"Unless we 'break bounds' at the first opportunity," added Kenneth. "We both seem to have been born under a lucky star, and having given those fellows the slip once, there is no reason why we shouldn't be equally successful the next time."
The two following days the lads passed in uneventful captivity in the cell. Straw had been provided for bedding, while their meals consisted of rye bread and water, and, once a day, a bowl of soup. For half an hour they were allowed to take exercise in an enclosed courtyard, four soldiers, carrying loaded rifles, having been told off to prevent any attempt at escape.
On the morning of Tuesday, the 25th of August, the prisoners were ordered to leave their cell. Guided by the same four soldiers, they were marched into the courtyard, where a dozen Belgian civilians were formed up under an armed guard. In a doorway opening into the quadrangle stood Major Hoffmann, watching the proceedings with a supercilious air.
"Are they going to shoot the crowd of us?" whispered Kenneth; but before Rollo could reply, a sergeant gave the speaker a violent blow and sternly ordered him in French to be silent.
The names of the prisoners were then called out, each man having to answer to his name. This done, the sergeant in charge took the list to Major Hoffmann, who initialled the document and returned it.
Then the large gates at one end of the courtyard were thrown open, and the prisoners, surrounded by their armed guards, were ordered to march.
Along the Chaussée de Louvain—one of the principal thoroughfares of Brussels—the melancholy procession passed. There were crowds of people about in addition to the numerous German troops. The citizens regarded their compatriots under arrest with suppressed feelings. They were afraid to make any demonstration of sympathy. The iron heel of Germany had crushed the spirit out of the Belgians who still remained in the fallen capital.
"Do you know where they are taking us to?" asked Kenneth of the prisoner marching next to him, evidently a well-to-do business man before the great calamity that had overtaken him.
"They say to Germany, there to work in the fields and help to feed our enemies," replied the man. "At all events, we have to march to Louvain and be entrained there."
Kenneth's great fear was that Rollo would be unable to stand the strain of the long march. His ankle had improved, but he still limped slightly.