Kitabı oku: «At the Sign of the Sword: A Story of Love and War in Belgium», sayfa 10
Chapter Sixteen.
The Fire of Fate
Outside in the streets could be heard the sound of rifle-fire, while the air was filled with the pungent odour of powder, and of burning wood.
The whole town had, by that time, become a veritable hell. Not far along the street, indeed in sight of the Hotel of the Sword, forty or so innocent men – honest workers at a neighbouring factory – had been drawn up against a wall. The front row was ordered to kneel, with their hands up, the others remaining standing behind them. A platoon of soldiers suddenly drew up in face of these unhappy men, with their rifles ready. In vain did the frantic women beg for mercy for their sons, husbands, and brothers. But the officer, grinning, ordered his men to fire. Some fell forward, dead, others were only slightly wounded. But the soldiers, to make sure, fired three volleys into that heap of men in their death throes. Such fell, hellish work had been ordered “as examples” by the glittering War Lord – the man who declared that God was his guide in his arrogant desire to rule the world. Those poor fellows were, even while their bodies were still warm, thrown into a pit dug in a neighbouring garden.
Further up the same street, a poor old paralytic was shot in his invalid-chair, together with a bright little boy of twelve, and their bodies were kicked aside into a doorway, while, at the same time, a man of sixty-five, his wife, his son and his daughter, were set up against the wall of their burning house and shot. And none of them had committed any crime!
Here and there were loud explosions. The soldiers, who had pillaged the cafés and drunk indiscriminately all they could find, were blowing open the safes of merchants and shopkeepers with dynamite, and stealing all they could discover. They were mere brigands.
The Faubourg de Leffe, near the broken viaduct of the railway, was already in flames. Soldiers were using their inflammable confetti provided them by the Fatherland, which they were sprinkling everywhere, for the monster in command had given the order that Dinant, after being sacked, and its people massacred, should be burnt.
As the slim, pale-faced girl stood facing her father’s false friend, she could hear the wild shrieks of the defenceless women outside – those poor creatures dragged forth to witness the heartless murder of those dearest to them.
“Well,” Rigaux asked again, with an evil grin upon his face. “So you are quite decided – eh?”
“I am quite decided, m’sieur, that you are my bitterest enemy,” was her hard, defiant answer. “I have been caught here, helpless. But I have no hope, therefore I have no fear. To whatever fate you, as spy of the accursed Kaiser of Germany, may condemn me, I am quite prepared.”
For a few seconds he remained silent. Her coolness and bold defiance, in face of that awful scene, absolutely staggered him. He never credited her with such nerve.
“But will you not accept my offer, and escape with me?”
“No. I will not accept the assistance of one who has openly confessed himself to be a traitor,” she responded.
“But you cannot remain here – you will be killed – perhaps even meet with a worse fate. You do not know what awful scenes are in progress in Dinant at this moment,” he said. “The soldiers are collecting up the people, men, women, and children, and mowing them down with their machine-guns. You cannot remain here while this awful work of destruction, theft, and incendiarism is in progress!”
“And whose work, pray, is this? It is men such as you who are responsible – men who have sold Belgium into her enemy’s hands,” she cried bitterly, her big eyes glaring at him in her woman’s undisguised hatred.
“Merely the fortunes of war, Mademoiselle,” he replied with a smile, as he shrugged his shoulders, quite unperturbed by her violent denunciation.
“Then go, and leave me to face this terrible fate to which I have been consigned. Shoot me with that revolver I see you have in your belt,” she cried wildly. “Shoot me, if you will. I am quite ready.”
But he grinned horribly in her face – the grin of a man who intended a demoniacal revenge.
She knew herself to be defenceless – utterly helpless in his hands. Men and women of Dinant, known to her from childhood, lay stiffening in death in that narrow street wherein hell had been let loose by the orders of the arrogant War Lord – that pinchbeck Napoleon who dangled his tin crosses before his troops to incite them to deeds of barbarism, which were afterwards magnified and distorted into those of valour.
“No,” the man laughed. “If you, as daughter of the Baron de Neuville, still disregard my well-meant efforts to rescue you from this awful abyss of dishonour and death, then I have no more to say. I can only leave you to the same fate as that of the women of the town.”
“No!” shrieked the girl. “Shoot me.” And she stood before him ready to fall beneath the bullet of his revolver. “Shoot me – have mercy upon me and shoot me!”
She felt his hot, foetid breath once again upon her cheek; she heard the report of the rifles outside, the loud, piercing shrieks of defenceless women, the exultant shouts and laughter of the Germans, and the rapid crackling of a machine-gun in the immediate vicinity.
She struggled violently to free herself, but he was the stronger. His sensuous lips were upon hers, his big eyes looked fiercely into hers, while her slim figure was held within his strong, desperate grasp. She saw the evil, wicked look in his eyes.
“Let me go, you brute – you spy of Germany!” she shrieked in French. “Let me go, I say!”
“No, no,” he laughed in triumph. “You are mine —mine! I have brought ruin upon your miserable little country, upon your father, upon your fine château, and now, because you still defy me – I bring it upon you!”
“Bien! And what do you intend?” she asked.
“I intend to take you out yonder, into the street, and to hand you over to the tender mercies of those most unpolite troops of Germany – the Bavarians. There are three thousand in the town, and they are having a really reckless time – I can assure you.”
“You hell-scoundrel!” cried the poor girl in her frantic, almost insane terror. “You – you who have sat at our table and eaten with us – you, whom my father has trusted, and to whom my mother has sent presents at Noël. Ah! I now see you unmasked, yet you – ”
“Enough!” cried the fellow, springing upon her and putting his thick, loose lips to hers. “A last kiss, and then you go to the late which every Belgian woman goes to-day where our Kaiser and his troops are victorious,” and he kissed her though she still struggled fiercely to evade his grasp.
Suddenly both started, for in the room sounded a loud deafening report.
Aimée started and drew back, breathless and shocked, for from that hated face thrust into hers, before her, one eye disappeared. The hateful face receded, the body reeled and suddenly falling backward, rolled over the stone flags of the kitchen.
A bullet had entered the eye of Arnaud Rigaux, and, passing through his brain, had taken away a portion of his skull, causing instant death. That left eye, as he reeled and fell backwards, was blotted out, for it was only a clot of blood.
“Aimée!” shouted a voice.
The girl, startled, turned to encounter a man in a grey uniform – a German infantryman! He wore a small round grey cap, and in its front the little circular cockade of blue and white – the mark of the Bavarian.
“Aimée!”
The girl stared into the face of her rescuer.
It was Edmond – Edmond —her own dear Edmond– and dressed as a Bavarian!
“The infernal spy!” he cried in a hard, rough voice. “I caught the fellow just in time, my darling. For two years past I have known the truth – that in addition to being our worst enemy – he has also been a traitor to our King and country, and your father’s false friend.”
“But Edmond?” gasped the girl, staring at him like one in a dream. “Why are you here – dressed as a German?”
“Hush!” he whispered. “If I am caught I shall be shot as a spy! I must not talk, or I may betray myself. Come with me. We must get back at once to the Belgian line.”
“But – but how?” she gasped, for now the truth had dawned upon her – the truth of the great risk her lover ran in penetrating to the invested town.
“Come with me. Have no fear, my darling. If God wills that we die, we will at least die together. Come,” he whispered, “appear as though you go with me unwillingly, or somebody may suspect us. Come along now,” he shouted, and taking her wrist roughly pretended to drag her forth into the street, where dead men and women were lying about in the roadway, and the houses only a few yards away were already ablaze.
He dragged her along that narrow street, so full of haunting horrors, urging her beneath his breath to pretend a deadly hatred of him. They passed crowds of drunken Germans. Some were smashing in windows with the butt ends of their rifles, and pouring petrol into the rooms from cans which others carried. Others were dragging along women and girls, or forcing them to march before them at the points of bayonets, and laughing immoderately at the terror such proceeding caused.
A swaggering young officer of the Seventieth Regiment of the Rhine staggered past them with a champagne bottle in his hand. He addressed some command to Edmond Valentin.
For a second Aimée’s heart stood still. But Edmond, seeing that the lieutenant was intoxicated, merely saluted and passed on, hurrying round the corner into the square where, against the wall near the church, they saw a line of bodies – the bodies of those innocent townspeople whom the bloodthirsty horde had swept out of existence with their machine-guns.
On every side ugly stains of blood showed upon the stones. A dark red stream trickled slowly into the gutters, so awful had been the massacre an hour before.
As they crossed the square they witnessed a frightful scene. Some men and women, who had hidden in a cellar, were driven out upon the pavement ruthlessly, and shot down. The officer who gave the order, smoking a cigarette and laughing the while.
Aimée stood for a second with closed eyes, not bearing to witness such a fearful sight. Those shrill cries of despair from the terrified women and children rang in her ears for a moment. Then the rifles crackled, and there were no more cries – only a huddled heap of dead humanity.
Edmond dragged her forward. German soldiers whom they passed laughed merrily at the conquest apparently made by one of their comrades.
And as they went by the ruined church, and out upon the road towards Leffe, the scene of pillage and drunkenness that met their eyes, was indeed revolting.
Though the Belgian Government has since issued an official report to the Powers concerning the wild orgies of that awful day in Dinant, the story, in all its true hideousness, will, perhaps, never be known. Those seven hundred or so poor creatures who could testify to the fiendish torture practised upon them: how some were mutilated, outraged, bound, covered with straw and burned alive, and even buried alive, are all in their graves, their lips, alas! sealed for ever.
Another officer, a major of the Seventeenth Uhlans, rode past, and Edmond saluted. They were, indeed, treading dangerous ground.
If Edmond were discovered, both he and she would be shot as spies against the nearest wall.
How she refrained from fainting she knew not. But she bore that terrible ordeal bravely, her spirit sustained by her great, boundless love for the man at her side.
The road they had taken led by the river-bank, and just as a body of Uhlans had clattered past, raising a cloud of dust, they saw across the hills at Bouvigne, a heliograph at work, signalling towards Namur.
Above them a Taube aeroplane was slowly circling.
Chapter Seventeen.
In Deadly Peril
Not only was Dinant itself being decimated, but in the Faubourg of Leffe, through which they were now passing, the German soldiers, the majority of them infantrymen wearing on their caps the green and white cockade denoting that they were from Saxony, including also many from Baden, were busy pillaging the houses, and in one spot an officer had drawn up a number of terrified women and children, and was compelling them to cry “Vive l’Allemagne!” Each house, after being sacked, was systematically burned down.
In safety they passed through all the terrors which filled the little place, yet in fear each moment of detection. But the soldiers and officers seemed so intent upon their fell work of wanton destruction that, happily, no notice was taken of the fugitives. At last they gained the high road which, following the bold of the Meuse, ran in the direction of Namur. Ten miles or so beyond lay the German front, and that would have to be passed, if they were to escape with their lives.
On the road were many German soldiers, and passing them constantly were rumbling guns, ammunition-wagons, and motor-cars containing staff-officers.
Aimée knew the roads in the vicinity well, and in a whisper suggested that they should turn off into a narrow lane on the right. She knew of a path which led through the wood to a village called Assesse, she said.
“Assesse!” echoed her lover. “You know the way, darling! Bien, it is near that place we must get. Close by there I hid my Belgian uniform, and dressed in these clothes – clothes I took from a Bavarian shot by us while on outpost duty.”
They turned into the lane, where they found themselves alone.
“I think,” the girl said, “that it would be best if we did not walk together. We might be suspected. I will go ahead, and you follow me. It is nearly five miles, but when we enter the wood the path is quite straight, through two other woods and over a brook – until we reach the village.”
“Very well, dearest,” he said, reluctantly obliged to admit that her advice was sound. He would certainly stand a better chance of escape alone, now they were in the open country over which the Germans were swarming, than if they were together. Yet neither could disguise from themselves the fact that their lives now hung by a single thread.
Should any soldier they met accost Edmond, then he would certainly be betrayed, and death would, most assuredly, be their lot.
Having parted, however, the girl, dusty, dishevelled, and hatless, went forward, he following her at a short distance, in fear lest she might fall into the hands of one of the Prussian brutes.
At last, however, they came to the wood, but both noticed that, near by, were half a dozen Uhlans drawn up on outpost duty. They quickly caught sight of the girl, but regarded her as harmless, and then, when Edmond came swinging along, they allowed him also to pass, believing him to be one of their comrades-in-arms.
Within the wood they were practically safe, and had hurried forward a couple of miles, when Aimée suddenly heard voices and loud laughter ahead. A number of Uhlans were riding in single file up the path in their direction, therefore, in an instant she dashed away into the undergrowth until they had passed, an example followed by Edmond.
Then, when the enemy had gone, they once more went forward again, but full of caution lest they should be taken by surprise.
Those five miles were the longest either of them had ever covered, for every yard was full of breathless terror. They knew not where, an outpost might be lurking, for they were gradually approaching the Belgian front.
It was nearly two o’clock in the afternoon when, on emerging from the wood into the hot sunshine again, they found themselves above a tiny whitewashed village, with slated roofs and thin church spire – the village of Assesse.
This place they carefully avoided lest it should be occupied by the enemy, but approaching a field not far away, Edmond said:
“See yonder! darling, that old black shed. In there, my uniform is hidden beneath some straw. Until night comes on I dare not change.”
“Then let us hide in the shed till night,” she suggested. “You can change after dark, and we can then go forward.”
He sighed. The situation was, he knew, critical. “You know the risk we shall run, darling. Are you really prepared for it?”
“I will face any danger at your side, Edmond. You have saved my life to-day, remember, and at imminent risk of your own.”
“Because I love you, my own darling,” was his quick response. “I have thought only of you, and of you alone. I must save you, and God will surely assist me in so doing.”
“Yes. We are in His hands,” she declared fervently. “Let us go over yonder, and hide till it grows dark.”
“But you must be hungry,” he suggested.
“No, Edmond,” she laughed. “Don’t think of me – think of yourself, of your own safety.”
So they crept forward, unobserved, until they reached the shed – a mere shelter for cows. In one corner of the dirty place lay a great heap of mouldering straw, and Edmond, having worked away until he had made a hole large enough to admit them both, they both crept in and lightly covered themselves.
And then, as she found herself in his strong arms, she felt his fond kisses raining upon her brow, fierce, passionate caresses, that told her plainly how deep and how sacred was his great love for her – how strong was his affection and devotion.
For seven long hours they remained there, conversing in whispers, he recounting to her the various engagements in which he had been since the outbreak of the war.
He explained to her, too, how by reason of a law-case brought to him by a client, his suspicions had, two years before, been aroused that Arnaud Rigaux, the great Brussels financier, was a secret agent of the German Government. For months he had watched closely until, only a fortnight before the war, Rigaux’s suspicions had been aroused that he was being watched. The spy feared him – feared lest he should go to the Minister of War and disclose his suspicions. This course, however, Edmond had hesitated to take.
“Why?” asked Aimée. “Was it not your duty to tell the truth?”
“It was my duty, I admit. But had I done so, you, dearest, not knowing the true facts, would have believed me guilty of trying to remove my rival by an underhand method. I should have lost your esteem. Therefore I preferred to wait until I could strike an effective blow, and still, at the same time, reveal to you that I had just cause for so doing.”
“Your just cause was revealed to-day, Edmond,” she said. “You have avenged our country, which that mean, despicable spy sought to undermine and destroy, and at the same time, dear, you saved me.”
“I had no idea that the scoundrel was in Dinant, watching the wanton work of his Prussian friends. He hated Belgium, and all Belgians, and so he went, I suppose, to witness a scene of destruction unparalleled in modern history.
“Last night, after we had been driven back over the hills, I resolved at all hazards to return to you; therefore, as I have explained, I took the clothes from a dead Bavarian and succeeded in passing the German outposts just before the dawn. It was an exciting journey back to Dinant, I can assure you,” and he smiled grimly.
“Ah! It must have been. And you risked your life – you are risking it now – in order to save me,” she said.
Slowly the light faded and a ray of red sunset, shining in at the doorway of the shed, lit up the place with crimson light.
Suddenly they heard sounds of voices. They both held their breath.
Aimée, who knew German, heard one of the men exclaim, as they approached:
“This would, I think, be a snug place in which to spend the night, Karl.”
Her heart beat quickly. She could hear it thumping.
The man’s companion muttered some response gruffly, and they both entered with heavy tramp. She could see that they were tall, broad-shouldered Uhlans, in grey braided tunics, jack boots, and helmets.
They looked around for a few seconds, whereupon the gruff-voiced man exclaimed in disgust:
“No. It’s too dirty. Let us get further along. We shall surely find a better place than that.”
And then they strode out, remounted their horses and rode away.
The pair in hiding drew long breaths of relief. That had, surely, been a narrow escape.
When it had grown quite dark and the rats began to scamper, Edmond, foraging about, discovered his torn worn-out Belgian uniform, and quickly exchanged his Bavarian dress for his own clothes. Then he having carefully stolen out and reconnoitred, they both crept away across the fields to where the trees of a plantation showed like a black, jagged line against the night sky.
In his Belgian uniform Edmond Valentin was now in even greater danger than before, for at any moment they might be challenged, when he would, assuredly, be shot.
But, keeping closely in the shadows, they went on until they gained the plantation. The night was close and oppressive. In the distance, every now and then could be heard the thunder of guns, while in the sky before them, the long straight beams of the searchlights, sweeping backwards and forwards, showed the direction of the Belgian front, now that they had retired from the Meuse.
“I left the regiment about three miles from the edge of this wood,” Edmond whispered. “They were yonder, where that second searchlight is showing. But probably they have retired farther, towards Namur, or our outposts would certainly have been here. We must have a care, and avoid the German sentries.”
Then they crept forward and entered the dark, silent plantation. There was not a breath of wind; not a leaf stirred, hence their footsteps sounded loudly as they stole forward, holding their breath, and halting every now and then to listen.
Once they heard voices – men speaking in German and laughing. Even the scent of tobacco reached their nostrils. They halted, drew back and waited, so escaping detection.
That was truly a weird and exciting night adventure, for they were now very near the German outposts. They could see the twinkling lights of camp-fires upon a hill-side on their right, and once the far-off sound of a bugle fell upon their ears.
Presently they emerged from the plantation, and Edmond, having paused for a few moments to take his bearings, struck off down a narrow lane, where the trees overhung until their branches met above. For nearly a mile further they went along, leaving the roadway whenever they heard the tramp of soldiers approaching, and once very narrowly running right into the arms of a German sentry, who was standing hidden in the shadow of a haystack. It was only by drawing up suddenly, bending behind a bush, and waiting through some ten minutes of breathless agony, that they were able to extricate themselves from a very tight corner.
And at last, when they were aide to creep forward unseen, they again found themselves almost beneath the hoofs of a cavalry patrol, riding along across some open pasture-land.
When that further danger had passed, Edmond whispered to his beloved:
“We have, I believe, passed the German outposts now, dearest. Yet we must be very careful. We may not have got quite through yet. Come, we will cross that low hill yonder. No, the valley, perhaps, will be best,” he added. “I see there’s a farmhouse on the hill. The Uhlans may be there – in quarters for the night. We must avoid that.”
So they descended over the grass land, where the country dipped towards the low ridge of hills, beyond which lay the Belgians on the defensive.
A few moments later they found themselves in a field of standing corn which had, alas! been sadly trampled by the enemy, and still crept along in the shadow of a high bank. On their right ran a shallow brook, rippling musically over the stones, one of those many trout streams, the undisturbed haunt of the heron, with which the picturesque Ardennes abound.
All was quiet, and nobody appeared to be in the vicinity. Yet Edmond knew that the whole of the enemy’s lines must be so well patrolled that it would be most difficult for them to escape across to the Belgians with their lives.
The German sentry system is as near perfect as the military brain can render it. Not a cat could slip by the German lines, now that they were advancing to the conquest.
Still he had come through on the previous night, and he was bent, for the sake of Aimée, upon getting her back safely. Of a sudden, a voice sounded a short distance away – a loud gruff expression in German.
The pair drew up and waited, holding their breath.
Straight before them the long, bright beam of a searchlight was slowly sweeping the sky, searching for German aeroplanes.
The men were against a line of bushes.
“Be careful, Edmond!” whispered the girl. “They are coming this way.”
But they were not, for they could see that the dark figures silhouetted against the night sky were receding.
Straight before them was another dark copse, which led up the side of the low hill.
When the Germans had gone, Aimée and her lover crept forward noiselessly, making their way to the cover afforded by the copse which, Edmond had concluded, lay between the opposing lines.
They had, however, not gone more than a hundred yards when a German sentry sprang suddenly forth from the shadow, with fixed bayonet, and uttered a loud, gruff challenge in German:
“Halt! Who goes there?”
Aimée, startled, drew back in terror, clinging to her lover’s arm. But only for a second. Then she drew herself up again, and stood motionless at his side.
“Who goes there?” again demanded the sentry, in a tone of quick suspicion. “Come forward,” he commanded in an imperious voice. “Who are you?” Neither spoke. In their ignorance they were walking right into the enemy’s camp! They were entrapped!
