Читать книгу Our Young Aeroplane Scouts in France and Belgium - Horace Porter - Страница 10

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The sky had turned dark over Ypres, rain had commenced to fall in streets so remarkably clean that they really did not need this bath from above. It was just the kind of a night, though, for the risky venture undertaken by our Aviator Boys. They were going to see their old friends, and nothing but a broken leg would check their willing steps on the way to the prison house that contained Captain Johnson and Josiah Freeman.

Leon knew the best way to get there. The darkest ways were light to him, and he was not afraid that rain would spoil his clothes. To guide these wonderful flying boys was the happiest thing that had happened to him in all his days, and, too, he had a strong dislike for the Germans who had invaded the homeland. His father was even now fighting in the ranks of the Allies at Nieuport, and his mother was wearing her heart out in the fields as the only breadwinner for her little brood.

There were comparatively few of the gray troops then in the town. The main columns were moving north to the Dixmude region, where the horizon was red with burning homes. To guard prisoners, garrison the town and care for the wounded not many soldiers were then needed in Ypres, and non-commissioned officers mostly were in command.

The streets were empty and silent, and lights only occasionally seen. At midnight Billy, Henri and Leon paused in the deep shadow of a tall elm, the branches of which swept the front of the dingy red brick dwelling, two stories in height and heavily hung with vines. Leon knew the place like a book, for he had been serving as an errand boy for the guards quartered there.

He whispered to Henri that the men who had sent the note were in the front room on the second floor.

Behind the brick wall at the side of the house was a garden. Billy and Henri, on Leon’s advice, decided to try the deep-set door in the garden wall as the only way to get in without stirring up the sentry in the front hall. With the first push on the door the rusty hinges creaked loudly.

The front door of the house was thrown open, and a shaft of light pierced the darkness. The boys backed up against the wall, scarcely daring to breathe. The soldier looked up at the clouds, knocked the ashes out of his pipe, muttered something to himself, turned back and slammed the door with a bang. At this the boys gave a backward heave, and were through the door and into the garden.

This interior was blacker than the mouth of an inkwell. Billy cautiously forced the door back in place.

“Got any matches?” Billy had failed to find any in his own pockets.

Henri was better supplied. In the military aëroplane he had not only found matches, but also a box of tapers, and he had taken the precaution of putting them in his pockets when they left the machine.

With a little flame, carefully shaded, the boys discovered a shaky-looking ladder in a grape-arbor at the back of the garden.

By degrees, foot by foot, they edged the ladder alongside of the house, and gently hoisted it to the window of the upper room, which Leon had assured them was the right one.

“Let’s shy some pebbles against the window to let them know we are here,” was the whispered suggestion of Henri.

“Nothing doing.” Billy was going to have a look in first. He was already crawling up the ladder. Henri laid hold of the lower rungs, to keep the rickety frame steady, and Leon stationed himself at the garden door, ready and alert to give warning whistle if anything happened in front.

Billy tapped softly on the window pane. The sash was silently raised, and Billy crept in.

Not a word had been spoken, and no signal from the room above.

Standing in the dark and the rain in the dismal garden, Henri was of half a mind to follow his comrade without further delay. It was an anxious moment.

A bird-like trill from Leon. With this call Henri left the ladder and tiptoed to the garden door to join the little Belgian and find out what was the matter.

From far up the silent street, coming with measured tread, a regiment was marching. The watchers at the door of the garden now plainly heard gruff commands and the other usual sounds of military movement.

“I must let Billy know; the soldiers are headed this way and might be coming to move the prisoners somewhere else.”

Henri had started back toward the house, when suddenly the window was thrown up, and, with a sound like the tearing of oil-cloth, Billy came down the ladder and landed with a bump on the graveled walk.

Henri and Leon, in the space of a second, rushed to the side of their fallen comrade.

In the street outside there was a crash that shook the silence as though the silence was solid. A regiment had grounded arms directly in front of the house.

Billy, who for a moment had been stunned by the force of his bump into the walk, at the end of a twenty-foot slide, jumped to his feet, and in a breath urged his companions to run.

“Let’s get out of this; over the wall with you!”

The boys bolted for the back wall of the garden, dragging the ladder, and speedily mingled on all fours on the coping, the top of which was strewn with broken glass.

Hanging by their hands on the outer side of the wall they chanced the long drop. As luck would have it, they landed in soft places—on a pile of ashes and garbage.

Lights sprang up in the windows of the house behind them. It was evident that a change of base was to be made.

“Did you see our fellows?” was Henri’s first eager question, as he shook off his coat of ashes.

“You bet I did,” coughed Billy, whose face had plowed a furrow in the ash heap. “A bunch of the gray men in a motor boat pounced on them while they were tinkering with the sea-plane and took them and the plane in tow to Ostend. They were brought down here so that General So and So, I don’t remember who, could look them over, but the general and his brigade have gone off somewhere to the north to try and stop the advance of the Allies. The captain and Freeman both say they are in no special danger and are very kindly treated. They have their papers as American citizens and agents abroad for our factory. Then there is the storm story as their reason for being blown into the war zone without fighting clothes.

“How did I come to quit that house yonder like a skyrocket? Well, just as the captain and I had finished exchanging experiences, and old Josh Freeman had nearly broken my ribs with a bear hug, one of the rounders in the house concluded to pay a visit to the room where we were. We didn’t hear him until he reached the top of the stairs, where he stopped to sneeze. With that sneeze I did my leaping act. That soldier never saw me; I’ll wager on that.”

“What’ll we do now?” That was more what Henri wanted to know.

“Get back to the machine before daylight.” Billy’s main idea was that the safest place was a couple of thousand feet in the air.

Daylight was not far away. Henri and Leon held a committee meeting to determine the best route back to the fortifications. The little Belgian was sure of his ground, and before sunrise, by countless twists and turns, the trio were back to the stone hangar where the aëroplane rested.

The first faint streaks of dawn gave light enough for Billy to do his tuning work about the machine. Henri was bending over, in the act of testing the fuel supply, when there was a thud of horses’ hoofs on all sides of the enclosure, followed by a shrill cry from Leon:

“Sauvez vous! Vite! Vite!” (Save yourself! Quick! Quick!)

With that the little Belgian frantically tugged at the aëroplane, and not until our Aviator Boys had swung the machine into the open and leaped to their places in the frame did the brave youngster quit his post. Then he ran like a rabbit, waving quick farewell, and disappeared in the wilderness of stone.

Lickety clip the aëroplane moved over the ground. Then up and away!

A pistol shot rang out. A cavalryman nearest to the point of flight was behind the weapon.

Barely a hundred feet in the air and Henri leaned heavily against Billy.

“I’m hit!” he gasped, “but don’t let go. Keep her going!”