30 yards past them, and had boldly entered a road leading to the village, when one of the soldiers, apparently as an afterthought, shouted, ‘Halt!’
Dumont and A. 91, pretending not to hear, hastened their steps. Again shouts of ‘Halt!’ ‘Halt!’ this time followed by the whiz of a bullet. As if by common accord, they threw themselves at the hedge bordering the road – A. 91 to the left, Dumont to the right. Dumont, emerging on the other side of the hedge, was seen by one of the soldiers, who had followed his manoeuvre. As the soldier made a dash for him, Dumont took to his heels. He was rapidly losing breath, when he fell headlong into a ditch which he had failed to see in the dark. Completely exhausted, he lay where he was. The soldier passed by without seeing him.
In the distance, Dumont heard a struggle going on, terminating a cry of triumph. Then silence. ‘A. 91 has been caught,’ passed through his mind. For an hour Dumont did not stir. Then a heavy rain started falling, and he resolved to make a move. His first thoughts were to reach the house of A. 91’s father, but so convinced was he that A. 91 had been arrested that he dismissed the idea immediately – it would be the very spot where the Secret Police would be waiting for him. There seemed no alternative but to try and get back to Belgium.
Wandering through the night, aided by the obscurity and the rain, Dumont eventually reached Macon. It was in a pitiful condition, his face and hands torn by the underbrush, wet to the skin, covered with mud, and completely exhausted, that I found him at my front door at dawn. After a change of clothes, and a few hours’ sleep, I drove him in a cart to Chimay, where together with Hanotier, we went over the night’s adventures, and lamented the fate of A. 91.
What had happened to A. 91 during this time? When he passed through the fence, instead of running away from it as Dumont had done, he ran along it for about 50 yards, and there finding an opening, he pushed his way into the centre of the hedge. Here, afraid to move, he remained for at least three hours. At one time, he heard a group of soldiers, not 10 yards away from him, discussing what had happened to the two of them. It was not until the rain came that he found it safe to move. Eventually, groping his way across the fields, he reached his father’s home at midnight.
Quickly, he explained to the surprised old man the crowded events of the evening. Anxiously, they waited for Dumont to arrive; and then as morning came, they gave up hope. Dumont had surely been arrested, was their only conclusion.
During the course of the day, A. 91 explained his mission to his father, himself a rugged veteran of former wars. The father nobly undertook to organise the Hirson Platoon. Much as his family would have liked him to remain at least for a few days, they counselled A. 91 to return to Belgium immediately – everyone in the village knew that he had left to join the French Army, via Holland, several months previously; it would have been suicidal to remain. On the next night, therefore, once again guided by Moreau, he regained my home in Macon without any further adventures. Great was his surprise and joy, when he heard of Dumont’s safe return. It was a still more surprised Dumont, who greeted him, when A. 91 reached Chimay .
It was to the neighbouring village of Fourmies that Amiable Senior, who had assumed the name of ‘Pierre’, first went. Here livedFelix Latouche (‘Dominique’), a former railway employee of the Compagnie du Nord, with whom A. 91, when still a boy, had made friends. Apart from his ardent patriotism, Dominique had a private score to settle with the Germans: during the earlier stages of the occupation, they had forced him to remain for several months at his post on the railway, threatening deportation of his family and himself if he refused. He joyfully entered the services of the ‘White Lady’, when solicited by Pierre.
Dominique’s
Dumont and A. 91, pretending not to hear, hastened their steps. Again shouts of ‘Halt!’ ‘Halt!’ this time followed by the whiz of a bullet. As if by common accord, they threw themselves at the hedge bordering the road – A. 91 to the left, Dumont to the right. Dumont, emerging on the other side of the hedge, was seen by one of the soldiers, who had followed his manoeuvre. As the soldier made a dash for him, Dumont took to his heels. He was rapidly losing breath, when he fell headlong into a ditch which he had failed to see in the dark. Completely exhausted, he lay where he was. The soldier passed by without seeing him.
In the distance, Dumont heard a struggle going on, terminating a cry of triumph. Then silence. ‘A. 91 has been caught,’ passed through his mind. For an hour Dumont did not stir. Then a heavy rain started falling, and he resolved to make a move. His first thoughts were to reach the house of A. 91’s father, but so convinced was he that A. 91 had been arrested that he dismissed the idea immediately – it would be the very spot where the Secret Police would be waiting for him. There seemed no alternative but to try and get back to Belgium.
Wandering through the night, aided by the obscurity and the rain, Dumont eventually reached Macon. It was in a pitiful condition, his face and hands torn by the underbrush, wet to the skin, covered with mud, and completely exhausted, that I found him at my front door at dawn. After a change of clothes, and a few hours’ sleep, I drove him in a cart to Chimay, where together with Hanotier, we went over the night’s adventures, and lamented the fate of A. 91.
What had happened to A. 91 during this time? When he passed through the fence, instead of running away from it as Dumont had done, he ran along it for about 50 yards, and there finding an opening, he pushed his way into the centre of the hedge. Here, afraid to move, he remained for at least three hours. At one time, he heard a group of soldiers, not 10 yards away from him, discussing what had happened to the two of them. It was not until the rain came that he found it safe to move. Eventually, groping his way across the fields, he reached his father’s home at midnight.
Quickly, he explained to the surprised old man the crowded events of the evening. Anxiously, they waited for Dumont to arrive; and then as morning came, they gave up hope. Dumont had surely been arrested, was their only conclusion.
During the course of the day, A. 91 explained his mission to his father, himself a rugged veteran of former wars. The father nobly undertook to organise the Hirson Platoon. Much as his family would have liked him to remain at least for a few days, they counselled A. 91 to return to Belgium immediately – everyone in the village knew that he had left to join the French Army, via Holland, several months previously; it would have been suicidal to remain. On the next night, therefore, once again guided by Moreau, he regained my home in Macon without any further adventures. Great was his surprise and joy, when he heard of Dumont’s safe return. It was a still more surprised Dumont, who greeted him, when A. 91 reached Chimay .
It was to the neighbouring village of Fourmies that Amiable Senior, who had assumed the name of ‘Pierre’, first went. Here livedFelix Latouche (‘Dominique’), a former railway employee of the Compagnie du Nord, with whom A. 91, when still a boy, had made friends. Apart from his ardent patriotism, Dominique had a private score to settle with the Germans: during the earlier stages of the occupation, they had forced him to remain for several months at his post on the railway, threatening deportation of his family and himself if he refused. He joyfully entered the services of the ‘White Lady’, when solicited by Pierre.
Dominique’s
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