William Le Queux
The Invasion of 1910
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Table of contents
PREFACE
BOOK I THE ATTACK
CHAPTER I THE SURPRISE
CHAPTER II EFFECT IN THE CITY
CHAPTER III NEWS OF THE ENEMY
CHAPTER IV A PROPHECY FULFILLED
CHAPTER V OUR FLEET TAKEN UNAWARES
CHAPTER VI FIERCE CRUISER BATTLE
CHAPTER VII CONTINUATION OF THE STRUGGLE AT SEA
CHAPTER VIII SITUATION IN THE NORTH
CHAPTER IX STATE OF SIEGE DECLARED
CHAPTER X HOW THE ENEMY DEALT THE BLOW
CHAPTER XI GERMANS LANDING AT HULL AND GOOLE
CHAPTER XII DESPERATE FIGHTING IN ESSEX
CHAPTER XIII DEFENCE AT LAST
CHAPTER XIV BRITISH SUCCESS AT ROYSTON
CHAPTER XV BRITISH ABANDON COLCHESTER
CHAPTER XVI FIERCE FIGHTING AT CHELMSFORD
CHAPTER XVII IN THE ENEMY’S HANDS
CHAPTER XVIII THE FEELING IN LONDON
BOOK II THE SIEGE OF LONDON
CHAPTER I THE LINES OF LONDON
CHAPTER II REPULSE OF THE GERMANS
CHAPTER III BATTLE OF EPPING
CHAPTER IV BOMBARDMENT OF LONDON
CHAPTER V THE RAIN OF DEATH
CHAPTER VI FALL OF LONDON
CHAPTER VII TWO PERSONAL NARRATIVES
CHAPTER VIII GERMANS SACKING THE BANKS
CHAPTER IX WHAT WAS HAPPENING AT SEA
CHAPTER X SITUATION SOUTH OF THE THAMES
CHAPTER XI DEFENCES OF SOUTH LONDON
CHAPTER XII DAILY LIFE OF THE BELEAGUERED
CHAPTER XIII REVOLTS IN SHOREDITCH AND ISLINGTON
BOOK III THE REVENGE
CHAPTER I A BLOW FOR FREEDOM
CHAPTER II SCENES AT WATERLOO BRIDGE
CHAPTER III GREAT BRITISH VICTORY
CHAPTER IV MASSACRE OF GERMANS IN LONDON
CHAPTER V HOW THE WAR ENDED
PREFACE
“I
sometimes despair of the country ever becoming alive to the danger of
the unpreparedness of our present position until too late to prevent
some fatal catastrophe.”This
was the keynote of a solemn warning made in the House of Lords on
July 10th of the present year by Earl Roberts. His lordship, while
drawing attention to our present inadequate forces, strongly urged
that action should be taken in accordance with the recommendations of
the Elgin Commission that “no military system could be considered
satisfactory which did not contain powers of expansion outside the
limit of the regular forces of the Crown.”
“The
lessons of the late war appear to have been completely forgotten.
The one prevailing idea seems to be,” said Earl Roberts, “to cut
down our military expenditure without reference to our increased
responsibilities and our largely augmented revenue. History tells us
in the plainest terms that an Empire which cannot defend its own
possessions must inevitably perish.” And with this view both Lord
Milner and the Marquis of Lansdowne concurred. But surely this is not
enough. If we are to retain our position as the first nation in the
world we must be prepared to defend any raid made upon our shores.The
object of this book is to illustrate our utter unpreparedness for
war, to show how, under certain conditions which may easily occur,
England can be successfully invaded by Germany, and to present a
picture of the ruin which must inevitably fall upon us on the evening
of that not far-distant day.Ever
since Lord Roberts formulated his plans for the establishment of
rifle-clubs I have been deeply interested in the movement; and after
a conversation with that distinguished soldier the idea occurred to
me to write a forecast, based upon all the available military and
naval knowledge—which would bring home to the British public
vividly and forcibly what really would occur were an enemy suddenly
to appear in our midst. At the outset it was declared by the
strategists I consulted to be impossible. No such book could ever be
written, for, according to them, the mass of technical detail was far
too great to digest and present in an intelligible manner to the
public.Lord
Roberts, however, gave me encouragement. The skeleton scheme of the
manner in which England could be invaded by Germany was submitted to
a number of the highest authorities on strategy, whose names,
however, I am not permitted to divulge, and after many consultations,
much criticism, and considerable difference of opinion, the “general
idea,” with amendment after amendment, was finally adopted.That,
however, was only a mere preliminary. Upon questions of tactics each
tactician consulted held a different view, and each criticised
adversely the other’s suggestions. With the invaluable assistance
of my friend Mr. H. W. Wilson, we had decided upon the naval portion
of the campaign; but when it came to the operations on land, I found
a wide divergence of opinion everywhere.One
way alone remained open—namely, to take the facts exactly as they
stood, add the additional strength of the opposing nations as they
will be in 1910, and then draw logical conclusions. This, aided by
experts, was done; and after many days of argument with the various
authorities, we succeeded at last in getting them in accord as to the
general practicability of an invasion.Before
putting pen to paper it was necessary to reconnoitre carefully the
whole of England from the Thames to the Tyne. This I did by means of
a motor-car, travelling 10,000 miles of all kinds of roads, and
making a tour extending over four months. Each town, all the points
of vantage, military positions, all the available landing-places on
the coast, all railway connections, and telephone and telegraph
communications, were carefully noted for future reference. With the
assistance of certain well-known military experts, the battlefields
were carefully gone over and the positions marked upon the Ordnance
map. Thus, through four months we pushed on day by day collecting
information and material, sometimes in the big cities, sometimes in
the quietest and remotest hamlets, all of which was carefully
tabulated for use.Whatever
critics may say, and however their opinions may differ, it can only
be pointed out, first, that the “general idea” of the scheme is
in accordance with the expressed and published opinions of the first
strategists of to-day, and that, as far as the forecast of events is
concerned, it has been written from a first-hand knowledge of the
local colour of each of the scenes described. The enemy’s
Proclamations reproduced are practically copies of those issued by
the Germans during the war of 1870.That
the experts and myself will probably be condemned as alarmists and
denounced for revealing information likely to be of assistance to an
enemy goes without saying. Indeed, on March 15th last, an attempt was
made in the House of Commons to suppress its publication altogether.
Mr. R. C. Lehmann, who asked a question of the Prime Minister,
declared that it was “calculated to prejudice our relations with
the other Powers,” while Sir H. Campbell-Bannerman, in a subsequent
letter apologising to me for condemning in the House a work he had
not read, repeated that it was likely to “produce irritation abroad
and might conceivably alarm the more ignorant public at home.”Such
a reflection, cast by the Prime Minister upon the British nation, is,
to say the least, curious, yet it only confirms the truth that the
Government are strenuously seeking to conceal from our people the
appalling military weakness and the consequent danger to which the
country is constantly open.Mr.
Haldane’s new scheme has a number of points about it which, at
first sight, will perhaps commend themselves to the general public,
and in some cases to a proportion of military men. Foremost among
these are the provision made for training the Militia Artillery in
the use of comparatively modern field-guns, and the institution of
the County Associations for the administration of the Volunteers and
the encouragement of the local military spirit. Could an ideal
Association of this kind be evolved there is little doubt that it
would be capable of doing an immense amount of good, since
administration by a central staff, ignorant of the widely differing
local conditions which affect the several Volunteer corps, has
already militated against getting the best work possible out of their
members. But under our twentieth-century social system, which has
unfortunately displaced so many influential and respected county
families—every one of which had military or naval members,
relations or ancestors—by wealthy tradesmen, speculators, and the
like, any efficient County Association will be very hard to create.
Mr. Haldane’s scheme is a bold and masterly sketch, but he will
find it very hard to fill in the details satisfactorily.
Unfortunately, the losses the Army must sustain by the reduction of
so many fine battalions are very real and tangible, while the
promised gains in efficiency would appear to be somewhat shadowy and
uncertain.To
be weak is to invite war; to be strong is to prevent it.To
arouse our country to a sense of its own lamentable insecurity is the
object of this volume, and that other nations besides ourselves are
interested in England’s grave peril is proved by the fact that it
has already been published in the German, French, Spanish, Danish,
Russian, Italian, and even Japanese languages.William
Le Queux.
BOOK I THE ATTACK
CHAPTER I THE SURPRISE
Two
of the myriad of London’s night-workers were walking down Fleet
Street together soon after dawn on Sunday morning, 2nd September.The
sun had not yet risen. That main artery of London traffic, with its
irregular rows of closed shops and newspaper offices, was quiet and
pleasant in the calm, mystic light before the falling of the
smoke-pall.Only
at early morning does the dear old City look its best; in that one
quiet, sweet hour when the night’s toil has ended and the day’s
has not yet begun. Only in that brief interval at the birth of day,
when the rose tints of the sky glow slowly into gold, does the giant
metropolis repose—at least, as far as its business streets are
concerned—for at five o’clock the toiling millions begin to again
pour in from all points of the compass, and the stress and storm of
London life at once recommences.And
in that hour of silent charm the two grey-bearded sub-editors, though
engaged in offices of rival newspapers, were making their way
homeward to Dulwich to spend Sunday in a well-earned rest, and were
chatting “shop” as Press men do.
“I
suppose you had the same trouble to get that Yarmouth story through?”
asked Fergusson, the news-editor of the
Weekly Dispatch,
as they crossed Whitefriars Street. “We got about half a column,
and then the wire shut down.”
“Telegraph
or telephone?” inquired Baines, who was four or five years younger
than his friend.
“We
were using both—to make sure.”
“So
were we. It was a rattling good story—the robbery was mysterious,
to say the least—but we didn’t get more than half of it.
Something’s wrong with the line, evidently,” Baines said. “If
it were not such a perfect autumn morning, I should be inclined to
think there’d been a storm somewhere.”
“Yes—funny,
wasn’t it?” remarked the other. “A shame we haven’t the whole
story, for it was a first-class one, and we wanted something. Did you
put it on the contents-bill?”
“No,
because we couldn’t get the finish. I tried in every way—rang up
the Central News, P.A., Exchange Telegraph Company, tried to get
through to Yarmouth on the trunk, and spent half an hour or so
pottering about, but the reply from all the agencies, from everywhere
in fact, was the same—the line was interrupted.”
“Just
our case. I telephoned to the Post Office, but the reply came back
that the lines were evidently down.”
“Well,
it certainly looks as though there’d been a storm, but——” and
Baines glanced at the bright, clear sky overhead, just flushed by the
bursting sun—“there are certainly no traces of it.”
“There’s
often a storm on the coast when it’s quite still in London, my dear
fellow,” remarked his friend wisely.
“That’s
all very well. But when all communication with a big place like
Yarmouth is suddenly cut off, as it has been, I can’t help
suspecting that something has happened which we ought to know.”
“You’re
perhaps right after all,” Fergusson said. “I wonder if anything
has
happened. We don’t want to be called back to the office, either of
us. My assistant, Henderson, whom I’ve left in charge, rings me up
over any mare’s nest. The trunk telephones all come into the Post
Office exchange up in Carter Lane. Why not look in there before we go
home? It won’t take us a quarter of an hour, and we have several
trains home from Ludgate Hill.”Baines
looked at his watch. Like his companion, he had no desire to be
called back to his office after getting out to Dulwich, and yet he
was in no mood to go making reporter’s inquiries.
“I
don’t think I’ll go. It’s sure to be nothing, my dear fellow,”
he said. “Besides, I have a beastly headache. I had a heavy night’s
work. One of my men is away ill.”
“Well,
at any rate, I think I’ll go,” Fergusson said. “Don’t blame
me if you get called back for a special edition with a terrible
storm, great loss of life, and all that sort of thing. So long.”
And, smiling, he waved his hand and parted from his friend in the
booking-office of Ludgate Hill Station.Quickening
his pace, he hurried through the office and, passing out by the back,
ascended the steep, narrow street until he reached the Post Office
telephone exchange in Carter Lane, where, presenting his card, he
asked to see the superintendent-in-charge.Without
much delay he was shown upstairs into a small private office, into
which came a short, dapper, fair-moustached man with the bustle of a
person in a great hurry.
“I’ve
called,” the sub-editor explained, “to know whether you can tell
me anything regarding the cause of the interruption of the line to
Yarmouth a short time ago. We had some important news coming through,
but were cut off just in the midst of it, and then we received
information that all the telephone and telegraph lines to Yarmouth
were interrupted.”
“Well,
that’s just the very point which is puzzling us at this moment,”
was the night-superintendent’s reply. “It is quite unaccountable.
Our trunk going to Yarmouth seems to be down, as well as the
telegraphs. Yarmouth, Lowestoft, and beyond Beccles seem all to have
been suddenly cut off. About eighteen minutes to four the operators
noticed something wrong, switched the trunks through to the testers,
and the latter reported to me in due course.”
“That’s
strange! Did they all break down together?”
“No.
The first that failed was the one that runs through Chelmsford,
Colchester, and Ipswich up to Lowestoft and Yarmouth. The operator
found that he could get through to Ipswich and Beccles. Ipswich knew
nothing, except that something was wrong. They could still ring up
Beccles, but not beyond.”As
they were speaking, there was a tap at the door, and the assistant
night-superintendent entered, saying—
“The
Norwich line through Scole and Long Stratton has now failed, sir.
About half-past four Norwich reported a fault somewhere north,
between there and Cromer. But the operator now says that the line is
apparently broken, and so are all the telegraphs from there to
Cromer, Sheringham, and Holt.”
“Another
line has gone, then!” exclaimed the superintendent-in-charge,
utterly astounded. “Have you tried to get on to Cromer by the other
routes—through Nottingham and King’s Lynn, or through Cambridge?”
“The
testers have tried every route, but there’s no response.”
“You
could get through to some of the places—Yarmouth, for instance—by
telegraphing to the Continent, I suppose?” asked Fergusson.
“We
are already trying,” responded the assistant superintendent.
“What
cables run out from the east coast in that neighbourhood?” inquired
the sub-editor quickly.
“There
are five between Southwold and Cromer—three run to Germany, and two
to Holland,” replied the assistant. “There’s the cable from
Yarmouth to Barkum, in the Frisian Islands; from Happisburg, near
Mundesley, to Barkum; from Yarmouth to Emden; from Lowestoft to
Haarlem, and from Kessingland, near Southwold, to Zandyport.”
“And
you are trying all the routes?” asked his superior.
“I
spoke to Paris myself an hour ago and asked them to cable by all five
routes to Yarmouth, Lowestoft, Kessingland, and Happisburg,” was
the assistant’s reply. “I also asked Liverpool Street Station and
King’s Cross to wire down to some of their stations on the coast,
but the reply was that they were in the same predicament as
ourselves—their lines were down north of Beccles, Wymondham, East
Dereham, and also south of Lynn. I’ll just run along and see if
there’s any reply from Paris. They ought to be through by this
time, as it’s Sunday morning, and no traffic.” And he went out
hurriedly.
“There’s
certainly something very peculiar,” remarked the
superintendent-in-charge to the sub-editor. “If there’s been an
earthquake or an electrical disturbance, then it is a most
extraordinary one. Every single line reaching to the coast seems
interrupted.”
“Yes.
It’s uncommonly funny,” Fergusson remarked. “I wonder what
could have happened. You’ve never had a complete breakdown like
this before?”
“Never.
But I think——”The
sentence remained unfinished, for his assistant returned with a slip
of paper in his hand, saying—
“This
message has just come in from Paris. I’ll read it. ‘Superintendent
Telephones, Paris, to Superintendent Telephones, London.—Have
obtained direct telegraphic communication with operators of all five
cables to England. Haarlem, Zandyport, Barkum, and Emden all report
that cables are interrupted. They can get no reply from England, and
tests show that cables are damaged somewhere near English shore.’ ”
“Is
that all?” asked Fergusson.
“That’s
all. Paris knows no more than we do,” was the assistant’s
response.
“Then
the Norfolk and Suffolk coasts are completely isolated—cut off from
post office, railways, telephones, and cables!” exclaimed the
superintendent. “It’s mysterious—most mysterious!” And,
taking up the instrument upon his table, he placed a plug in one of
the holes down the front of the table itself, and a moment later was
in conversation with the official in charge of the traffic at
Liverpool Street, repeating the report from Paris, and urging him to
send light engines north from Wymondham or Beccles into the zone of
mystery.The
reply came back that he had already done so, but a telegram had
reached him from Wymondham to the effect that the road-bridges
between Kimberley and Hardingham had apparently fallen in, and the
line was blocked by débris. Interruption was also reported beyond
Swaffham, at a place called Little Dunham.
“Then
even the railways themselves are broken!” cried Fergusson. “Is it
possible that there’s been a great earthquake?”
“An
earthquake couldn’t very well destroy all five cables from the
Continent,” remarked the superintendent gravely.The
latter had scarcely placed the receiver upon the hook when a third
man entered—an operator who, addressing him, said—
“Will
you please come to the switchboard, sir? There’s a man in the
Ipswich call office who has just told me a most extraordinary story.
He says that he started in his motor-car alone from Lowestoft to
London at half-past three this morning, and just as it was getting
light he was passing along the edge of Henham Park, between Wangford
village and Blythburgh, when he saw three men apparently repairing
the telegraph wires. One was up the pole, and the other two were
standing below. As he passed he saw a flash, for, to his surprise,
one of the men fired point-blank at him with a revolver. Fortunately,
the shot went wide, and he at once put on a move and got down into
Blythburgh village, even though one of his tyres went down. It had
probably been pierced by the bullet fired at him, as the puncture was
unlike any he had ever had before. At Blythburgh he informed the
police of the outrage, and the constable, in turn, woke up the
postmaster, who tried to telegraph back to the police at Wrentham,
but found that the line was interrupted. Was it possible that the men
were cutting the wires, instead of repairing them? He says that after
repairing the puncture he took the village constable and three other
men on his car and went back to the spot, where, although the trio
had escaped, they saw that wholesale havoc had been wrought with the
telegraphs. The lines had been severed in four or five places, and
whole lengths tangled up into great masses. A number of poles had
been sawn down, and were lying about the roadside. Seeing that
nothing could be done, the gentleman remounted his car, came on to
Ipswich, and reported the damage at our call office.”
“And
is he still there?” exclaimed the superintendent quickly, amazed at
the motorist’s statement.
“Yes.
I asked him to wait for a few moments in order to speak to you, sir.”
“Good.
I’ll go at once. Perhaps you’d like to come also, Mr. Fergusson?”And
all four ran up to the gallery, where the huge switchboards were
ranged around, and where the night operators, with the receivers
attached to one ear, were still at work.In
a moment the superintendent had taken the operator’s seat, adjusted
the ear-piece, and was in conversation with Ipswich. A second later
he was speaking with the man who had actually witnessed the cutting
of the trunk line.While
he was thus engaged an operator at the farther end of the switchboard
suddenly gave vent to a cry of surprise and disbelief.
“What
do you say, Beccles? Repeat it,” he asked excitedly.Then
a moment later he shouted aloud—
“Beccles
says that German soldiers—hundreds of them—are pouring into the
place! The Germans have landed at Lowestoft, they think.”All
who heard those ominous words sprang up dumbfounded, staring at each
other.The
assistant-superintendent dashed to the operator’s side and seized
his apparatus.
“Halloa—halloa,
Beccles! Halloa—halloa—halloa!”The
response was some gruff words in German, and the sound of scuffling
could distinctly be heard. Then all was silent.Time
after time he rang up the small Suffolk town, but in vain. Then he
switched through to the testers, and quickly the truth was plain.The
second trunk line to Norwich, running from Ipswich by Harleston and
Beccles, had been cut farther towards London.But
what held everyone breathless in the trunk telephone headquarters was
that the Germans had actually effected the surprise landing that had
so often in recent years been predicted by military critics; that
England on that quiet September Sunday morning had been attacked.
England was actually invaded. It was incredible!Yet
London’s millions in their Sunday morning lethargy were in utter
ignorance of the grim disaster that had suddenly fallen upon the
land.Fergusson
was for rushing at once back to the
Weekly Dispatch
office to get out an extraordinary edition, but the superintendent,
who was still in conversation with the motorist, urged judicious
forethought.
“For
the present, let us wait. Don’t let us alarm the public
unnecessarily. We want corroboration. Let us have the motorist up
here,” he suggested.
“Yes,”
cried the sub-editor. “Let me speak to him.”Over
the wire Fergusson begged the stranger to come at once to London and
give his story, declaring that the military authorities would require
it. Then, just as the man who had been shot at by German advance
spies—for such they had undoubtedly been—in order to prevent the
truth leaking out, gave his promise to come to town at once, there
came over the line from the coastguard at Southwold a vague,
incoherent telephone message regarding strange ships having been seen
to the northward, and asking for connection with Harwich; while
King’s Cross and Liverpool Street Stations both rang up almost
simultaneously, reporting the receipt of extraordinary messages from
King’s Lynn, Diss, Harleston, Halesworth, and other places. All
declared that German soldiers were swarming over the north, that
Lowestoft and Beccles had been seized, and that Yarmouth and Cromer
were isolated.Various
stationmasters reported that the enemy had blown up bridges, taken up
rails, and effectually blocked all communication with the coast.
Certain important junctions were already held by the enemy’s
outposts.Such
was the amazing news received in that high-up room in Carter Lane,
City, on that sweet, sunny morning when all the great world of London
was at peace, either still slumbering or week-ending.Fergusson
remained for a full hour and a half at the Telephone Exchange,
anxiously awaiting any further corroboration. Many wild stories came
over the wires telling how panic-stricken people were fleeing inland
away from the enemy’s outposts. Then he took a hansom to the
Weekly Dispatch
office, and proceeded to prepare a special edition of his paper—an
edition containing surely the most amazing news that had ever
startled London.Fearing
to create undue panic, he decided not to go to press until the
arrival of the motorist from Ipswich. He wanted the story of the man
who had actually seen the cutting of the wires. He paced his room
excitedly, wondering what effect the news would have upon the world.
In the rival newspaper offices the report was, as yet, unknown. With
journalistic forethought he had arranged that at present the
bewildering truth should not leak out to his rivals, either from the
railway termini or from the telephone exchange. His only fear was
that some local correspondent might telegraph from some village or
town nearer the metropolis which was still in communication with the
central office.Time
passed very slowly. Each moment increased his anxiety. He had sent
out the one reporter who remained on duty to the house of Colonel Sir
James Taylor, the Permanent Under-Secretary for War. Halting before
the open window, he looked up and down the street for the arriving
motor-car. But all was quiet.Eight
o’clock had just boomed from Big Ben, and London still remained in
her Sunday morning peace. The street, bright in the warm sunshine,
was quite empty, save for a couple of motor-omnibuses and a
sprinkling of gaily dressed holiday-makers on their way to the day
excursion trains.In
that centre of London—the hub of the world—all was comparatively
silent, the welcome rest after the busy turmoil that through six days
in the week is unceasing, that fevered throbbing of the heart of the
world’s great capital.Of
a sudden, however, came the whirr-r of an approaching car, as a
thin-faced, travel-stained man tore along from the direction of the
Strand and pulled up before the office. The fine car, a six-cylinder
“Napier,” was grey with the mud of country roads, while the
motorist himself was smothered until his goggles had been almost
entirely covered.Fergusson
rushed out to him, and a few moments later the pair were in the
upstairs room, the sub-editor swiftly taking down the motorist’s
story, which differed very little from what he had already spoken
over the telephone.Then,
just as Big Ben chimed the half-hour, the echoes of the half-deserted
Strand were suddenly awakened by the loud, strident voices of the
newsboys shouting—
“Weekly
Dispatch,
spe-shall! Invasion of England this morning! Germans in Suffolk!
Terrible panic! Spe-shall!
Weekly Dispatch,
Spe-shall!”As
soon as the paper had gone to press Fergusson urged the
motorist—whose name was Horton, and who lived at Richmond—to go
with him to the War Office and report. Therefore, both men entered
the car, and in a few moments drew up before the new War Office in
Whitehall.
“I
want to see somebody in authority at once!” cried Fergusson
excitedly to the sentry as he sprang out.
“You’ll
find the caretaker, if you ring at the side entrance—on the right,
there,” responded the man, who then marched on.
“The
caretaker!” echoed the excited sub-editor bitterly. “And England
invaded by the Germans!”He,
however, dashed towards the door indicated and rang the bell. At
first there was no response. But presently there were sounds of a
slow unbolting of the door, which opened at last, revealing a tall,
elderly man in slippers, a retired soldier.
“I
must see somebody at once!” exclaimed the journalist. “Not a
moment must be lost. What permanent officials are here?”
“There’s
nobody ’ere, sir,” responded the man in some surprise at the
request. “It’s Sunday morning, you know.”
“Sunday!
I know that, but I must see someone. Whom can I see?”
“Nobody,
until to-morrow morning. Come then.” And the old soldier was about
to close the door when the journalist prevented him, asking—
“Where’s
the clerk-in-residence?”
“How
should I know? Gone up the river, perhaps. It’s a nice mornin’.”
“Well,
where does he live?”
“Sometimes
’ere—sometimes in ’is chambers in Ebury Street,” and the man
mentioned the number.
“Better
come to-morrow, sir, about eleven. Somebody’ll be sure to see you
then.”
“To-morrow!”
cried the other. “To-morrow! You don’t know what you’re saying,
man! To-morrow will be too late. Perhaps it’s too late now. The
Germans have landed in England!”
“Oh,
’ave they?” exclaimed the caretaker, regarding both men with
considerable suspicion. “Our people will be glad to know that, I’m
sure—to-morrow.”
“But
haven’t you got telephones, private telegraphs, or something here,
so that I can communicate with the authorities? Can’t you ring up
the Secretary of State, the Permanent Secretary, or somebody?”The
caretaker hesitated a moment, his incredulous gaze fixed upon the
pale, agitated faces of the two men.
“Well,
just wait a minute, and I’ll see,” he said, disappearing into a
long cavernous passage.In
a few moments he reappeared with a constable whose duty it was to
patrol the building.The
officer looked the strangers up and down, and then asked—
“What’s
this extraordinary story? Germans landed in England—eh? That’s
fresh, certainly!”
“Yes.
Can’t you hear what the newsboys are crying? Listen!” exclaimed
the motorist.
“H’m.
Well, you’re not the first gentleman who’s been here with a
scare, you know. If I were you I’d wait till to-morrow,” and he
glanced significantly at the caretaker.
“I
won’t wait till to-morrow!” cried Fergusson. “The country is in
peril, and you refuse to assist me on your own responsibility—you
understand?”
“All
right, my dear sir,” replied the officer, leisurely hooking his
thumbs in his belt. “You’d better drive home, and call again in
the morning.”
“So
this is the way the safety of the country is neglected!” cried the
motorist bitterly, turning away. “Everyone away, and this great
place, built merely to gull the public, I suppose, empty and its
machinery useless. What will England say when she learns the truth?”As
they were walking in disgust out from the portico towards the car, a
man jumped from a hansom in breathless haste. He was the reporter
whom Fergusson had sent out to Sir James Taylor’s house in
Cleveland Square, Hyde Park.
“They
thought Sir James spent the night with his brother up at Hampstead,”
he exclaimed. “I’ve been there, but find that he’s away for the
week-end at Chilham Hall, near Buckden.”
“Buckden!
That’s on the Great North Road!” cried Horton. “We’ll go at
once and find him. Sixty miles from London. We can be there under two
hours!”And
a few minutes later the pair were tearing due north in the direction
of Finchley, disregarding the signs from police constables to stop,
Horton wiping the dried mud from his goggles and pulling them over
his half-closed eyes.They
had given the alarm in London, and the
Weekly Dispatch
was spreading the amazing news everywhere. People read it eagerly,
gasped for a moment, and then smiled in utter disbelief. But the two
men were on their way to reveal the appalling truth to the man who
was one of the heads of that complicated machinery of inefficient
defence which we so proudly term our Army.Bursting
with the astounding information, they bent their heads to the wind as
the car shot onward through Barnet and Hatfield, then, entering
Hitchin, they were compelled to slow down in the narrow street as
they passed the old Sun Inn, and afterwards out again upon the broad
highway with its many telegraph lines, through Biggleswade,
Tempsford, and Eaton Socon, until, in Buckden, Horton pulled up to
inquire of a farm labourer for Chilham Hall.
“Oop
yon road to the left, sir. ’Bout a mile Huntingdon way,” was the
man’s reply.Then
away they sped, turning a few minutes later into the handsome
lodge-gates of Chilham Park, and running up the great elm avenue,
drew up before the main door of the ancient hall, a quaint
many-gabled old place of grey stone.
“Is
Sir James Taylor in?” Fergusson shouted to the liveried man who
opened the door.
“He’s
gone across the home farm with his lordship and the keepers,” was
the reply.
“Then
take me to him at once. I haven’t a second to lose. I must see him
this instant.”Thus
urged, the servant conducted the pair across the park and through
several fields to the edge of a small wood, where two elderly men
were walking with a couple of keepers and several dogs about them.
“The
tall gentleman is Sir James. The other is his lordship,” the
servant explained to Fergusson; and a few moments later the
breathless journalist, hurrying up, faced the Permanent
Under-Secretary with the news that England was invaded—that the
Germans had actually effected a surprise landing on the east coast.Sir
James and his host stood speechless. Like others, they at first
believed the pale-faced, bearded sub-editor to be a lunatic, but a
few moments later, when Horton briefly repeated the story, they saw
that whatever might have occurred, the two men were at least in
deadly earnest.
“Impossible!”
cried Sir James. “We should surely have heard something of it if
such were actually the case! The coastguard would have telephoned the
news instantly. Besides, where is our fleet?”
“The
Germans evidently laid their plans with great cleverness. Their
spies, already in England, cut the wires at a pre-arranged hour last
night,” declared Fergusson. “They sought to prevent this
gentleman from giving the alarm by shooting him. All the railways to
London are already either cut, or held by the enemy. One thing,
however, is clear—fleet or no fleet, the east coast is entirely at
their mercy.”Host
and guest exchanged dark glances.
“Well,
if what you say is the actual truth,” exclaimed Sir James, “to-day
is surely the blackest day that England has ever known.”
“Yes,
thanks to the pro-German policy of the Government and the false
assurances of the Blue Water School. They should have listened to
Lord Roberts,” snapped his lordship. “I suppose you’ll go at
once, Taylor, and make inquiries?”
“Of
course,” responded the Permanent Secretary. And a quarter of an
hour later, accepting Horton’s offer, he was sitting in the car as
it headed back towards London.Could
the journalist’s story be true? As he sat there, with his head bent
against the wind and the mud splashing into his face, Sir James
recollected too well the repeated warnings of the past five years,
serious warnings by men who knew our shortcomings, but to which no
attention had been paid. Both the Government and the public had
remained apathetic, the idea of peril had been laughed to scorn, and
the country had, ostrich-like, buried its head in the sand, and
allowed Continental nations to supersede us in business, in
armaments, in everything.The
danger of invasion had always been ridiculed as a mere alarmist’s
fiction; those responsible for the defence of the country had smiled,
the Navy had been reduced, and the Army had remained in contented
inefficiency.If
the blow had really been struck by Germany? If she had risked three
or four, out of her twenty-three, army corps, and had aimed at the
heart of the British Empire? What then? Ay! what then?As
the car swept down Regent Street into Pall Mall and towards
Whitehall, Sir James saw on every side crowds discussing the vague
but astounding reports now published in special editions of all the
Sunday papers, and shouted wildly everywhere.Boys
bearing sheets fresh from the Fleet Street presses were seized, and
bundles torn from them by excited Londoners eager to learn the latest
intelligence.Around
both War Office and Admiralty great surging crowds were clamouring
loudly for the truth. Was it the truth, or was it only a hoax? Half
London disbelieved it. Yet from every quarter, from the north and
from across the bridges, thousands were pouring in to ascertain what
had really occurred, and the police had the greatest difficulty in
keeping order.In
Trafalgar Square, where the fountains were plashing so calmly in the
autumn sunlight, a shock-headed man mounted the back of one of the
lions and harangued the crowd with much gesticulation, denouncing the
Government in the most violent terms; but the orator was ruthlessly
pulled down by the police in the midst of his fierce attack.It
was half-past two o’clock in the afternoon. The Germans had already
been on English soil ten hours, yet London was in ignorance of where
they had actually landed, and utterly helpless.All
sorts of wild rumours were afloat, rumours that spread everywhere
throughout the metropolis, from Hampstead to Tooting, from Barking to
Hounslow, from Willesden to Woolwich. The Germans were in England!But
in those first moments of the astounding revelation the excitement
centred in Trafalgar Square and its vicinity. Men shouted and
threatened, women shrieked and wrung their hands, while wild-haired
orators addressed groups at the street corners.Where
was our Navy? they asked. Where was our “command of the sea” of
which the papers had always talked so much? If we possessed that,
then surely no invader could ever have landed? Where was our
Army—that brave British Army that had fought triumphantly a hundred
campaigns, and which we had been assured by the Government was always
ready for any emergency? When would it face the invader and drive him
back into the sea?When?And
the wild, shouting crowds looked up at the many windows of the
Admiralty and the War Office, ignorant that both those huge buildings
only held terrified caretakers and a double watch of police
constables.Was
England invaded? Were foreign legions actually overrunning Norfolk
and Suffolk, and were we really helpless beneath the iron heel of the
enemy?It
was impossible—incredible! England was on the most friendly terms
with Germany. Yet the blow had fallen, and London—or that portion
of her that was not enjoying its Sunday afternoon nap in the smug
respectability of the suburbs—stood amazed and breathless, in
incredulous wonder.
CHAPTER II EFFECT IN THE CITY
Monday,
3rd September 1910, was indeed Black Monday for London.By
midnight on Sunday the appalling news had spread everywhere. Though
the full details of the terrible naval disasters were not yet to
hand, yet it was vaguely known that our ships had been defeated in
the North Sea, and many of them sunk.Before
7 a.m. on Monday, however, telegrams reaching London by the
subterranean lines from the north gave thrilling stories of frightful
disasters we had, while all unconscious, suffered at the hands of the
German fleet.With
London, the great cities of the north, Liverpool, Manchester,
Sheffield, and Birmingham, awoke utterly dazed. It seemed incredible.
And yet the enemy had, by his sudden and stealthy blow, secured
command of the sea and actually landed.The
public wondered why a formal declaration of war had not previously
been made, ignorant of the fact that the declaration preceding the
Franco-German War was the first made by any civilised nation prior to
the commencement of hostilities for one hundred and seventy years.
The peril of the nation was now recognised on every hand.Eager
millions poured into the City by every train from the suburbs and
towns in the vicinity of the metropolis, anxious to ascertain the
truth for themselves, pale with terror, wild with excitement,
indignant that our land forces were not already mobilised and ready
to move eastward to meet the invader.As
soon as the banks were opened there was a run on them, but by noon
the Bank of England had suspended all specie payments. The other
banks, being thus unable to meet their engagements, simply closed the
doors, bringing business to an abrupt standstill. Consols stood at 90
on Saturday, but by noon on Monday were down to 42—lower even than
they were in 1798, when they stood at 47¼. Numbers of foreigners
tried to speculate heavily, but were unable to do so, for banking
being suspended they could not obtain transfers.On
the Stock Exchange the panic in the afternoon was indescribable.
Securities of every sort went entirely to pieces, and there were no
buyers. Financiers were surprised that no warning in London had
betrayed the position of affairs, London being the money centre of
the world. Prior to 1870 Paris shared with London the honour of being
the pivot of the money market, but on the suspension of cash payments
by the Bank of France during the Franco-German War, Paris lost that
position. Had it not been that the milliards comprising the French
War indemnity were intact in golden louis in the fortress of Spandau,
Germany could never have hoped to wage sudden war with Great Britain
before she had made Berlin independent of London in a money sense,
or, at any rate, to accumulate sufficient gold to carry on the war
for at least twelve months. The only way in which she could have done
this was to raise her rate so as to offer better terms than London.
Yet directly the Bank of England discovered the rate of exchange
going against her, and her stock of gold diminishing, she would have
responded by raising the English bank-rate in order to check the
flow. Thus competition would have gone on until the rates became so
high that all business would be checked, and people would have
realised their securities to obtain the necessary money to carry on
their affairs. Thus, no doubt, the coming war would have been
forecasted had it not been for Germany’s already prepared
war-chest, which the majority of persons have nowadays overlooked.
Its possession had enabled Germany to strike her sudden blow, and now
the Bank of England, which is the final reserve of gold in the United
Kingdom, found that as notes were cashed so the stock of gold
diminished until it was in a few hours compelled to obtain from the
Government suspension of the Bank Charter. This enabled the Bank to
suspend cash payment, and issue notes without a corresponding deposit
of the equivalent in gold.The
suspension, contrary to increasing the panic, had, curiously enough,
the immediate effect of somewhat allaying it. Plenty of people in the
City were confident that the blow aimed could not prove an effective
one, and that the Germans, however many might have landed, would
quickly be sent back again. Thus many level-headed business men
regarded the position calmly, believing that when our command of the
sea was again re-established, as it must be in a day or two, the
enemy would soon be non-existent.Business
outside the money market was, of course, utterly demoralised. The
buying of necessities was now uppermost in everyone’s mind. Excited
crowds in the streets caused most of the shops in the City and West
End to close, while around the Admiralty were great crowds of eager
men and women of all classes, tearful wives of bluejackets jostling
with officers’ ladies from Mayfair and Belgravia, demanding news of
their loved ones—inquiries which, alas! the casualty office were
unable to satisfy. The scene of grief, terror, and suspense was
heartrending. Certain ships were known to have been sunk with all on
board after making a gallant fight, and those who had husbands,
brothers, lovers, or fathers on board wept loudly, calling upon the
Government to avenge the ruthless murder of their loved ones.In
Manchester, in Liverpool, indeed all through the great manufacturing
centres of the north, the excitement of London was reflected.In
Manchester there was a panic “on ’Change,” and the crowd in
Deansgate coming into collision with a force of mounted police, some
rioting occurred, and a number of shop windows broken, while several
agitators who attempted to speak in front of the Infirmary were at
once arrested.Liverpool
was the scene of intense anxiety and excitement, when a report was
spread that German cruisers were about the estuary of the Mersey. It
was known that the coal staithes, cranes, and petroleum tanks at
Penarth, Cardiff, Barry, and Llanelly had been destroyed; that
Aberdeen had been bombarded; and there were rumours that
notwithstanding the mines and defences of the Mersey, the city of
Liverpool, with all its crowd of valuable shipping, was to share the
same fate.The
whole place was in a ferment. By eleven o’clock the stations were
crowded by women and children sent by the men away into the
country—anywhere from the doomed and defenceless city. The Lord
Mayor vainly endeavoured to inspire confidence, but telegrams from
London announcing the complete financial collapse, only increased the
panic. In the Old Hay Market and up Dale Street to the
landing-stages, around the Exchange, the Town Hall, and the Custom
House, the excited throng surged, talking eagerly, terrified at the
awful blow that was prophesied. At any moment the grey hulls of those
death-dealing cruisers might appear in the river; at any moment the
first shell might fall and burst in their midst.Some—the
wiseacres—declared that the Germans would never shell a city
without first demanding an indemnity, but the majority argued that as
they had already disregarded the law of nations in attacking our
fleet without provocation, they would bombard Liverpool, destroy the
shipping, and show no quarter.Thus
during the whole of the day Liverpool existed in hourly terror of
destruction.London
remained breathless, wondering what was about to happen. Every hour
the morning newspapers continued to issue special editions,
containing all the latest facts procurable regarding the great naval
disaster. The telegraphs and telephones to the north were constantly
at work, and survivors of a destroyer who had landed at St. Abb’s,
north of Berwick, gave thrilling and terrible narratives.A
shilling a copy was no unusual price to be paid in Cornhill, Moorgate
Street, Lombard Street, or Ludgate Hill for a halfpenny paper, and
the newsboys reaped rich harvests, except when, as so often happened,
they were set upon by the excited crowd, and their papers torn from
them.Fleet
Street was entirely blocked, and the traffic stopped by crowds
standing before the newspaper offices waiting for the summary of each
telegram to be posted up upon the windows. And as each despatch was
read, sighs, groans, and curses were heard on every hand.The
Government—the sleek-mannered, soft-spoken, self-confident Blue
Water School—were responsible for it all, was declared on every
hand. They should have placed the Army upon a firm and proper
footing; they should have encouraged the establishment of rifle clubs
to teach every young man how to defend his home; they should have
pondered over the thousand and one warnings uttered during the past
ten years by eminent men, statesmen, soldiers, and writers: they
should have listened to those forcible and eloquent appeals of Earl
Roberts, England’s military hero, who, having left the service, had
no axe to grind. He spoke the truth in the House of Lords in 1906
fearlessly, from patriotic motives, because he loved his country and
foresaw its doom. And yet the Government and the public had
disregarded his ominous words.And
now the blow he prophesied had fallen. It was too late—too late!
The Germans were upon English soil.What
would the Government now do? What, indeed, could it do?There
were some who shouted in bravado that when mobilised the British
troops would drive the invader into the sea; but such men were
unaware of the length of time necessary to mobilise our Army for home
defence—or of the many ridiculous regulations which appear to be
laid down for the purpose of hindering rather than accelerating the
concentration of forces.All
through the morning, amid the chaos of business in the City, the
excitement had been steadily growing, until shortly after three
o’clock the
Daily Mail
issued a special edition containing a copy of a German proclamation
which, it was said, was now posted everywhere in East Norfolk, East
Suffolk, and in Maldon in Essex, already occupied by the enemy.The
original proclamation had been found pasted by some unknown hand upon
a barn door near the town of Billericay, and had been detached and
brought to London in a motor-car by the
Mail’s
correspondent.It
showed plainly the German intention was to deal a hard and crushing
blow, and it struck terror into the heart of London, for it read as
will be seen on next page.Upon
the walls of the Mansion House, the Guildhall, outside the Bank of
England, the Royal Exchange, and upon the various public buildings
within the City wards a proclamation by the Lord Mayor quickly
appeared. Even upon the smoke-blackened walls of St. Paul’s
Cathedral, where, at that moment, a special service was being held,
big posters were being posted and read by the assembled thousands.There
was a sullen gloom everywhere as the hours went slowly by, and the
sun sank into the smoke haze, shedding over the giant city a
blood-red afterglow—a light that was ominous in those breathless
moments of suspense and terror.Westward
beyond Temple Bar proclamations were being posted. Indeed, upon all
the hoardings in Greater London appeared various broadsheets side by
side. One by the Chief Commissioner of Police, regulating the traffic
in the streets, and appealing to the public to assist in the
preservation of order; another by the MayorPROCLAMATION.WE,
GENERAL COMMANDING THE 3rd GERMAN ARMY,HAVING
SEEN the proclamation of His Imperial Majesty the Emperor William,
King of Prussia, Chief of the Army, which authorises the generals
commanding the different German Army Corps to establish special
measures against all municipalities and persons acting in
contradiction to the usages of war, and to take what steps they
consider necessary for the well-being of the troops,HEREBY
GIVE PUBLIC NOTICE:(1)
THE MILITARY JURISDICTION is hereby established. It applies to all
territory of Great Britain occupied by the German Army, and to every
action endangering the security of the troops by rendering assistance
to the enemy. The Military Jurisdiction will be announced and placed
vigorously in force in every parish by the issue of this present
proclamation.(2)
ANY PERSON OR PERSONS NOT BEING BRITISH SOLDIERS, or not showing by
their dress that they are soldiers:(a)
SERVING THE ENEMY as spies;(b)
MISLEADING THE GERMAN TROOPS when charged to serve as guides;(c)
SHOOTING, INJURING, OR ROBBING any person belonging to the German
Army, or forming part of its personnel;(d)
DESTROYING BRIDGES OR CANALS, damaging telegraphs, telephones,
electric light wires, gasometers, or railways, interfering with
roads, setting fire to munitions of war, provisions, or quarters
established by German troops;(e)
TAKING ARMS against the German troops,WILL
BE PUNISHED BY DEATH.IN
EACH CASE the officer presiding at the Council of War will be charged
with the trial, and pronounce judgment. Councils of War may not
pronounce ANY OTHER CONDEMNATION SAVE THAT OF DEATH.THE
JUDGMENT WILL BE IMMEDIATELY EXECUTED.(3)
TOWNS OR VILLAGES in the territory in which the contravention takes
place will be compelled to pay indemnity equal to one year’s
revenue.(4)
THE INHABITANTS MUST FURNISH necessaries for the German troops daily
as follows:—1
lb. 10 oz. bread.13
oz. meat.3
lb. potatoes.1
oz. tea.1½
oz. tobacco or 5 cigars. ½
pint wine.1½
pints beer, or 1wine-glassful
ofbrandy
or whisky.The
ration for each horse:—13
lb. oats.3
lb. 6 oz. hay.3
lb. 6 oz. straw.(ALL
PERSONS WHO PREFER to pay an indemnity in money may do so at the rate
of 2s. per day per man.)(5)
COMMANDERS OF DETACHED corps have the right to requisition all that
they consider necessary for the well-being of their men, and will
deliver to the inhabitants official receipts for goods so supplied.WE
HOPE IN CONSEQUENCE that the inhabitants of Great Britain will make
no difficulty in furnishing all that may be considered necessary.(6)
AS REGARDS the individual transactions between the troops and the
inhabitants, we give notice that one German mark shall be considered
the equivalent to one English shilling.The
General Commanding the Ninth German Army Corps,VON
KRONHELM.Beccles,
September the Third, 1910.of
Westminster, couched in similar terms to that of the Lord Mayor; and
a Royal Proclamation, brief but noble, urging every Briton to do his
duty, to take his part in the defence of King and country, and to
unfurl the banner of the British Empire that had hitherto carried
peace and civilisation in every quarter of the world. Germany, whose
independence had been respected, had attacked us without provocation;
therefore hostilities were, alas, inevitable.When
the great poster printed in big capitals and headed by the Royal Arms
made its appearance it was greeted with wild cheering.It
was a message of love from King to people—a message to the highest
and to the lowest. Posted in Whitechapel at the same hour as in
Whitehall, the throngs crowded eagerly about it and sang “God Save
our Gracious King,” for if they had but little confidence in the
War Office and Admiralty, they placed their trust in their Sovereign,
the first diplomat in Europe. Therefore the loyalty was spontaneous,
as it always is. They read the royal message, and cheered and cheered
again.As
evening closed in yet another poster made its appearance in every
city, town, and village in the country, a poster issued by military
and police officers and naval officers in charge of dockyards—the
order for mobilisation.The
public, however, little dreamed of the hopeless confusion in the War
Office, in the various regimental dépôts throughout the country, at
headquarters everywhere, and in every barracks in the kingdom. The
armed forces of England were passing from a peace to a war footing;
but the mobilisation of the various units—namely, its completion in
men, horses, and material—was utterly impossible in the face of the
extraordinary regulations which, kept a strict secret by the Council
of Defence until this moment, revealed a hopeless state of things.The
disorder was frightful. Not a regiment was found fully equipped and
ready to march. There was a dearth of officers, equipment, horses,
provisions, of, indeed, everything. Some regiments simply existed in
the pages of the Army List, but when they came to appear on parade
they were mere paper phantoms. Since the Boer War the Government had,
with culpable negligence, disregarded the needs of the Army, even
though they had the object-lesson of the struggle between Russia and
Japan before their eyes.In
many cases the well-meaning efforts on the part of volunteers proved
merely a ludicrous farce. Volunteers from Glasgow found themselves
due to proceed to Dorking, in Surrey; those from Aberdeen were
expected at Caterham, while those from Carlisle made a start for
Reading, and found themselves in the quiet old city of Durham. And in
a hundred cases it was the same. Muddle, confusion, and a chain of
useless regulations at Aldershot, Colchester, and York all tended to
hinder the movement of troops to their points of concentration,
bringing home to the authorities at last the ominous warnings of the
unheeded critics of the past.In
that hour of England’s deadly peril, when not a moment should have
been lost in facing the invader, nothing was ready. Men had guns
without ammunition; cavalry and artillery were without horses;
engineers only half-equipped; volunteers with no transport whatever;
balloon sections without balloons, and searchlight units vainly
trying to obtain the necessary instruments.Horses
were being requisitioned everywhere. The few horses that, in the age
of motor-cars, now remained on the roads in London were quickly taken
for draught, and all horses fit to ride were commandeered for the
cavalry.During
the turmoil daring German spies were actively at work south of
London. The Southampton line of the London and South-Western Railway
was destroyed—with explosives placed by unknown hands—by the
bridge over the Wey, near Weybridge, being blown up, and again that
over the Mole, between Walton and Esher, while the Reading line was
cut by the great bridge over the Thames at Staines being destroyed.
The line, too, between Guildford and Waterloo was also rendered
impassable by the wreck of the midnight train, which was blown up
half-way between Wansborough and Guildford, while in several other
places nearer London bridges were rendered unstable by dynamite, the
favourite method apparently being to blow the crown out of an arch.The
well-laid plans of the enemy were thus quickly revealed. Among the
thousands of Germans working in London, the hundred or so spies, all
trusted soldiers, had passed unnoticed, but, working in unison, each
little group of two or three had been allotted its task, and had
previously thoroughly reconnoitred the position and studied the most
rapid or effective means.The
railways to the east and north-east coasts all reported wholesale
damage done on Sunday night by the advance agents of the enemy, and
now this was continued on the night of Monday in the south, the
objective being to hinder troops from moving north from Aldershot.
This was, indeed, effectual, for only by a long
détour
could the troops be moved to the northern defences of London, and
while many were on Tuesday entrained, others were conveyed to London
by the motor-omnibuses sent down for that purpose.Everywhere
through London and its vicinity, as well as in Manchester,
Birmingham, Sheffield, Coventry, Leeds, and Liverpool, motor-cars and
motor-omnibuses from dealers and private owners were being
requisitioned by the military authorities, for they would, it was
believed, replace cavalry to a very large extent.Wild
and extraordinary reports were circulated regarding the disasters in
the north. Hull, Newcastle, Gateshead, and Tynemouth had, it was
believed, been bombarded and sacked. The shipping in the Tyne was
burning, and the Elswick works were held by the enemy. Details were,
however, very vague, as the Germans were taking every precaution to
prevent information reaching London.
CHAPTER III NEWS OF THE ENEMY
Terror
and excitement reigned everywhere. The wildest rumours were hourly
afloat. London was a seething stream of breathless multitudes of
every class.On
Monday morning the newspapers throughout the kingdom had devoted
greater part of their space to the extraordinary intelligence from
Norfolk and Suffolk and Essex and other places.That
we were actually invaded was plain, but most of the newspapers
happily preserved a calm, dignified tone, and made no attempt at
sensationalism. The situation was far too serious.Like
the public, however, the Press had been taken entirely by surprise.
The blow had been so sudden and so staggering that half the alarming
reports were discredited.In
addition to the details of the enemy’s operations, as far as could
as yet be ascertained, the
Morning Post
on Monday contained an account of a mysterious occurrence at Chatham,
which read as follows:—
“Chatham,
Sept. 1
(11.30 p.m.).
“An
extraordinary accident took place on the Medway about eight o’clock
this evening. The steamer
Pole Star,
1200 tons register, with a cargo of cement from Frindsbury, was
leaving for Hamburg and came into collision with the
Frauenlob,
of Bremen, a somewhat larger boat, which was inward bound, in a
narrow part of the channel about half-way between Chatham and
Sheerness. Various accounts of the mishap are current, but whichever
of the vessels was responsible for the bad steering or neglect of the
ordinary rules of the road, it is certain that the
Frauenlob
was cut into by the stem of the
Pole Star
on her port bow, and sank almost across the channel. The
Pole Star
swung alongside her after the collision, and very soon afterwards
sank in an almost parallel position. Tugs and steamboats carrying a
number of naval officers and the port authorities are about to
proceed to the scene of the accident, and if, as seems probable,
there is no chance of raising the vessels, steps will be at once
taken to blow them up. In the present state of our foreign relations
such an obstruction directly across the entrance to one of our
principal warports is a national danger, and will not be allowed to
remain a moment longer than can be helped.”
“Sept.
2.
“An
extraordinary
dénoûement
has followed the collision in the Medway reported in my telegram of
last night, which renders it impossible to draw any other conclusion
than that the affair is anything but an accident. Everything now goes
to prove that the whole business was premeditated and was the result
of an organised plot with the object of ‘bottling up’ the
numerous men-of-war that are now being hurriedly equipped for service
in Chatham Dockyard. In the words of Scripture, ‘An enemy hath done
this,’ and there can be very little doubt as to the quarter from
which the outrage was engineered. It is nothing less than an outrage
to perpetrate what is in reality an overt act of hostility in a time
of profound peace, however much the political horizon may be darkened
by lowering warclouds. We are living under a Government whose leader
lost no time in announcing that no fear of being sneered at as a
‘Little Englander’ would deter him from seeking peace and
ensuring it by a reduction of our naval and military armaments, even
at that time known to be inadequate to the demands likely to be made
upon them if our Empire is to be maintained. We trust, however, that
even this parochially minded statesman will lose no time in probing
the conspiracy to its depths, and in seeking instant satisfaction
from those personages, however highly placed and powerful, who have
committed this outrage on the laws of civilisation.
“As
soon as the news of the collision reached the dockyard the senior
officer at Kethole Reach was ordered by wire to take steps to prevent
any vessel from going up the river, and he at once despatched several
picket-boats to the entrance to warn in-coming ships of the blocking
of the channel, while a couple of other boats were sent up to within
a short distance of the obstruction to make assurance doubly sure.
The harbour signals ordering ‘suspension of all movings,’ were
also hoisted at Garrison Point.
“Among
other ships which were stopped in consequence of these measures was
the
Van Gysen,
a big steamer hailing from Rotterdam, laden, it was stated, with
steel rails for the London, Chatham, and Dover Railway, which were to
be landed at Port Victoria. She was accordingly allowed to proceed,
and anchored, or appeared to anchor, just off the railway pier at
that place. Ten minutes later the officer of the watch on board
H.M.S.
Medici
reported that he thought she was getting under way again. It was then
pretty dark. An electric searchlight being switched on, the
Van Gysen
was discovered steaming up the river at a considerable speed. The
Medici
flashed the news to the flagship, which at once fired a gun, hoisted
the recall, and the
Van Gysen’s
number in the international code, and despatched her steam pinnace,
with orders to overhaul the Dutchman and stop him at whatever cost. A
number of the marines on guard were sent in her with their rifles.
“The
Van Gysen
seemed well acquainted with the channel, and continually increased
her speed as she went up the river, so that she was within half a
mile of the scene of the accident before the steamboat came up with
her. The officer in charge called to the skipper through his
megaphone to stop his engines and to throw him a rope, as he wanted
to come on board. After pretending for some time not to understand
him, the skipper slowed his engines and said, ‘Ver vel, come
‘longside gangway.’ As the pinnace hooked on at the gangway, a
heavy iron cylinder cover was dropped into her from the height of the
Van Gysen’s
deck. It knocked the bowman overboard and crashed into the fore part
of the boat, knocking a big hole in the port side forward. She swung
off at an angle and stopped to pick up the man overboard. Her crew
succeeded in rescuing him, but she was making water fast, and there
was nothing for it but to run her into the bank. The lieutenant in
charge ordered a rifle to be fired at the
Van Gysen
to bring her to, but she paid not the smallest attention, as might
have been expected, and went on her way with gathering speed.
“