"The villagers are trying to save the little that remains of their homes," said Kenneth. "They'll be able to give us some information as to where we can pick up the Belgian troops. Perhaps, though I doubt it, we may be also able to procure petrol." Suddenly a peasant, who was standing about a hundred yards in front of the nearest house, took to his heels and ran, shouting as he went. Before he gained the village, spurts of dull flame burst from behind a heap of debris piled across the road, and half a dozen bullets _zipped_ past the two lads. "Lie down!" exclaimed Kenneth, stopping only to place his precious motor-cycle behind a tree by the side of a ditch, before he followed the prompt example of his companion. "Those fellows have mistaken us for Uhlans. I don't wonder at it, now I come to think about it." Although sheltered by a mound by the side of the ditch, their place of concealment was known to the peasants. The latter kept up quite a hot fire from antiquated muskets and sporting-guns. Shots whizzed overhead, and showers of pellets fell all around the two lads. "Can't blame them," said Rollo. "Let's hoist the white flag; it's no disgrace in this case." Kenneth produced a very discoloured pocket-handkerchief. At one time it had been a white one, but owing to the various uses to which it had been put its colour resembled that tint which the French, with a reason, call "isabelle". For want of a staff he was obliged to hold it by his uplifted arm. In return he received a couple of pellets from a "twelve-bore", which, fortunately, only inflicted two punctured wounds in his skin. "I'm not a rabbit," muttered Kenneth, and he continued to wave the "white flag". Presently the firing ceased, and a swarm of men, accompanied by several shrieking women, bore down upon the two supposed Uhlans. "We're friends!" shouted Kenneth. "We're English. We've escaped from the Prussians." He might just as well have attempted to stem a torrent with a feather. The villagers saw only the hated uniforms of their merciless oppressors. They had no cause to grant quarter to Uhlans, for Uhlans were brutal and murderous to all with whom they came in contact when on their dreaded raids. "A mort! A bas!" rose from the mob like the growling of a pack of half-famished animals. The two British lads were in dire peril of being torn limb from limb. "A bas les Prussiens! Nous sommes Anglais," shouted Kenneth again, folding his arms and trying his level best to appear calm. A stick, hurled by a woman's hand, missed his head and struck him heavily upon the shoulder. At almost the same time Rollo was hit by a broken brick, the missile striking him in the ribs. "Tenez!" thundered an authoritative voice. "Let us show these vile Uhlans that Belgians are civilized. We will give them a fair trial, and shoot them afterwards."