Pierrot, Dog of Belgium

by Walter A. Dyer

Pierrot sniffed, but in the strong man-smell of the marching troops he detected no familiar scent. He barked with all his might, “Here I am, Père Jean; here I am!” But Conrad bade him be still, and the soldier in the line kept his eyes fixed sternly ahead and marched on without turning. So Pierrot must have been mistaken. It made him very unhappy, and he whined in a low, whistling tone till the column passed and Conrad started on again.

There came a day when a fiercer battle took place than any Pierrot had yet been engaged in. The Germans had spread out their forces until they were very near to the Antwerp forts, and there was need of an action in force to drive them back again. Many soldiers were ordered hastily to the front—galloping dragoons, close ranks of infantry, and horse-drawn field guns. When the command came to the carbineers, the machine-gun battery was ready and the dogs waiting in their harnesses, and they started off at a run down the road.

After they had gone about a mile an officer came galloping up and sent them off to the left around a little wood, in which a battalion of infantry was in action. The rattle of their rifles made an incessant din, and now and then shrapnel shrieked overhead and shells exploded in the soft earth or among the trees.

The men urged their dogs to greater efforts, and they tore over the rough ground, dragging their guns and wagons in and out of gullies and through underbrush at a mad pace.

As they skirted the wood they came into full view of a gray German column making its way slowly around the flank of the Belgians. The carbineers quickly deployed, falling on their faces behind any bush or hillock they could find, and opened fire. But the men in charge of the batteries could not hide. They must get their guns into action and take their chances.

There was no time to unharness the dogs, so they were turned about and were obliged to stand facing away from the tumult of battle as the machine-guns began to rattle directly behind them. It was very hard to bear, and some of them might have broken and run but for a half-dozen men who had been told off to squat by the dogs’ heads and hold them steady.

Bullets began to whistle about their ears and to go plop! plop! into the ground about them. Now and then a man fell silently or with a sharp cry, and over on the right Pierrot heard a dog’s sharp yelp of anguish. Behind him Conrad Orts grunted and breathed through his teeth as he desperately worked his gun.

Suddenly one of the men at the dogs’ heads grasped his throat, uttered a rattling moan, and fell over in the grass, and two of the dogs started wildly off, their gun bumping and careening behind them. Other dogs reared and snarled, and it was all the men could do to prevent a stampede. A panic seized Pierrot and the desire for swift flight, but Conrad turned about for a moment, crying, “Steady, boys, steady!” Stolid old Jef growled in his throat and Pierrot stood firm.

The fire of the machine-guns had checked the advancing Germans, and the carbineers began to dart ahead from hillock to hillock, continuing their fire. At length the Germans withdrew and the battle centre shifted. The carbineers were recalled and fell in with their battery behind the trees to catch their breath. Just as they were turning a speeding bullet caught a spotted young dog that Pierrot had become acquainted with. He was trotting close by with his mate and their gun, and with a cry of pain and terror he leaped into the air and fell at Pierrot’s feet, the red blood spurting from his shoulder.