At length they reached the trench where the Belgian infantry, taking admirable cover, were replying steadily to the hail of ill-directed rifle bullets. The only unwounded officer was a slim young lieutenant—a mere boy.
"We have dispatches for Captain Leboeuf, sir," announced Kenneth. "He was in charge of an outpost at Visé."
"Visé is all aflame," replied the officer. "No doubt the Captain has crossed the Meuse. But we are about to retire, so look to yourselves. The enemy is threatening our right flank, otherwise we might hold this trench for another twenty-four hours."
"Any orders, sir, before we return to Fort de Barchon?"
"Yes; ride as quickly as you can to Saint André. The rest of our company is there. Tell the officer in command that I am retiring, and that unless he falls back he is in danger of being cut off. You understand? Good, now——"
The lieutenant's instructions ended in a faint shriek. His hands flew to his chest, and he pitched forward on his face.
A grizzled colour-sergeant instantly took command.
"Retire by sections!" he shouted. "Steady, men, no hurry. Keep them back as long as you can."
The caution was in vain. While the untried troops were lining the trench and replying to the German fire, all went well; but at the order to retire, men broke and ran for their lives. Heedless of the cover afforded by the ditch, they swarmed along the road in the direction of Argenteau, shrapnel and bullet accounting for half their numbers. Only the sergeant, two corporals, and the British dispatch-riders remained.
The Germans, advancing in close formation, were now eight hundred yards off.