VII
Into the next few minutes were crowded, as it seemed to Burton inreminiscence, the events of hours. Emboldened by the supposed successof the captain's shot, the Germans renewed the attack with greatviolence and determination, both within and without. Repeatedonslaughts were made on the tottering door, which was now almostcompletely splintered, and on the barricade of furniture behind it.Burton had lost no time in replacing the broken chair, and twice hissteady fire from near the ceiling sent the attackers back in adisorderly heap.
Meanwhile two of the windows and their shutters had been riddled bylong-distance fire, and men were again mounting on ladders to break intothe rooms. At one, Pierre played a manful part; at the other, thegeneral, bracing himself as the peril grew greater, stood holding hisrevolver in his left hand, and shot man after man.
The grey light of early morning was now stealing into the room,depriving the defenders of the advantage of darkness. The shouts of themen, the reports of the guns, the suffocating fumes, made the place aninferno. At the bedside the marquise still bravely held her post.Burton was too busy to notice the extreme pallor of her face, thetrembling of her hands, the agonised look of terror in her eyes.
With a wild shout the infuriated Germans crashed through the brokendoor, and began to pull away the barricade at the end of the passage.While they were doing so, it was impossible for their comrades tocontinue firing; the attack was interrupted, and Burton shot down manyof the enemy among the pile of shattered furniture. But he recognisedthat, the Germans having won an entrance to the passage, it was only aquestion of minutes before the defence was overwhelmed.
At this moment he heard a groan in his rear. Pierre, badly hit, hadstaggered from the window he had been defending through thecommunicating doorway into the invalid's room. "It is all over withme!" he moaned, sinking at his mistress's feet. The crack of thegeneral's revolver still sounded at short intervals from the next room.Here and there the woodwork was smouldering; before long it would burstinto flames.
"There is only one thing to be done," thought Burton, resolved tomaintain the struggle to the end, desperate as the position was. "Wemust keep together, and make a last stand at the captain's bed."
Filling his magazine, he poured shot after shot into the enemy crowdingin the doorway and bursting through the barrier. The survivors reeledback under this withering fire, giving Burton time to leap from hisperch, run into the room, and call the general to his side. Pierre washelpless, the invalid was half dead, only the general and Burtonremained to stem a tide which would soon flow back with tenfold forcealong the passage.
The two men posted themselves before the bed, ready to meet the finalrush. Unknown to them, the marquise had taken the revolver from Pierre'shand and stood in front of her son, like a lioness defending her cub.The attack was renewed simultaneously on all sides, but a strangeinadvertence on the part of the enemy intervened to deal a partialcheck. They were shooting from the demolished barricade at the end ofthe passage. At the same time their comrades outside had begun to firethrough the window in a direct line with it. Several of the Germans inthe passage fell to the bullets of their own friends.
Growling at this mishap, the unwounded men broke through the doors atthe sides into the rooms. Burton had closed and barricaded, as well ashe could, the communicating doors, but he felt with a sinking heart thata few seconds would bring the unequal contest to its inevitable end.
The din was terrific, and with it was now mingled a surprising soundfrom outside the house.
"A machine-gun!" said Burton to himself. "They will shatter their ownmen!" He had no more time to think about it. The door of the room tohis left fell in with a crash; in the glimmer of dawn the opening wascrowded with Germans. Burton and the general emptied their revolversinto the mass; it collapsed, and the two men hastily filled theirchambers to meet the next, the final rush.
THE DOOR FELL IN WITH A CRASH]
But there was a strange lull in the rifle fire. From outside again camethe rattle of a machine-gun, and, in a momentary interval of silence,Burton caught the sound of cheers. Surely they were not German cheers?He thrilled with the conviction that the voices this time had the trueBritish ring. He waited the expected rush; it did not come. Thedoorway was clear; heavy feet were trampling in frenzied haste along thepassage. With the intermittent rattle of machine-guns close at handcame unmistakable British shouts.
Burton rushed to the window. The shutters were now in flames.Wrenching away the bars, he thrust his head through the shattered glass,and joyfully hailed the khaki-clad Lancers who had reined up below.There was not a living German to be seen. The greensward and thetrampled parterres were strewn with prostrate forms. And with a rattleand clank a battery of horse artillery galloped upon the scene.
"We are saved, madame!" cried Burton, turning back into the room. "OurLancers have put the Germans to flight."
"Dieu merci!" murmured the lady, falling on her knees at the bedside.
"Ah, les braves Anglais!" said the marquis, grasping Burton's right handwith his left, and jerking his arm up and down like a pump handle.
They looked at old Pierre, who had raised himself, and was feeblyshouting: "Vivent les Anglais! Vive monsieur le sourd-muet!"
Then, to Burton's amazement, he cracked his fingers, and laughed like alunatic.
"The poor fellow's brain is turned," said the marquis.
"No, no, monsieur, I am not crazy. Ah, ah! it was a trick to play!"
"What are you raving about, mon vieux?" asked the marquis.
"The smoke, monsieur! The paper! I gave the spy Schwikkard aforetaste. Ha! Surely he believed his last hour was come. See,monsieur, I burnt some brown paper in the stove under his nose. Hewould fire the chateau! Eh bien! assuredly he believed it was alreadyon fire. It was drole, monsieur--fine trick, n'est-ce pas?"
"Schwikkard is our prisoner, without doubt," said Burton to the marquis."Shall we untie him?"
At this moment entered Major Colpus of the Lancers, stepping gingerlyover the wreck of door and furniture.
"A pretty mess they have made of it," he said, with double intent. "Youare Burton?"
"That's my name."
"Captain Rolfe told us we should catch a half-regiment of hussars if wehurried. He rather expected you would be a prisoner. We got to thevillage just as some of the Germans were hauling away one Boitelet, thevillage smith, it appears. They left him to us, and he gave us aninkling that you were concerned in the rumpus here. The Germans haveskedaddled; we have a few prisoners below. You have had a whack or two,I see."
"I wasn't aware of it," said Burton, looking with surprise at darkstains on his blouse. "The marquis and his man are both wounded."
"Glad to meet you, monsieur," said the officer, who, with Britishshyness, had affected to ignore the presence of all but Burton. Now,however, he greeted monsieur and madame courteously, knelt down andrendered capable first-aid to the marquis and Pierre, and seeing at aglance that the man in bed was very ill, dispatched Burton for theregimental medico.
It was not until the doctor was engaged with his patients that Burtonfound an opportunity of releasing Major Schwikkard, and handing him as aprisoner to the British officer. He was scarcely recognisable. Thelong vigil, with the dread of being roasted by his own instructions, hadbroken him both in body and mind. He looked years older. His cheekshad fallen in, his whole frame shook, and his hair was patched withwhite. When Major Colpus addressed him cheerily, he stammered, tried tocomplete a sentence, and burst into tears.
"Poor wretch!" the major murmured. "Doctor, here's another patient foryou. Now, Mr. Burton, come and tell me all that has happened."
"I want to get back to my aeroplane," protested Burton.
"No hurry for that. Your friend, the smith, has borrowed a spare mount,and ridden off to the town to fetch something or other for it. I shan'tlet you off."
Burton growled that there was not much to tell, and tur
ned to take hisleave of the old marquis and his wife. In their over-flowing emotionthey could hardly speak.
"God bless you, monsieur!" said the marquise, brokenly. "You have savedus all. Your doctor says that my son will recover. Take a mother'sthanks, and wear this, monsieur. May the good God preserve you!"
She took from her neck a chain bearing a richly jewelled cross, andpressed it into Burton's hand. He bade them good-bye.
"Adieu, monsieur!" said old Pierre, as Burton shook hands with him."The wound--it is nothing. Your good doctor has stitched it up. I wasnot born to be killed by a Bosche. Ah, ca! It was a good trick,monsieur, n'est-ce pas?"