The Dispatch-Riders

The Coming Storm

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

"What's that?" asked his chum, Rollo Harrington. "Liége? What on earth possesses you to suggest Liége? A crowded manufacturing town, with narrow streets and horrible pavé. I thought we decided to fight shy of heavy traffic?"

The two speakers were seated at an open window of the H?tel Doré, in the picturesque town of Dinant. In front of them flowed the Meuse; its placid water rippled with craft of varying sizes. Huge barges, towed by snorting tugs, were laboriously passing along the busy international waterway that serves an empire, a kingdom, and a republic. On the remote bank, and to the right of a bridge, were the quaint red-tiled houses of the town, above which rose the fantastic, pinnacled tower of the thirteenth-century church of Notre Dame, in turn overshadowed by the frowning limestone crag on which stands the citadel.

Kenneth was a well-set-up English youth of seventeen. He was tall for his age, and withal broad-shouldered and well-knit. His features were dark, his skin burnt a deep tan by reason of more than a nodding acquaintance with an open-air life. In character and action he was impulsive. He had the happy knack of making up his mind on the spur of the 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 three days, was rather the reverse of his versatile friend. He was shorter in height by a good four inches; he was slightly built, although he possessed 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 was cool and calculating when occasion served; but when in the company of his chum he was generally content to allow his will to be dominated by the impetuous Everest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kenneth Everest had first bestrode the saddle of a motor-cycle a week before their Continental tour began. No doubt his experience as a "push-cyclist" helped him considerably; he quickly mastered the use of the 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 out the fault, and Kenneth's ready fingers would either do or undo the rest.

But so far, with the exception of a few tyre troubles, both motor-cyclists had done remarkably well. Landing at Havre, they had pushed on, following the route taken by the English army that had won Agincourt. This, by the by, was Rollo's suggestion. From the site of the historic battle-field they had sped eastward, through Arras, St. Quentin, and Mézières. Here, finding themselves in the valley of the Meuse, they had turned northward, and passing through the French frontier fortress of Givet, entered Belgium, spending the first night on Belgian soil in picturesque Dinant.

Hitherto they had overcome the initial difficulty that confronts British road users in France-the fact that all traffic keeps, or is supposed to keep, to the right. They had endured the horrible and seemingly never-ending cobbles or pavé. The language presented little difficulty, for Kenneth, prior to having joined St. Cyprian's, had been educated in Paris; and although his Parisian accent differed somewhat from the patois of the Ardennes, he had very little trouble in making himself understood. Rollo, too, was a fairly proficient French linguist, since, in view of his future military career, he had applied himself with his usual diligence to the study of the language.

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

"It's not exactly Liége I want to see," replied Kenneth, "although it's a fine, interesting old place, with a history. Fact is, my sister Thelma is at a boarding-school at Visé-that's only a few miles farther on-and we might just as well look her up."

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

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

Rollo gave a final glance at the map before folding it and placing it in his pocket. In response to a summons, the gar?on produced the bill and gratefully accepted the modest tip that Everest bestowed upon him with becoming public schoolboy dignity.

This done, the two lads took their travelling cases and made their way to the hotel garage, where their motor-cycles had been placed under lock and key, out of the reach of sundry inquisitive and mischievous Belgian gamins.

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

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

Kenneth was off like a shot. Half-way across the bridge that here spans the Meuse he nearly collided with the proprietor of the H?tel Doré. 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. What inconsideration! Jules, Michel, Georges, and étienne-all will have to go. I shall be left without a single gar?on. And the busy season approaches also."

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

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

The proprietor, unable to contain his feelings, rushed back to the hotel, while Kenneth, still wishing to satisfy his curiosity by ocular demonstration, made his way to the edge of the semicircular crowd of excited townsfolk.

The proclamation, dated the 31st day of July, was an order for partial mobilization, calling up the First Division of the Reserves. No reason was given, and the lack of it, rather than the fact that the order had to be obeyed, was the subject of general comment. From the nature of the conversation the lad gathered that military service was not regarded by the Belgians in anything approaching a tolerant spirit.

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

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

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

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

With half-closed throttles, and tyres sufficiently soft to absorb most of the shocks, the young tourists bumped over the pavé, swung round, and soon settled down to a modest fifteen miles an hour along the Namur road.

For the best part of the journey the Meuse, with its limestone crags and dense foliage, was within a few yards on their right, while trees on either side of the road afforded a pleasant shade from the fierce rays of the sun. The dust, too, rose in dense clouds whenever, as frequently happened, a motor-car tore past, or a flock of frightened sheep scampered madly all across the road. At Namur their wishes regarding the Belgian troops were gratified. The narrow street swarmed with soldiers and civil guards. There were men with head-dresses resembling the busbies of the British guardsmen, leading teams of dogs harnessed to light quick-firing "Berthier" guns; infantry who, in spite of the broiling heat, wore heavy greatcoats; cavalry whose mounts were powerful 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 accosted them.

"You gentlemen are English, without doubt?"

"We are."

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

"No, monsieur."

"Germany has declared war upon the Russians."