The Dispatch-Riders: The Adventures of Two British Motor-cyclists in the Great War — John Shaqi
The Dispatch-Riders: The Adventures of Two British Motor-cyclists in the Great WarWesterman, Percy F. (Percy Francis)
General
The Dispatch-Riders: The Adventures of Two British Motor-cyclists in the Great War
Westerman, Percy F. (Percy Francis)
Adventure stories; Motorcycles -- Juvenile fiction; World War, 1914-1918 -- Juvenile fiction
There was no time for first-aid. The Germans were now within three
hundred yards of the abandoned trench. Throwing his arms round the
sergeant's body, Rollo lifted him from the ground, then kneeling, he
managed to transfer him across his back. Fortunately the wounded man
was not very heavy, and the lad, staggering under his burden, carried
him to the place where he had left his motor-cycle.
Just then came the rapid pop-pop of another motor-bike. Kenneth,
having discovered that his chum was no longer in his company, had
returned.
"Give me a push off, old man," panted Rollo, as he set his burden
across the carrier and stood astride his steed.
In went the clutch; Kenneth, running by the side of the cycle for a few
yards, steadied the wounded sergeant, who was clinging desperately to
the young dispatch-rider.
"All right, let go!" shouted Rollo.
The bike wobbled dangerously under the unusual burden. The sergeant's
grip wellnigh destroyed the lad's power of command on the steering.
The _zipp_ of a bullet did much to add to the difficulty, and
momentarily Rollo thought that nothing could save him from toppling
into the ditch.
"Let go my arms and catch hold of my waist," he shouted desperately.
The sergeant fortunately understood and obeyed; the motor-cycle began
to recover its balance, and as Rollo opened the throttle and increased
speed it settled down to its normal condition.
On either side the trees seemed to slip past like the spokes of a
wheel; the pace was terrific, and although the wounded man must have
been suffering agonies, not a groan came from his lips.
Presently Kenneth rode up alongside, for they were out of range and the
road was no longer encumbered with the fallen. Five minutes later the
two lads dismounted at the barricade of Argenteau.
Here ready arms relieved Rollo of his burden; soldiers assisted in
lifting the cycles over the barrier. As they did so one of them
pointed to one of the tool-bag panniers on Rollo's cycle. It was
pierced by a bullet.
"Where are you going to?" demanded a major.
"To Saint André, to warn a half-company of the 9th regiment to retire,
sir."
"It is unnecessary. The men have already rejoined. Return to Fort de
Barchon and say that if need be we can still hold the enemy in check,
but that we are losing heavily."
Soon they were back again at Argenteau, with instructions for the
remains of the badly-mauled regiment to fall back upon the lines of
defence prepared between the two forts in the north-eastern side of the
circle surrounding Liége.
The invaders had been delayed sufficiently to allow General Leman to
complete his dispositions. They were yet to learn that even the
much-vaunted German infantry could not afford to despise the gallant
Belgians.
"It's a jolly sight better than Rugby, anyway," declared Kenneth, as at
the end of their first day on active service they returned to their
quarters at Fort de Barchon.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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