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Two Daring Young Patriots; or, Outwitting the Huns

by W. P. Shervill · English · Gutenberg #26645 · 342,963 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Two Daring Young Patriots; or, Outwitting the Huns

Author: W. P. Shervill

Illustrator: Archibald Webb


        
Release date: September 17, 2008 [eBook #26645]

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/26645

Credits: Produced by Chris Curnow, Lindy Walsh, Mary Meehan and the
        Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TWO DARING YOUNG PATRIOTS; OR, OUTWITTING THE HUNS ***




Produced by Chris Curnow, Lindy Walsh, Mary Meehan and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net









                         TWO DARING YOUNG PATRIOTS

                          Or, Outwitting the Huns

                             BY W. P. SHERVILL

                        Author of "Edgar the Ready"

                        _Illustrated by Arch. Webb_


BLACKIE AND SON LIMITED
LONDON GLASGOW AND BOMBAY




[Illustration: LIKE A WHIRLWIND THEY FLUNG THEMSELVES UPON THE HATED
FOE]




Contents


       I. Trouble in the Crew

      II. The Races

     III. Max Durend at Home

      IV. The Cataclysm

       V. The Fall of Liege

      VI. A New Standpoint

     VII. A Few Words with M. Schenk

    VIII. Treachery!

      IX. The Opening of the Struggle

       X. Getting Ready for Bigger Things

      XI. The Attack on the Power-house

     XII. The Attack on the Munition-shops and its Sequel

    XIII. The German Counter-stroke

     XIV. Schenk at Work Again

      XV. The Dash

     XVI. In the Ardennes

    XVII. Cutting the Line

   XVIII. Reprisals

     XIX. A Further Blow

      XX. Across the Frontier

     XXI. The Great Coup




Illustrations


Like a whirlwind they flung themselves upon the hated foe

Both lads began to hurl the great stones upon the German soldiery

A cloth was clapped over the soldier's nose and mouth

"It's all right; we're friends"

The two watchers gave a loud full-throated British cheer




TWO DARING YOUNG PATRIOTS

Or, Outwitting the Huns




CHAPTER I

Trouble in the Crew


"Here come Benson's!"

The speaker leaned over the edge of the tow-path and watched an
eight-oared boat swing swiftly round a bend in the river a hundred yards
away and come racing up to the landing-stage.

"Eee--sy all--l!" came in a sing-song from the coxswain, perched, for
better sight, half upon the rear canvas, and eight oars instantly
feathered the water as their boat slanted swiftly in towards the shore.

"Hold her, Seven."

With almost provoking sloth, after the smartly executed movements
already described, Number Seven dug his oar deeply into the water,
making up somewhat for his tardiness by the fierceness of the movement.
The nose of the boat turned outwards almost with a jerk, and the craft
slid in close to and parallel with the landing-stage.

"Seven's got the sulks again, Jones," commented the watcher on shore, a
middle schoolboy named Walters, as he eyed the proceedings critically.
"His time's bad. It's just as well they get to work to-morrow."

"Yes," assented his companion. "But, you know, it beats me why they
didn't put Montgomery at stroke instead of seven. He's a far better oar
than Durend--the best in the school--and it would have upset nobody."

"His style may be better," admitted Walters a little reluctantly, "but
he hasn't got that tremendous shove off the stretcher that makes the
other so useful a man to follow. Besides, he has too much temper to be
able to nurse and humour the lame ducks and bring them on as Durend has
done."

"Maybe--his temper certainly doesn't look sweet at the moment," replied
Jones, gazing with a grim sort of amusement at Montgomery as the latter
released his oar from the rowlock and stepped out of the boat, his
handsome clean-cut face sadly marred by an undeniably ugly scowl.

"Durend's work isn't showy, but I hear that Benson thinks a lot of it,"
Walters went on. "It's a pity Monty takes it so badly, for the crew has
come along immensely and with ordinary luck ought to make a cert of it."

"Riggers!" the stroke of the crew sang out, and the crew leaned out from
the landing-stage and grasped the boat. "Lift!" and the boat was lifted
clear of the water and up the slope to the boat-house hard by.

From bow to stern the faces of the crew were smiling and cheerful,
albeit streaming with perspiration, as they passed through the admiring
knot of their school-fellows assembled to watch them in. All, that is,
save Seven, aforesaid, and Stroke, who looked downcast, and whose lips
were set firmly as though he found his task no very pleasant one, but
had nevertheless made up his mind to see it through.

In the dressing-room Montgomery vented his ill-humour somewhat
pettishly, flinging his scarf and sweater anyhow into his locker and his
dirty rowing boots violently after them. "I don't care a fig whether we
win or lose," he growled. "I'm sick of being hectored by a coach who
never was an oar, and a stroke who knows about as much about rowing as
my grandmother."

"Shut up, Monty!" replied another member of the crew good-naturedly.
"Another week and it will be all over, and we shall be at the Head of
the River for the first time--what?"

The thought of Benson's first victory in its history seemed, if
anything, to incense Montgomery still more, for he glared angrily at
Durend's set face and went on: "It's always _my_ time or _my_ swing
that's wrong, too, when everyone used to say that I was the best oar in
the school. Bah! it's to cover up his own faults that he's always
blaming me. For two pins I'd resign, Durend; and I will, too, if you're
not a deal more careful."

"You needn't," replied Durend shortly, but with a significance that was
not lost upon those present.

"What d'ye mean?" demanded Montgomery.

"You're no longer in the crew."

"What! _You_ turn me out? I'll take that from Benson, and from no one
else, my boy!"

"Mr. Benson has left it to me, and I say you're no longer in the crew,"
replied Durend coldly, and with no hint of triumph in his voice. He
knew, in fact, that his action was probably the death-knell of all the
hopes of his crew.

Montgomery's face blazed with passion, and he sprang violently upon
Durend and struck fiercely at him. The two boys nearest grasped him and
dragged him back, though not before he had left his mark in an
angry-looking blotch upon the left cheek of his former chief. Through it
all Durend said no word. He merely defended himself, looking, indeed, as
though only half his mind were present, his interest in the matter being
far out-weighed by concern for the threatened destruction of his beloved
crew, the object of his deepest thoughts and hopes for a period of six
crowded weeks.

The incident closed, for, Montgomery's first anger over, he saw the
foolishness of making so much of losing a seat he had all along affected
to despise. The crew dispersed, and soon the affair was the talk of the
whole school. Benson's--the favourites--crippled by the loss of their
Seven on the very eve of the race! Stroke and Seven at blows! Stroke
licked, and no doubt spoiled for the race! The news, soon distorted out
of all recognition, provided Hawkesley with matter for gossip such as it
had not enjoyed for many a long day.




CHAPTER II

The Races


"Well, Stroke?" asked the Benson's cox, as the two slowly made their way
from the boat-house towards the school. "What's to do now? I'm afraid
we're done for. Mind," he went on in another tone, "I'm not blaming you.
Any other fellow with a spark of spirit in him would have jibbed. But
have you counted the cost?"

"Yes, Dale, I've counted the cost, and know what I'm going to do."

"So?"

"Three must come down to Seven and Franklin must come into the boat at
Three. If only we had a week of practice before us I should not fear for
the result, but to-morrow----"

Stroke's voice died away as he dug his hands deeply into his trousers
pockets and walked moodily on. Suddenly he turned to his companion:
"After all," he said, "we may stand a chance. If not on the first day or
two of the races, then on the last. Rout out Franklin for me, Dale, and
tell him what's afoot, and that we row at seven this evening with him at
Three. Then tell the others. There'll be no hard work, only a paddle to
help Franklin find the swing. One thing--he's fit enough."

"Yes, and I must say we have you to thank for that, old boy. Those runs
before breakfast that used to make Monty so savage have done us a good
turn by keeping Franklin fit, not to mention the occasional tubbing we
have given him."

"Aye, he's not bad; and if the rest of the crew buck up well we may yet
do things. Now good-bye, Dale, until seven o'clock! See that every man
is ready stripped sharp to time for me, for I must now see Benson, and
tell him all my plans."

The further news that Benson's were going out again with their spare man
at Three, coming upon the sensational story of the quarrel between
Stroke and Seven, spread like wildfire through the school. Every boy who
was at all interested in the Eights--and who was not?--made a note of
the matter, and promised himself that he would be there and see the fun
for himself.

When seven o'clock arrived, therefore, the tow-path in front of Benson's
boat-house was thronged with boys; some there in a spirit of foreboding,
to see how their own crew shaped after its heavy misfortune, some to
rejoice at the evidence they expected to see of the impending
discomfiture of a redoubtable foe, some to jeer generally, and others--a
few, but the more noisy--in out-and-out hostility to the crew which had
turned out from among its number their favourite, Montgomery. So great
was the crowd that the crew had almost to push its way through the
press, at close quarters with a medley of cheers and groans that did not
do the nerves of some of them much good.

The outing was a short one. Mr. Benson, who had coached the crew himself
so far as his time permitted, did not put in an appearance, and Durend
had the field to himself. All he did was to set an easy stroke, and to
leave Dale, as cox, to keep a sharp watch upon the time and swing of
Three and Seven. The change naturally upset the rhythm of the crew a
little, but not so much as was generally expected. In fact, on the
return to the boat-house, cheers predominated, as though others besides
themselves had been agreeably surprised.

The Eights week at Hawkesley always stood out prominently from the rest
of the year as a kind of landmark. It marked the highest point of the
constant struggle between the several Houses into which the school was
divided, and all energies were therefore concentrated upon it for weeks
in advance. As may have been surmised, the Eights races were not direct
contests, with heats, semi-finals, and finals, but bumping races, for
the little River Suir would hardly permit of anything else. For a short
stretch or two, perhaps, a couple of boats might have raced abreast, but
it would not have been possible to have found a reasonably full course
for a race to be decided in that way. Consequently the boats were
anchored to the shore four boat-lengths behind one another, and by the
rules of the game they were required to give chase to one another, and
to touch or bump the boat in front to score a win.

A win meant that the victors and vanquished changed places, and the
whole essence of the contest was that the stronger crews gradually
fought their way forward into the van of the line of boats. There were
six Houses to the school, and the same number of crews competed, for the
honour of their respective Houses. Six days were allotted to the task,
and it was no wonder that the crews had to see to it that they were in
first-rate condition, for racing for six days out of seven was bound to
try them hard.

The legacy left the Benson crew by their comrades of the year before was
the position No. 3 in the line. The position the year before that had
been No. 5, so it was not surprising that the Bensonites had great hopes
that this year would see them higher still. Cradock's was just in front
of them, with Colson's at the Head. Both were strong crews, and so was
Johnson's, just behind--too strong, indeed, for Durend to feel very
comfortable with an unknown quantity at his back.

The race was timed to start at eleven, and a minute or two before the
hour all the crews had taken up their position, stripped and made ready.
The crews were too far apart for signals by word of mouth or by pistol
to be effective, so a gun was fired from the bank--one discharge "Get
ready!" two "Off!" and three--after a lapse of ten minutes--as the
"Finish".

"Boom!" went the first gun, and men ceased trying their stretchers or
signalling to their friends on shore. A few words of caution from the
stroke, and then all was still in tense expectation. The mooring-ropes
were slipped, and the boats left free to move slowly forward with the
stream.

"Boom!" Simultaneously forty-eight oars dipped and churned the water
into foam. Like hounds suddenly unleashed, the six boats leapt forward
and began their desperate chase upon the waters of the Suir.

The strongest point of Benson's crew had been its lightning start, and
Durend had always counted upon this giving him at least half a length's
advantage at the outset. Striking the water at his usual rate, he
hoped--almost against hope--that this advantage still remained to him.
Less than half a dozen strokes, however, were sufficient to convince him
that the hope was a vain one. The perfect swing of the boat was marred
by a jar that became more pronounced with every stroke. He knew well
enough what it was: it was the new half-trained man, Franklin, vainly
trying to keep up the pace of a trained crew.

It was a bitter disappointment, but Durend was not one to let such
feelings cloud his judgment, and without a moment's hesitation he let
his racing start fall away into a long, steady swing. Victory--for the
moment, at any rate--must be left to others, while his crew were brought
back once more to the swing and rhythm they had lost.

For some time Durend kept his stroke long and steady, and the boat
travelled evenly and well, though at no great pace. By that time
Cradock's, in front, were almost lost to sight, but Johnson's, behind,
were very much within view, and coming up fast. The situation seemed so
critical that Dale at last could contain himself no longer. For some
minutes he had been nervously glancing back at the nose of the boat
creeping up behind, and wondering when he must forsake his straight
course for the forlorn hope of an attempt to elude the bump by a pull at
the rudder line.

"Durend, they'll have us, if you don't draw away a little."

Durend nodded. He had not been unmindful of the boat creeping up behind,
but he had a problem, and no easy one, to settle. Should he press his
crew to the utmost, or should he hold his hand for another time? It was
a terribly difficult thing to decide for the best, with Johnson's
creeping up and every fibre in him revolting against surrender and
calling out for a desperate spurt right up to the end.

Suddenly Durend quickened up. His men were waiting and longing for a
spurt and caught it up at once. But again the swing was marred by
Franklin's inability to support the terrific pace. After the first
stroke or two the boat began to roll heavily, the form and time became
ragged, and there was much splashing.

One glance at Dale's agonized face and Durend again allowed his stroke
to drop back into its former steady swing, and doggedly, with
sternly-set face, plugged away as before, refusing to look again at the
crew drawing inexorably up behind. Twice the boats overlapped, but both
times Dale managed, by skilful steering, to avoid a bump. The third time
no trick of steering could avoid the issue, and the nose of the Johnson
boat grated triumphantly along the side of Benson's.

At the touch, both crews ceased rowing. The race for them was ended for
that day at least, and they could watch and see how the other crews had
fared. But the other races were also over, for the third and last "Boom"
rang out within a few seconds of the termination of their own.

Defeat is always hard to bear, and the Benson crew were no exception to
the rule. It was obvious to every one of them that they had not been
allowed to have their full fling, and angry and discontented thoughts
surged into the brains of the disappointed men as they leaned over their
oars and tried not to hear the jubilant chatter of those insufferable
Johnsonites. Why had Stroke set so wretchedly slow a stroke that defeat
was certain? The members of the beaten crew were, for the most part,
fresher far than the winning crew. Why had not Stroke given them the
opportunity of rowing themselves right out instead of tamely
surrendering thus?

No answers to these discontented queries were forthcoming. Durend could
have spoken, but would not. Dale might have spoken; for though he knew
not the plans of his chief, his position at the rudder enabled him to
conjecture a great deal. But he, too, was dumb. So it was that the
Benson crew could answer the questions of their distressed friends only
by referring them with disparaging shrugs of the shoulders to their
worthy Stroke.

Durend had never been a popular boy. He was respected for his steady
persistence and his capacity for unlimited hard work, but popular he
could not be said to be, even with his crew. He held himself rather
aloof, and never really took them into his confidence. He seemed to
think that if he did his best as Stroke, both in rowing and in
generalship, he had done all that was necessary. His plans, his hopes,
and his fears he kept strictly to himself. Why worry his men about them?
he reasoned, and in the main, no doubt, he was right, though he carried
it much too far. As a consequence the crew, with the possible exception
of Dale, were left to conjecture his reasons for all that he did, and in
most cases to put a wrong construction upon them.

But, though they growled, they were too sportsmanlike and too loyal to
their House to do more, and 11 a.m. next day saw them at their places
every bit as eager as before. This time, without a doubt, they told one
another, Durend would set them a faster stroke and give them a chance to
show the stuff they were made of.

Unhappily they were doomed to fresh disappointment. Twice, indeed,
Durend quickened up his stroke, but almost immediately he felt the time
and swing of the crew again becoming ragged. In his judgment it was
useless to persist in hope of an improvement; so, with the decisiveness
that was one of his chief characteristics, he promptly dropped his
stroke back into his old rate of striking. His men fretted and fumed
behind him, and one or two even went so far as to shout aloud for a
spurt. A sharp reprimand was all they got for their trouble, and in high
dudgeon they relapsed again into a savage silence. Fortunately, though
they saw nothing of the crew ahead, they managed to keep a length of
clear water between them and the weak Crawford crew travelling in their
wake.

No cheers heralded their return. The doings of Benson's attracted little
attention now, for all interest had centred upon the desperate struggles
between the three leading boats, Cradock's, Colson's, and Johnson's--for
the first two had now changed places. It is almost as hard to be ignored
as to be scoffed at, and it was a very sore crew indeed that put their
craft upon its rack that day and filed upstairs to the dressing-room of
Benson's boat-house.

Self-contained and preoccupied though he was, Durend could not help
noticing that his conduct of the races was being severely and adversely
commented upon. But he only shrugged his shoulders, hurried on his
clothes, and left the building perhaps a little more quickly than usual.
Some strokes would have given explanations to their crews, but it never
occurred to Durend to do so. Dale followed him from the room.

"See here, Max," he said, as he overtook him, "I think you should know
that our fellows are tremendously sick at the poor show we are making.
They feel that your stroking of the crew is not giving them a fair
chance."

Durend stopped abruptly. "So long as I am stroke, Dale, I shall set the
stroke I think proper. I am doing what I think is best for the crew, and
shall follow it out until the last race is over--lost or won."

"I know, I know, old man," replied Dale hastily. "But what is your game
really? You must know you can't win races with a funereal stroke like
that, so what's the good of trying it?"

Durend opened his lips as though about to make an angry reply.
Apparently he thought better of it, for he closed them again, and for
some minutes walked on in silence. When he spoke it was in the quiet
measured tones of one who has thought out his subject and has no doubts
in his own mind of the wisdom of his conclusions.

"After six weeks' hard work, Dale, we've managed to get the crew into
pretty good form--everybody says so. Is it all to be lightly thrown
away? Can we really expect Franklin to keep up the pace of the rest of
us without rushing his slide, bucketing, or something of the sort? Can
we now?"

Dale, but half convinced, returned to the charge. "Well, I don't know.
Something's got to be done. I heard three of the fellows just now
whispering something about asking Benson to put Montgomery back in the
boat."

"Where?"

Dale hesitated.

"I see. At stroke. Well, I may be prejudiced, but I don't think it would
answer, old man. Anyhow, we'll leave all that to Benson, and those three
fellows too. Come, Dale, I'm sick of thinking about this, so let's try
and talk about something a little more cheerful."

Dale was a light-hearted, cheery fellow enough, and found no difficulty
in turning the talk into other and more pleasant topics. The two, though
so opposite in point of character and physique, were very good friends.
Dale was a slim, lightly-built young fellow of eighteen, with a fair
complexion and an open boyish face. He was a general favourite, and,
though not athletically inclined, was always ready to assist in acting
cox or kindred work. Max Durend was dark-complexioned, somewhat
reserved, and of a more thoughtful disposition. He also was eighteen
years of age, was of medium height but strongly built, and possessed a
great capacity for hard work. As has already been explained, he was not
popular, and that may have been partly due to his reserve, and partly to
the fact that he was only half English, namely on his mother's side.

The race on the following day was even less exhilarating than the last.
Benson's still rowed at their provokingly slow stroke, simply retaining
their position at No. 4, while Johnson's and Colson's, after a terrific
struggle, changed places. Thus Cradock's remained at the Head with the
Johnson and Colson crews second and third.

It needed all Dale's persuasion and plentiful supply of hopeful
suppositions (partly derived from his talk with Durend, but mostly made
up out of his own head) to keep the Benson crew from breaking out into
open revolt. Every day they had finished the race half fresh, and not
one of them could see the use of parading up and down the course as
though uncertain whether they were in the race or not.

And through it all Mr. Benson just looked grimly on, indifferent,
apparently, to all their woes, and said no word save a little--a very
little--commendation, no doubt intended to keep them from entering the
very last stages of despair. It seemed as though he had given the whole
thing up as a bad job, and did not intend to interest himself further in
the matter.

Another day came just like the last, and listlessly the dispirited crew
turned their oars on the feather and waited for the signal to start.
Quite suddenly they woke up to the fact that Stroke was leaning back
towards them and speaking.

"Now, you fellows," he was saying in a quiet but tense voice, "I am
going to give you a racing start at last. See to it, then, that you pick
it up and keep it. Don't forget. Franklin, I rely upon you to do your
utmost to keep up with us. Now, boys!"

"Boom!"

There was scarcely a soul about to see Benson's start; nearly everyone
was watching the struggles going on ahead, where strong crews were
striving in the last days to secure and hold a higher position for the
Houses they had been called to represent. So it was that the Benson
start passed unnoticed until it dawned upon Colson's, the crew ahead,
that the Benson boat had drawn unaccountably nearer. And Benson's, too!
It could only be a fluke, and with that conviction Colson's settled down
grimly to the task of shaking them off.

But somehow or other it did not seem at all easy to shake them off. In
fact, to their dismay, the end of the great spurt saw the gap between
the boats no wider. Suddenly, too, Benson's spurted in their turn, and
the nose of their boat drew closer at a speed that wellnigh paralysed
Colson's.

Indeed, in the Benson boat, the pent-up energies of three days of
enforced self-restraint were being let loose in a series of desperate
spurts for the mastery. Even Durend could contain himself no longer, and
Franklin, though he had not yet reached anything like the form of the
rest of the crew, was yet able to do his part in the struggle with a
fair measure of success. Within five minutes of the start Benson's had
overlapped Colson's, and, almost immediately after, the bump came.

We need not describe the joy and relief in the Benson crew at their
unexpected victory--unexpected to all of them, for even Durend, though
he had hoped and planned, had not anticipated it so soon. To the rest of
the school the whole affair was so unexpected as to be stupefying. Only
the most penetrating and experienced observers could give a reason for
their sudden recovery, and the remainder explained away the sensational
victory by a disparaging reference to the utter weakness of Colson's.
Had not Colson's dropped in three days from Head of the River to No. 3,
and was that not enough proof of weakness? they argued. Gradually the
general view crystallized down to the opinion that Benson's had had
their fling, and could hope to make no impression upon the two really
strong crews now in front of them.

Nevertheless, though this seemed the general opinion, the following
morning found the whole school on the tow-path opposite the Benson boat.
No one wanted to see the struggle between Cradock's and Johnson's, but
everyone was anxious to see the start of the Benson crew, and to learn
whether any fresh surprises were in store for them.

There could be no doubt about the spirit of the crew. Hope and
confidence seemed to exude from every pore, and it was clear that for
them the week was only just beginning. At the report of the gun, Durend
took his men away with a racing start that recalled those they had made
before Montgomery left the crew. The form was well kept; even Franklin,
who had improved rapidly with every day's work, keeping well in with the
swing of the rest of the crew. Dropping the stroke a little soon after
the start, Durend led them along with a strong, lively stroke that was
soon seen to be gaining them ground slowly, foot by foot, upon their old
foe, the Johnson crew. The latter were, however, in no mood to yield an
inch if they could help it, and made spurt after spurt in the desperate
endeavour to keep well away.

For the first eight or nine minutes of the race, Durend did not allow
himself to be flurried into any answering spurt. He knew that he was
within reach, and to him that was, for the time, sufficient. His watch
was strapped to the stretcher between his feet, and he was carefully
measuring the time he could allow Johnson's before calling them to
strict account.

It wanted one minute to the time when the finishing gun would boom out
before Durend quickened up. His men were waiting in confident
expectation for that moment, and answered like one man. From the very
feel of the stroke they had known what a reserve of power their stroke
and comrades possessed, and they flung themselves into the spurt with
all the energy of conscious strength. The boat leapt to the touch, and
up and up, nearer and nearer, the nose of their craft crept to the boat
ahead.

A hoarse and frantic appeal from the stroke of the Johnson boat, and his
men strove to answer and stave off that terrible spurt. But they had
spurted too often already, and another and a greater was more than they
could bear. Their time became ragged; some splashed and dragged, and the
boat was a beaten one before the end came.

It was a thrilling moment when the boats bumped, and the straggling
crowds upon the tow-path shouted and yelled with delight and deepest
appreciation. Rarely had there been such a race in the school's annals;
never one in which the winning crew had thus fought its way up from
previous failure and defeat.

After witnessing that achievement, the opinion of the school veered
completely round, and everyone confidently predicted that Benson's would
win their way to the Head of the River on the following morning. It had
now become as clear as noonday to all that the stroke of Benson's had
been playing that most difficult of all games, the waiting game. He had
held his crew inexorably in until the new man had had time to settle
down into his place and catch the form and time of the rest of the crew.
Clearly, too, the crew was rowing better every day, and no one believed
that Cradock's would be able to keep them off in the full tide of their
swing to victory.

This time the opinion of the school was right, and the following day
Benson's caught up and bumped Cradock's within three minutes of the
start. They had settled down and become a great crew, confident in
themselves and even more confident in the power and judgment of their
Stroke.

The ovation they received on the return to their boat-house they long
remembered. The noisy and enthusiastic tumult was indeed something to
remember and be proud of, but to Durend the few words of commendation of
Mr. Benson counted for far more.

"Well done, Durend!" he said simply. "I saw you knew your business, and
that is why I did not interfere. But even I did not expect so splendid a
success. Your men have done well indeed, but it is to you and your
fixity of purpose our win is mainly due. I have never known an
apparently more hopeless chase; and, to you others, I say that it shows
that there is almost nothing that fixity of purpose will not achieve in
the long run."

Even more pleasurable were the words of Montgomery, touched with real
contrition, as he grasped his old Stroke by the hand and begged his
pardon for doubting his ability and power to stroke a crew to victory.




CHAPTER III

Max Durend at Home


It was only two days after the close of the races when the head master
called Durend into his room. He held a slip of paper in his hand, and in
rather a grave voice informed the lad that his father was seriously ill.
His mother had cabled for his return, and he was to get ready to catch
the 2.15 train for Harwich at once.

Max obeyed. His preparations did not take long, and there was still a
little time to spare before he needed to start; therefore he sought out
Dale to say good-bye.

"But you will come back, of course, Durend?" the erstwhile cox
protested, rather struck by the earnestness of his friend's adieu.

"I have a feeling that I shall not, Dale. I cannot help it, but I keep
on acting almost unconsciously as though this were the last I shall see
of Hawkesley."

"Don't say that, Max. Why should you think your father is so ill as all
that? The cablegram doesn't say so. No, I can't take that. You simply
_must_ come back. There are lots of things we have promised to do
together."

"Can't help it, Dale. But there's one thing you must promise me before I
go, and that is, that if I should not come back you will come over and
see me. Spend a fortnight at our place at Liege in the summer--eh?"

"You're coming back, old man," replied Dale with determination. "But all
the same, I will give you the promise if you like. My uncle and
aunt--all the relatives I have--would not mind, I know."

"Thanks, old man--you shall have a good time."

Presently Durend left, and in forty-eight hours he was back in his own
home in Belgium on the outskirts of Liege. Prompt as he had been, he
found he was too late, for his father had died at the time he was on the
boat on the way to Antwerp.

Though not altogether unexpected, the blow was a severe one to Max
Durend. He had been very fond of his father, who had latterly treated
him more as a chum than anything else, and had talked much to him of his
plans for the time when he could assist him in his business. His mother
was, of course, even more upset, and though Max and his sister, a girl
of twelve, did their best to comfort her, she was quite prostrated for
some days.

It was now more than ever necessary that Max should enter his father's
business, and, when old and experienced enough, endeavour to carry it
on. From the nature of the business it was evident that this was no
light task, and would require a great deal of training and an immense
amount of hard work if it were to be done successfully. But the prospect
of hard work did not appeal Max, and within a fortnight of his father's
death he was busy learning the details of the vast business carried on
under his name.

Monsieur Durend had been the proprietor of very large iron and steel
foundries and workshops in Liege. The business was an immense one, and,
beside the manufacture of all kinds of machinery and railway material,
worked for its own benefit several coal and iron mines, all of which
were in the district or on the outskirts of the town. The business had
been a very flourishing one, and had been largely under the personal
direction of the proprietor, assisted by his manager, M. Otto Schenk, to
whose ability and energy, M. Durend was always ready to acknowledge, it
owed much of its success. The latter was now, of course, the mainstay of
the business, and it was with every confidence in his ability that
Madame Durend appointed him general manager with almost unlimited
powers.

M. Schenk was indeed a man to impress people at the outset with a sense
of strength and of power to command. He was over six feet in height,
broad, but with rather sloping shoulders, and very stoutly built. His
head, large itself, almost seemed to merge in a greater neck, and both
were held stiffly erect as he glowered at the world through cold and
rather protruding eyes, much as a drill-instructor glares at his pupils.
He was florid-complexioned, with short, closely-cropped grey hair and a
short, stubby, dirty-white moustache. Of his grasp of the affairs of the
firm and his business ability generally, people were not so immediately
impressed as they were with his power to command, but they invariably
learned to appreciate this side of his character in time.

The matter of the direction of the affairs of the firm settled to
everyone's satisfaction, the question as to what was to be done with Max
came up for discussion.

"I think it will be best, Max, if you go into M. Schenk's office and
assist him there," said Madame Durend at last. "You will there pick up
the threads of the business, and when you are two or three years older
we can consider what we are going to do."

"But, Mother," replied Max, "that was not the way Father learned his
business. You have often proudly told me how he used to work as a simple
mechanic, going from shop to shop and learning all he could of the
practical side of the different processes. How he then bought a small
business, extended it and extended it, until it grew to its present
size. And the whole secret of his success was that he knew the work so
thoroughly from top to bottom that he could depend upon his own
knowledge, and needed not to be in the hands of men with more knowledge
of detail but vastly less capacity than himself."

"Yes, Max, that is true; but the business is now built up, and is so big
that it does not seem necessary for you to go through all that. We have
an able manager, and from him you can learn all that you will ever need
to know of the work of directing the affairs of the firm."

"I should then never know the work thoroughly. I should always be
dependent upon those who had learned the practical side of the work,
Mother. Let me spend a year or two in learning it from the bottom. I
shall enjoy the work, and shall then feel far more confidence in
myself."

Max spoke earnestly, and his mother could see that he was longing to
throw himself heart and soul into the work. It was, indeed, the spirit
in which he had flung himself into the task of lifting Benson's to the
Head of the River over again. Though she had a mother's dislike to the
idea of her son's donning blouse and apron and working cheek by jowl
with the workmen, she had also a clear perception that it would be a
mistake to discourage such energy and thoroughness. She therefore
resolved to consult M. Schenk on the morrow, and, if he saw no special
objection, to allow Max to have his way.

M. Schenk did see several objections, foremost among which was his view
that for the master's son to work like a common workman would tend to
lessen the present extremely strict discipline in the workshops. Max,
however, scouted such an idea as an unfair reflection on the men, and
continued to press his point of view most strenuously. In the end he
managed to get his way, and within a week had started work at the firm's
smelting furnaces.

This story does not, however, deal with the experiences of Max Durend in
learning the various activities of the great manufactory founded by his
father. It will, therefore, suffice if we relate one incident that had,
in the sequel, an important influence upon his career, an incident, too,
that gives an insight into his character and that of the different
classes of workmen that would, in the course of time, come under his
control.

Max was at the time working at a huge turret lathe in one of the
turning-shops. Around him were other workmen similarly engaged. Across
the room ran numerous great leather driving-bands, running at high speed
and driving the great machines with which the place was filled.
Apparently the material of one of the driving-bands was faulty, for it
suddenly parted, slipped off the driving-wheels, and became entangled in
one of the other bands. As this spun round the loose band caught in the
machine close by, wrenched it from its foundation and turned it over on
its side, pinning down to the floor the workman attending to it.

The man gave a screech as he was borne down, a screech that was broken
off short as the heavy machine fell partly upon his neck and chest,
choking him with its fell weight. A straggling cry of alarm was raised
by the other workmen who witnessed the tragic occurrence, and many
pressed forward to his aid. But the great band which had done the
mischief was being carried round and round by the driving-band in which
it had become entangled, and was viciously flogging the air and floor
all about the stricken man.

Some of the men shouted for the engines to be stopped, others ran for
something that could be interposed to take the rain of blows from the
flying band. Max, however, saw that something more prompt than this was
necessary. From the look on the man's face it was clear that if the
pressure on his throat and chest were not immediately relaxed he would
be choked to death.

Crawling forward beneath the flogging band, and bowing his head to its
pitiless flagellations, Max grasped the overturned machine and strove to
lift it off the unfortunate man. The weight was altogether too great for
him to lift unaided, but he found he could raise it a fraction of an
inch and enable the man to gain a little breath.

Holding it thus, Max grimly stood his ground with his head down, his
teeth firmly set, and his back arched against the rhythmic rain of blows
from the great band. Soon the clothes were flogged from off his back,
and the band touched the bare skin. Almost fainting, he held on, for the
eyes of the man below him were staring up at him with a look of dumb and
frightened entreaty that roused in him all the strength of mind and
fixity of purpose he possessed.

The shouts for the engines to be stopped at last prevailed. The bands
revolved more slowly, and then ceased altogether. Many willing hands
were laid upon the overturned machine, and it was lifted off the
prostrate man just as Max's strength gave out, and he sank limply to the
floor in a deep swoon.

Neither Max nor the workman was seriously injured. Both had had a severe
shock, and Max, in addition, had wounds that, while not dangerous, were
extremely painful. After six weeks at Ostend, however, he was himself
again, and ready to continue his work in yet another branch of the
firm's activities. This time he was to learn the miner's craft, and to
see for himself all that appertained to the trade of hewing out coal and
iron from the interior of the earth and lifting it to the surface.

On the evening of his return to Liege from Ostend he was sitting in his
study alone, reading up the subject that was to be unfolded in actual
practice before his gaze on the morrow, when there came a knock at the
door.

"Come in," he yelled.

The door opened, and the maid ushered in a middle-aged workman in his
Sunday clothes, accompanied by a woman whom Max guessed to be his wife.
The man he recognized at once as the workman he had succoured in the
accident to the driving-band.

"Monsieur Dubec--he would come in," explained the servant deprecatingly,
as she withdrew and closed the door.

The man looked furtively at Max, twisted his cap nervously in his hands,
and stood gazing down at the floor in sheepish silence. His wife was
less ill at ease, and, after nudging her spouse ineffectually once or
twice, blurted out rapidly:

"He has come, Monsieur, to thank you for saving his life, and to tell
you that he will work for you and serve you so long as he lives. He is
my man, and I say the same, Monsieur, though I do not work in the shops,
and cannot help. But if ever ye should want aught done, Monsieur, send
for Madame Dubec, and she will serve you with all her heart in any way
you wish."

The woman spoke in a trembling voice, and with a deep and earnest
sincerity that showed how much she was moved. Her emotion, indeed,
communicated itself to Max, and he felt as tongue-tied as the man Dubec
himself. It had somehow not occurred to him that he would be thanked,
and the whole thing took him by surprise. Still, he had to say
something, and he struggled to find something that would put them at
their ease.

"I am sure you will, Madame Dubec, and I will remember your offer
indeed. But make not too much of what I have done. I was near at hand,
and came forward first, but many of your husband's comrades were as
ready, though not quite so quick. It was the aid of one comrade given to
another, and one day it may be my turn to receive and your husband's to
give."

The man shook his head vigorously in dissent, and in so doing seemed to
find his tongue.

"Nay, sir, 'tis much more than that. Some there are who would have
helped; but the more part of my fellow-workmen would not lift a hand to
help another in distress. As ye must have noticed, sir, there are two
classes of men in your father's works. There are the Belgians born and
bred, who loved your father and hated, and still hate, the tyrant Schenk
and the German-speaking workmen who have joined in such numbers of late
that we others fear a time will soon come for us to go. The Belgians are
good comrades, and would have come to my aid had they the quickness to
have known what to do. The others would have seen me die unmoved--I know
it."

"But they, too, are Belgians, are they not?"

"Aye, sir, they are Belgians so far as the law can tell; but they speak
not our tongue, and are not really of us."

"They are good workmen, and M. Schenk thinks much of them."

"True. But they do not hold with the rest of us, and we do not like
them. Nor do we trust them, sir."

The man spoke in an earnest, almost a warning, tone, and Max looked at
him in some surprise. It seemed more than the mere jealousy of a Walloon
at the presence of so many men, alien in tongue and race, in a business
which had once been exclusively their own. Max had himself noticed the
two classes of workmen, but had, if he thought about it at all, put it
down as inevitable in a town so near the frontiers of three States.

"Well, never mind them, Monsieur Dubec," he replied reassuringly. "They
have not been with us long, and it may be they will be better comrades
in a few years' time. And now good-bye! Think not too much of your
accident, and it will be the better for you and me."

"Good-bye, and may the bon Dieu bless you, sir!" replied both Monsieur
and Madame Dubec in a fashion that told Max that he had gained two
friends at least, and friends whose staunchness could be depended upon
to the utmost.

M. Schenk's view of the whole affair was blunt and to the point. "You
are foolish," he said to Max, "to trouble yourself about these workmen.
They are cattle, and it is always best to treat them as such. That has
always been my way, and it has answered well. Consider them and humour
them, and the next minute they want to strike for more. Bah! Keep them
in their place; it is best so."

"But," urged Max, quite distressed as he thought of Dubec, and recalled
the accents of trembling sincerity of his spouse--"but surely many of
them are better led than driven--the best of them, at any rate? I know
little of business as yet, but something tells me that it is well for us
to get the goodwill of our men."

"It is not worth a straw," replied M. Schenk with conviction. "The
goodwill, as you call it, of your managers, and perhaps even of your
foremen, is of value, but the goodwill of your men--your rank and
file--is of no account. So long as they obey, and obey promptly, you
have all that is necessary to carry on even a great undertaking like
this successfully."

"Well," replied Max rather hotly, "all I can say is that when _I_ direct
the affairs of the firm, I shall give the other thing a trial. I don't
like the idea of treating men as cattle, and I cannot help thinking too
many men have been discharged of late because they have shown a little
spirit."

M. Schenk looked at Max in a way that made the latter momentarily think
he would like to strike him. Then the manager half turned away, as he
replied in an almost contemptuous tone: "You will be older and wiser
soon, and we shall then see whether any change will be made. Until then
it is _I_ who direct the affairs of the firm, and it is _my_ policy
which must prevail."

Max felt uncommonly angry. He had been conscious for some time past that
M. Schenk was acting as though he expected to rule the affairs of the
firm for all time, and the thought galled him greatly. Was not he, Max,
sweating and struggling through every workshop solely in order that he
might fit himself to direct affairs? How was it, then, that this man, in
his own mind, practically ignored him? Was it because he was so
incompetent that the manager thought he never would be fit to take his
place? Max certainly felt more angry than he had ever done before, and,
unable to trust himself to speak, abruptly left the manager's presence
and walked rapidly away.

One good result the conversation had, and that was to redouble Max's
ardour to learn, and learn thoroughly, every branch of the work in every
part of the vast concern.




CHAPTER IV

The Cataclysm


The second summer since Max Durend had left Hawkesley had come, and for
the second time Max invited his friend Dale to come over to Liege and
spend a few weeks with him. The previous summer they had spent most
pleasantly on a walking-tour through the Ardennes, and they were now
going to do the same thing along the Middle and Upper Rhine. Max had
originally planned a tour in Holland, but M. Schenk recommended the
Rhine valley as much more varied and picturesque, and Max had agreed
readily enough to follow his recommendation.

Behold them then setting out from Bonn railway station, knapsack on back
and walking-stick in hand, full of spirits and go, for a four or five
weeks' tramp, first through the Drachenfels and then on through the
pretty Rhine-side villages, making a detour here and there to visit the
more picturesque and broken country through which the Rhine made its
way. They marched light, their only baggage besides their knapsacks
being a large Gladstone shared between them. This they did not take with
them, but used, merely to replenish their knapsacks occasionally with
clean linen, by sending it along a week or so ahead of them to such
towns as they expected to visit later on.

Their days were full of happiness, peace, and contentment, and the last
days of July, 1914, drew to a close all too rapidly for them. They knew
next to nothing of the fearful storm brewing, until Dale happened,
towards the end of the second week of their holidays, to take up and
glance down the columns of a German newspaper lying on the table of the
hotel at which they were about to dine. His knowledge of German was
small, but was sufficient to enable him to grasp the purport of the
thick headlines with which the journal was plentifully supplied.

"Hullo, Max, look at this," he cried, pointing to the thick type.
"German ultimatum to Russia. Immediate demobilization demanded." "That
looks serious, eh?"

"Phew! It does," cried Max, taking the paper and rapidly scanning the
chief columns. "You may be sure that if Russia is in it France will be
too. My hat! what a war it will be!"

"Yes, and----By the way, this explains why those two Frenchmen we met at
the hotel yesterday were in such a hurry to be off without waiting for
breakfast. They had seen the news and were afraid that, if they didn't
get back at once, they wouldn't get back at all."

"That's it. There's one comfort, anyway, Dale, and that is, that neither
of us is likely to be concerned. There seems no earthly reason why
England or Belgium should come into this."

"No, and a good job too. We have enough troubles of our own all over the
world without butting in on the Continent."

For the next few days Max and his friend were again more or less buried
from the outer world. They had not, however, altogether forgotten the
great events that were taking place, and on reaching Bingen went so far
(for them) as to purchase a paper. Matters, they found, had grown far
more serious. Germany was already at war with Russia and France, and had
demanded of Belgium free passage for her troops to enter and attack
France.

Max was thunderstruck. He had never expected anything like this. That
Belgium, peace-loving Belgium, with her neutrality guaranteed by
practically all the great civilized Powers, should, in spite of it, be
about to be forced into a great European war had seemed unthinkable. Yet
so it was, and it seemed that war was inevitable, for Max did not
believe Belgium would ever allow foreign troops to cross her territory
to attack a country with which she was at peace. With Belgium, then, on
the verge of war, it behoved him to look to his own safety; for it was
obvious he was not safe where he was.

"I think we had better make tracks for home, Dale," he said soberly. "I
dare say I can pass with you as an Englishman, but it won't do to take
risks. Our bag should be at the Central Post Office, so let us get it
and take the first train back to Liege."

"If there are any trains bound for the frontier that are not crammed
with troops," responded Dale somewhat significantly.

"Oh, shut up! Come along and let's see."

They lost not a moment in getting their bag and having it conveyed to
the railway station. Fully alive to the situation, they now kept their
eyes well open and noticed things they would never have noticed before.
For one thing, it struck them that the post office official who handed
their bag over to them seemed decidedly over-curious, and remarked that
he supposed they were going to the railway station. That was
disconcerting enough, but when they arrived at the station, and were
almost immediately accosted by a man whom they both remembered seeing
inside the post office, they felt almost as though they were already
under lock and key.

Not that the man was unfriendly. He was quite the reverse. He seemed
anxious to strike up an acquaintance, wished to know exactly where they
were going, and gave them to understand that there was nothing he
desired more than to be allowed the privilege of making a part of the
journey with them.

Max presently gave Dale a meaning glance. It was all very well for an
Englishman like Dale, he felt, but for him, virtually a Belgian, the
situation was wellnigh desperate.

"I say, Dale," he said casually, "we must have some sandwiches to eat in
the train. Stay here by the bag while I get some--or perhaps this
gentleman wouldn't mind looking after it for a moment?"

The young German hesitated a second, and then nodded. Max and his friend
strolled coolly off, arm in arm, towards the refreshment buffet. Neither
looked back, but their conversation was far from being as airy and
unconcerned as their manner might have seemed to indicate.

"We must leave the bag and get clear at once," cried Max emphatically.
"The fellow has been set to watch us and see that we don't get out of
the country. I think he must believe we are both English, and it
therefore looks as though the Germans think England is on the point of
coming in too. See, now, let us stroll quietly in at this door and slip
out again at the end one. Then into the street and somewhere--no matter
where--so long as it is out of the way of spying eyes."

They did so with an unhurried celerity that might have deceived a
smarter man than the supposed spy. Soon they were clear of the town and
in the open country beyond, and it was not till then that they felt as
though they could talk unrestrainedly together.

"Now what shall we do, Max? Walk to the next station out from Bingen and
see if we can get a train for home?" enquired Dale, not too hopefully.

"No, old man; we must keep clear of railways and railway stations. Let
us make tracks for the frontier as we are, and go all out."

"It will be dark in another hour."

"Never mind. We must foot it all night. We have no time to lose, and we
must not throw away a single hour. In fact, it is hardly safe for us to
be about in daylight anywhere. You look as English as they are made, and
I'm not much better."

"All right! I'm game for an all-night tramp. Come on."

"We have about seven hours of darkness before us, and I reckon we ought
to be able to do four miles an hour. That gives us about thirty miles.
It's less than that to the frontier, and we ought to be able to manage
it, even if we have to leave the road and cut straight across country.
Come along; we'll keep to the road while we can, but if too risky we
must go helter-skelter, plumb for the frontier."

That night march neither of them is ever likely to forget. For an hour
or so they tramped along the road unmolested. Then they began to find
soldiers and policemen very much in evidence, and, fearing to be
questioned, they left the road and took to the fields and open country.
It was desperately rough going in many places, and instead of doing four
miles an hour they could oftentimes do no more than two. But they stuck
gamely to their task, and plodded steadily on all through the night,
realizing more surely with every step they took that it was a plain case
of now or never.

For every time they neared a road they found it alive with soldiers, all
marching steadily in one direction--towards the Belgian frontier. The
still night air resounded with the tramp of innumerable feet, and now
and again they could catch the distant rumble of heavy guns.

When day broke they were still in Germany, but near the frontier, and in
a sparsely peopled district. They were both nearly dead-beat, covered
with mud from head to foot, and with their clothes torn half off their
backs. It seemed a risky business to let themselves be seen anywhere in
that condition, but finally Max chose a lonely farm-house, and, after
cleaning himself up as much as possible, managed to make a purchase of a
good supply of food. They then tramped on for another mile or two, ate a
good meal, hid themselves in a dry ditch, and instantly dropped asleep.

It was ten o'clock when they awoke, and after some discussion they
decided to make the few miles between them and the border at once, and
then to purchase cycles and press for home. This they did exactly as
they planned, and, though often delayed and compelled to make wide
detours to avoid bodies of German cavalry, they managed to reach Liege
safely in the evening of the same day.

The sights that met their gaze on the latter part of their journey made
them doubly eager to get within the safety of the ring of forts
surrounding Liege. Peasants were fleeing from the frontier villages, and
their tales of what the Germans had done to their homes and dear ones
made the blood of Max and his friend alternately freeze with horror and
boil with rage. Their tales were a long catalogue of deeds of ruthless
barbarity, cold-blooded cruelty, lust, and rapine. The smoke of burning
houses seen in the distance gave emphasis to their tales of horror, and
Max and Dale at last felt as though the world must be coming to an end.
Indeed, the world of make-believe German civilization was coming to an
end in a wild outburst of unrestrained cruelty and lust.

But at Liege, they told one another, things would be different. There
the invaders would come against something more than villages peopled
with frightened peasants and trustful countryfolk, and would realize in
their turn something of the terribleness of war.




CHAPTER V

The Fall of Liege


Arrived at his home, Max was astonished to find that his mother and
sister had fled over the border to Maastricht, taking two of the
servants with them. A letter had been left for him, however, and this he
tore feverishly open. In a few words his mother explained why she, as an
Englishwoman and one getting on in years, preferred to seek safety in
Holland to remaining in a city which obviously would soon be the
storm-centre of a terrible struggle. She then reminded Max that he had
not yet reached a man's age, and could not be expected to take a man's
part. Would he not leave the affairs of the firm to M. Schenk and join
her in Holland? But his conscience must decide, she finally conceded,
though it was clear how her own desires ran. But whether he left or
stayed, she expected him to take no part in the fighting that was bound
to come.

Questioning the servants, Max found that his mother's flight had been
arranged at the urgent solicitation of M. Schenk, and without more ado
he left the house and hastened to the works to see the manager, and
gather what further particulars he could. He did not doubt the wisdom of
his mother's precipitate flight, for even now scouting parties of the
Germans had appeared before the eastern forts, and no one could doubt
that the city was on the point of being invested and besieged.

M. Schenk was clearly surprised to see Max and his friend, and was at no
pains to hide it.

"A letter was left for you, Monsieur Max," he said in his ponderous way,
"telling you that your mother wished you to join her instantly. Did they
not hand it to you?"

"Yes," replied Max, "I have received the letter, and I have come to
learn something more about their flight. Have they taken money enough
for what may be a long stay? And can we send them more before the city
is invested?"

"All that is seen to, Monsieur Max. I have had a large sum of money
transferred to a bank in Maastricht for their use. They will be safe and
well there, and I strongly advise you to join them. You will certainly
not be safe here."

"Why not? Why should I go if you can stay--if you _are_ staying?"

"Because, sir, you are half an Englishman, and before the day is out
England will have joined in this conflict. No Englishman will be safe
here if the Germans enter, and I strongly urge you and your friend to
escape before the city is surrounded. I will carry on the business, and
do my best in the interests of the firm and your good mother."

"Yes, yes, I know; but I am a Belgian as much as an Englishman, and I am
not going to fly the country like that. If I cannot yet fight for her I
can work for her, and I have made up my mind to stay, Monsieur Schenk."

"As you will," replied M. Schenk, shrugging his shoulders in
indifference, "but do not blame me if things do not go as you wish."

"That's all right," replied Max quickly. "Now, as to the work of the
firm. I have been thinking that we might use our great works to assist
in the defence of the town. Soon the forts will be in action, and if the
city is invested they can only replenish their stores from within the
town itself. Why should we not begin to cast shells instead of rails,
and see whether we cannot make rifles and machine-guns instead of
machinery? There are many things we could do at once, and many others in
a little while."

"That is true, sir, and you will find that I have not been behindhand. I
have already seen the commandant, and our casting-shops are almost ready
to begin casting shells. I am not letting the grass grow under my feet,
I can assure you, and in a week or two we shall be able to do great
things in the defence of the town. Come down to the works with Monsieur
Dale, and see the preparations we are making for turning out shells for
big guns. You will see that the Durend workshops are going to be well to
the fore here as elsewhere, and I prophesy that they will be so until
the end of the war."

As they made the tour of the works, Max was both astonished and
delighted at the evidence he saw of the energy and ability displayed in
turning over the vast manufacturing resources of the firm from peace to
war. The rapidity with which the works had been transformed was indeed
remarkable, and his opinion of M. Schenk's capacity, already great,
became almost profound.

"Now, Dale, what are you going to do?" demanded Max as the two friends
parted company with the manager at the door of the last shop. "I think
you had better get clear while you can. This place is my home and I must
stand by it, but you are not concerned and ought to get out of it, if
only for your people's sake."

"My people! My uncle and aunt, you mean. _They_ won't bother their heads
about me," replied Dale decidedly. "No, Max, I came over here to see the
sights, and I am going to see 'em, come what may. If England is in it,
well and good; it will then be my quarrel as much as yours, and we will
work or fight against Germany together. Hurrah!"

Max grasped his friend's hand. "I ought not to encourage you, Dale, but
I can't help it, and I'm jolly glad. Let us go into this business
together--it will seem like old times. D'ye remember the fight we put up
for Benson's?"

"Who could forget it?" cried Dale with enthusiasm.

"And how it ended?"

"Aye--and it was fixity of purpose that did it, so said Benson. Well,
let us do something of the sort again. Hark! d'ye hear that?"

"Rifle-shots. The fun has commenced. Come along, and we will see what we
can of it before the day is out. To-morrow I am going to start work in
the casting-shops, and I hope you will come and help me."

"I will. Come along."

The sound of rifle-shots was quickly succeeded by the distant boom of
guns. Then the sound was swallowed up in the roar of the big guns of the
forts, and it seemed as though a tremendous attack was in progress. The
streets of the town instantly began to fill with excited people, until
it appeared as though everyone had left his work to discuss the
situation and listen to the noise of battle. Through the crowds pressed
small bodies of soldiers dispatched as reinforcements to the ring of
forts surrounding the town.

Max and Dale followed one of these parties at a respectful distance, and
climbed with them from the cup-like hollow in which Liege is situated to
the hills beyond. The soldiers were bound for one of the forts on the
eastward side, and, as they reached the higher ground, the two lads
caught their first glimpse of the fighting. Darkness was coming on, and
away in the distance they could see the intensely bright flashes of
high-explosive shells bursting on or around the forts, as well as the
flame of the fortress guns belching forth their replies. As it grew
darker the duel grew more intense, and lasted without intermission
throughout the night till three or four o'clock in the morning.

By that time the forts were apparently thought to have been sufficiently
damaged to permit of an assault, and the German infantry were flung
against them in massed formation. Unfortunately for them, however, the
guns had not been heavy enough to make any impression on the steel
cupolas which sheltered the big guns of the forts, and, as the infantry
pressed forward to the attack, they were literally swept away by a
devastating shell-fire from the forts attacked and those flanking them.

Again and again fresh masses were sent forward to the assault, only to
meet with a similar fate. In the attack on one of the forts the
infantry, favoured no doubt by the formation of the ground, were able to
get so close that the guns could not be depressed sufficiently to reach
them. They believed the fort as good as won, and with cheers of
exultation pressed on to the final assault. But at the corners of the
forts quick-firing guns were stationed, and these and the infantry
lining the parapets mowed them down as surely as the big guns.

In the wide spaces between the forts the Belgian field army had
entrenched, and with rifle-fire and frequent bayonet attacks frustrated
every attempt of the German infantry to break through.

The infantry assaults lasted until eight o'clock in the morning, when
the Germans withdrew, heavily shaken. They had hoped to rush the forts
with heavy masses of infantry, supported only by light artillery, and
they had failed. They now waited for the heavy guns, which were already
on the road, to arrive, and very soon forts Fleron and Chaudfontaine
were deluged with an accurate fire of enormous shells, so powerful as to
overturn the massive cupolas and to pierce concrete walls twelve feet
thick as though they were made of butter. Such shells as these they had
never been built to withstand, and it was not long before they
succumbed, thus opening a way for the invaders towards the town itself.

Forts Evegnee and Barchon soon shared the same fate, and the Belgian
field army, which had continued to maintain an heroic resistance, began
to fall back on the town.

Max and Dale had not been allowed to see much of these events. Before
midnight they were accosted by a patrol and ordered to return to the
safety of the town.

Early the following day, before the fall of the forts and the retreat of
the Belgian army, Max and Dale carried out their intention of presenting
themselves at the casting-shops and lending a hand in the making of
shells. To their satisfaction they found the work going forward with
splendid energy and smoothness, and, with their own ardour kindled by
the sights they had seen the previous night, they joined zealously in
the work.

Presently it came home to Max that there had been considerable changes
in the personnel of the shop since he had last worked there. The men he
looked out for--those with whom he had been on most friendly terms when
he was there--were gone, and their places were taken by other and, for
the most part, younger men, all quite strangers to the place so far as
he could see.

But, most strange of all, the language of the shop was German. The
Walloon, or Flemish-speaking Belgians, were the men who had gone, and
German-speaking workmen had taken their places.

On making a few cautious enquiries, Max learned that the men who had
gone had been transferred to shops which were still engaged in executing
peace-time orders, rails, axles, wheels, and the like, and that the
whole of the shell output was being handled by the newer German-speaking
workmen.

Max felt no particular resentment at this. He did not like it, but he
knew the manager's preference for these men as workmen, and he could not
deny that they were a hard-working, docile lot, nor that the work was
well organized and being carried on with splendid spirit and energy.

It seemed hard, however, that the Belgian-born men should not have a
chance of directly working for their country's benefit, and, as soon as
he could, Max took an opportunity of representing the matter to M.
Schenk.

"Why have you withdrawn all the older men from the shell-shops, Monsieur
Schenk? They were good men, and have served the firm well. Upon my word,
while working there and hearing naught but the German tongue, one might
have fancied oneself in the enemy's country."

"They are loyal Belgians, Monsieur Max," replied M. Schenk reassuringly.
"They are as ready as Flemings or Walloons to work to the utmost,
casting shells for our gallant army. That speaks sufficiently for their
sentiments. I have filled the shop with them because they work well
together, and there is no jealousy. We must do our best for Belgium in
this crisis, and should be swayed by no consideration save that of
finding the best men for each of our great tasks."

"Well done, Monsieur Schenk!" cried Max impulsively. "I also will go
where you think best. Where shall it be?"

"Thank you!" replied the manager, smiling. "I think you are doing so
well where you are that I cannot improve upon it. Remain at work in the
casting-shop and aid me to increase the output of shells. It is my
belief that we can turn out double the number with no increase of staff,
and I shall leave no stone unturned to make my opinion good."

Greatly heartened by this evidence of the manager's energy and
patriotism, Max and his friend did stick to their work and fling
themselves into it even more whole-heartedly than they had done before.

On the morrow, the 7th August, however, events happened that entirely
changed the aspect of affairs. Forts Fleron, Chaudfontaine, Evegnee, and
Barchon had fallen, and early in the morning of that day German infantry
entered Liege. The forts on the north, south, and west of the town still
held out for a time, but the town from that moment remained in German
hands. To the people, and especially the workers of Liege, this made a
vital difference. The output of the numerous factories, in so far as it
was useful to the German armies, was at any moment liable to be
requisitioned by them; and it was as clear as noonday that all who
toiled in the manufacture of such articles were assisting the enemy in
their attack upon their own kith and kin, and strengthening the grip he
had already laid upon their native land.




CHAPTER VI

A New Standpoint


To Max and his chum these were days charged high with excitement. Their
day's toil in the shops over, they raced away to the points where the
most exciting events were to be seen. They were witnesses of most that
went forward, and actually lent a hand in the rounding-up, from among
the civil population of the city, of the band of armed Germans who
attempted to assassinate the commandant of the fortress, General Leman.

The entry of the Germans was to both of them a fearful blow. They knew
little of military matters, and vaguely believed that the town and forts
were strong enough to stand a regular siege. And yet on the third day
after the attack the town had fallen! As they watched the young German
troops marching into the town they could not help feeling deeply
disappointed and discouraged.

"I wish now that you had gone home, Dale," remarked Max in a gloomy
voice as they slowly made their way towards the works. "Now that the
place has fallen you can do no good here. And as you are not a native
you may be taken for a spy and shot off-hand."

"Shut up, Max! We've agreed to go through this business together, and
there's an end of it. Liege is lost, but the war's still on, and it will
be hard if we can't find some way of giving our side a shove forward."

"Aye to that, Dale. Well, if you don't mind being here in a conquered
town I'm jolly glad to have you. Now, I suppose we can still go on
helping to cast shells--why no, Dale! We simply can't do any more of
that work; it's absolutely useless."

"Of course it is. You may be sure the Germans won't let shells be sent
away from Liege except to Germany. Your works had better get on with the
other work. Shells are out of the question."

"I must see Schenk about this," replied Max thoughtfully. "It needs
thinking out what work--if any at all--we can do without helping the
Germans. It's an awkward business, but I have no doubt Schenk can see
daylight through it."

"I should think so, but--hallo! What's that?"

Dale stopped suddenly, and stood gazing down a side street, the end of
which they were just about to cross. A sudden burst of screams and
shouts, quite startling in its intensity, assailed their ears, and made
them look and look with a feeling of foreboding new to them. At the far
end of the street they could see a group of men in the grey-green
uniform surging to and fro before a house from which the screams seemed
to issue.

"The Germans--doing the same dirty work as they did at Vise!" gasped
Max, turning away his head and clenching his fists in his pockets. "I
hardly know how to keep from rushing down there, utterly useless though
it is."

"It is women they are ill-treating--how can we walk away?" cried Dale in
acute distress. "Let us go down, and if we cannot fight, let us beg them
to desist. Perhaps if we offered them money----?"

"Useless," muttered Max, though he stopped and gazed down the road in
irresolution. "And yet how _can_ we pass by, Dale?" he went on with a
groan. "I know I shall always call myself a coward if I do nothing.
Let's walk a little closer, and see if we can do anything."

Dale eagerly agreed, and they walked quickly down the road towards the
group of soldiers and their victims. As they drew nearer, and could see
something of what was happening, their anger increased, until they were
almost ready to throw themselves upon the soldiers and oppose their
bayonets with their bare fists.

The house before which the outrage was taking place seemed, for some
reason, to have been singled out from the others which lined both sides
of the street, possibly because the head of the house was well known as
an opponent of the Germans or because of some act of hostility committed
against the soldiers. At any rate, an elderly man, evidently dragged
from the house, had been tied to the front railings, and was being
subjected to treatment so cruel that it almost amounted to torture.

The womenfolk of the house had apparently rushed out and endeavoured to
intervene, but had been forcibly held back, and were at that moment
being subjected to brutal indignities that angered Max and Dale even
more than the cold-blooded cruelty to the man himself.

The two had arrived within some forty yards of the scene, and were still
pressing on as though drawn by a magnet, although neither knew what he
was going to do, when one of the soldiers drew the attention of his
fellows to the two young men advancing towards them. At the same time he
picked up his rifle, took quick aim, and discharged it directly at them.

The bullet whizzed between them, and, on the impulse, Max seized Dale by
the arm and dragged him through the open doorway of the nearest house. A
roar of laughter from the soldiers at their rapid exit followed them,
and made the anger of one at least of them burn with a still fiercer
resentment.

"Right through and out at the back," cried Max in urgent tones, and the
two passed through the house, which appeared to be deserted, and found
themselves in an open space intersected only by low garden fences.

Max laid his hand on his friend's arm. "I am going to move quietly along
until I reach the back of the house where those curs are at work," he
said in a hard, suppressed voice. "I must do something, but do not you
come, Dale. There is no need for you----"

"I am already in it, I tell you," almost shouted Dale as he impatiently
shook him off. "It's as much my affair as yours. Come on."

The two made their way rapidly but cautiously along until they reached
the house they sought. The doors were open at the back, and the shouts
and screams were almost as audible there as at the front.

"We have no weapons; let us arm ourselves with these," cried Max,
pointing to some blocks of ornamental quartz bordering a little fernery.
Even in the midst of his excitement it struck Max how strangely the
orderliness of the tiny, well-kept garden seemed to contrast with the
deeds of violence being committed outside.

Rapidly but quietly the two lads filled hands and pockets with the heavy
missiles. Then they crept inside the house and up the stairs to the
floor above. The house was quite empty, for all within had rushed or
been dragged to the scene in front.

The bedroom windows were wide open, and the instant they entered both
lads began with one impulse to hurl with all their strength the great
stones upon the German soldiery below. They were both wild with rage at
what they had witnessed, and utterly reckless what fate might ultimately
be theirs, so long as they could inflict some punishment upon the
cowardly wrongdoers.

[Illustration: BOTH LADS BEGAN TO HURL THE GREAT STONES UPON THE GERMAN
SOLDIERY]

The soldiers, completely taken aback by this sudden rain of missiles
almost from the skies, immediately scattered to the opposite side of the
road and took refuge in the gardens there. Not one of them had his rifle
to hand, for their arms had been stacked against the wall of the house
they were attacking, and even the man who had fired at Max and Dale had
put down his rifle once more. Thus, for the moment, the soldiers were
impotent, and Max shouted rapidly in the Walloon dialect to the women
below to release the man tied to the railings and escape through the
house.

With a promptitude that was wholly admirable, one of the women drew a
pair of scissors from her pocket and cut the cords that bound the man to
the fence. With a cry of joy the poor fellow staggered to his feet. But,
stiffened by his bonds or exhausted by the cruel treatment he had
received, he could barely stand, and had to be half supported and half
dragged by two of the women back into the house.

"Tell them to be off, Dale," cried Max rapidly. "I will hold back these
men for a minute. Take them right through into the street beyond and get
them out of sight. I will follow in a moment."

Dale obeyed, and under his guidance the whole party made their way
rapidly through the house, into the gardens, and through the houses
opposite into the road beyond. At the disappearance of their prey the
soldiers set up a howl of rage, and made a concerted rush for their
weapons. But Max redoubled his efforts, and, his supply of quartz
exhausted, rained down upon them jugs, mirrors, pictures, and everything
movable he could lay hands upon, holding them in check for a few
precious moments. Then, after one final fling, he bolted from the room
into the bedroom at the back and leapt out of the window. Landing in a
flower-bed unhurt, he rushed without a pause at the low garden fence in
front of him, cleared it at a bound, and dashed through the house
opposite in the wake of Dale and the fugitive people.

Meanwhile, out in the roadway, the soldiers had seized their weapons,
and, hardly knowing what to expect, poured two or three volleys into the
empty house. Then they cautiously reconnoitred, and by the time they had
come to the conclusion that the house was indeed empty, the fugitives
were completely beyond their reach. Characteristically enough, they
vented their rage and disappointment on the inanimate objects within
their reach. The crash of furniture soon rose above their shouts of
fury, and in the end smoke rolled from the windows and poured upwards to
the sky as a silent witness to the new spirit that had come to dominate
the land.

Max and Dale hurried the people they had rescued away from the scene of
the outbreak, and would not allow them to slacken speed until they had
put a mile of streets between them and their savage foes. It was then,
Max judged, high time to find a haven of refuge of some sort, for, with
one exception, the women were half crazed with fear and the man quite
exhausted with ill-usage. Any German soldiers or spies who passed them
could hardly fail to remark that they were fugitives, and they would
soon find themselves in as bad a case as before. Questioning a woman who
still retained a show of self-possession, Max learned that they had
friends in another part of the town, and towards their house he promptly
directed their retreat.

Without further misadventure they reached the house they sought, and Max
and Dale saw their charges safely inside the door. Then they hurried
away, for it was obviously dangerous both for them and for the fugitives
to be in one another's company a moment longer than necessary. Thanks
were not thought of; the rescued were not ungrateful but were altogether
too upset for expression, and the rescuers were only thankful to have
been of use, without a thought of anything else.

"By George, Max, how I did enjoy that!" cried Dale with enthusiasm, as
they turned their steps once more towards the works. "I feel an inch
taller, and can face the world as an honest man."

"Aye, Jack, I feel like that too. How should we have felt had we let
that business go on unchecked?"

"And it has done a bit of good, too, I imagine. Those cowardly Germans
will not forget that rain of quartz in a hurry, and may leave the poor
folk alone another time."

"I am not so sure. But the question is, what are we going to do now? We
cannot go on casting shells which will be certain to be seized by the
Germans. If we make railway material it will only be used to convey
soldiers into the field against our men. No. I must see Schenk, and get
him to close all branches of the works that might be of use to the
enemy. That is the only thing to be done. Then I shall try to get
through to join the Belgian army."

"And I too, Max. I will join with you. We have started on this business
together and we will finish it together."




CHAPTER VII

A Few Words with M. Schenk


Arrived at the Durend works, Max went straight to M. Schenk's office.
Two men, whom Max had not seen before, were coming out as he entered,
but the manager was at that moment alone. He looked up as Max came in,
and, when he saw who it was, smiled in a way that our hero did not
altogether like. It seemed less a smile of welcome than of tolerant
amusement, and instead of commencing diplomatically, as he had intended,
Max burst out rather heatedly:

"Monsieur Schenk, we must close the works. We cannot go on making shells
now that the Germans are in occupation of Liege. It is not loyal to
Belgium, and I am certain my mother would not wish us to do such a
thing."

The manager gazed at Max almost blankly for a moment, as though quite
taken by surprise. Then he smiled again, almost pityingly, as he
replied:

"I do not think you understand the position, Monsieur Max. The Germans
are now masters here, and what they order us that we must do. The German
commander only an hour ago sent word that he would hold the heads of the
firm responsible for any decrease in the output of the Durend works; so
what can I do? Would it help Belgium if you and I were replaced by men
from Krupp's? No; it were better that we--or at any rate I--remain, so
that the firm's interests are not wholly forgotten."

"But if we refuse to work, the workmen will do so too," cried Max
earnestly. "If we continue at work, they may continue also. We have an
example of patriotism to set, and set it we must."

"Bah! If Krupp's run these works the workmen will have to work, make no
mistake on that point. Now, Monsieur Max, pray leave me, for I must to
work again. You may rest assured that I am looking after the interests
of the firm. Think no more about such matters, but take heed to
yourself, for your end will be swift indeed if the Germans think you
actively hostile to their occupation of the town."

"I care not," cried Max recklessly. "Let them take us both and let
Krupp's take over the firm--at least our hands will be clean of
treachery to our country. Once more, Monsieur Schenk, as my mother's
representative, I appeal to you not to aid the enemy by running the
works for their help and benefit."

The manager snorted indignantly. "_I_ am responsible here, and I am
going to exercise my own judgment," he cried sharply. "And now, leave
me. You are too young to discuss these matters and you weary me."

Turning round sharply on his heel, Max left the room. He had never been
spoken to like that before, and it cut him to the heart. He wanted time
to think out the situation and to make up his mind what action he should
take. True, this man was manager and entrusted with great powers; but
Max stood to some extent in the position of owner, and that he should be
treated thus seemed an indignity in the highest degree. It was a relief
to pour his woes into the ear of the faithful Dale, and together these
two paced through the yard, conning over earnestly all the bearings of
the situation. It was while they were thus engaged that a fleet of
thirty or forty great military motor-lorries rattled by.

"The beginning," cried Max bitterly, nodding towards them.

"Yes, I fear so. I wonder what they are after?"

"Let us follow and see. We may as well know the worst."

The wagons came to a stand alongside one of the largest of the stacks of
empty shells which now dotted the yard, and, with a promptitude that
showed that everything had been arranged beforehand, the tarpaulins that
covered the stacks were thrown aside and the shells passed one by one
into the wagons.

"Now that seems queer to me," remarked Dale, as he watched the men with
a thoughtful face. "What can the Germans want with shells that will only
fit the Belgian guns! Queer, I call it."

"They may be going to use them in the captured guns," replied Max. "Let
us look in again at the casting-shops and see if they have started on
shells for German guns. 'Pon my word I have half a mind to appeal to the
men to cease work, strange as it would be coming from the owner's son
while the manager of the works made no sign. The place is running at top
speed too--see, Dale?"

It was evident that there was no relaxation here. The whole of the
buildings and furnaces engaged in the castings were simply humming with
energy, and when they entered the nearest door they were amazed. Double
the number of men that were at work the day before were now engaged and
were working with an intensity that seemed inexplicable to Max.

As they entered, one of the foremen came up to them.

"Keep a still tongue, Dale," muttered Max beneath his breath.

"You are late, Monsieur," he said, addressing Max and gazing at him
somewhat closely. "Are you going to work this morning?"

"I think not," replied Max, shrugging his shoulders. "I see you are
pretty well full up with men."

"Yes, we have had a lot more hands placed at our disposal here. I
estimate that we shall turn out at least three times as many shells as
yesterday."

"The new men are German-speaking, of course?"

"Of course. This business will be profitable for the firm no doubt?" The
man looked at Max as though not quite certain of the state of affairs.

"Undoubtedly. Has Monsieur Schenk given any orders for a change in the
calibre of the shells?"

"No. We are still on the same gauge. But I suppose we shall be making
all sizes soon. There is no help for it, of course; we must submit to
the inevitable?"

Max turned away. "This trebling of output does not seem like unwilling
submission to the inevitable, Dale," he whispered savagely. "Come, let
us get out of this--I'm choking here. The place reeks to me of
treachery. If I had the strength of Samson I would bring the roof down
and bury the whole villainous crew beneath the ruins."

"There's certainly something dirty going on," agreed Dale. "But if we're
not Samsons we have strength enough to put a spoke in their wheel, I
fancy. Let us wait a bit and see."

In savage silence the two lads left the casting-shops and walked
mechanically on towards the buildings which had been engaged on
peace-time work. Here all was quiet and almost deserted. Only a machine
here and there was running, and at first they thought that the whole of
the workmen had been diverted to the other shops. But at the farther end
of the yard they presently noticed groups of men congregated together,
much as they were wont to do in the dinner interval. But it was not the
dinner interval now.

"What's the matter here? This looks as though some part of Schenk's
plans had gone awry. Are they dismissed, or are they refusing to work?"

"Refusing to work, by the look of the armed guards yonder," replied Max,
nodding towards a body of German soldiers, a dozen or more strong,
posted at a corner of one of the buildings within easy reach of the
entrance. "Let us have a talk with one or two of the men and find out
what's afoot."

"Aye, but don't let our German friends see us talking to them. They will
think it a conspiracy."

The two lads joined themselves to one of the groups, and began
questioning them as to the reason for their presence there instead of in
the workshops. But somehow the men seemed to view Max and Dale with
coldness and suspicion, and either refused to reply or answered in
sullen monosyllables. Max was about to turn away, in disappointed
perplexity, when he noticed the man Dubec. In sudden relief he appealed
to him to tell him what was happening.

"It is because we will not work if the goods are to be seized by the
Germans. We are true Belgians--not like those traitors who fill the
shell-shops--and we cannot work against our country."

"And you are right," cried Max warmly. "I am with you heart and soul."

"Huh! But what our men cannot understand is why the firm does not close
down. Why is it left to us poor workmen to show our patriotism? Why does
not the firm take the lead? We would stand by them to the death if need
be."

"I believe you," cried Max, with difficulty gulping down the lump that
rose in his throat. What a cur he felt--he, the owner in the sight of
these men, helpless to influence in the slightest degree the affairs of
the great works called by his name. "But, lads--to my shame I say it--I
am helpless. I am but just come from demanding of Monsieur Schenk that
the works should be closed. He will not hear of it, and it is he who has
the power, not I. And behind him stand the Germans. I can do nothing,
and I feel the shame of it more than I can say."

Max's voice trembled with earnestness and sincerity, and the men clearly
believed him. Their cold looks vanished, and the one or two near him
seized him by the hands and wrung them vigorously.

"That is good, Monsieur. We are glad to hear that you are for us. It
makes our stand easier now that we know that the owners at least are on
our side. As for that Schenk, we have always hated him as a tyrant, and
now we doubly hate him as a traitor as well."

"Aye," broke in another of the men, "he is the cause of the mischief.
And we have sworn not to work so long as the Germans hold the town. If
we were ready to strike and suffer long for wages, will we not do so for
the good of our country?"

The man gazed round at his comrades, who gave a half-cheer in answer to
his appeal. The attention of the German guards was attracted by the
sound, and the non-commissioned officer in charge instantly ordered his
men to advance on the offending party.

"Disperse!" cried Max and one or two more, and the group broke up, most
of the men walking out of the yard into the open road. The regular tramp
of heavy-booted feet and harsh commands that followed them were a
further reminder, if one were needed, of the utter change that had come
over the scene of their humble daily toil.




CHAPTER VIII

Treachery!


"What is to be our next move, Max?" enquired Dale presently, after they
had walked almost mechanically nearly a mile from the Durend works
upwards towards the hills on the western side of the town. Twice he had
to repeat his question, for Max was too immersed in thoughts bitter and
rebellious to pay much heed.

"I care not where we go, Jack. For me everything seems to have come to
an end."

"I know, I know, Max, just how you feel; but do not give way to it.
There is Belgium to live for; and you have what I have not--a mother.
Let us go home and think things out."

"I cannot rest at home, Dale--yet. Let us walk on for a while. We shall
feel free on this side of the town. Thank God, the forts here are still
holding out, and the Germans have not yet over-run the countryside.
Presently we shall reach the Crofts, and we will sit in the cottage or
the old summer-house while we talk it all over."

On the western side of the town, at a distance of some six miles or so,
Madame Durend owned a little old-fashioned cottage, picturesquely
planted in a large garden and wood. It was a favourite resort of the
family in summer-time, and Max and Dale had had their full share of its
pleasures. For one thing, there was an asphalt tennis-court there which
had claimed a large part of their spare time, not to mention that of
Max's sister and her friends.

Avoiding the road, in order to lessen their chance of encountering enemy
patrols, Max and his friend travelled across fields and along bypaths
towards the cottage. They had come to within half a mile or so of the
place when they were startled beyond measure, and almost stunned, by a
tremendous report like the explosion of an enormous gun. It was close at
hand, too, and seemed to come from the general direction of the cottage.
Almost immediately there was another similar report, followed by others
at a greater distance. Max and Dale looked at one another significantly.

"Attacking either Fort Loncin or Fort Hollogne," said Max resignedly. "I
wonder we have got so far unnoticed."

"Yes; but now we are here we may as well see the fun. Let us go to the
Crofts, and climb the big oak as of yore. We shall see everything from
there."

"And be seen too, I'm thinking. Never mind; I feel reckless enough for
anything this afternoon."

"Well, reckless or no, we may as well move cautiously. Let us keep well
under cover of this hedge. Whew! What a row there is!"

As the two friends drew nearer to the cottage they became convinced that
not only was the firing taking place quite near the Crofts, but that it
was going on in the very garden itself. Closer and closer they crept,
their curiosity keenly whetted by this unexpected discovery, until they
reached a little clump of thick undergrowth which overlooked the garden.
Here the greatest discovery of all awaited them.

Two big 28-cm. guns were in position in the centre of the garden, and
being loaded and fired without a moment's respite. The sight was
fascinating--nay, awe-inspiring--enough, but to the two lads the thing
that most caught and fixed their attention was the fact that both guns
were planted full on their asphalted tennis-court. To Dale this was
merely curious, but to Max it had a significance so terrible and
nerve-shaking that it was all he could do to prevent himself crying out.

"What's the matter, Max?" cried Dale in alarm, as he caught a glimpse of
his friend's pale, drawn face and staring eyes.

"Come away--quick! Let us get away and I will tell you," cried Max in a
hoarse voice, and, followed by his friend, he sped swiftly from the
scene towards a thick wood a short distance away. Once well within the
shelter of its leafy screen, he stopped and faced Dale excitedly, his
face aflame.

"That scoundrel Schenk! He is at the bottom of it all. He is a paid
traitor and spy of the German Government, and, fool that I was, I never
saw it before!"

"Why, what has happened to tell you this? A traitor I dare say he is,
but why so suddenly sure?"

"That tennis-court. Do you know that Schenk, when he heard we were
thinking of one, pressed us to have an asphalt one for use in all
weathers. He saw to it himself, and dug down six feet for the
foundations. I asked him why he was doing that, and he said he had a lot
of material, concrete or something, over from something else--I didn't
take much notice what it was--and that it would make it all the better.
It was all a ruse to lay down solid concrete gun-platforms ready to blow
our forts to pieces. The utter scoundrel!"

"Ah! And that was why he replaced the Walloon and Flemish workmen by
naturalized Germans! I see. He wanted to have men he could be sure of
and to have the works ready for running without a hitch directly the
Germans entered. And the shells----"

"Yes," almost shouted Max, grasping his friend roughly by the arm, "yes,
their calibre will be that of German, not Belgian, guns! They never were
for Belgian guns! That was why they were kept covered up so closely in
the yard."

"Phew! It was a risky game to play; but no doubt he expected the town to
fall quickly--perhaps even more quickly than it did."

"And there are other things," Max went on in a quieter tone. "Why was it
Schenk persuaded us to go to Germany instead of to Holland for our
holiday? Why--why? Simply because he wanted to get us out of the way.
Then do you remember those men who were captured after trying to
assassinate General Leman in the town? I thought I had seen two or three
of them somewhere before. I remember now. They were some of the workmen
of the shell-shops, and one was a foreman. The plot was hatched by
Schenk, not a doubt of it."

"Not a shadow of a doubt. The whole business is as plain as a pikestaff.
But who would have dreamed of such devilish forethought? He must have
been planning it for years!"

"Yes, he has been my father's right-hand man for nine or ten years at
least. He must have come for no other purpose--and my father never knew
it! How glad I am my mother is out of it all, safe and sound."

For some time the two friends discussed the great discovery in all its
bearings. Matters stood out in a fresh perspective, and one of the first
things to appear prominently was the peril in which both of them now
stood. In peril from the Germans they had known they stood, but the
peril from Schenk was new and far greater. At any moment he might come
to the conclusion that their continued presence about the works or in
the town was inconvenient, and denounce them as hostile to the
occupation. In fact--and a bitter realization it was--they were only
saved from this by the manager's contempt of them as adversaries and his
calm assurance that they were really not worth considering one way or
the other.

"Well, Max," said Dale at last, "what line are we now going to take? It
is time we made up our minds once and for all. We are clearly outclassed
by this Schenk--he holds all the cards--and the best thing we can do is
to make tracks to join the Belgian army before it is too late to get
away."

"Yes, Dale, that is the best thing--for you. Only _I_ cannot come with
you. You go and join the British army. My place is here more than ever,
and leave it I will not."

"Come now, Max, don't be obstinate! There is nothing to be done here.
You are absolutely helpless pitted against Schenk and his friends the
Germans. You must recognize it. Come with me and we will see what we can
do for the good cause elsewhere."

Max shook his head decidedly. His face was very downcast, and it was
clear to his friend that he felt most keenly the way in which his
father's name and resources had been exploited by the enemies of their
country; but his lips were firmly set, and in his eyes was the steady
look Dale remembered so well during the dark days of the struggle for
Benson's. Benson's! The recollection brought back again to Dale the
words spoken by the master at the close of the races: "Fixity of
purpose ... there is almost nothing that fixity of purpose will not
accomplish."

"No," Max said simply, after a moment's pause, "I am going to keep watch
and ward over the Durend workshops. Cost what it may I am going, by all
means in my power, to hinder the use of them for the enemy's purposes.
What influence I have--little enough I fear--with the real Belgian
workmen, I will exert to keep them from aiding Schenk. The works are
mine--I speak for my mother--and I will not hesitate to destroy them if
I find opportunity. There must be many ways in which I can make trouble,
and I am going to strain every nerve to do so. Let Schenk look out; it
is war to the knife!"

"Hurrah!" cried Dale excitedly. Then he went on in a sober tone: "But it
is risky work, Max. Schenk will very soon suspect us--he has agents and
spies everywhere, you may be sure."

"We must be as cunning as he is--more so. We must outdo him at his own
game. We--I, I should say, for you must go back to England--I am going
to disappear and emerge as a simple workman, with German sympathies of
course. Then the fight will begin."

"Yes, and I'm in it, Max," cried Dale joyously. "I wouldn't miss it for
worlds. It sounds good enough for anything. To outwit the Germans is
great, but to outwit Schenk is ten times better. Come along, let's get
to work."

"All right!" cried Max, smiling at his friend's enthusiasm. "We'll get
back at once, and, as a start, go home and fetch away some of our
things. It will have to be the last time we go there."

Quickly, and yet with caution, the two lads retraced their steps to the
town. They knew every foot of the country, and, though there were
numerous patrolling parties of Germans between them and the town, they
were able to pass them without difficulty. At the door of his house one
of the servants met Max and handed him a note.

"A young man brought it, Monsieur, an hour ago. He has come all the way
from Maastricht with it. It is from Madame, your mother, and he said it
was very important."

Rapidly Max tore away the cover and opened the missive. His senses were
perhaps preternaturally sharpened, for he felt a sense of foreboding.
After many fond messages, and repeated injunctions that he would take
care of himself and not offend the Germans, the note went on:

"And now, Max, I want to tell you something that distresses me
extremely, though I have hopes that it may be all a mistake. When I
left, bringing only a few things and a purse with such money as I had by
me at the moment, M. Schenk, on my explicit instructions, assured me
that he would arrange at once for a large sum of money to be transferred
to my account at the Maastricht Bank. I have been there repeatedly,
asking about it, but none of the officials know anything of the matter.
They say they have not been approached, and though they have enquired of
other banks in the place they can learn no tidings. They have been very
good to me, for, hearing who I was, they advanced me a small sum for my
immediate use. Will you now please see M. Schenk and have this
matter--which is so distressing--put right?"

Max clenched the paper in his hand. The blood flooded up into his head
with such force that he had to put his hand against the doorpost to
steady himself.

"What's the matter?" cried Dale, again in alarm at the look on his face.
"Is it bad news?"

"Aye--the worst--the blackest treachery," cried Max in a voice which
trembled with the intensity of his emotion. "I must see Schenk--and
wring from him the money he has stolen," and, turning impetuously on his
heel, Max strode rapidly away from the house in the direction of the
works.

Dale darted after him and caught him up. "You must do nothing rash,
Max," he cried earnestly. "Wait a while until you are calm; you are no
match for Schenk like that. Let us walk slowly along while you tell me
what has happened."

Max thrust at him the crumpled letter. Then in a few broken words he
told him, what was scarcely needed, that the manager had tricked his
mother into leaving the country, and had then left her stranded without
a penny to live upon. The baseness of it all came as a shock, even on
the top of their knowledge of the man's deep treachery.

"There's more behind it, I believe," said Dale, after a few minutes'
cogitation in silence. "I think this may be a lever to get _you_ out of
the country. He will think you will be compelled to go to your mother
and work for her support."

"He knows he can get me out of the way at any time by denouncing me to
the Germans," replied Max in dissent. "No--that will not explain it. But
as sure as I live I will wring the truth from him before another hour is
gone."

Dale gazed in some apprehension at his friend as he strode feverishly
along towards the Durend works. He feared that he might, in his anger,
do some rash act that would destroy all. But presently, to his relief,
he saw that he was regaining control over his feelings, and, by the time
they reached the works, he seemed his usual self again. The only
evidence of his past emotion was to be found in his somewhat gloomy
looks and in lips tightly compressed as though to hold in check feelings
that struggled for an outlet.




CHAPTER IX

The Opening of the Struggle


The manager was in his room, and stared in some alarm at Max and his
friend as they strode unceremoniously in. Then he touched a bell and his
secretary entered.

"Remain at the door, Erbo. I shall want you in a moment," he said
coolly.

It was a declaration of distrust, if not war, and both sides knew it. It
robbed Max's words of any circumlocution he might otherwise have used,
and he went straight to the point.

"You have not sent my mother the money that she instructed you to send,
Monsieur Schenk. Why is that?"

The manager cleared his throat. "The German commander has forbidden any
moneys to be sent out of the country, Monsieur Max, and it is
unfortunately now impossible for me to do so."

"I have not heard of any such order. But why did you not do it before
the Germans entered? You had ample time."

"I gave instructions, but the tremendous pressure a day or two before
the Germans entered--you know how I worked to cast shells for our armies
and the garrisons of the forts--caused it to be overlooked. I regret
this very much, but it is now too late to do anything."

The manager looked squarely and unblushingly at Max as he boasted of the
way in which he had aided the Belgian troops, and the latter was hard
put to it to keep back the torrent of wrathful words that rose to his
lips. But other and more pressing matters claimed attention just now,
and, choking down his indignation, he replied temperately:

"It is _not_ too late, Monsieur Schenk. Hand me the necessary moneys or
securities and I will convey them to Maastricht. My mother must not be
left destitute."

The manager shook his head decidedly. "No, Monsieur Max, I cannot do
that. You would be certain to be taken, and I should have to pay the
greater share of the penalty. No, I cannot think of it; but there _is_ a
way out of the difficulty which would indeed simplify matters in another
direction. You are in great danger here and are doing no good. Go to
Maastricht and support your good mother. I will obtain for you a
passport through the Germans and a letter to a friend of mine who will
see that you secure well-paid work. Yes, that is the best way out of the
difficulty, Monsieur Max, and you and your mother will live to rejoice
at having taken it."

"If your friend can get me well-paid work, can he not advance money to
my mother, Monsieur Schenk?"

"No, he is in a position to get you a berth, but he has no great means.
Come now, Monsieur Max, be guided by me and leave Liege without delay.
The works are running splendidly, and I shall have a good account to
give of my stewardship after the war."

The man's cool effrontery and the tone of lofty regard for the interests
of the owners of the Durend works almost stunned Max, and for a moment
he could but stare at him in dumb astonishment. That his faithful
stewardship of the Durend works now ran counter to the vital interests
of the country seemed not to matter to him one straw. Ceasing to plead
his mother's cause, Max asked with sudden directness:

"How is it, Monsieur Schenk, that the shells we are casting for the
Belgian guns will not fit them, but yet do fit the German guns?"

It was a shot at a venture, but it went home. The manager was obviously
taken aback, although he recovered himself almost instantly as he
replied:

"You have noticed that then? Yes, there was a misunderstanding about the
size with the commandant. Apparently he was speaking about the calibre
of the shells thrown against the forts, when I was under the impression
he was discussing the calibre of the shells most urgently required for
use. It was a ridiculous mistake, but not so strange when one considers
the turmoil and confusion of those early days."

At this Max could contain himself no longer. "Monsieur Schenk--Herr
Schenk, I should say--you are a traitor to Belgium, and I denounce you
here and now. You are a base schemer, and the biggest scoundrel in
Liege, if not in Belgium. You have the upper hand at present, but I
declare to you that I shall spare no pains in the distant future to
bring you to justice and to see that you get your deserts. I know your
plans--or some of them. The concrete tennis-court--the filling of the
shops with German workmen, the plot against General Leman, and, greatest
of all, the fearful shell treachery. Oh, the shame of it should tell,
even upon a German!"

It certainly seemed to tell a little upon M. Schenk. He gasped, flushed
up, and opened his mouth, apparently to deny the accusations. Then he
apparently thought better of it, for he controlled himself by an effort
and replied coldly:

"Very well, Monsieur Max; it is war between us, I see. And it will soon
end--in your discomfiture!"

"We shall see. Good day, Herr Schenk!"

This mode of addressing him seemed to sting the manager more than
anything else, for he burst out angrily:

"Fool of a boy! Do you think to measure your puny strength with mine?
Bah! I shall crush you before ever you can raise your hand against me.
As for my name, Herr Schenk suits me well enough. I am a German, and I
hate these decadent peoples we call Belgians. Let Germany rule--she is
strong and virile, and before her the world must--and shall--bow down.
You, whether you call yourself English or Belgian, shall know what it is
to have your country crushed and beaten, and to have brains--German
brains--to direct and rule you. Go--and see if I'm not right."

"I am going--and going to do my best to prove you wrong," replied Max
proudly as he strode quickly from the room. Dale followed him, venting
his own indignation, as he turned away, by shaking his fist full in the
manager's face.

       *       *       *       *       *

"We must not dally here," cried Max as they left the building. "We had
better make ourselves scarce at once. We have burnt our boats, and both
Schenk and the Germans will be after us from now onwards."

"And a good job too," replied Dale, who did not appear at all alarmed at
the prospect. "The fight now begins."

"Quick--round here," cried Max, turning a corner sharply. "Let us lose
ourselves in these narrow streets for a while. We will then go to Madame
Dubec's."

"Madame Dubec's?"

"Yes, we must not go home. Madame Dubec--the wife of the man whose life
I saved, you remember--she will shelter us for a day or two while we
look about us. We will get her or her husband to buy us rough clothes,
so that we can pass as workmen. We must not go about like this any
longer."

"Aye, we must act the part of honest sons of toil. Always have a spanner
sticking out of a pocket, and a hunk of bread and cheese tied up in a
coloured handkerchief in our hands. Hurrah!"

Madame Dubec gave them a quiet but sincere welcome, and for the
remainder of the day and the following night they sheltered beneath her
roof. She was anxious that they should stay permanently with her, when
she learned that they were in danger, but neither Max nor Dale would
hear of it. Should Schenk or the Germans learn that she had sheltered
them it might go hard with her, and neither cared to contemplate such a
thing. As soon, therefore, as they had been provided with workmen's
clothes, they took a room in a poor quarter of the town well away from
the Durend works and made active preparations for their campaign.
Although Max had not dared to go to his home to fetch any of his
belongings, he had managed to get a few of the more necessary things by
sending one of Madame Dubec's daughters with a note to one of the
domestics whom he knew he could trust.

To Max, the great campaign he had in mind against Schenk and the Germans
was momentarily eclipsed by the urgent need for doing something to
relieve the distress of his mother and sister. He tried at first to
think of friends, who, knowing the value of their property, might be
disposed to advance a sufficient sum of money upon its security. It was
in the midst of these reflections, and the angry thoughts of Schenk that
naturally coloured them, that a wild and desperate idea occurred to him.
He dismissed it at first as an absurdity, but the thought kept coming
back again, until, weary of resisting it, he allowed his mind to dwell
upon it at will. It was while heedlessly immersed in these rambling
thoughts that a sudden recollection came which considerably altered the
aspect of affairs. From a wild and desperate dream it changed into a
project, difficult and perilous indeed, but one by no means hopeless of
achievement. In the end it took such firm hold upon him that he thought
it out seriously and at last unfolded it to Dale.

That worthy welcomed it with such unbounded admiration and delight that
the question as to whether it should or should not be attempted was
settled out of hand, and the preparations for carrying it into effect
promptly begun.

The project was, briefly, to go and take by a _coup de main_ the moneys
belonging to his mother that Schenk had wrongfully and treacherously
refused to hand over. It seemed a most risky venture, but Max had a
recollection that his father long ago had entrusted to his mother the
duplicate key of his safe in case anything should at any time happen to
him. It had never been used, and his mother, likely enough, had almost
forgotten she possessed it. Nevertheless, Max believed it was still in
her possession, and he resolved to settle the point by sending a
messenger to fetch it. More important still, he believed that Schenk was
quite unaware of its existence. If the key could be secured it would
simplify matters immensely, and, as Max was naturally familiar with the
building in which the manager's office was situated, the enterprise was
one which seemed likely to succeed if resolutely attempted. The safe, he
knew, ought to contain all the money and securities of the firm, unless,
indeed, Schenk had already handed them over to the Germans. This did not
seem likely, however, and Max would not allow so disappointing a thought
to interfere with his calculations.

Monsieur Dubec's eldest daughter was promptly dispatched to Madame
Durend with a letter asking for the key. Max entered into no details,
and his mother may possibly have supposed that M. Schenk's failure to
send her the money he had promised was due to the loss of the original
key. At any rate, to the delight both of Max and Dale, the key duly
arrived the following day.

Tools were needed, and these were of course easily obtained. Max, as we
have seen, had been through most of the shops in the Durend concern, and
knew how to use almost any tool as well as the best of the firm's
mechanics. No difficulties, therefore, were to be anticipated on that
score. In fact, the more the details of the scheme were discussed the
more feasible it seemed and the more the spirits of the two plotters
rose.

The third night after the break with Schenk, Max and Dale set out from
their lodging at midnight and made their way to the Durend workshops.
Dale was carrying a good-sized bag, in which was a lantern and an
assortment of tools and other articles, one or two of them of such a
nature that to be stopped and the bag examined would have been fatal to
their liberty of movement for many a long day. It was, therefore,
necessary for them to move with caution, and Max accordingly went on a
hundred yards ahead, ready to give the agreed signal--a stumble forward
on the pavement--whenever it was advisable for Dale to disappear.

The offices of the Durend Company were situated in a separate building
just inside the main entrance gates. The latter were ordinarily guarded
by a watchman, but since the Germans had entered Liege a guard of German
soldiers had been established there, and the sentinel on his beat passed
within view of the front and two sides of the offices. It was pretty
obvious, therefore, that the rear of the building would have to be the
part attacked.

It was close on one o'clock when Max and Dale scaled the outer wall well
away from the entrance, and moved cautiously up to the rear of the
building which was their objective. They had had only one alarm so far,
and this had been so easily disposed of that they had begun to feel
quite elated.

"This window gives access to the drawing-office, Dale, and ought to suit
us well. Give me a lift on to the sill, and hand up the tools."

In a surprisingly short space of time the window was forced open, and
Max clambered into the room. A whispered word, and Dale handed up the
bag and sprang quietly up after it.

"Heat No. 1 pulled off at a paddle," commented Dale exultingly.

"The door is open, as I expected," whispered Max, who was too intent
upon the work in hand to heed his friend's playfulness. "Now I will
light the lantern and we will go upstairs. The door of the manager's
room is sure to be locked, but we shall make short work of that."

As Max expected, the door was locked, but they had come provided with
tools for all eventualities, and in ten minutes the whole of the bottom
panels right up to the framework had been neatly sawn out in one piece.
Through the aperture the two lads crept, drawing the bag through after
them.

"Heat No. 2 won by a dozen lengths," cried Dale joyously.

The room was a fairly large one, and contained the manager's desk, a
really handsome piece of furniture which had been Max's father's, two or
three tables, bookcases, a screen, and a large and massive safe.

Max lost no time. Setting Dale to keep watch and ward at the window
which commanded a view of the entrance-gates, he placed the lantern on
the desk, so that its light fell upon the safe, and then advanced upon
it, key in hand. This was the crucial moment. Had Schenk appropriated
the money and securities committed to his charge, or were they still
there, awaiting the strange midnight visit from their rightful owner? It
was, indeed, a strong indictment of the methods of the invaders that the
legitimate owner should have to come by stealth at dead of night, while
the unfaithful steward could do as he listed in the broad glare of day.

Max's hand trembled, and the lock seemed to stick. Then the lever seemed
to jamb, until he feared that, after all, something had happened that
would balk him at the last moment. But it was only his momentary
nervousness, and the door swung ponderously open at last.

"Well, Max, how goes it?" enquired Dale excitedly, turning to watch his
friend as he explored the open safe.

"All's well, I think. It seems full enough."

"Semi-final won by a clear length--eh?" cried Dale in great glee. "Seems
a regular walk-over. If we want any real excitement we shall have to go
and throw stones at the German guard."

"We haven't done yet," replied Max more soberly, though his voice was
confident enough. "Here, I'm not going to examine all these papers and
documents now. I'm going to cram the whole lot into the bag and be off.
We can see what our capture is when we get back to our room."

"Right you are. By George, though, what's that?"

Both stood stock-still and listened. The sound of voices and the tramp
of feet upon the stairs was plainly audible.

Max darted an angry look at Dale. In the excitement of the opening of
the safe the latter had forgotten that he was on guard at the window,
and no doubt this was the result. "You see, Dale?" he cried sharply.

"I'm sorry, old man," replied Dale miserably.

"No matter. Cram these things into the bag while I lock the safe. Mind,
not a sound!"

The safe locked, Max sprang noiselessly to the door, replaced the
cut-out panels and secured them in position, against anything but a blow
or strong pressure, by two or three sharp nails pressed in with his
fingers. Flight was out of the question, but it might be possible to
make good their escape later on if they could only hide themselves
successfully for a little while. For a hiding-place Max had no need to
look. He had played at hide-and-seek in that very room with his sister
years ago, too often to forget that the best shelter was inside the well
of his father's--now the manager's--desk.

The panels replaced, Max knelt down and gently blew away the tell-tale
sawdust. Then he turned and eagerly scanned the room. Dale had already
packed the bag, and was looking vainly round for a hiding-place.

"Under here--quick!" cried Max, indicating the desk, and in Dale
scrambled, dragging the precious bag after him. There was only one thing
left which needed to be disposed of, and that was the lantern. Max knew
that if he blew it out and hid it under the desk the smell would
inevitably betray them. Therefore he took it to the fire-place, blew it
out close under the chimney, and instantly thrust it as far up as his
arm would reach and lodged it there.

The noise of voices and the tramp of feet had, during the few moments
that these preparations had taken, been growing stronger, and the
lantern had scarcely been disposed of before the approaching persons
halted at the door. The rattle of keys, as someone--no doubt the
manager--drew a bunch from his pocket, could now be distinguished, and
as Max crawled in under the desk, and packed himself in on top of Dale,
the key turned in the lock.

Several men entered, talking together in the German tongue. One voice
only Max and Dale recognized, and that, as they expected, belonged to
the manager, Otto Schenk.

"... take severe measures against any workman adopting a hostile
attitude. Would this meet with approval in Highest quarters?"

"Certainly. You may rest assured, Herr von Schenkendorf, that the
Government of His Imperial Majesty has no intention of showing aught but
the utmost sternness and rigour towards the whole Belgian population,
whether workmen, property owners, or their families."

"Thank you, General."

"Serious consequences have ensued from the unexpected delay caused to
our armies by the resistance of the Belgian army, and it is the Belgians
who shall be made to pay for it. And to make them pay for it in a
literal sense is, as you know, the reason of my presence here now."

"True, General," replied the manager as he switched on the light; "but
if I am to develop these works to the utmost, and to support our armies
with ample supplies of guns and shells, I must be able to pay my
workmen."

"The gold and securities handed over will be replaced by notes of our
Imperial Reichsbank or by Belgian paper money, which I have good reason
to believe we shall shortly commence to manufacture. You will thus be as
well off as before, and the Government will have securities which it can
sell in neutral countries."

"Oh, I am not objecting, General! The plan is excellent, and should
yield much profit to our country. As for these Belgians, they have
brought it on themselves by their foolish obstinacy. Ha, ha! A large
part of the securities I am about to hand to you, General, were, by the
explicit instructions of the widow of Monsieur Durend, to have been sent
into Holland for her use. I thought I could find a better use for them
than that, however, and they will doubtless be made to render important
service to the Imperial Government. Only two days ago, too, that young
English cub, Monsieur Durend's son, attacked me in this room and
demanded money for his mother's use. I told him to go and work for her,
and sent him about his business."

There was a rumble of laughter, and the desk creaked as one of the
officers--there seemed two men beside M. Schenk--sat down on the side of
it.

"And what sum will it be, Herr von Schenkendorf? It must be a large one.
My Government will expect much from so large and prosperous a business."

"I can give you 1,500,000 marks in money and securities," replied the
manager as he drew his keys from his pocket and approached the safe. "If
you wish I will hand the sum to your aide-de-camp now."

"I do wish it, Herr von Schenkendorf," replied the officer decisively.

Max and Dale held their breaths in suspense as they heard the key turn
in the lock and the door of the safe swing heavily open. There was a
sharp exclamation, followed by a dull sound as though the manager had
flung himself down on his hands and knees, the better to peer into the
inside.

"Mein Gott!" he cried in a strangled voice. "Gone--all gone!"

"No tricks, sir!" cried the general in a rasping voice, getting up
suddenly from the desk on which he had been sitting. "I will not be
trifled with."

The manager made no reply, but Max could hear him breathing heavily and
fancied he caught a groan.

"What is the matter, von Schenkendorf? Have you been robbed?" demanded
the officer.

"Yes, General," replied the manager after a pause in which he vainly
endeavoured to find his voice. "Mein Gott--yes--robbed! How--I know not.
Last evening I left all----"

"Bah! You _are_ trifling with me!" cried the officer in a stern voice.
"This is altogether too opportune to be the result of accident. I come
to you demanding a contribution to His Imperial Majesty's exchequer and
you tell me you have just been robbed. I begin to have grave doubts of
your faithfulness to our cause."

"General," cried Schenk in a voice which positively trembled with
vexation, "General, I assure you that it is a pure coincidence. Never
before has the firm been robbed, and how or why it should happen now I
do not know. But it shall be fully investigated and I will leave no
stone unturned to recover possession of the valuables--be assured of
that."

"So! Well, well, you have had a good reputation with our Government in
the past and I will let matters rest for the moment," replied the
officer in a voice which contained more than a suspicion of a threat.
"By the way," he went on suddenly, his voice again taking on a rasping
tone, "I am no doubt right in assuming that those siege-gun plans which
I handed to you yesterday are in safe custody?"

"I will look after them, General, have no fear," responded Schenk in a
voice which made Max, who knew its usually firm tones so well, grasp the
bag on which he leaned with a sudden new affection. "I fully realize
their vast importance to our common cause."

Apparently the officer also noticed something amiss. "Show me the
plans," he replied curtly.

There was a few moments' suspense. Max could hardly suppress his impulse
to laugh aloud, for, although he could not see, he could picture without
the least difficulty the manager's utter misery and discomfiture.

"I have them not. They were with the valuables locked in the safe,"
replied Schenk in a stammering voice. "But, General, they shall be
recovered. I have agents everywhere, and no efforts shall be spared to
recover them."

The officer strode the length of the room and back. Then he sat heavily
down again on the side of the manager's desk, cleared his throat, and
responded slowly and impressively:

"This matter, Von Schenkendorf, is now beyond my powers. I must report
the matter to my Government. Till then you must not move from Liege
without my permission."

The manager made no reply.

"This room," the officer went on, "must be kept locked until it has been
thoroughly investigated by officers whom _I_ shall send. But you may
make such enquiries through your own agents as you think fit. If you
succeed, it will, of course, influence matters considerably to your
advantage."

"General," replied the manager humbly, "General, I will do so. But let
me beg you not to let this one mischance, which might have happened to
anyone, wipe out the recollection of my many great services to the
State."

"All shall be considered," replied the officer coldly as he strode
towards the door. It was obsequiously opened for him, and the three men
passed out, the manager locking the door behind them.

"Give me the key," demanded the officer. It was handed over, and the
party moved with heavy tread along the passage and down the stairs.




CHAPTER X

Getting Ready for Bigger Things


"Now for it, Dale; it's now or never," cried Max in a voice of
suppressed eagerness, as he emerged from under the desk the moment the
party of Germans moved away along the passage. "If we do not get clear
at once I rather think we never shall."

"Yes, we are what you might call 'right on the post' and rowing neck and
neck. 'Twill be a near thing whoever wins," replied Dale, again breaking
out into rowing jargon, as he was apt to do whenever excited.

"The prize is bigger than you imagine," responded Max, dragging out the
bag and glancing quickly about the room. "Could you follow what was said
well enough to understand why they rounded on Schenk, or Schenkendorf,
as his name seems to be?"

"No, old man, my German isn't nearly equal to the job, especially when
I'm submerged in trunks and desks."

"Well, among the papers we've stuffed into this bag are the plans of
some special siege-guns the Germans seem to set no small store on.
Schenk was just going to wire in making them, by the look of it. We've
upset the whole business, and if he isn't under arrest he's very near
it. But come along; we must get out of this."

The bottom panels of the door were quickly removed and Max and Dale
crawled through, carrying the now doubly precious bag with them. The
manager and the two officers had by this time reached the front entrance
of the building but appeared to have halted there and to be talking
earnestly together. Hastily removing their boots, Max and Dale crept
quietly down the stairs to the door of the drawing-office. They paused
and listened before opening it, and heard the party at the entrance
descend the steps, still talking together, and the scrunch of the gravel
under their feet as they strode away. Then, almost immediately, they
heard a harsh command and the rapid tramp of feet as the guard turned
out at the entrance to the works.

Max whipped open the door of the drawing-office and they entered and
closed it behind them. The window through which they had come an hour or
two before gaped before them, and they eagerly moved to it and peered
out. All seemed clear for the moment, but they could hear men in motion
somewhere, and in the passage they had just left they were startled to
hear the voice of the manager talking in a peremptory tone to someone,
one of the guard they imagined, and the tramp of their feet as they
passed the door and began ascending the stairs.

"Quick; jump out," whispered Max, and he assisted his friend to drop as
noiselessly as possible to the ground. Then he handed down the bag and
lowered himself down after it. In silence and in great trepidation they
sped towards the outer walls at the point at which they had entered.
Without mishap they helped one another up and over, and fled at the top
of their speed towards their lodging. At any moment they feared a
general alarm might be sounded, and the truest caution seemed to be to
throw caution momentarily to the winds.

They reached the door of their lodging in safety, and as they entered
Dale whispered triumphantly to his friend: "We've won the final too. By
George we have!"

       *       *       *       *       *

Day was just beginning to break as the two friends left the town on the
northward side and made their way across country towards the Dutch
frontier. They carefully avoided the roads, and their progress was slow;
but it was sure, and as soon as they were well away from the
neighbourhood of the town they regained the roads and made more rapid
progress. Before the day was out they reached Maastricht, and Max found
his mother and sister safe and sound, though indeed in great distress.

The relief of Madame Durend at the return of her son from beleaguered
Liege was intense. The stories told by the numerous refugees from the
towns and villages of Belgium were so terrible that she could not be
other than most anxious for his safety. Now he had arrived, and had
brought, she soon learned, sufficient funds to enable them all to live
in comfort and security for a long time.

But it was not until Max and his friend unfolded their story that she
fully realized in what peril they had been, and at what cost they had
been able to bring the much-needed assistance. Their story was indeed
amazing. Schenk a traitor, and Schenk outwitted! Priceless German plans
captured, and funds that the enemy had hoped to secure removed from
beyond their grasp! Madame Durend could not but be proud of her son's
exploits, but it was a pride with many a tremble at the frightful
dangers run.

A fuller examination of their captures revealed to Max and Dale how
valuable their prize had been, and sent them both hotfoot to the house
of the nearest British consul, into whose care they confided the
precious plans, with instructions that they wished them handed over to
the British War Office without delay.

A statement briefly describing who the captors were, and how the _coup_
had been brought about, was drawn up and signed, and, in high glee at
the shrewd blow struck against Schenk and his Germans, they returned
once more to the lodging of Madame and Mademoiselle Durend.

A few days spent there in safety, and almost in idleness, were, however,
sufficient to make Max and Dale, and especially the former, restless and
dissatisfied with their inactivity. The onward march of the Germans,
their terrible unscrupulousness and rapacity, and the tales of the
terrific fighting with the English and French vanguards reached their
ears and made them long to be doing something, however small, to aid the
great cause. Max, in addition, had a constant sense of irritation at the
thought that his father's great works were running night and day in the
interests of the Germans and to the vast injury of his own countrymen.
He could not get away from the feeling that he had a responsibility
towards the Durend works--a responsibility which he seemed in honour
bound to discharge. This feeling grew and grew until it became so
intolerable that he was impelled to announce to his mother that he must,
without delay, return to his post in the stricken city.

"But surely you have done enough, Max?" cried Madame Durend, almost in
consternation. "You are not yet of man's age, and ought not to think of
taking upon yourself such fearful tasks. It is no fault of yours that
our property is being used by the Germans. Many other factories and
workshops besides ours have been seized, and who can fairly put the
blame upon the owners?"

"I know, Mother," replied Max in a quiet voice, and with a far-away look
in his eyes. "I know it is no fault of ours. But our workmen--the
faithful and real Belgian workmen--are there bearing alone in silence
the pain and misery of seeing the great business they helped to create
worked to the destruction of their own liberties. They feel nothing so
much as the thought that their masters have deserted them, and left them
to fight the battle for their land and liberties alone. I must go back
and join them, if only to let them know we are with them, hand and foot,
heart and soul. I feel, Mother, that so long as one workman still holds
out against tyranny and oppression, the owners of the Durend workshops
must be by his side to give him both countenance and aid."

Max's voice grew stronger, and thrilled with a deeper and deeper
earnestness, as he went on. It was clear to each of his hearers that the
guardianship of his father's works had become the one great object and
aim of his existence. With such a burning, passionate desire in his
heart, it was almost impossible that he could be persuaded to abandon
his project if he were not to be rendered miserable for life, and Madame
Durend realized almost at once that she dare not attempt it. But the
thought of the desperate character of the undertaking made her mother's
heart sink with dread.

"I dare not say you nay, Max, my son," she said tremulously, after a
long pause, "for I should feel that I was setting my own wishes against
what is, perhaps, your duty to your country, and still more your duty to
your dear father's name. Go, then--only do not--do not run unnecessary
risks. Be as cautious as you can--and come back to me often."

"We will be as cautious as we honourably can, will we not, Dale?" cried
Max, appealing to his friend. "It is stratagem that we shall use in
making our war--not force. We have thought it all out together, and hope
to give a good account of ourselves without giving the Germans a chance
to pay us back with usury."

"Yes," replied Dale cheerfully, "we are not going to give the enemy a
chance. Why, you have no idea how cautious and full of dodges Max is. He
just bristles with 'em, and I think we shall give Schenk and his friends
a warm time."

Madame Durend sighed deeply. "It seems terrible to me to think of two
such boys returning to that dreadful place to do battle unaided with
those men. How I pray that you may come safely back!"

"No fear of that," cried Dale confidently, and Max gazed into his
mother's face and nodded reassuringly.

The next day they left the hospitable streets of Maastricht and arrived
safely in Liege, still in their disguises as Walloon workmen. A visit to
a clever hairdresser before they left had completed their disguise.
Their fresh complexions were hidden beneath a stain that darkened the
skin to the tints of the swarthiest Walloons of the Liege district.

Max, as he was by far the better known and ran the greater risk of
detection, had, in addition, his brown hair dyed a much darker hue and
his eyebrows thickened and made to meet in the centre. A few lines
skilfully drawn here and there about his face gave him the appearance of
a much older man than Dale, and enabled them to pose as brothers aged
about twenty-eight and twenty respectively. Their hair was allowed to
run wild and mat about their brows and ears; hands and wrists were left,
much to their discomfort, to get as grubby as possible, and in the end
they were ready to meet the gaze of all as Belgian workmen of the most
out-and-out kind.

The necessity for the constant renewal of their various disguises was
not overlooked, and the hairdresser was prevailed upon to part with a
supply of his dyes and to tell them exactly how and when to apply them.

Max of course could maintain the part of workman to perfection, even if
questioned at length, but Dale was under the necessity of answering only
in monosyllables, as his knowledge of the language was at present not
very great. With Max at his elbow, however, this was not a serious
drawback, and neither anticipated any difficulty on that score.

Max was now a broad-shouldered, well-built young fellow of twenty. He
was not much above medium height, but his rowing and running at
Hawkesley and his hard work in the various shops of the Durend concern
had given him a muscular development that most of the real workmen might
have envied. His responsibilities as stroke at college, and, later, as
the future head of the firm, had given him a self-reliant attitude of
mind that was reflected in his bearing, and enabled him to maintain with
unconscious ease his sudden increase in years over his more
youthful-looking comrade.

Dale was still slim and boyish-looking. He was wiry enough, however, and
was, as we have seen, extremely cool and courageous in any tight corner.
He was quick, too, and the pair made an ideal couple to hunt together.
Had Schenk known that they were bending all their energies to the task
of hindering his use of the Durend workshops for the benefit of the
Germans he would probably have bestowed more than a passing thought upon
them. And had he had an inkling that they were at the bottom of the
shrewd blow already dealt him within the sacred precincts of his office
he would, no doubt, have spent a sleepless night or two.

The few days that had elapsed since Max and Dale left Liege had already
witnessed yet another development in the rapid conversion of the Durend
workshops into a first-class manufactory of war material for the German
army. A large building on the outskirts of the town had been taken over
and converted into a filling-shop, and the shells manufactured within
the works were conveyed thither on a miniature railway, and there filled
with high-explosive drawn from a factory situated about a mile and a
half away, well outside the limits of the town. This new shop was being
staffed with men drawn partly from Germany and partly from former
workmen of the less determined sort, who were gradually returning to
work under stress of hunger.

On Max and Dale applying for work they were promptly drafted to this
shop. Fortunately for them, perhaps, the foreman who was now engaging
fresh workmen was a man sent from Germany, a bullying, overbearing,
Prussian foreman who was expected to bring the methods of the Prussian
drill-sergeant to bear upon the poor half-starved wretches applying for
work, and to reduce them to a proper state of submission. Max had no
difficulty in satisfying the man, especially as he made no demur to
working in the night shift. Few workmen cared for the night shift, and
the foreman was therefore the more ready to clinch the bargain. Soon Max
and Dale were being shown the way to fill the shells and finish them
off, ready to be sent on their mission of destruction.

"Things couldn't have happened better, Dale," remarked Max at the first
opportunity.

"Why, Max? We are safe inside; is that what you mean?"

"Not exactly. What I mean is our being sent to the filling-shops. It's
no end of a piece of luck."

"Ah, I see! You are thinking of wrecking the place, eh?"

"Possibly, later on. But what I mean is that for our plans we need
explosives, and plenty of them. Well, here they are, ready to hand, and
all we have to do for a start is to get what we want away unseen."

"Aye; accumulate a store of our own ready for the day we want them?"

"Yes; the best place to attack we can settle later. In fact we may have
to seize our opportunities as they come along."

"The best places to choose are these filling-shops, old man. Heaps of
explosives about, and, although they watch everyone pretty closely, we
ought to get a chance before long. If this place were blown sky-high it
would damage a lot of the other shops, and probably get Schenk the sack.
He seems to have got over that other affair all right."

"Yes, but I can't bring myself to blow up this great place with all the
workmen in it, Germans or renegade Belgians though they are. I want to
cripple the works, not kill the work-people."

"Don't see much in your scruples, Max. If we don't kill them they are
left to go on sending shells out to kill our men."

"True, old man, but all the same I should like, if I can, to do the
business without causing any loss of life among the workmen. There is
the power-house now. If we could wreck that we should bring the whole of
the works to an absolute standstill."

"Phew! Yes. Well, and why shouldn't we?"

"I've been thinking, and I believe we ought to be able to do it. Of
course you know there is a soldier always posted at each entrance?"

"We must dispose of him--that's all."

"Or else we must get jobs as stokers. But enough of this--see that man
coming along there eyeing the benches?"

"Yes."

"I believe he's a spy. He is really looking more at the men than at the
benches. We must be very careful, or one of those fellows will get in
our way."

"It will be the worse for him," muttered Dale under his breath, as he
went on with his work with redoubled energy.

"And for us too," replied Max, lifting a heavy shell with an ease that
many of the regular workmen, practised though they were, could not have
excelled.

The man stopped when he reached the bench on which Max and Dale were
working. "Where are you from?" he enquired sharply, in very indifferent
Walloon.

"Yonder," replied Max, nodding towards the poorer quarter of the town.
"Back of Rue Gheude."

"You're a Belgian, eh?"

"Yes," admitted Max with an appearance of reluctance.

"Why do you come here to work? Many of your countrymen refuse to work."

"One must live," replied Max sullenly. Then he went on in an angry tone:
"We have been deserted and left to starve. Why shouldn't we work? They
should protect us, these French and English, if they want us to remain
on their side. Are we to let our little ones perish for their sakes?"

"You are right, my friend," replied the man approvingly. "These English
and Frenchmen care naught so long as their country is safe. Why should
Belgians fight their battles for them? No, no, my friend."

Max nodded and turned back to his work. The man watched him for a minute
or two and then continued on his way along the shop, scarcely glancing
at Dale, who was to all appearances too engrossed in his work to pay
much attention to what was going on about him.

"End of round No. 1," whispered Max to his friend. "We've got the better
of Mr. Ferret so far, but I fear we shall have trouble in getting many
live shells away from under the noses of him and his tribe."

"We shall do it," replied Dale confidently. "We may get the job of
loading them up on the lorries presently and find an opportunity. If the
worst comes to the worst we must carry medium-sized ones away one by one
in our folded coats."

"H'm!" grunted Max. "We must find a safer way than that I fancy. I doubt
if our ferret friends would let us do much of that sort of thing."

Dale shrugged his shoulders in contempt of the whole of the spy crew,
and the conversation dropped.

For some two weeks Max and Dale worked in the filling-shops, observing
the routine and making careful note of every circumstance that seemed to
offer a chance of making off with supplies of finished shells. They soon
found that they had reason to congratulate themselves upon having joined
the night shift. Max had accepted the foreman's offer of the night shift
for two reasons: first, because he thought that their disguises were
less likely to be penetrated in artificial light, and, secondly, because
they might reasonably expect to be quite safe during their journeys to
and fro in the dark. But he found that an even greater advantage to
their projects lay in the fact that the shop was only half manned at
night, the work, and especially the supervision, were less efficient,
and the yards, while well lighted, contained plenty of deep shadows
suited to shelter those on dubious errands.

As soon as he could, Max got into touch with his friend Dubec and the
workmen who had remained faithful to their country's cause. He had
brought ample funds with him from the moneys recovered from the firm,
and hoped to relieve any who might be in acute distress. He soon found
plenty of outlet for his funds, for the men who refused to work in the
shops were drawing terribly near the edge of starvation.

As Max had expected, the knowledge that their employers were standing by
them, and were ready to aid them at every opportunity, greatly heartened
the men, and a small but loyal band steadily refused to work, and fought
a gallant battle with starvation in the cause of their country's
freedom. Between Max and these men an unbreakable, unforgettable bond of
union was gradually forged; and several times, to their unbounded
delight, he was able to use them in furthering his projects. He found
them particularly useful in obtaining information and in keeping watch
over the movements of M. Schenk and his numerous spies. Patriotism,
resentment at their sufferings, and hatred of Schenk, all combined to
render them zealous auxiliaries, and lightened, in some measure at
least, the heavy task fate seemed to have cast upon Max's own shoulders.




CHAPTER XI

The Attack on the Power-house


Some three weeks after Max and Dale had so unobtrusively re-entered the
Durend works, their plans were laid and their preparations complete.
Eight large shells had been carried off one by one and secreted in a
hole in the bank of the Meuse, at a spot where it was well shaded by
thick bushes. The power-house had been carefully reconnoitred, and the
times and habits of the men and of the sentries carefully noted. The
bulk of the great engines which provided the power required to run the
various workshops were underground, and all the approaches to the
building were commanded by two sentries stationed at opposite corners.

The success of their enterprise was dependent upon one of these sentries
being put out of action for some minutes. This was no easy matter, but
by dint of much discussion and careful observation they reached the
conclusion that it could be done; and, better still, done so that no
alarm need be given.

A Sunday night was fixed for the attempt, because Max and Dale had never
worked on Sundays, and their absence would not therefore be likely to
arouse any subsequent suspicion that they had had anything to do with
the matter. Moreover, all departments of the works were run on reduced
staffs, and the staff of the power-house was reduced proportionately.
The loss of life which both Max and Dale feared might ensue from the
realization of their plans was thus brought to a minimum.

Shortly after midnight, Max, Dale, and Dubec made their way silently to
the little cache of shells in the river bank, and began transporting
them to a point as near the power-house as they could expect to get
without attracting notice. There was a bright moon, but there were also
clouds, and they patiently bided their time, and moved only when the
moon was obscured. It was one o'clock before the whole of the shells had
been transported within easy reach of the power-house.

The sentries were changed at two o'clock, and Max and Dale waited only
until this had been completed. Then they drew near, and took a long look
at the sentry upon the least-exposed corner of the building. He was a
young fellow, and while not looking particularly alert, yet seemed fully
alive to his duties and determined to carry them out. As has already
been explained, he was posted at a corner of the building, and could
command a view of two sides. One of these sides was flooded with the
light of the moon, but the other was in shadow, except at intervals
where it was cut by the light from the windows of the power-house, which
were here on a level with the ground.

After a whispered word or two, Dale left Max and worked his way round
until he was near the side of the building which was in shadow. Watching
his chance, he slipped into the shadow at a moment when the sentry was
gazing the other way. Max now retreated some distance, and then began
boldly advancing towards the building, his feet crunching heavily into
the gravel and giving the sentry every warning of his approach. The
sentry watched him with lazy indifference, but, as he drew near, lifted
rifle and bayonet and challenged.

"Who comes there?"

"A workman with message to the engineer," responded Max in a casual
voice, slackening his pace and coming to a stop a few paces away.

"Pass," replied the sentry indifferently, letting the butt of his rifle
drop again to the ground. Max slouched on again, directing his steps so
that he would pass just in front of the young soldier.

The sentry idly watched the supposed workman, who slouched along gazing
at the ground in front of him in the most stolid fashion. Just as he was
on the point of passing the sentry, however, he shot out a hand, seized
the man's rifle, and tore it from his grasp.

Simultaneously a hand appeared from behind, and a cloth was clapped over
the soldier's nose and mouth and held firmly in position, while another
hand and arm grasped him round the middle.

[Illustration: A CLOTH WAS CLAPPED OVER THE SOLDIER'S NOSE AND MOUTH]

Noiselessly grounding the captured rifle, Max in his turn sprang upon
the sentry and wound both his arms about him, crushing his arms to his
side and preparing to subdue his wildest struggles. Almost immediately,
however, the man's muscles relaxed, as the chloroform, with which the
cloth had been sprinkled, took effect, and Max and Dale lowered him to
the ground.

"Now, Dale, off with his tunic and helmet and put them on," cried Max
rapidly. "Then take his rifle and stand on guard. All is well, and I
believe we shall win through without a hitch."

Dale did as he was bidden. The soldier's tunic and helmet were removed,
and his body was dragged into the shadow close to the wall of the
building. Then Max walked quickly back to the spot where the shells had
been deposited. Here Dubec crouched in readiness.

"Bring them along," whispered Max. "The sentry is disposed of, and we
ought to meet with no interruption."

"'Twas splendidly done," replied Dubec with enthusiasm. "The man seemed
to be overcome as though by magic, and I heard scarce a sound."

In three trips the shells were transported to the power-house and laid
along the wall. Then Max went to one of the windows and looked in.

The power-house was largely underground, and the windows, which ran
around all sides on a level with the ground at intervals of about six
feet, were high above the great boilers. In fact, as Max gazed down he
had a bird's-eye view of the interior, and could see workmen flitting to
and fro, stoking the great furnaces in blissful ignorance of the fact
that a bolt which might destroy them with their engines was on the point
of being shot.

Drawing back his head, Max drew a bomb of his own manufacture from his
pocket and lit the fuse. Then he leaned through the window, and, shading
his mouth with his hands so that his words might carry downwards and be
heard above the roar of the engines, cried in quick, urgent, warning
tones:

"Fly for your lives--the engine-house is being blown up! Fly! fly! fly!"

The workmen looked up, startled, and into their midst Max flung his
bomb. The men scattered to right and left, and a second or two later it
burst with a splutter, sending out a great puff of white, pungent smoke.
It was quite harmless, but the men did not know that, and a great cry of
alarm went up and a terrific stampede began towards the nearest exit.

"Now, Dubec," cried Max energetically, "light the fuses and fling them
in. It matters little where they fall so long as we cover a wide area."

In a few seconds the shells had been flung down into the power-house,
right in among the boilers and machinery. Then the two men took to their
heels and fled, followed by Dale, who had already divested himself of
his borrowed plumes and donned his own.

The success of their enterprise was complete. Hardly had they got clear
of the building before a series of heavy explosions occurred in the
interior of the power-house, followed by the upward burst of great
clouds of smoke and steam. Instantly all the lights in the whole of the
Durend workshops and the great lights in the yard went out, and the roar
of machinery slackened and gradually ceased. The entire works were at a
standstill, and the whirr of lathes and clink of hammers were succeeded
by shouts of alarm from the thousands of workmen as they poured
excitedly out into the open air.

       *       *       *       *       *

The alarm and excitement were not decreased when, almost immediately,
there was a great outburst of flame in one of the large workshops
devoted to the building of the bodies of railway carriages and trucks,
and the chassis of motorcars. With extraordinary rapidity the flames
leapt up from floor to floor, until the great yards in the vicinity, a
moment before plunged in blackness by the destruction of the
electric-light plant, were again as light as day.

"See that, Max?" whispered Dale in an awestruck voice as the flames
leaped up. "Surely our raid on the power-house cannot have done that?"

"I expect that something was upset in the mad rush for the doors. The
place is full of inflammables, and they will never get the fire out--you
see."

The scene was of absorbing interest, and Max and Dale and the faithful
Dubec mingled with the crowds of excited workmen and thoroughly enjoyed
themselves. Alarm-bells were sounding and bugle-calls ringing in all
directions, and in a few minutes two or three engines dashed into the
yard and began a hopeless fight against the raging fire. Max and his
friends continued to gaze on at the exciting scene until the former was
recalled to himself by the heavy tramp of what seemed to be detachments
of soldiers outside the walls of the yard.

"Listen, Dale, I can hear a lot of troops marching outside. I don't
think their presence bodes any good, and I think we had better be off.
The Germans will be most awfully savage, and will be firing on the mob,
or something of the sort."

"Shouldn't wonder, old man. Well, we've done enough for one night, so
let us join this crowd and leave by the main entrance."

A number of workmen, who were probably of the same mind as Max and did
not like the look of things, were moving towards the gates, and to these
our three friends joined themselves. On reaching the gates, however, the
whole party came to a standstill. The gates were closed, and a dozen
soldiers with fixed bayonets stood on guard in front of them.

"We made a mistake, Dale, in not getting away at once," whispered Max.
"We shall have trouble now, you may be sure."

As he spoke, the gates were opened and a motorcar drove through. It
contained the manager, M. Schenk, and two officers, and came to a stand
on the outskirts of the crowd collected at the gates. The manager
immediately stood up in the car and addressed the crowd in such stern
and peremptory tones that it would have seemed fitter, Max thought, had
the words been uttered by one of the officers at his side.

"Listen, men. A dastardly outrage has just been committed in these
works, and I am determined to bring the guilty ones to justice. I shall
allow no one to leave until he has been thoroughly examined, however
long it may take. Stand aside, therefore, and await your call quietly,
or I shall have recourse to sterner measures."

The car moved on, and the workmen addressed stopped obediently where
they were and began discussing the affair in low, excited tones.

"This sort of thing won't suit us, Dale," whispered Max, as he edged out
of the crowd and began moving away from the gates. "Examinations are not
a strong point with us at present."

"No, we require to study a little more--in strict seclusion," replied
Dale in the same spirit, as they got away from the crowd into the
blackness between a long workshop at a distance from the burning
building and the outer walls.

"Where now, Master," asked Dubec, looking at Max enquiringly as the
three came to an involuntary halt.

"Over the walls and away, I think. We have done enough for one night,
and I fancy Schenk will think so too--eh, Dale?"

"Aye, and say so, if ever he gets the chance," replied the latter.

The party moved to the walls at the darkest point they could find and
prepared to clamber over. The wall was here nearly ten feet high, and it
was necessary for Dubec to plant himself against it and allow Max,
assisted by Dale, to climb on his back. He could then help Dale up also
before clambering on to the top. The rest would be easy enough. But a
rude awakening was in store for them, for Max had no sooner put his head
above the wall than he was greeted by a rifle-shot from the road below,
and a bullet whizzed close overhead.

"Down, Max, down!" cried Dale, clutching at his friend in sudden
consternation.

"I'm all right, old man," replied Max, who, needless to say, had lost no
time in bobbing down below the level of the wall. "But we can't get over
here," he added as he lowered himself gently to the ground. Dale
followed suit, and the three men stood at the foot of the wall and
anxiously debated their next move.

"It is pretty clear," Max summed up, "that the Germans have put a cordon
of soldiers all about the works, and clearer still"--a little ruefully
this--"that their orders are to shoot first and make enquiries
afterwards."

"We must chance it and try to get over somewhere," responded Dale.

"No--too risky. The moment we top the wall we show up plainly against
the light of the fire behind us. We should be noticed at once. We must
try another plan."

"What's that?"

"The river."

"Ah--swim across?"

"Yes--or, better still, float down until we get beyond the roads about
the works."

"But what about Dubec? Can he swim?"

"I don't suppose so. Can you, Monsieur Dubec?"

The answer was a decided negative, and Max went on: "But it doesn't
matter. Dubec doesn't need to leave in the unorthodox way that Schenk
has forced upon us. He is a _bona fide_ workman, and has been working in
the shops for the last three days. He is safe enough."

It was so arranged, and soon the party had gained the shelter of the
bushes at the spot where their stock of shells had been hidden. Max and
Dale then waded waist-deep into the Meuse, and, with a whispered
farewell to M. Dubec, allowed themselves to float down with the stream.
For some yards out the edge of the river was in deep shadow from the
bank, and beyond a gentle movement of the hands to keep them within its
shelter, the two lads let themselves drift at will. The water was warm
and they felt no discomfort, and in half an hour they were beyond what
they considered the danger zone. Clambering out of the river, they wrung
as much of the water as possible out of their clothes and made rapid
tracks for their lodging.

As was to be expected, the destruction of the power-house and the
burning of one of the largest workshops at the Durend works created a
great sensation among both the Germans and the Liegeois. The former
looked upon it, rightly enough, as a determined attempt to interfere
with their exploitation of the manufacturing resources of the city for
the benefit of the invading armies; the latter, as a patriotic and
successful demonstration of the hatred of the Belgians for their
temporary masters and of their determination to hinder them by every
means in their power. It gave the spirit of the people a fillip, and,
despite the redoubled severity of the Germans, the Liegeois went about
their businesses with a prouder air, as if conscious that, though
temporarily overcome, they were very far from being beaten.

On attending for work on the following evening, at the usual hour, Max
and Dale were curtly informed that they would not be required for
another week at least. They had expected this, of course, and were only
disappointed that the holiday was likely to be so short. They had hoped
that the works would be out of action for at least three weeks. But the
manager had set to work with his usual energy. Engines were being
requisitioned from other factories in the town, not engaged in the
manufacture of war supplies, and repairs to those less seriously damaged
were going on with shifts of fresh workmen night and day.

It was nearly a fortnight, however, before the works were again in full
swing, or would have been in full swing had not other events occurred to
hinder the complete resumption of business. That fortnight Max
considered as a specially favourable opportunity for paying further
attention to M. Schenk and his many activities. It meant that the
various workshops were empty, save for two or three watchmen, and that
groups of workmen were necessarily hanging about the premises, idly
watching the proceedings and waiting for the time when they could
recommence work. The first meant opportunities that would not occur when
the workshops were in full swing, and the second that the prowling of
Max and his friends would be the less likely to attract notice.

One of the first things that caught the attention of Max and Dale was
the rapid accumulation of great stocks of coal outside the yard, owing
to the enforced idleness of the power-house. The Durend mines were, of
course, unaffected by the stoppage of the workshops, and coal was sent
up to the surface with the same regularity as before. In fact, the rate
of production was accelerated, as numbers of the workmen thrown out of
employment by the closing of the workshops applied for work at the
collieries. Thus the stores of coal grew and grew, from stacks of the
moderate dimensions (for the Durend Company) of 2000 or 3000 tons, to
great piles of 10,000 and finally 24,000 tons. Then came a rumour that,
as soon as trucks were available, the accumulation was to be transported
into Germany and, worse still, to Krupp's.

This was enough to set Max and Dale discussing the matter with anxious
care. To the former it was as intolerable that the Durend mines should
produce coal for Krupp's as it was that the Durend workshops should cast
shells for the German guns. And yet it was no easy matter to devise
means of dealing with a great mass of coal. Obviously, it could not be
carried off, and to blow it up was hardly practicable. However, after
much discussion, it was decided that an attempt should be made to burn
it. It certainly did not seem a very hopeful scheme, seeing the number
of fire-engines that were close at hand in the city and the unlimited
supply of water in the River Meuse. But to Max and Dale anything seemed
better than to do nothing in such a matter, and they determined to make
the attempt.

For materials all they needed was a good supply of firewood, a gallon or
two of benzine, and some fuses.

The coal stacks were situated on a piece of waste land outside, but
adjoining, the walled-in enclosure of the Durend works. They were
accessible on all sides, but a watchman was always on guard to see that
none of the coal was stolen. This man patrolled round and round the
stacks, keeping a look-out for suspicious characters, especially, of
course, any bearing sacks or baskets which might be used to contain
coal.

It was in the middle of the night that Max and Dale, accompanied by the
faithful Dubec, appeared on the scene. The last was carrying a bulky
sack filled with firewood, Max bore a two-gallon tin of benzine, and
Dale a dummy sack which appeared to be full, but which, as a matter of
fact, contained only a light framework of wood designed to fill it out.

Dale's part of the performance began first. Waiting until the watchman
had passed, he flitted across the road to the coal stack. Then he gave
the stack a kick which sent a number of loose pieces of coal rattling to
the ground. The watchman stopped instantly, and without more ado Dale
turned and bolted down the road in full view.

As was expected, the watchman immediately gave chase, and in a couple of
minutes both men had disappeared from the scene.

Max and Dubec now emerged, and lost no time in getting to work. They
crossed the road to the end of the stack where, in the morning, work
would be resumed. There they made four caches of wood close against the
stack, covered them over with loose coal, and deluged the pile with
benzine. From these caches fuses were laid upward to the top of the
stack, and the whole covered over with more coal.

Long before the watchman had crawled back, grumbling and exhausted from
his long chase after a thief who carried a great bag of coal with an
ease that seemed extraordinary, the two other conspirators had
disappeared from the scene. An hour later they rejoined Dale and spent
half an hour in laughing over his recital of the way in which he had led
the man farther and farther afield by pretending to be always on the
point of dropping from fatigue.

The next day Dubec spent in watching the stacking of further supplies of
coal. The caches of firewood, he reported, had not been noticed, and by
the end of the day another 1200 tons of coal had been dumped against the
stack, completely enclosing them. For one day more Max held his hand,
while he worked at another scheme that was slowly maturing. Then,
immediately after nightfall, he crept to the stack, and, watching his
opportunity, clambered carefully to the top and lit the three fuses.

The smell presently told him that the fires had caught, and he crept
away, satisfied that on the morrow there would be something of a hubbub,
even if no very considerable damage resulted.

It was with the idea of watching developments that Max and Dale applied
for work at the depots next day. They hoped to witness amusing and
exhilarating scenes, and to get as near to the spot as possible they
gladly offered to shovel coal. Their offer was accepted and they were
soon at work transporting coal and shovelling it on to the stacks.

They soon experienced a sense of disappointment. Instead of finding the
stacks enveloped in smoke, and all work suspended for the day, as they
expected, they discovered that work was going on as usual and nothing
seemed amiss.

"Seems to have been a frost, Max," grumbled Dale discontentedly. "All
our trouble and brain-fag gone for nothing."

"I thought so at first, Dale, but I'm not so sure now. See that light
haze yonder? It may be the fires have caught all right but are burning
out for lack of draught. Let's hope they've done a bit of damage
anyhow!"

"H'm!" grunted Dale in a tone of discouragement.

"Besides," Max went on, "this is only a small affair. The next real
attack will come in a day or two, and I hope there will be no failure
there."

"No," replied Dale, brightening up, "if that comes off we shall have
done something worth doing. Schenk will be ready to tear his hair, and
we shall have to look out for ourselves."

"Well, so we will. We shall deserve a rest, and we will retire into
obscurity for a season and recuperate. Another ramble in the Ardennes
would suit us well."

"Especially with a little shooting thrown in--Uhlans, I mean," replied
Dale facetiously.

"There will be plenty of scouting, if not shooting, if all the tales we
hear of those gentlemen be true."

"Aye--but see, Max, how that smoky haze is getting thicker! The pile
must be alight all right after all."

The light fleecy smoke which hovered over the great stack certainly
seemed denser than it was, and a slight smell of burning was in the air.
The other workmen had also noticed it, and hazarded conjectures as to
whence it came, but none of them got very near the mark. All day the
smoke increased, until, by the time the men ceased work, it lay like a
thick fog all about the neighbourhood.

Max and Dale returned to their lodging in high glee, and their joy was
not diminished when they noticed that the wind was beginning to freshen
up.

"This ought to finish the business, Dale," remarked Max. "With a high
wind all night, if the fire doesn't get into its stride it never will."

Soon after daybreak the shrill notes of a bugle in several quarters of
the town and the ringing of fire-bells told our heroes that something
unusual was afoot. They guessed, or rather hoped, that it might be on
their account, and dressed and sallied out as quickly as they could.
Sure enough, an enormous pall of smoke, that a volcano in full eruption
need not have disowned, lay in the air in the direction of the Durend
coal-yards. Fire engines were hurrying to the scene from all parts of
the town, and the hoped-for hubbub seemed to have arrived.

"This is worth a little trouble," remarked Dale with intense relish as
they drew near the burning stack and saw hundreds of soldiers and
firemen hovering actively about the spot.

"Yes, but we may as well take a little more trouble and do the thing in
style," responded Max coolly. "Let us follow these hoses to the river
bank and see whether there is anything doing."

They did so, and, finding that the hoses entered the water at a point
where a patch or two of short scrubby bushes gave cover against chance
watchers, they passed on and struck the bank again a hundred yards
farther on. Then they disappeared from view, and, crawling along under
cover of the bushes, they reached the hoses, and with a dozen rapid
slashes of their clasp-knives effectually put them out of action.

An extraordinary hubbub ensued. Soldiers and firemen rushed about in all
directions, chasing away every unfortunate civilian who had had the
temerity to approach the scene of the fire. In the confusion Max and
Dale had no difficulty in escaping, and retired to the hills, there to
gloat over the further efforts made to fight the fire, which seemed only
to grow fiercer as hundreds of gallons of water were pumped upon it. It
was two days before the fire was completely subdued, and the net result
from a material point of view was that at least 10,000 tons of coal had
been destroyed and the project of transporting coal to Krupp's
effectually quashed. From the point of view of _moral_, the Germans were
the laughing-stock of the town; they were deeply enraged and the
townsfolk proportionately delighted.




CHAPTER XII

The Attack on the Munition-shops And Its Sequel


To Max Durend the successful raid on the coal-yards was only the prelude
to the main performance. His mind was bent wholly towards one great
object, and that was to prevent, by every means in his power, the
exploitation of his father's great works by the enemies of his country.
The coal-yard incident, as he termed it, was satisfactory so far as it
went, but gave his mind no real relief such as had resulted from the
recovery of part of the firm's monetary resources and the destruction of
the power-house. The next affair, which, as has been hinted, was already
well in hand, was more important and was an attempt to damage, if not
destroy, some of the great machines installed for the production of
rifles and machine-guns.

The largest workshop in the yard was devoted to this and a few other of
the more delicate kinds of work, and it seemed to Max that the greatest
amount of injury might be inflicted upon the Germans by an attempt on
this shop. The works were still at a standstill, though it was fairly
evident that they would not be so for much longer. The attempt ought,
therefore, to be made within the few following days.

The plan was simplicity itself. It merely provided for Max and Dale to
enter the workshop during the night and to work as much mischief among
the machines as they could, consistently with the need for silence and
the avoidance or silencing of the watchmen. For some days they had kept
the place under close observation, and noted the hours and habits of the
watchmen and the sentinels at either end of the building until they knew
them as well as the men themselves.

Dubec they would not bring with them. He was eager to come, but the work
required alertness and lightness of hand and foot rather than strength,
and for this he would have been of no use. Besides, the two lads, keen
as they were on their self-imposed tasks, were not unmindful of the fact
that he had a wife and children to mourn him should the venture come to
grief.

All, however, seemed to go well. Max and Dale succeeded in effecting an
entrance into the ground floor of the workshop after they had seen the
watchman, by the glint of his lamp, make his midnight round. The two
soldiers--one at each end of the building--saw nothing and heard
nothing, of that they were assured. Without delay, therefore, for in a
little over an hour the watchman would be back from his rounds upon the
upper floors, they proceeded to put out of action the more valuable and
more complicated machines in the building. It was necessary, of course,
that they should be almost silent; so their mode of procedure was to
muffle up in an old blanket the most delicate and fragile parts of the
machines before smashing them with a heavy hammer well swathed in
flannel wrappings.

The machines dealt with first were those farthest from the route that
would be taken by the watchman on his next round. Consequently, when he
came, he passed along swinging his lantern in utter ignorance that
anything was amiss, or that two men lay in ambush close at hand, ready
to spring upon him should he suspect anything wrong and pause to
investigate. As soon as he had passed out of ear-shot the two
recommenced their work with redoubled energy, and some two and a half
hours were thus consumed in work that utterly spoiled a large proportion
of the valuable machines which filled the great workshop.

Skilful, vigilant, and almost silent as they had been, they were yet
after all caught napping. How or by whom they never knew, until, some
time after, Dubec told them of a tale that was going the round among the
workmen to the effect that one of Schenk's hired ferrets had all the
time been hidden on the upper floor. Strange to say, he had been there
not so much to deal with disaffected workmen--the sentinels were
expected to do that--as to spy upon the watchmen themselves. The story
seemed to fit in well with what Max knew of Schenk's character, and he
accepted it as in all probability true. At any rate, neither Max nor
Dale dreamed that aught was amiss until the latter heard the sound of
marching outside, and that upon an unusual scale. He slid quickly to the
nearest window and peeped out.

"We're done, Max!" he cried soberly. "Scores of soldiers, and they look
to be forming a cordon right round the building."

"Are you sure?" Max cried incredulously, hurrying to a window on the
opposite side of the block. One glance was enough to show that a strong
cordon of soldiers was being drawn--nay, to all appearances was already
drawn--all round the workshop. The soldiers faced inwards, and stood
with bayonets fixed, as though prepared for an attempt at escape from
some body of men caught within their armed circle.

"We've been seen, Jack, old man!" cried Max, coming back to the side of
his friend. "It's all up, I fear. They've made up their minds they've
got us, and do not intend to let us slip. I'm so sorry, old man, you
should have been mixed up in this. It's really not your quarrel, but
mine."

There was a new note in Max's voice, one his friend had never heard
before, and it was with something suspiciously like a break in his own
that Dale replied as he seized and wrung his hand: "Don't say another
word, Max. It's my affair too, and I won't have you blame yourself on my
account. We've simply fought for our country, and have now got to die
for it--that's all."

For a moment or two the friends stood silent, grasping one another's
hands. That moment they were indeed friends, and each would cheerfully
have given up his own life to save the other. Then the ruling thought
which still swayed Max's mind asserted itself once more.

"It seems so, Dale. Well, then, let us die to some good purpose. Here we
have under our hands the most valuable of the workshops filched from us.
It is only partly out of action. Let us complete the good work, and we
shall at least have deserved well of our country."

"Aye; but how so?"

"Let us burn it down."

"With us in it?"

"Aye, if need be. But if we will we can always sally out and exchange
that fate for the bayonet's point."

Dale gazed at his friend in undisguised admiration. "You are a terror,
Max," he said slowly. "These old works are your very life-blood, and I
believe you would go through fire and water to keep the Germans out of
'em."

"So I would," replied Max with conviction, as he coolly reached down a
great can of lubricating-oil and poured it over the floor and upon a
pile of wooden cases close by. "Well, if you are game--and I know you
are--let us scatter all the oil and stuff we can find about the place
and set fire to it. They'll never get it out."

"Right you are, Stroke. It's the final, and we must make a win of it.
What would Hawkesley's think if they could see us--or Benson's?"

"Dale," cried Max, with sudden and deeper earnestness, "d'ye know, I
believe this is what we were really training for during all those
gruelling races. It was not for nothing we slogged away there day after
day, learning to conquer disappointment and defeat. No; it was to know
how to serve our country here."

"I believe you--and we will."

"Hark! I think I can hear soldiers on the floor below. Look out! I am
going to set a light to this pile of cases. Get ready to run. I fancy it
will spread like wildfire."

A match was applied, and flames leapt up and spread with a rapidity that
would have terrified anyone less absorbed or less determined than our
two heroes. The flames flew along the floor and benches, and Max and
Dale retreated down the room, overturning all the cans of oil and grease
they could find, and making it an easy matter for the fire to catch and
hold. The smoke, driven along in front of the flames, quickly became so
intolerable that they had to fly for relief to the staircase at the
farther end of the building.

Outside the workshop the burst of flame was the signal for a loud yell
of execration, mingled with cries of warning to the soldiers who had
entered the building in search of the hostile workmen reported there.
The soldiers trooped noisily out and joined the cordon still drawn about
the burning building. Messengers were dispatched to the fire-stations,
and in a few minutes a couple of engines arrived and set to work to
fight the flames. But though they were expeditious in arriving, the
firemen were not equally expeditious in getting their hoses effectually
trained upon the building. For one thing, the river had been largely
relied upon to furnish a water-supply, and no hydrants were close at
hand. Consequently the hoses had to be carried a great distance, and as
the yards were still in darkness, save for the lurid light shed by the
burning building, the hoses were badly exposed to the attentions of any
hostile workman who happened to be near the scene.

Dubec "happened" to be there, with two or three other men animated by
out-and-out hostility to the Germans, and waged fierce war upon the
hoses at every point at which they lay in shadow. By the time the
officer commanding the troops had awakened to the situation, the hoses
had been completely ruined, and the fighting of the flames delayed until
fresh ones could be brought to the spot.

In the meantime Max and Dale had ceased their efforts to extend the
fire, and had retreated to one of the stone staircases situated at each
end of the building. There was, in fact, little more to be done, for the
fire had got firm hold, and it seemed certain that the whole building
was doomed. The end by the staircase was almost free from smoke, and Max
and Dale lingered there while awaiting the moment when they should be
compelled to choose between death by burning or by the bayonets of the
German soldiers. They fell somewhat quiet during those moments, and when
they talked it was of the good old glorious times they had spent
together. Presently Max's ear caught the sound of someone ascending the
stairs.

"Someone--a fireman, I suppose--is coming up the stairs, Dale."

"What shall we do with him? Give him his quietus? I still have my
hammer."

"No--get in the corner here and watch what he's after. It won't help us
to hurt him."

The man moved on up the stairs until he passed by the spot where Max and
Dale were in ambush. He was a fireman, and his object seemed to be to
find out at close quarters the extent and power of the fire. As the man
passed him, Max had a sudden idea.

"We must attack him after all, Dale," he whispered. "Come--help me so
that no alarm is raised. I will tell you why in a moment."

Sheltered by the fitful light and occasional gusts of rolling smoke, it
was an easy matter to creep upon the fireman unawares and to bring him
to the ground stunned and helpless. That accomplished, Max immediately
proceeded to remove the man's tunic and helmet. Dale then understood--it
was to be the ruse of the sham sentry outside the power-house over
again.

"Now put them on, Dale," cried Max rapidly. "You can then go boldly down
and out to the cordon of soldiers. They will let you through without
question."

"Not I," replied Dale sturdily. "I'm not going to leave you like that.
What will become of you, I should like to know?"

"I shall be all right. When the next fireman comes along I shall do the
same. Now, go ahead, and don't delay."

"No," replied Dale decidedly. "I'll not do it, Max. We will wait for the
next fireman together if _you_ will not don the suit."

"Dale--you will do as you are told!" cried Max, roused to sudden anger
by his friend's unexpected obstinacy. "I am Stroke of this crew--not
you."

"I know you are, but you are asking too much when you want me to leave
the boat. Besides, I should never get through. I can't muster up nearly
enough German. You put them on, old man--it's no use staying here when
you might escape."

"You shall suffer for this, Dale, upon my word you shall," cried Max
angrily, as he savagely thrust himself into the tunic, buckled on the
belt and axe, and donned the great helmet. "But if you think I am going
without you you are badly mistaken. Come downstairs, near the entrance,
and I will tell you what I propose."

The two lads descended the stairs, bearing the unconscious fireman
between them--for they could not bring themselves to leave him there to
burn--until they reached the entrance to the building. There they
deposited him just inside the door, in such a position that the first
man entering would be sure to stumble over him.

Outside several engines were now in full swing pumping water into the
first floor, which was burning furiously from end to end. The fire had
spread to the upper floors, and the ground floor had begun to catch in
several places. The whole workshop, indeed, seemed doomed to complete
destruction, for the fire had obtained such firm hold that the engines
seemed to make little impression upon it. From the shouts of the Germans
it was clear that they were greatly enraged, and it was perfectly
certain that the shrift of the authors of the fire, if they were caught,
would be an exceedingly short one.

"Halt here for a moment, Dale, while I tell you what I propose. It is a
desperate venture, but if you are still going to be obstinate it is all
I can think of, and we might just as well try it as throw our lives
away."

"I'm absolutely obdurate, Max. I'm not going to be saved at your
expense, so go ahead with your venture."

"Well--it's this. I am going to sally out, wearing the fireman's uniform
and carrying you in my arms. You are to feign unconsciousness. The idea
is that you have been badly hurt, and I am carrying you out of reach of
the fire. I have some hope that in my fireman's garb and with my
blackened face they will let me pass."

"All right--it sounds good enough, Max. At any rate, we shall keep
together--whether we sink or swim."

"Come along, then," replied Max briskly, stooping down and lifting Dale
in his arms. "Let your head fall back and look as lifeless as you can.
It's now or never--absolutely."

The cordon of soldiers with fixed bayonets, outside, suddenly saw the
fireman--apparently the man who had entered the building a few minutes
before--reappear, bearing in his arms the limp figure of a man rescued
from the flames. The fireman strode straight out towards them, and as he
reached them the men opened to right and left and let him pass through.
A non-commissioned officer followed him.

"What have you there, fireman?" he asked, as he endeavoured to catch a
glimpse of the blackened face that hung so limply down. "Is the man
dead?"

"No--he still lives," replied Max, moving on without checking his pace.
Other people were coming up, and his one thought was to get beyond the
circle of light cast by the great fire before taking action.

"Set the man down here while I give him a drain from my flask. You must
not take him away until my officer has seen him."

"One moment--here is a bank against which I can lean him," replied Max,
still moving steadily away. He could see the non-commissioned officer
was getting impatient, if not suspicious, and whispered to Dale: "I am
going to set you down. Directly your feet touch ground, bolt for the
river. I will follow and be there as soon as you; but don't wait for me.
_Now!_"

As he spoke, Max slowly lowered Dale to the ground. The soldier was
close by, but none else was within some yards. They were beyond the
circle of bright light cast by the fire, and a few yards would take them
into darkness, which was pitchy to anyone coming from the vicinity of
the fire. The chance of escape was good, and Max, the time for resolute
action at hand, felt his heart bound with fresh hope and energy.

The moment Dale's feet were on the ground Max gave him a push in the
direction of the river and off he flew. Almost simultaneously Max seized
his helmet and dashed it in the face of the soldier, who had raised a
shout of alarm and was on the point of chasing Dale. The sudden blow
disconcerted the man, and he hung in the wind for a moment. The supposed
injured man might be an enemy, but it was certain this aggressive
fireman was one, and, as Max darted off, the soldier turned, lifted his
rifle, and aimed a shot at him.

Max had little fear of the man's rifle. It was too dark, and he was
moving too rapidly and erratically, for anyone to take good aim. The
bullet passed wide of the mark, and the soldier, realizing his mistake
in not pursuing at once, instead of wasting precious moments in firing,
put his rifle at the trail and rushed madly after, shouting to his
comrades and all who might be within hearing that a spy was on the point
of escaping.

Max knew the ground and the soldier did not, so Max had no difficulty in
increasing his lead. He could see Dale a dozen yards ahead, and by the
time he reached the bank had caught him up.

"In at once, and dive down-stream, Dale!" he cried, and without a
moment's pause they both tumbled in, anyhow, and struck out with all
their strength down-stream.




CHAPTER XIII

The German Counter-stroke


The fury of the German military governor and his staff at the
destruction of the largest workshop in the Durend concern could hardly
have been greater had the town under their charge successfully revolted.
For the fifth time at least the Durend works--which the Germans had
looked upon as peculiarly their own--had been the scene of successful
blows against their authority. These exploits were too extensive and too
public to be hidden, and the Walloon workmen of Liege--never a docile
race--had been progressively encouraged to commit similar acts
elsewhere, or to resist passively the pressure of their German
taskmasters.

In the view of the German governor it was imperative that a blow, and a
stunning one, should be struck at this tendency among the Liege workmen.
Had the authors of this latest outrage been captured, an example would
have been easy. Unfortunately, they had again escaped, and in a manner
so impudent and daring that the exasperation of the Germans was greatly
intensified. Rewards had been offered before and had proved fruitless.
On this occasion the governor resolved to sweep aside what he termed
trifles, and to use firmly and pitilessly a weapon of terror already in
his hands.

The Durend yards had been entirely closed the moment intelligence had
reached M. Schenk that suspicious persons had broken into one of the
idle workshops. After the fire all workmen found within the yard had
been closely examined, and those definitely known to have Belgian
sympathies placed under arrest. These men numbered thirty-nine, and it
was by using them as hostages that the German governor intended to
strike terror into the hearts of the Walloons. They were hurried before
a military court, briefly examined, and found guilty of conspiring
against the German military occupation. Sentence of death followed as a
matter of course.

Max and Dale had reached their lodging without any particular
difficulty, after again taking refuge in the waters of the Meuse. They
were tired out with their all-night exploit, and, removing their wet
garments, tumbled heavily into bed. It was thus late in the afternoon
before they heard from the landlord of their house the news that the
German governor intended to execute all the Belgian workmen caught
within the precincts of the Durend yards. Even then they could hardly
bring themselves to believe it.

"It's too rascally even for the Germans, Max," declared Dale at last.
"It's probably only a threat to force one of them to give away his
fellows."

"Maybe, Dale, but I know enough of the Germans to believe that if they
don't succeed they will not hesitate to carry out the sentence."

"The cold-blooded murderers!" cried Dale hotly.

"Yes," replied Max in a strained voice, as he began to pace slowly up
and down the length of their room. "Yes, they are; but shall not we have
really had a hand in their deaths?"

"Not one jot," cried Dale emphatically. "No particle of blame can be
laid at our door if they are foully done to death."

"Had we not so harassed the Germans, these men would not be under
sentence of death," Max went on, half to himself. "It seems hard that
they must die for our success."

"Bah! They die for Belgium and to proclaim to the world that the Germans
must be crushed," cried Dale contemptuously. "No, Max, we have nothing
to reproach ourselves with in this business."

"No, but still----" Then, rousing himself with an effort, Max went on:
"But we need not worry ourselves yet. Will you go into the streets and
find out anything else you can? I am going to find Dubec, and we will
then see if aught can be done."

The two parted, and in a few minutes Max was at the door of Dubec's
house. Here a rude shock awaited him, for Madame Dubec, white-faced but
tearless, told him, with a quietude and directness that somehow seemed
to make the news more terrible still, that her husband was one of those
lying under sentence of death.

The shock was a great one, although, in his heart, Max had half expected
it. He knew Dubec had been in the yard, and what more likely than that
he had been detained? Too upset to do more than mumble a few words of
sorrow, Max turned on his heel and hurried from the house.

Taking the road to the open hills, Max strode on and on, his mind filled
with serious and oftentimes conflicting thoughts. He had no doubts as to
the fate of the thirty-nine men if the Germans were unable to lay their
hands upon the real authors of the destruction of the workshop. They
would surely die, and with them Dubec, towards whom Max felt specially
drawn by his constant loyal aid and the memory of the day when he had
answered his mute appeal for succour.

And to Max the responsibility seemed his. These men had no part nor lot
in it. Why should they die? It did not help matters much to blame the
Germans--the worst might always be expected of them--for that would not
give back to Madame Dubec the husband for whom it seemed to Max she had
unconsciously appealed.

Supposing he gave himself up in order that they might go free? Ah, what
a triumph for Schenk! How he would rejoice! True, he did not know that
Max was at the bottom of all the shrewd blows dealt him of late, but he
probably had more than a suspicion of it. At any rate he was known to
have traced much of the money and valuables, recovered from his room, to
the bank at Maastricht which Madame Durend patronized. Knowing, then,
the authorship of that most daring exploit, it would have been strange
if he had not looked to the same quarter for an explanation of the
similar blows dealt him so soon after.

Yes, it would be a great triumph for Schenk, and the end of that
resolute opposition to the use of the Durend workshops for the benefit
of the German army that had taken such a grip upon our hero's mind. That
task he had made peculiarly his own. All the fixity of purpose he
possessed, and it was not a little, was concentrated upon keeping his
father's--his--works from aiding the projects of a brutal and
unscrupulous enemy.

To give it all up would not only be a victory for Schenk but a bitter
pill to himself--the uprooting of something that had taken deep root in
the inmost recesses of his mind.

The struggle was a long one, but it came to an end at last, and Max
returned to the town, scribbled a short note to Dale, which he left at
their lodging, and then walked directly to the governor's house.

At the door the sentry's bayonet barred his entry, but the officer of
the guard, on being informed that a man had applied to see the governor
on urgent business, came out and spoke to him. A few words were
sufficient, and Max was brought inside under a guard of two men while
the officer sought the governor with the welcome news that the man who
had destroyed the Durend workshops had given himself up. The governor
directed that he should be searched to ensure that he was not in
possession of firearms and then admitted to his presence.

The German governor of Liege was quite a typical Prussian officer,
stiffly erect, with bullet-head covered with short bristling grey hair,
well-twisted moustache, and fierce aggressive manner. He was the man who
had called upon Schenk on the never-to-be-forgotten occasion when Max
and Dale had been his uninvited guests underneath his office desk. To
say the least of it, he was not a man who was afraid of being too
severe.

"You are then this rascal who has burned the Durend machine-gun shop?"
he cried in a rasping voice as soon as Max had been led before him.

"Yes," replied Max, "but I am no rascal. The shop is mine, and I have
burned it."

"Yours, impudent?" cried the governor angrily, raising a cane which lay
upon his desk as though about to slash his prisoner about the face.
"Yours? And who are you?"

"I am Max Durend, the son of the owner of the workshops, and I would
sooner see the place burned from end to end than of use to the Germans."

"Ah, that is good!" replied the governor in a voice of satisfaction,
dropping his hand and turning towards the officer who had ushered Max
into the room. "It will have a salutary effect if we execute the son of
Herr Durend. It will aid our cause tremendously."

"Yes, General."

"I have given myself up that the innocent men you have seized upon may
be released," Max interposed. "They know nothing of it. I am solely
responsible."

"Ja, so. I have now no quarrel with them," replied the governor
indifferently. "They are pawns. Now I have the real miscreant I need
them not."

"I am no miscreant. They are miscreants who would slaughter thirty-nine
innocent men because the right one had slipped

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