.”
“To be a waiter — a good waiter — develops the muscles,” said Maurie.
Ajo gave him a cigarette, which he accepted eagerly. After a few puffs he said:
“I heard the German bombs. That means the enemy grows insolent. First they try to frighten us with bombs, then they attack.”
“How far away do you think the Germans are?” asked Beth.
“Nieuport les Bains. But they will get no nearer.”
“No?”
“Surely not, mamselle. Our soldiers are there, awaiting them. Our soldiers, and the French.”
“And you think the enemy cannot capture Dunkirk?” inquired Jones.
“Dunkirk! The Germans capture Dunkirk? It is impossible.”
“Why impossible?”
“Dunkirk is fortified; it is the entrance to Calais, to Dover and London. Look you, m’sieur; we cannot afford to lose this place. We cannot afford to lose even Nieuport, which is our last stand on Belgian soil. Therefore, the Germans cannot take it, for there are still too many of us to kill before Kitchener comes to save us.” He spoke thoughtfully, between puffs of his cigarette, and added: “But of course, if the great English army does not come, and they kill us all, then it will not matter in the least what becomes of our country.”
Maurie’s assertion did not wholly reassure them. The little Belgian was too bombastic to win their confidence in his judgment. Yet Jones declared that Maurie doubtless knew the country better than anyone they had yet met and the doctor likewise defended his patient. Indeed, Gys seemed to have taken quite a fancy to the little man and long after the others had retired for the night he sat on deck talking with the Belgian and getting his views of the war.
“You say you had land at Ghent?” he once asked.
“It is true, Doctor.”
“But afterward you said Brussels.”
Maurie was not at all confused.
; “Ah; I may have done so. You see, I traded my property.”
“And, if I am not mistaken, you spoke of a home at Liege.”
Maurie looked at him reproachfully.
“Is there not much land in Belgium?” he demanded; “and is a rich man confined to one home? Liege was my summer home; in the winter I removed to Antwerp.”
“You said Ghent.”
“Ghent it was, Doctor. Misfortune has dulled my brain. I am not the man I was,” he added with a sigh.
“Nevertheless,” said Gys, “you still possess the qualities of a good waiter. Whatever happens here, Maurie, you can always go back to America.”
CHAPTER VII
ON THE FIRING LINE
Next morning they were all wakened at an early hour by the roar of artillery, dimly heard in the distance. The party aboard the Arabella quickly assembled on deck, where little Maurie was found leaning over the rail.
“They’re at it,” he remarked, wagging his head. “The Germans are at Nieuport, now, and some of them are over against Pervyse. I hear sounds from Dixmude, too; the rattle of machine guns. It will be a grand battle, this! I wonder if our Albert is there.”
“Who is he?” asked Patsy.
“The king. They told me yesterday he had escaped.”
“We must get the ambulances out at once,” said Beth.
“I’ll attend to that,” replied Uncle John, partaking of the general excitement. “Warp up to the dock, Captain Carg, and I’ll get some of those men to help us swing the cars over the side.”
“How about a chauffeur?” asked Dr. Gys, who was already bringing out bandages and supplies for the ambulances.
“If we can’t find a man, I’ll drive you myself,” declared Ajo.
“But you don’t know the country.”
Gys turned to the little Belgian.
“Can’t you find us a driver?” he asked. “We want a steady, competent man to run our ambulance.”
“Where are you going?” asked Maurie.
“To the firing line.”
“Good. I will drive you myself.”
“You? Do you understand a car?”
“I am an expert, monsieur.”
“A waiter in a restaurant?”
“Pah! That was five years ago. I will show you. I can drive any car ever made — and I know every inch of the way.”
“Then you’re our man,” exclaimed Mr. Merrick, much relieved.
As the yacht swung slowly alongside the dock the Belgian said:
“While you get ready, I will go ashore for news. When I come back — very quick — then I will know everything.”
Before he ran down the ladder Patsy clasped around his arm a band bearing the insignia of the Red Cross. He watched her approvingly, with little amused chuckles, and then quickly disappeared in the direction of the town.
“He doesn’t seem injured in the least by his accident,” said the girl, looking after him as he darted along.
“No,” returned Gys; “he is one of those fellows who must be ripped to pieces before they can feel anything. But let us thank heaven he can drive a car.”
Mr. Merrick had no difficulty in getting all the assistance required to lower the two ambulances to the dock. They had already been set up and put in order, so the moment they were landed they were ready for use.
A few surgical supplies were added by Dr. Gys and then they looked around for the Belgian. Although scarce an hour had elapsed since he departed, he came running back just as he was needed, puffing a little through haste, his eyes shining with enthusiasm.
“Albert is there!” he cried. “The king and his army are at Nieuport. They will open the dykes and flood all the country but the main road, and then we can hold the enemy in check. They will fight, those Germans, but they cannot advance, for we will defend the road and the sand dunes.”
“Aren’t they fighting now?” asked Jones.
“Oh, yes, some of the big guns are spitting, but what is that? A few will fall, but we have yet thousands to face the German horde.”
“Let us start at once,” pleaded Maud.
Maurie began to examine the big ambulance. He was spry as a cat. In ten minutes he knew all that was under the hood, had tested the levers, looked at the oil and gasoline supply and started the motor.
“I’ll sit beside you to help in case of emergency,” said Ajo, taking his place. Dr. Gys, Dr. Kelsey and the three girls sat inside. Patsy had implored Uncle John not to go on this preliminary expedition and he had hesitated until the last moment; but the temptation was too strong to resist and even as the wheels started to revolve he sprang in and closed the door behind him.
“You are my girls,” he said, “and wherever you go, I’ll tag along.”
Maurie drove straight into the city and to the north gate, Jones clanging the bell as they swept along. Every vehicle gave them the right of way and now and then a cheer greeted the glittering new Red Cross ambulance, which bore above its radiator a tiny, fluttering American flag.
They were not stopped at the gate, for although strict orders had been issued to allow no one to leave Dunkirk, the officer in charge realized the sacred mission of the Americans and merely doffed his cap in salutation as the car flashed by.
The road to Furnes was fairly clear, but as they entered that town they found the streets cluttered with troops, military automobiles, supply wagons, artillery, ammunition trucks and bicycles. The boy clanged his bell continuously and as if by magic the way opened before the Red Cross and cheers followed them on their way.
The eyes of the little Belgian were sparkling like jewels; his hands on the steering wheel were steady as a rock; he drove with skill and judgment. Just now the road demanded skill, for a stream of refugees was coming toward them from Nieuport and a stream of military motors, bicycles and wagons, with now and then a horseman, flowed toward the front. A mile or two beyond Furnes they came upon a wounded soldier, one leg bandaged and stained with blood while he hobbled along leaning upon the shoulder of a comrade whose left arm hung helpless.
Maurie drew up sharply and Beth sprang out and approached the soldiers.
“Get inside,” she said in French.
“No,” replied one, smiling; “we are doing nicely, thank you. Hurry forward, for they need you there.”
“Who dressed your wounds?” she inquired.
“The Red Cross. There are many there, hard at work; but more are needed. Hurry forward, for some of our boys did not get off as lightly as we.”
She jumped into the ambulance and away it dashed, but progress became slower presently. The road was broad and high; great hillocks of sand — the Dunes — lay between it and the ocean; on the other side the water from the opened dykes was already turning the fields into an inland sea. In some places it lapped the edges of the embankment that formed the roadway.
Approaching Nieuport, they discovered the Dunes to be full of soldiers, who had dug pits behind the sandy hillocks for protection, and in them planted the dog-artillery and one or two large machine guns. These were trained on the distant line of Germans, who were also entrenching themselves. All along the edge of the village the big guns were in action and there was a constant interchange of shot and shell from both sides.
As Maurie dodged among the houses with the big car a shell descended some two hundred yards to the left of them, exploded with a crash and sent a shower of brick and splinters high into the air. A little way farther on the ruins of a house completely blocked the street and they were obliged to turn back and seek another passage. Thus partially skirting the town they at last left the houses behind them and approached the firing line, halting scarcely a quarter of a mile distant from the actual conflict.
As far as the eye could reach, from Nieuport to the sea at the left, and on toward Ypres at the right of them, the line of Belgians, French and British steadily faced the foe. Close to where they halted the ambulance stood a detachment that had lately retired from the line, their places having been taken by reserv
es. One of the officers told Mr. Merrick that they had been facing bullets since daybreak and the men seemed almost exhausted. Their faces were blackened by dust and powder and their uniforms torn and disordered; many stood without caps or coats despite the chill in the air. And yet these fellows were laughing together and chatting as pleasantly as children just released from school. Even those who had wounds made light of their hurts. Clouds of smoke hovered low in the air; the firing was incessant.
Our girls were thrilled by this spectacle as they had never been thrilled before — perhaps never might be again. While they still kept their seats, Maurie started with a sudden jerk, made a sharp turn and ran the ambulance across a ridge of solid earth that seemed to be the only one of such character amongst all that waste of sand. It brought them somewhat closer to the line but their driver drew up behind a great dune that afforded them considerable protection.
Fifty yards away was another ambulance with its wheels buried to the hubs in the loose sand. Red Cross nurses and men wearing the emblem on their arms and caps were passing here and there, assisting the injured with “first aid,” temporarily bandaging heads, arms and legs or carrying to the rear upon a stretcher a more seriously injured man. Most of this corps were French; a few were English; some were Belgian. Our friends were the only Americans on the field.
Uncle John’s face was very grave as he alighted in the wake of his girls, who paid no attention to the fighting but at once ran to assist some of the wounded who came staggering toward the ambulance, some even creeping painfully on hands and knees. In all Mr. Merrick’s conceptions of the important mission they had undertaken, nothing like the nature of this desperate conflict had even dawned upon him. He had known that the Red Cross was respected by all belligerents, and that knowledge had led him to feel that his girls would be fairly safe; but never had he counted on spent bullets, stray shells or the mad rush of a charge.
“Very good!” cried Maurie briskly. “Here we see what no one else can see. The Red Cross is a fine passport to the grand stand of war.”
“Come with me — quick!” shouted Ajo, his voice sounding shrill through the din. “I saw a fellow knocked out — there — over yonder!”
Complete Works of L. Frank Baum Page 525