The Dispatch-Riders: The Adventures of Two British Motor-cyclists in the Great WarWesterman, Percy F. (Percy Francis)
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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
Rollo felt in his pockets. It was, as he expected, a vain quest, for
when in the hands of the Germans he had been rigorously searched, and
every article in his possession had been confiscated.
"This is the limit," said Kenneth dolorously. "I'd much rather be shot
in action. Here we may be snuffed out and no one will be a bit the
wiser. We may not be found for years, perhaps never."
"Oh, shut up!" exclaimed his companion. "It's bad enough without
rubbing it in."
"I wasn't."
"Yes, you were; but, I say, don't let us start quarrelling. The
question is----"
"Hist!" whispered Kenneth. "I hear voices."
The lad was right. Almost above their heads heavy boots were stumbling
over the debris, while the muffled sounds of guttural voices were borne
to the ears of the two prisoners. The Germans were searching the ruins.
"I vote we shout. They'll dig us out," suggested Kenneth.
"I vote we don't," objected Rollo sturdily. "See, the gleam of a
lantern is showing through a crack or a hole in the brickwork, so it
can't be so very thick. We may be able to tunnel our way out when they
clear off. If we gave ourselves up, ten to one they would shoot us for
giving them all this trouble."
It was that small glimmer of light that raised their hopes, without
which they would, through sheer panic, have called frantically to their
foes for aid, without considering the consequences.
For perhaps an hour the Germans continued their search, until,
discovering the passage of the final and fatal shell, they removed
sufficient of the debris to enable them to descend to the cellar. The
entombment of the two lads now proved to be a blessing in disguise,
for, screened from observation by the mound of rubble, their retreat
was unsuspected by the searchers.
Having found sufficient evidence to satisfy themselves that the
Belgians who had ambushed the Uhlan patrol were themselves slain, the
Germans concluded their investigations and went away.
For another long period the lads remained silent, until they felt
convinced that once more they were free from the unwelcome attentions
of the German troops. Then Rollo broke the silence.
"I'm jolly thirsty," he remarked.
"So am I," declared Kenneth. "There's some water in the bucket. We
needn't be too particular. I dipped my handkerchief in it, but it was
fairly clean."
"I'm ready to mop water out of a ditch," said Rollo.
Kenneth groped for the bucket. It was within six inches of his foot
and standing upright, but it was empty. A fragment of shell had torn a
hole through it close to the bottom. Not a drop of liquid was left.
"We've had a jolly narrow squeak," said Kenneth. "After that it would
be hard lines if we were knocked out in the last lap. I don't think we
shall be. Suppose we start tunnelling."
"Steady on, old man! We ought to wait till it gets light. Then we
will be able to see what we are doing," expostulated his companion.
"I can feel."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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