In a moment the field-telegraphs were clicking, the telephone bell was

ringing, orders were shouted in German in all directions, and next

second, with a deafening roar, one of the howitzers of the battery in

the close vicinity to him gave tongue and threw its deadly shell

somewhere into St. John's Wood.

The rain of death had opened! London was surrounded by a semi-circle of

fire.

The great gun was followed by a hundred others as, at all the batteries

along the northern heights, the orders were received. Then in a few

minutes, from the whole line from Chingford to Willesden, roughly about

twelve miles, came a hail of the most deadly of modern projectiles

directed upon the most populous parts of the metropolis.

Though the Germans trained their guns to carry as far as was possible,

the zone of fire did not at first it seemed extend farther south than a

line roughly taken from Notting Hill through Bayswater, past Paddington

Station, along the Marylebone and Euston Roads, then up to Highbury,

Stoke Newington, Stamford Hill and Walthamstow.

When, however, the great shells began to burst in Holloway, Kentish

Town, Camden Town, Kilburn, Kensal Green, and other places lying within

the area under fire, a frightful panic ensued. Whole streets were

shattered by explosions, and fires were breaking out, the dark clouds of

smoke obscuring the sunlit sky. Roaring flame shot up everywhere,

unfortunate men, women, and children were being blown to atoms by the

awful projectiles, while others distracted, sought shelter in any cellar

or underground place they could find, while their houses fell about them

like packs of cards.

The scenes within that zone of terror were indescribable.

When Paris had been bombarded years ago, artillery was not at the

perfection it now was, and there had been no such high explosive known

as in the present day. The great shells that were falling everywhere, on

bursting filled the air with poisonous fumes, as well as with deadly

fragments. One bursting in a street would wreck the rows of houses on

either side, and tear a great hole in the ground at the same moment. The

fronts of the houses were torn out like paper, the iron railings twisted

as though they were wire, and paving-stones hurled into the air like

straws.

Anything and everything offering a mark to the enemy's guns was

shattered. St. John's Wood and the houses about Regent's Park suffered

seriously. A shell from Hampstead, falling into the roof of one of the

houses near the centre of Sussex Place, burst and shattered nearly all

the houses in the row; while another fell in Cumberland Terrace and

wrecked a dozen houses in the vicinity. In both cases the houses were

mostly empty, for owners and servants had fled southward across the

river as soon as it became apparent that the Germans actually intended

to bombard.

At many parts in Maida Vale shells burst with appalling effect. Several

of the houses in Elgin Avenue had their fronts torn out, and in one, a

block of flats, there was considerable loss of life in the fire that

broke out, escape being cut off owing to the stairs having been

demolished by the explosion. Abbey Road, St. John's Wood Road, Acacia

Road, and Wellington Road, were quickly wrecked.

In Chalk Farm Road, near the Adelaide, a terrified woman was dashing

across the street to seek shelter with a neighbour, when a shell burst

right in front of her, blowing her to fragments; while in the early

stage of the bombardment a shell bursting in the Midland Hotel at St.

Pancras caused a fire which in half an hour resulted in the whole hotel

and railway terminus being a veritable furnace of flame. Through the

roof of King's Cross Station several shells fell, and burst close to the

departure platform. The whole glass roof was shattered, but beyond that

little other material damage resulted.

Shots were now falling everywhere, and Londoners were staggered. In

dense, excited crowds they were flying southwards towards the Thames.

Some were caught in the streets in their flight, and were flung down,

maimed and dying. The most awful sights were to be witnessed in the open

streets; men and women blown out of recognition, with their clothes

singed and torn to shreds, and helpless, innocent children lying white

and dead, their limbs torn away and missing.

Euston Station had shared the same fate as St. Pancras, and was blazing

furiously, sending up a great column of black smoke that could be seen

by all London. So many were the conflagrations now breaking out that it

seemed as though the enemy were sending into London shells filled with

petrol, in order to set the streets aflame. This, indeed, was proved by

an eye-witness, who saw a shell fall in Liverpool Road, close to the

Angel. It burst with a bright red flash, and next second the whole of

the roadway and neighbouring houses were blazing furiously.

Thus the air became black with smoke and dust, and the light of day

obscured in Northern London. And through that obscurity came those

whizzing shells in an incessant hissing stream, each one, bursting in

these narrow, thickly populated streets, causing havoc indescribable,

and a loss of life impossible to accurately calculate. Hundreds of

people were blown to pieces in the open but hundreds more were buried

beneath the _debris_ of their own cherished homes, now being so

ruthlessly destroyed and demolished.

On every side was heard the cry: "Stop the war--stop the war!"

But it was, alas! too late--too late.

Never in the history of the civilised world were there such scenes of

reckless slaughter of the innocent and peace-loving as on that

never-to-be-forgotten day when Von Kronhelm carried out the orders of

his Imperial master, and struck terror into the heart of London's

millions.

CHAPTER V.

THE RAIN OF DEATH.

Through the whole afternoon the heavy German artillery roared, belching

forth their fiery vengeance upon London.

Hour after hour they pounded away, until St. Pancras Church was a heap

of ruins and the Foundling Hospital a veritable furnace, as well as the

Parcel Post Offices and the University College in Gower Street. In

Hampstead Road many of the shops were shattered, and in Tottenham Court

Road both Maple's and Shoolbred's suffered severely, for shells bursting

in the centre of the roadway had smashed every pane of glass in the

fronts of both buildings.

The quiet squares of Bloomsbury were in some cases great yawning

ruins--houses with their fronts torn out revealing the shattered

furniture within. Streets were indeed, filled with tiles, chimney pots,

fallen telegraph wires, and _debris_ of furniture, stone steps, paving

stones, and fallen masonry. Many of the thoroughfares, such as the

Pentonville Road, Copenhagen Street, and Holloway Road, were, at points,

quite impassable on account of the ruins that blocked them. Into the

Northern Hospital, in the Holloway Road, a shell fell, shattering one of

the wards, and killing or maiming every one of the patients in the ward

in question, while the church in Tufnell Park Road was burning fiercely.

Upper Holloway, Stoke Newington, Highbury, Kingsland, Dalston, Hackney,

Clapton, and Stamford Hill were being swept at long range by the guns on

Muswell Hill and Churchyard Bottom Hill, and the terror caused in those

densely populated districts was awful. Hundreds upon hundreds lost their

lives, or else had a hand, an arm, a leg blown away, as those fatal

shells fell in never-ceasing monotony, especially in Stoke Newington and

Kingsland. The many side roads lying between Holloway Road and Finsbury

Park, such as Hornsey Road, Tollington Park, Andover, Durham,

Palmerston, Campbell, and Forthill Roads, Seven Sisters Road, and

Isledon Road were all devastated, for the guns for a full hour seemed to

be trained upon them.

The German gunners in all probability neither knew nor cared where their

shells fell. From their position, now that the smoke of the hundreds of

fires was now rising, they could probably discern but little. Therefore

the batteries at Hampstead Heath, Muswell Hill, Wood Green, Cricklewood,

and other places simply sent their shells as far distant south as

possible into the panic-stricken city below. In Mountgrove and

Riversdale Roads, Highbury Vale, a number of people were killed, while a

frightful disaster occurred in the church at the corner of Park Lane and

Milton Road, Stoke Newington. Here a number of people had entered,

attending a special service for the success of the British arms, when a

shell exploded on the roof, bringing it down upon them and killing over

fifty of the congregation, mostly women.

The air, poisoned by the fumes of the deadly explosives and full of

smoke from the burning buildings, was ever and anon rent by explosions

as projectiles frequently burst in mid-air. The distant roar was

incessant, like the noise of thunder, while on every hand could be heard

the shrieks of defenceless women and children, or the muttered curses of

some man who saw his home and all he possessed swept away with a flash

and a cloud of dust. Nothing could withstand that awful cannonade.

Walthamstow had been rendered untenable in the first half-hour of the

bombardment, while in Tottenham the loss of life had been very enormous,

the German gunners at Wood Green having apparently turned their first

attention upon that place. Churches, the larger buildings, the railway

station, in fact, anything offering a mark, was promptly shattered,

being assisted by the converging fire from the batteries at Chingford.

On the opposite side of London, Notting Hill, Shepherd's Bush, and

Starch Green, were being reduced to ruins by the heavy batteries above

Park Royal Station, which, firing across Wormwood Scrubs, put their

shots into Notting Hill, and especially into Holland Park, where

widespread damage was quickly wrought.

A couple of shells falling into the generating station of the Central

London Railway, or "Tube," as Londoners usually call it, unfortunately

caused a disaster and loss of life which were appalling. At the first

sign of the bombardment many thousands of people descended into the

"Tube" as a safe hiding-place from the rain of shell. At first the

railway officials closed the doors to prevent the inrush, but the

terrified populace in Shepherd's Bush, Bayswater, Oxford Street, and

Holborn, in fact, all along the subterranean line, broke open the doors

and descending by the lifts and stairs found themselves in a place which

at least gave them security against the enemy's fire.

The trains had long ago ceased running, and every station was crowded to

excess, while many were forced upon the line itself, and actually into

the tunnels. For hours they waited there in eager breathlessness,

longing to be able to ascend and find the conflict over. Men and women

in all stations of life were huddled together, while children clung to

their parents in wonder; yet as hour after hour went by, the report from

above was still the same--the Germans had not ceased.

Of a sudden, however, the light failed. The electric current had been

cut off by the explosion of the shells in the generating station at

Shepherd's Bush, and the lifts were useless! The thousands who, in

defiance of the orders of the company, had gone below at Shepherd's Bush

for shelter, found themselves caught like rats in a hole. True, there

was the faint glimmer of an oil light here and there, but, alas! that

did not prevent an awful panic.

Somebody shouted that the Germans were above and had put out the lights,

and when it was found that the lifts were useless a panic ensued that

was indescribable. The people could not ascend the stairs, as they were

blocked by the dense crowd, therefore they pressed into the narrow

semi-circular tunnels in an eager endeavour to reach the next station,

where they hoped they might escape; but once in there women and children

were quickly crushed to death, or thrown down and trampled upon by the

press behind.

In the darkness they fought with each other, pressing on and becoming

jammed so tightly that many were held against the sloping walls until

life was extinct. Between Shepherd's Bush and Holland Park Stations the

loss of life was worst, for being within the zone of the German fire the

people had crushed in frantically in thousands, and with one accord a

move had unfortunately been made into the tunnels, on account of the

foolish cry that the German were waiting above.

The railway officials were powerless. They had done their best to

prevent any one going below, but the public had insisted, therefore no

blame could be laid upon them for the catastrophe.

At Marble Arch, Oxford Circus, and Tottenham Court Road Stations, a

similar scene was enacted, and dozens upon dozens, alas! lost their

lives in the panic. Ladies and gentlemen from Park Lane, Grosvenor

Square, and Mayfair had sought shelter at the Marble Arch Station,

rubbing shoulders with labourers' wives and costerwomen from the back

streets of Marylebone. When the lights failed, a rush had been made into

the tunnel to reach Oxford Circus, all exit by the stairs being

blocked, as at Shepherd's Bush, on account of the hundreds struggling

to get down.

As at Holland Park, the terrified crowd fighting with each other became

jammed and suffocated in the narrow space. The catastrophe was a

frightful one, for it was afterwards proved that over four hundred and

twenty persons, mostly weak women and children, lost their lives in

those twenty minutes of darkness before the mains at the generating

station, wrecked by the explosions, could be repaired.

Then, when the current came up again, the lights revealed the frightful

mishap, and people struggled to emerge from the burrows wherein they had

so narrowly escaped death.

Upon the Baker Street and Waterloo and other "Tubes," every station had

also been besieged. The whole of the first-mentioned line from north to

south was the refuge of thousands, who saw in it a safe place for

retreat. The tunnels of the District Railway, too, were filled with

terror-stricken multitudes, who descended at every station and walked

away into a subterranean place of safety. No trains had been running for

several days, therefore there was no danger from that cause.

Meanwhile the bombardment continued with unceasing activity.

The Marylebone Station of the Great Central Railway, and the Great

Central Hotel, which seemed to be only just within the line of fire,

were wrecked, and about four o'clock it was seen that the hotel, like

that at St. Pancras, was well alight, though no effort could be made to

save it. At the first two or three alarms of fire the Metropolitan Fire

Brigade had turned out, but now that fresh alarms were reaching the

chief station every moment, the brigade saw themselves utterly powerless

to even attempt to save the hundred buildings, great and small, now

furiously blazing.

Gasometers, especially those of the Gas Light and Coke Company at Kensal

Green, were marked by the German gunners, who sent them into the air;

while a well-directed petrol bomb at Wormwood Scrubs Prison set one

great wing of the place alight, and the prisoners were therefore

released. The rear of Kensington Palace, and the fronts of a number of

houses in Kensington Palace Gardens were badly damaged, while in the

dome of the Albert Hall was a great, ugly hole.

Shortly after five o'clock occurred a disaster which was of national

consequence. It could only have been a mishap on the part of the

Germans, for they would certainly never have done such irreparable

damage willingly, as they destroyed what would otherwise have been most

valuable of loot.

Shots suddenly began to fall fast in Bloomsbury, several of them badly

damaging the Hotel Russell and the houses near, and it was therefore

apparent that one of the batteries which had been firing from near Jack

Straw's Castle had been moved across to Parliament Hill, or even to some

point south of it, which gave a wider range to the fire.

Presently a shell came high through the air and fell full upon the

British Museum, striking it nearly in the centre of the front, and in

exploding carried away the Grecian-Ionic ornament, and shattered a

number of the fine stone columns of the dark facade. Ere people in the

vicinity had realised that the national collection of antiques was

within range of the enemy's destructive projectiles, a second shell

crashed into the rear of the building, making a great gap in the walls.

Then, as though all the guns of that particular battery had converged in

order to destroy our treasure-house of art and antiquity, shell after

shell crashed into the place in rapid succession. Before ten minutes had

passed, grey smoke began to roll out from beneath the long colonnade in

front, and growing denser, told its own tale. The British Museum was on

fire.

Nor was that all. As though to complete the disaster--although it was

certain that the Germans were in ignorance--there came one of those

terrible shells filled with petrol, which, bursting inside the

manuscript room, set the whole place ablaze. In a dozen different places

the building seemed to be now alight, especially the library, and thus

the finest collection of books, manuscripts, Greek and Roman and

Egyptian antiques, coins, medals, and prehistoric relics, lay at the

mercy of the flames.

The fire brigade was at once alarmed, and at imminent risk of their

lives, for shells were still falling in the vicinity, they, with the

Salvage Corps and the assistance of many willing helpers--some of whom,

unfortunately, lost their lives in the flames--saved whatever could be

saved, throwing the objects out into the railed-off quadrangle in

front.

The left wing of the Museum, however, could not be entered, although,

after most valiant efforts on the part of the firemen, the

conflagrations that had broken out in other parts of the building were

at length subdued. The damage was, however, irreparable, for many unique

collections, including all the prints and drawings, and many of the

mediaeval and historic manuscripts had already been consumed.

Shots now began to fall as far south as Oxford Street, and all along

that thoroughfare from Holborn as far as Oxford Circus, widespread havoc

was being wrought. People fled for their lives back towards Charing

Cross and the Strand. The Oxford Music Hall was a hopeless ruin, while a

shell crashing through the roof of Frascati's restaurant carried away a

portion of the gallery and utterly wrecked the whole place. Many of the

shops in Oxford Street had their roofs damaged or their fronts blown

out, while a huge block of flats in Great Russell Street was practically

demolished by three shells striking in rapid succession.

Then, to the alarm of all who realised it, shots were seen to be passing

high over Bloomsbury, south towards the Thames. The range had been

increased, for, as was afterwards known, some heavier guns had now been

mounted upon Muswell Hill and Hampstead Heath, which, carrying to a

distance of from six to seven miles, placed the City, the Strand, and

Westminster within the zone of fire. The zone in question stretched

roughly from Victoria Park through Bethnal Green and Whitechapel, across

to Southwark, the Borough, Lambeth, and Westminster to Kensington, and

while the fire upon the northern suburbs slackened, great shells now

came flying through the air into the very heart of London.

The German gunners at Muswell Hill took the dome of St. Paul's as a

mark, for shells fell constantly in Ludgate Hill, in Cheapside, in

Newgate Street, and in the Churchyard itself. One falling upon the steps

of the Cathedral tore out two of the columns of the front, while

another, striking the clock tower just below the face, brought down much

of the masonry and one of the huge bells, with a deafening crash,

blocking the road with _debris_. Time after time the great shells went

over the splendid Cathedral, which the enemy seemed bent upon

destroying, but the dome remained uninjured, though about ten feet of

the top of the second tower was carried away.

On the Cannon Street side of St. Paul's a great block of drapery

warehouses had caught fire, and was burning fiercely, while the drapers

and other shops on the Paternoster Row side all had their windows

shattered by the constant detonations. Within the Cathedral two shells

that had fallen through the roof had wrought havoc with the beautiful

reredos and the choir-stalls, many of the fine windows being also

wrecked by the explosions.

Whole rows of houses in Cheapside suffered, while both the Mansion

House, where the London flag was flying, and the Royal Exchange were

severely damaged by a number of shells which fell in the vicinity. The

equestrian statue in front of the Exchange had been overturned, while

the Exchange itself showed a great yawning hole in the corner of the

facade next Cornhill. At the Bank of England a fire had occurred, but

had fortunately been extinguished by the strong force of Guards in

charge, though they gallantly risked their lives in so doing. Lothbury,

Gresham Street, Old Broad Street, Lombard Street, Gracechurch Street,

and Leadenhall Street were all more or less scenes of fire, havoc, and

destruction. The loss of life was not great in this neighbourhood, for

most people had crossed the river or gone westward, but the high

explosives used by the Germans were falling upon shops and warehouses

with appalling effect.

Masonry was torn about like paper, ironwork twisted like wax, woodwork

shattered to a thousand splinters as, time after time, a great

projectile hissed in the air and effected its errand of destruction. A

number of the wharves on each side of the river were soon alight, and

both Upper and Lower Thames Streets were soon impassable on account of

huge conflagrations. A few shells fell in Shoreditch, Houndsditch, and

Whitechapel, and these, in most cases, caused loss of life in those

densely populated districts.

Westward, however, as the hours went on, the howitzers at Hampstead

began to drop high explosive shells into the Strand, around Charing

Cross, and in Westminster. This weapon had a calibre of 4.14 inches, and

threw a projectile of 35 lbs. The tower of St. Clement Dane's Church

crashed to the ground and blocked the roadway opposite Milford Lane; the

pointed roof of the clock-tower of the Law Courts was blown away, and

the granite fronts of the two banks opposite the Law Courts entrance

were torn out by a shell which exploded in the footpath before them.

Shells fell time after time, in and about the Law Courts themselves,

committing immense damage to the interior, while a shell bursting upon

the roof of Charing Cross Station, rendered it a ruin as picturesque as

it had been in December, 1905. The National Liberal Club was burning

furiously; the Hotel Cecil and the Savoy did not escape, but no material

damage was done to them. The Garrick Theatre had caught fire; a shot

carried away the globe above the Coliseum, and the Shot Tower beside the

Thames crashed into the river.

The front of the Grand Hotel in Trafalgar Square showed, in several

places, great holes where the shell had struck, and a shell bursting at

the foot of Nelson's Monument turned over one of the lions--overthrowing

the emblem of Britain's might!

The clubs in Pall Mall were, in one or two instances, wrecked, notably

the Reform, the Junior Carlton, and the Athenaeum, into each of which

shells fell through the roof and exploded within.

From the number of projectiles that fell in the vicinity of the Houses

of Parliament, it was apparent that the German gunners could see the

Royal Standard flying from the Victoria Tower, and were making it their

mark. In the west front of Westminster Abbey several shots crashed,

doing enormous damage to the grand old pile. The hospital opposite was

set alight, while the Westminster Palace Hotel was severely damaged, and

two shells falling into St. Thomas's Hospital created a scene of

indescribable terror in one of the overcrowded casualty wards.

Suddenly one of the German high explosive shells burst on the top of the

Victoria Tower, blowing away all four of the pinnacles, and bringing

down the flagstaff. Big Ben served as another mark for the artillery at

Muswell Hill and several shots struck it, tearing out one of the huge

clock faces and blowing away the pointed apex of the tower. Suddenly,

however, two great shells struck it right in the centre, almost

simultaneously, near the base, and made such a hole in the huge pile of

masonry that it was soon seen to have been rendered unsafe, though it

did not fall.

Shot after shot struck other portions of the Houses of Parliament,

breaking the windows and carrying away pinnacles.

One of the twin towers of Westminster Abbey fell a few moments later,

and another shell, crashing into the choir, completely wrecked Edward

the Confessor's shrine, the Coronation Chair, and all the objects of

antiquity in the vicinity.

The old Horse Guards escaped injury, but one of the cupolas of the new

War Office opposite was blown away, while shortly afterwards a fire

broke out in the new Local Government Board and Education Offices.

Number 10, Downing Street, the chief centre of the Government, had its

windows all blown in--a grim accident, no doubt--the same explosion

shattering several windows in the Foreign Office.

Many shells fell in St. James's and Hyde Parks, exploding harmlessly,

but others, passing across St. James's Park, crashed into that high

building, Queen Anne's Mansions, causing fearful havoc. Somerset House,

Covent Garden Market, Drury Lane Theatre, and the Gaiety Theatre and

Restaurant all suffered more or less, and two of the bronze footguards

guarding the Wellington Statue at Hyde Park Corner were blown many yards

away. Around Holborn Circus immense damage was being caused, and several

shells bursting on the Viaduct itself blew great holes in the bridge.

So widespread, indeed, was the havoc, that it is impossible to give a

detailed account of the day's terrors. If the public buildings suffered,

the damage to property of householders and the ruthless wrecking of

quiet English homes may well be imagined. The people had been driven out

from the zone of fire, and had left their possessions to the mercy of

the invaders.

South of the Thames very little damage was done. The German howitzers

and long-range guns could not reach so far. One or two shots fell in

York Road, Lambeth, and in the Waterloo and Westminster Bridge Roads,

but they did little damage beyond breaking all the windows in the

vicinity.

When would it end? Where would it end?

Half the population of London had fled across the bridges, and from

Denmark Hill, Champion Hill, Norwood, and the Crystal Palace they could

see the smoke issuing from the hundred fires.

London was cowed. These northern barricades, still held by bodies of

valiant men, were making a last desperate stand, though the streets ran

with blood. Every man fought well and bravely for his country, though he

went to his death. A thousand acts of gallant heroism on the part of

Englishmen were done that day, but alas! all to no purpose. The Germans

were at our gates, and were not to be denied.

As daylight commenced to fade the dust and smoke became suffocating. And

yet the guns pounded away with a monotonous regularity that appalled the

helpless populace. Overhead there was a quick whizzing in the air, a

deafening explosion, and as the masonry came crashing down the

atmosphere was filled with poisonous fumes that half asphyxiated all

those in the vicinity.

Hitherto the enemy had treated us, on the whole, humanely, but finding

that desperate resistance in the northern suburbs, Von Kronhelm was

carrying out the Emperor's parting injunction. He was breaking the pride

of our own dear London, even at the sacrifice of thousands of innocent

lives.

The scenes in the streets within that zone of awful fire baffled

description. They were too sudden, too dramatic, too appalling. Death

and destruction were everywhere, and the people of London now realised

for the first time what the horrors of war really meant.

Dusk was falling. Above the pall of smoke from burning buildings the sun

was setting with a blood-red light. From the London streets, however,

this evening sky was darkened by the clouds of smoke and dust. Yet the

cannonade continued, each shell that came hurtling through the air

exploding with deadly effect and spreading destruction on all hands.

Meanwhile the barricades at the north had not escaped Von Kronhelm's

attention. About four o'clock he gave orders by field telegraph for

certain batteries to move down and attack them.

This was done soon after five o'clock, and when the German guns began to

pour their deadly rain of shell into those hastily improvised defences

there commenced a slaughter of the gallant defenders that was horrible.

At each of the barricades shell after shell was directed, and very

quickly breaches were made. Then upon the defenders themselves the fire

was directed--a withering, awful fire from quick-firing guns which none

could withstand. The streets, with their barricades swept away, were

strewn with mutilated corpses. Hundreds upon hundreds had attempted to

make a last stand, rallied by the Union Jack they waved above, but a

shell exploding in their midst had sent them to instant eternity.

Many a gallant deed was done that day by patriotic Londoners in defence

of their homes and loved ones--many a deed that should have earned the

V.C.--but in nearly all cases the patriot who had stood up and faced the

foe had gone to straight and certain death.

Till seven o'clock the dull roar of the guns in the north continued, and

people across the Thames knew that London was still being destroyed,

nay, pulverised. Then with accord came a silence--the first silence

since the hot noon.

Von Kronhelm's field telegraph at Jack Straw's Castle had ticked the

order to cease firing.

All the barricades had been broken.

London lay burning--at the mercy of the German eagle.

And as the darkness fell the German Commander-in-Chief looked again

through his glasses, and saw the red flames leaping up in dozens of

places, where whole blocks of shops and buildings, public institutions,

whole streets in some cases, were being consumed.

London--the proud capital of the world, the "home" of the

Englishman--was at last ground beneath the iron heel of Germany!

And all, alas! due to one cause alone--the careless insular apathy of

the Englishman himself!

CHAPTER VI.

FALL OF LONDON.

Outside London the September night had settled down on the blood-stained

field of battle. With a pale light the moon had risen, partly hidden by

chasing clouds, her white rays mingling with the lurid glare of the

fires down in the great terrified Metropolis below. Northward, from

Hampstead across to Barnet--indeed, over that wide district where the

final battle had been so hotly fought--the moonbeams shone upon the

pallid faces of the fallen.

Along the German line of investment there had now followed upon the roar

of battle an uncanny silence.

Away to the west, however, there was still heard the growling of distant

conflict, now mounting into a low crackling of musketry fire, and again

dying away in muffled sounds. The last remnant of the British Army was

being hotly pursued in the direction of Staines.

London was invested and bombarded, but not yet taken.

For a long time the German Field Marshal had stood alone upon Hampstead

Heath apart from his staff, watching the great tongues of flame leaping

up here and there in the distant darkness. His grey, shaggy brows were

contracted, his thin aquiline face thoughtful, his hard mouth twitching

nervously, unable to fully conceal the strain of his own feelings as

conqueror of the English. Von Kronhelm's taciturnity had long ago been

proverbial. The Kaiser had likened him to Moltke, and had declared that

"he could be silent in seven languages." His gaze was one of musing, and

yet he was the most active of men, and perhaps the cleverest strategist

in all Europe. Often during the campaign he had astonished his

aides-de-camp by his untiring energy, for sometimes he would even visit

the outposts in person. On many occasions he had actually crept up to

the most advanced posts at great personal risk to himself, so anxious

had he been to see with his own eyes. Such visits from the Field Marshal

himself were not always welcome to the German outposts, who, as soon as

they showed the least sign of commotion consequent upon the visit, were

at once swept by a withering English fire.

Yet he now stood there the conqueror. And while many of his officers

were installing themselves in comfortable quarters in houses about North

End, North Hill, South Hill, Muswell Hill, Roslyn Hill, Fitzjohn's

Avenue, Netherhall, and Maresfield Gardens, and other roads in that

vicinity, the great Commander was still alone upon the Heath, having

taken nothing save a nip from his flask since his coffee at dawn.

Time after time telegraphic despatches were handed to him from Germany,

and telephonic reports from his various positions around London, but he

received them all without comment. He read, he listened, but he said

nothing.

For a full hour he remained there, strolling up and down alone in quick

impatience. Then, as though suddenly making up his mind, he called three

members of his staff, and gave orders for an entry into London.

This, as he knew, was the signal for a terrible and bloody encounter.

Bugles sounded. Men and officers, who had believed that the storm and

stress of the day were over, and that they were entitled to rest, found

themselves called upon to fight their way into the city that they knew

would be defended by an irate and antagonistic populace.

Still, the order had been given, and it must be obeyed. They had

expected that the advance would be at least made at dawn, but evidently

Von Kronhelm feared that six hours' delay might necessitate more

desperate fighting. He intended, now that London was cowed, that she

should be entirely crushed. The orders of his master the Kaiser were to

that effect.

Therefore, shortly before nine o'clock the first detachments of German

infantry marched along Spaniards Road, and down Roslyn Hill to

Haverstock Hill, where they were at once fired upon from behind the

_debris_ of the great barricade across the junction of Prince of Wales

Road and Haverstock Hill. This place was held strongly by British

Infantry, many members of the Legion of Frontiersmen--distinguished only

by the little bronze badge in their buttonholes--and also by hundreds of

citizens armed with rifles.

Twenty Germans dropped at the first volley, and next instant a Maxim,

concealed in the first floor of a neighbouring house, spat forth its

fire upon the invaders with deadly effect. The German bugle sounded the

"Advance rapidly," and the men emulously ran forward, shouting loud

hurrahs. Major van Wittich, who had distinguished himself very

conspicuously in the fighting round Enfield Chase, fell, being shot

through the lung when just within a few yards of the half-ruined

barricade. Londoners were fighting desperately, shouting and cheering.

The standard-bearer of the 4th Battalion of the Brunswick Infantry

Regiment, No. 92, fell severely wounded, and the standard was instantly

snatched from him in the awful hand-to-hand fighting which that moment

ensued.

Five minutes later the streets were running with blood, for hundreds,

both Germans and British, lay dead and dying. Every Londoner struggled

valiantly until shot down; yet the enemy, always reinforced, pressed

forward, until ten minutes later, the defenders were driven out of their

position, and the house from which the Maxim was sending forth its

deadly hail had been entered and the gun captured. Volley after volley

was still, however, poured out on the heads of the storming party, but

already the pioneers were at work clearing a way for the advance, and

very soon the Germans had surmounted the obstruction and were within

London.

For a short time the Germans halted, then, at a signal from their

officers, they moved along both roads, again being fired upon from every

house in the vicinity, many of the defenders having retired to continue

their defence from the windows. The enemy therefore turned their

attention to these houses, and after desperate struggles house after

house was taken, those of the defenders not wearing uniform being shot

down without mercy. To such no quarter was given.

The contest now became a most furious one. Britons and Germans fought

hand to hand. A battalion of the Brunswick Infantry with some riflemen

of the Guard took several houses by rush in Chalk Farm Road; but in many

cases the Germans were shot by their own comrades. Quite a number of the

enemy's officers were picked off by the Frontiersmen, those brave

fellows who had seen service in every corner of the world, and who were

now in the windows and upon roofs. Thus the furious fight from house to

house proceeded.

This exciting conflict was practically characteristic of what was at

that moment happening in fifty other spots along the suburbs of North

London. The obstinate resistance which we made against the Germans was

met with equally obstinate aggression. There was no surrender. Londoners

fell and died fighting to the very last.

Against those well-trained Teutons in such overwhelming masses we,

however, could have no hope of success. The rushes of the infantry and

rifles of the Guards were made skilfully, and slowly but surely broke

down all opposition.

The barricade in the Kentish Town Road was defended with valiant

heroism. The Germans were, as in Chalk Farm Road, compelled to fight

their way foot by foot, losing heavily all the time. But here, at

length, as at other points, the barricade was taken, and the defenders

chased, and either taken prisoner or else ruthlessly shot down. A body

of citizens armed with rifles were, after the storming of the barricades

in question, driven back into Park Street, and there, being caught

between two bodies of Germans, slaughtered to a man. Through those unlit

side streets between the Kentish Town and Camden Roads--namely, the

Lawford, Bartholomew, Rochester, Caversham, and Leighton Roads--there

was much skirmishing, and many on both sides fell in the bloody

encounter. A thousand deeds of bravery were done that night, but were

unrecorded. Before the barricade in Holloway Road--which had been

strongly repaired after the breach made in it by the German shells--the

enemy lost very heavily, for the three Maxims which had there been

mounted did awful execution. The invaders, however, seeing the strong

defence, fell back for full twenty minutes, and then, making another

rush, hurled petrol bombs into the midst of our men.

A frightful holocaust was the result. Fully a hundred of the poor

fellows were literally burned alive; while the neighbouring houses,

being set in flames, compelled the citizen free-shooters to quickly

evacuate their position. Against such terrible missiles even the best

trained troops cannot stand, therefore no wonder that all opposition at

that point was soon afterwards swept away, and the pioneers quickly

opened the road for the victorious legions of the Kaiser.

And so in that prosaic thoroughfare, the Holloway Road, brave men fought

gallantly and died, while a Scotch piper paced the pavement sharply,

backwards and forwards, with his colours flying. Then, alas! came the

red flash, the loud explosions in rapid succession, and the next instant

the whole street burst into a veritable sea of flame.

High Street, Kingsland, was also the scene of several fierce conflicts;

but here the Germans decidedly got the worst of it. The whole infuriated

population seemed to emerge suddenly from the side streets of the

Kingsland Road on the appearance of the detachment of the enemy, and the

latter were practically overwhelmed, notwithstanding the desperate fight

they made. Then ringing cheers went up from the defenders.

The Germans were given no quarter by the populace, all of whom were

armed with knives or guns, the women mostly with hatchets, crowbars, or

edged tools.

Many of the Germans fled through the side streets towards Mare Street,

and were hotly pursued, the majority of them being done to death by the

maddened mob. The streets in this vicinity were literally a

slaughterhouse.

The barricades in Finchley Road, and in High Road, Kilburn, were also

very strongly held, and at the first-named it was quite an hour before

the enemy's pioneers were able to make a breach. Indeed, then only after

a most hotly contested conflict, in which there were frightful losses on

both sides. Petrol bombs were here also used by the enemy with appalling

effect, the road being afterwards cleared by a couple of Maxims.

Farther towards Regent's Park the houses were, however, full of

sharpshooters, and before these could be dislodged the enemy had again

suffered severely. The entry into London was both difficult and

perilous, and the enemy suffered great losses everywhere.

After the breaking down of the defences in High Road, Kilburn, the men

who had held them retired to the Town Hall, opposite Kilburn Station,

and from the windows fired at the passing battalions, doing much

execution. All efforts to dislodge them proved unavailing, until the

place was taken by storm, and a fearful hand to hand fight was the

outcome. Eventually the Town Hall was taken, after a most desperate

resistance, and ten minutes later wilfully set fire to and burned.

In the Harrow Road and those cross streets between Kensal Green and

Maida Vale the advancing Germans shared much the same fate as about

Hackney. Surrounded by the armed populace, hundreds upon hundreds of

them were killed, struck down by hatchets, stabbed by knives, or shot

with revolvers, the crowd shouting, "Down with the Germans! Kill them!

Kill them!"

Many of the London women now became perfect furies. So incensed were

they at the wreck of their homes and the death of their loved ones that

they rushed wildly into the fray with no thought of peril, only of

bitter revenge. A German whenever caught was at once killed. In those

bloody street fights the Teutons got separated from their comrades and

were quickly surrounded and done to death.

[Illustration: LONDON AFTER THE BOMBARDMENT.]

Across the whole of the northern suburbs the scenes of bloodshed that

night were full of horror, as men fought in the ruined streets, climbing

over the smouldering _debris_, over the bodies of their comrades, and

shooting from behind ruined walls. As Von Kronhelm had anticipated, his

Army was compelled to fight its way into London.

The streets all along the line of the enemy's advance were now strewn

with dead and dying. London was doomed.

The Germans now coming on in increasing, nay, unceasing numbers, were

leaving behind them everywhere the trail of blood. Shattered London

stood staggered.

Though the resistance had been long and desperate, the enemy had again

triumphed by reason of his sheer weight of numbers.

Yet, even though he were actually in our own dear London, our people did

not mean that he should establish himself without any further

opposition. Therefore, though the barricades had been taken, the Germans

found in every unexpected corner men who shot at them, and Maxims which

spat forth their leaden showers beneath which hundreds upon hundreds of

Teutons fell.

Yet they advanced, still fighting. The scenes of carnage were awful and

indescribable, no quarter being given to any armed citizens not in

uniform, be they men, women, or children.

The German Army was carrying out the famous proclamation of Field

Marshal von Kronhelm to the letter!

They were marching on to the sack of the wealthiest city of the world.

It wanted still an hour of midnight. London was a city of shadow, of

fire, of death. The silent streets, whence all the inhabitants had fled

in panic, echoed to the heavy tread of German infantry, the clank of

arms, and the ominous rumble of guns. Ever and anon an order was shouted

in German as the Kaiser's legions went forward to occupy the proud

capital of the world. The enemy's plans appeared to have been carefully

prepared. The majority of the troops coming from the direction of

Hampstead and Finchley entered Regent's Park, whence preparations were

at once commenced for encampment; while the remainder, together with

those who came down the Camden, Caledonian, and Holloway Roads, turned

along Euston Road and Oxford Street to Hyde Park, where a huge camp was

formed, stretching from the Marble Arch right along the Park Lane side

away to Knightsbridge.

Officers were very soon billeted in the best houses in Park Lane and

about Mayfair--houses full of works of art and other valuables that had

only that morning been left to the mercy of the invaders. From the

windows and balconies of their quarters in Park Lane they could overlook

the encampment--a position which had evidently been purposely chosen.

Other troops who came in never-ending procession by the Bow Road, Roman

Road, East India Dock Road, Victoria Park Road, Mare Street, and

Kingsland Road all converged into the City itself, except those who had

come from Edmonton down the Kingsland Road, and who, passing along Old

Street and Clerkenwell, occupied the Charing Cross and Westminster

districts.

At midnight a dramatic scene was enacted when, in the blood-red glare of

some blazing buildings in the vicinity, a large body of Prince Louis

Ferdinand of Prussia's 2nd Magdeburg Regiment suddenly swept up

Threadneedle Street into the great open space before the Mansion House,

whereon the London flag was still flying aloft in the smoke-laden air.

They halted across the junction of Cheapside with Queen Victoria Street

when, at the same moment, another huge body of the Uhlans of Altmark and

Magdeburg Hussars came clattering along Cornhill, followed a moment

later by battalion after battalion of the 4th and 8th Thuringen Infantry

out of Moorgate Street, whose uniforms showed plain traces of the

desperate encounters of the past week.

The great body of Germans had halted before the Mansion House, when

General von Kleppen, the commander of the IVth Army Corps--who,

it will be remembered, had landed at Weybourne--accompanied by

Lieutenant-General von Mirbach, of the 8th Division, and Froelich,

commander of the cavalry brigade, ascended the steps of the Mansion

House and entered.

Within, Sir Claude Harrison, the Lord Mayor, who wore his robes and

jewel of office, received them in that great, sombre room wherein so

many momentous questions concerning the welfare of the British Empire

had been discussed. The representative of the City of London, a short,

stout, gray-haired man, was pale and agitated. He bowed, but he could

not speak.

Von Kleppen, however, a smart, soldierly figure in his service uniform

and many ribbons, bowed in response, and in very fair English said:--

"I regret, my Lord Mayor, that it is necessary for us to thus disturb

you, but as you are aware, the British Army has been defeated, and the

German Army has entered London. I have orders from Field Marshal von

Kronhelm to place you under arrest, and to hold you as hostage for the

good behaviour of the City during the progress of the negotiations for

peace."

"Arrest!" gasped the Lord Mayor. "You intend to arrest me?"

"It will not be irksome, I assure you," smiled the German commander

grimly. "At least, we shall make it as comfortable as possible. I shall

place a guard here, and the only restriction I place upon you is that

you shall neither go out nor hold any communication with any one outside

these walls."

"But my wife?"

"If her ladyship is here I would advise that she leave the place. It is

better that, for the present, she should be out of London."

The civic officials, who had all assembled for the dramatic ceremonial,

looked at each other in blank amazement. The Lord Mayor was a prisoner!

Sir Claude divested himself of his jewel of office, and handed it to his

servant to replace in safe keeping. Then he took off his robe, and

having done so, advanced closer to the German officers, who, treating

him with every courtesy, consulted with him, expressing regret at the

terrible loss of life that had been occasioned by the gallant defence of

the barricades.

Von Kleppen gave the Lord Mayor a message from Von Kronhelm, and urged

him to issue a proclamation forbidding any further opposition on the

part of the populace of London. With the three officers Sir Claude

talked for a quarter of an hour, while into the Mansion House there

entered a strong guard of men of the 2nd Magdeburg, who quickly

established themselves in the most comfortable quarters. German double

sentries stood at every exit and in every corridor, and when a few

minutes later the flag was hauled down and the German Imperial Standard

run up, wild shouts of triumph rang from every throat of the densely

packed body of troops assembled outside.

The joyous "hurrahs!" reached the Lord Mayor, still in conversation with

Von Kleppen, Von Mirbach, and Froelich, and in an instant he knew the

truth. The Teutons were saluting their own standard. The civic flag had,

either accidentally or purposely, been flung down into the roadway

below, and was trampled in the dust. A hundred enthusiastic Germans,

disregarding the shouts of their officers, fought for the flag, and it

was instantly torn to shreds, and little pieces preserved as souvenirs.

Shout after shout in German went up from the wildly excited troops of

the Kaiser when the light wind caused their own flag to flutter out, and

then, as with one voice, the whole body of troops united in singing the

German National Hymn.

The scene was weird and most impressive. London had fallen.

Around were the wrecked buildings, some still smouldering, some emitting

flame. Behind lay the Bank of England with untold wealth locked within:

to the right the damaged facade of the Royal Exchange was illuminated

by a flickering light, which also shone upon the piled arms of the

enemy's troops, causing them to flash and gleam.

In those silent, narrow City streets not an Englishman was to be seen.

Every one save the Lord Mayor and his official attendants had fled.

The Government Offices in Whitehall were all in the hands of the enemy.

In the Foreign Office, the India Office, the War Office, the Colonial

Office, the Admiralty, and other minor offices were German guards.

Sentries stood at the shattered door of the famous No. 10, Downing

Street, and all up Whitehall was lined with infantry.

German officers were in charge of all our public offices, and all

officials who had remained on duty were firmly requested to leave.

Sentries were stationed to guard the archives of every department, and

precautions were taken to guard against any further outbreaks of fire.

Across at the Houses of Parliament, with their damaged towers, the whole

great pile of buildings was surrounded by triumphant troops, while

across at the fine old Abbey of Westminster was, alas! a different

scene. The interior had been turned into a temporary hospital, and upon

mattresses placed upon the floor were hundreds of poor maimed creatures,

some groaning, some ghastly pale in the last moments of agony, some

silent, their white lips moving in prayer.

On one side in the dim light lay the men, some in uniform, others

inoffensive citizens, who had been struck by cruel shells or falling

_debris_; on the other side lay the women, some mere girls, and even

children.

Flitting everywhere in the half light were nurses, charitable ladies,

and female helpers, with numbers of doctors, all doing their best to

alleviate the terrible sufferings of that crowded place, the walls of

which showed plain traces of the severe bombardment. In places the roof

was open to the angry sky, while many of the windows were gaunt and

shattered.

A clergyman's voice somewhere was repeating a prayer in a low, distinct

voice, so that all could hear, yet above all were the sighs and groans

of the sufferers, and as one walked through that prostrate assembly of

victims more than one was seen to have already gone to that land that

lies beyond the human ken.

The horrors of war were never more forcibly illustrated than in

Westminster Abbey that night, for the grim hand of death was there, and

men and women lying with their faces to the roof looked into Eternity.

Every hospital in London was full, therefore the overflow had been

placed in the various churches. From the battlefields along the northern

defences, Epping, Edmonton, Barnet, Enfield, and other places where the

last desperate stand had been made, and from the barricades in the

northern suburbs ambulance waggons were continually arriving full of

wounded, all of whom were placed in the churches and in any large public

buildings which had remained undamaged by the bombardment.

St. George's, Hanover Square, once the scene of many smart weddings, was

now packed with unfortunate wounded soldiers, British and German lying

side by side, while in the Westminster Cathedral and the Oratory at

Brompton the Roman Catholic priests made hundreds of poor fellows as

comfortable as they could, many members of the religious sisterhoods

acting as nurses. St. James's Church in Piccadilly, St. Pancras Church,

Shoreditch Church, and St. Mary Abbotts', Kensington, were all

improvised hospitals, and many grim and terrible scenes of agony were

witnessed during that long eventful night.

The light was dim everywhere, for there were only paraffin lamps, and by

their feeble illumination many a difficult operation had to be performed

by those London surgeons who one and all had come forward, and were now

working unceasingly. Renowned specialists from Harley Street, Cavendish

Square, Queen Ann Street, and the vicinity were directing the work in

all the improvised hospitals, men whose names were world-famous kneeling

and performing operations upon poor unfortunate private soldiers or upon

some labourer who had taken up a gun in defence of his home.

Of lady helpers there were hundreds. From Mayfair and Belgravia, from

Kensington and Bayswater, ladies had come forward offering their

services, and their devotion to the wounded was everywhere apparent. In

St. Andrew's, Wells Street, St. Peter's, Eaton Square, in the Scottish

Church in Crown Court, Covent Garden, in the Temple Church, in the Union

Chapel in Upper Street, in the Chapel Royal, Savoy, in St. Clement Danes

in the Strand, and in St. Martin's-in-the-Fields, there were wounded in

greater or less numbers, but the difficulties of treating them were

enormous owing to the lack of necessaries for the performance of

operations.

Weird and striking were the scenes within those hallowed places, as, in

the half darkness with the long, deep shadows, men struggled for life or

gave to the women kneeling at their side their name, their address, or a

last dying message to one they loved.

London that night was a city of shattered homes, of shattered hopes, of

shattered lives.

The silence of death had fallen everywhere. The only sounds that broke

the quiet within those churches were the sighs, groans, and faint

murmurings of the dying.

CHAPTER VII.

GERMANS SACKING THE BANKS.

Day dawned dismally and wet on September the 21st.

Over London the sky was still obscured by the smoke-pall, though as the

night passed many of the raging fires had spent themselves.

Trafalgar Square was filled with troops who had piled arms and were

standing at their ease. The men were laughing and smoking, enjoying a

rest after the last forward movement and the street fighting of that

night of horrors.

The losses on both sides during the past three days had been enormous;

of the number of London citizens killed and wounded it was impossible to

calculate. There had, in the northern suburbs, been wholesale butchery

everywhere, so gallantly had the barricades been defended.

Great camps had now been formed in Hyde Park, in the Green Park between

Constitution Hill and Piccadilly, and in St. James's Park. The Magdeburg

Fusiliers were being formed up on the Horse Guards Parade, and from the

flagstaff there now fluttered the ensign of the commander of an army

corps, in place of the British flag. A large number of Uhlans and

Cuirassiers were encamped at the west end of the Park, opposite

Buckingham Palace, and both the Wellington Barracks and the Cavalry

Barracks at Knightsbridge were occupied by Germans.

Many officers were already billeted in the Savoy, the Cecil, the

Carlton, the Grand, and Victoria hotels, while the British Museum, the

National Gallery, the South Kensington Museum, the Tower, and a number

of other collections of pictures and antiques were all guarded strongly

by German sentries. The enemy had thus seized our national treasures.

London awoke to find herself a German city.

In the streets lounging groups of travel-worn sons of the Fatherland

were everywhere, and German was heard on every hand. Every ounce of

foodstuff was being rapidly commandeered by hundreds of foraging

parties, who went to each grocer's, baker's, or provision shop in the

various districts, seized all they could find, valued it, and gave

official receipts for it.

The price of food in London that morning was absolutely prohibitive, as

much as two shillings being asked for a twopenny loaf. The Germans had,

it was afterwards discovered, been all the time, since the Sunday when

they landed, running over large cargoes of supplies of all sorts to the

Essex, Lincolnshire, and Norfolk coasts, where they had established huge

supply bases, well knowing that there was not sufficient food in the

country to feed their armed hordes in addition to the population.

Shops in Tottenham Court Road, Holborn, Edgware Road, Oxford Street,

Camden Road, and Harrow Road were systematically visited by the foraging

parties, who commenced their work at dawn. Those places that were closed

and their owners absent were at once broken open, and everything seized

and carted to either Hyde Park or St. James's Park, for though Londoners

might starve, the Kaiser's troops intended to be fed.

In some cases a patriotic shopkeeper attempted to resist. Indeed, in

more than one case a tradesman wilfully set his shop on fire rather than

its contents should fall into the enemy's hands. In other cases the

tradesmen who received the official German receipts burned them in

contempt before the officer's eyes.

The guidance of these foraging parties was, in very many cases, in the

hands of Germans in civilian clothes, and it was now seen how complete

and helpful the enemy's system of espionage had been in London. Most of

these men were Germans who, having served in the army, had come over to

England and obtained employment as waiters, clerks, bakers,

hairdressers, and private servants, and being bound by their oath to the

Fatherland had served their country as spies. Each man, when obeying the

Imperial command to join the German arms, had placed in the lapel of his

coat a button of a peculiar shape, with which he had long ago been

provided, and by which he was instantly recognised as a loyal subject of

the Kaiser.

This huge body of German soldiers, who for years had passed in England

as civilians, was, of course, of enormous use to Von Kronhelm, for they

acted as guides not only on the march and during the entry to London,

but materially assisted in the victorious advance in the Midlands.

Indeed, the Germans had for years kept a civilian army in England, and

yet we had, ostrich-like, buried our heads in the sand, and refused to

turn our eyes to the grave peril that had for so long threatened.

Systematically, the Germans were visiting every shop and warehouse in

the shopping districts, and seizing everything eatable they could

discover. The enemy were taking the food from the mouths of the poor in

East and South London, and as they went southward across the river, so

the populace retired, leaving their homes at the mercy of the ruthless

invader.

Upon all the bridges across the Thames stood German guards, and none

were allowed to cross without permits.

Soon after dawn Von Kronhelm and his staff rode down Haverstock Hill

with a large body of cavalry, and made his formal entry into London,

first having an interview with the Lord Mayor, and an hour afterwards

establishing his headquarters at the new War Office in Whitehall, over

which he hoisted his special flag as Commander-in-Chief. It was found

that, though a good deal of damage had been done externally to the

building, the interior had practically escaped, save one or two rooms.

Therefore the Field Marshal installed himself in the private room of the

War Minister, and telegraphic and telephonic communication was quickly

established, while a wireless telegraph apparatus was placed upon the

ruined summit of Big Ben for the purpose of communicating with Germany,

in case the cables were interrupted by being cut at sea.

The day after the landing a similar apparatus had been erected on the

Monument at Yarmouth, and it had been daily in communication with the

one at Bremen. The German left nothing to chance.

The clubs in Pall Mall were now being used by German officers, who

lounged in easy chairs, smoking and taking their ease, German soldiers

being on guard outside. North of the Thames seemed practically deserted,

save for the invaders who swarmed everywhere. South of the Thames the

cowed and terrified populace were asking what the end was to be. What

was the Government doing? It had fled to Bristol and left London to its

fate, they complained.

What the German demands were was not known until the "Daily Telegraph"

published an interview with Sir Claude Harrison, the Lord Mayor, which

gave authentic details of them.

They were as follows:--

1. Indemnity of L300,000,000, paid in ten annual instalments.

2. Until this indemnity is paid in full, German troops to occupy

Edinburgh, Rosyth, Chatham, Dover, Portsmouth, Devonport,

Pembroke, Yarmouth, Hull.

3. Cession to Germany of the Shetlands, Orkneys, Bantry Bay,

Malta, Gibraltar, and Tasmania.

4. India, north of a line drawn from Calcutta to Baroda, to be

ceded to Russia.

5. The independence of Ireland to be recognised.

Of the claim of L300,000,000, fifty millions was demanded from London,

the sum in question to be paid within twelve hours.

The Lord Mayor had, it appeared, sent his secretary to the Prime

Minister at Bristol bearing the original document in the handwriting of

Von Kronhelm. The Prime Minister had acknowledged its receipt by

telegraph both to the Lord Mayor and to the German Field Marshal, but

there the matter had ended.

The twelve hours' grace was nearly up, and the German Commander, seated

in Whitehall, had received no reply.

In the corner of the large, pleasant, well-carpeted room sat a German

telegraph engineer with a portable instrument, in direct communication

with the Emperor's private cabinet at Potsdam, and over that wire

messages were continually passing and repassing.

The grizzled old soldier paced the room impatiently. His Emperor had

only an hour ago sent him a message of warm congratulation, and had

privately informed him of the high honours he intended to bestow upon

him. The German Eagle was victorious, and London--the great

unconquerable London--lay crushed, torn, and broken.

The marble clock upon the mantelpiece shelf chimed eleven upon its

silvery bells, causing Von Kronhelm to turn from the window to glance at

his own watch.

"Tell His Majesty that it is eleven o'clock, and that there is no reply

to hand," he said sharply in German to the man in uniform seated at the

table in the corner.

The instrument clicked rapidly, and a silence followed.

The German Commander waited anxiously. He stood bending slightly over

the green tape in order to read the Imperial order the instant it

flashed from beneath the sea.

Five minutes--ten minutes passed. The shouting of military commands in

German came up from Whitehall below. Nothing else broke the quiet.

Von Kronhelm, his face more furrowed and more serious, again paced the

carpet.

Suddenly the little instrument whirred, and clicked as its thin green

tape rolled out.

In an instant the Generalissimo of the Kaiser's army sprang to the

telegraphist's side and read the Imperial command.

For a moment he held the piece of tape between his fingers, then crushed

it in his hand and stood motionless.

He had received orders which, though against his desire, he was

compelled to obey.

Summoning several members of his staff who had installed themselves in

other comfortable rooms in the vicinity, he held a long consultation

with them.

In the meantime telegraphic despatches were received from Sheffield,

Manchester, Birmingham, and other German headquarters, all telling the

same story--the complete investment and occupation of the big cities and

the pacification of the inhabitants.

One hour's grace was, however, allowed to London--till noon.

Then orders were issued, bugles rang out across the parks, and in the

main thoroughfares, where arms were piled, causing the troops to fall

in, and within a quarter of an hour large bodies of infantry and

engineers were moving along the Strand, in the direction of the City.

At first the reason of all this was a mystery, but very shortly it was

realised what was intended when a detachment of the 5th Hanover Regiment

advanced to the gate of the Bank of England opposite the Exchange, and,

after some difficulty, broke it open and entered, followed by some

engineers of Von Mirbach's Division. The building was very soon

occupied, and, under the direction of General Von Kleppen himself, an

attempt was made to open the strong rooms, wherein was stored that vast

hoard of England's wealth. What actually occurred at that spot can only

be imagined, as the commander of the IVth Army Corps and one or two

officers and men were the only persons present. It is surmised, however,

that the strength of the vaults was far greater than they had imagined,

and that, though they worked for hours, all was in vain.

While this was in progress, however, parties of engineers were making

organised raids upon the banks in Lombard Street, Lothbury, Moorgate

Street, and Broad Street, as well as upon branch banks in Oxford Street,

the Strand, and other places in the West End.

At one bank on the left-hand side of Lombard Street, dynamite being used

to force the strong room, the first bullion was seized, while at nearly

all the banks sooner or later the vaults were opened, and great bags and

boxes of gold coin were taken out and conveyed in carefully guarded

carts to the Bank of England, now in the possession of Germany.

In some banks--those of more modern construction--the greatest

resistance was offered by the huge steel doors and concrete and steel

walls and other devices for security. But nothing could, alas! resist

the high explosives used, and in the end breaches were made, in all

cases, and wealth uncounted and untold extracted and conveyed to

Threadneedle Street for safe keeping.

Engineers and infantry handled those heavy boxes and those big bundles

of securities gleefully, officers carefully counting each box or bag or

packet as it was taken out to be carted or carried away by hand.

German soldiers under guard struggled along Lothbury beneath great

burdens of gold, and carts, requisitioned out of the East End, rumbled

heavily all the afternoon, escorted by soldiers. Hammersmith,

Camberwell, Hampstead, and Willesden yielded up their quota of the

great wealth of London; but though soon after four o'clock a breach was

made in the strong rooms of the Bank of England by means of explosives,

nothing in the vaults was touched. The Germans simply entered there and

formally took possession.

The coin collected from other banks was carefully kept, each separate

from another, and placed in various rooms under strong guards, for it

seemed to be their intention simply to hold London's wealth as security.

That afternoon very few banks--except the German ones--escaped notice.

Of course, there were a few small branches in the suburbs which remained

unvisited, yet by six o'clock Von Kronhelm was in possession of enormous

quantities of gold.

In one or two quarters there had been opposition on the part of the

armed guards established by the banks at the first news of the invasion.

But any such resistance had, of course, been futile, and the man who had

dared to fire upon the German soldiers had in every case been shot down.

Thus, when darkness fell, Von Kronhelm, from the corner of his room in

the War Office, was able to report to his Imperial Master that not only

had he occupied London, but that, receiving no reply to his demand for

indemnity, he had sacked it and taken possession not only of the Bank of

England, but of the cash deposits in most of the other banks in the

metropolis.

That night the evening papers described the wild happenings of the

afternoon, and London saw herself not only shattered, but ruined. The

frightened populace across the river stood breathless. What was now to

happen?

Though London lay crushed and occupied by the enemy, though the Lord

Mayor was a prisoner of war and the banks in the hands of the Germans,

though the metropolis had been wrecked and more than half its

inhabitants had fled southward and westward into the country, yet the

enemy received no reply to their demand for an indemnity and the cession

of British territory.

Von Kronhelm, ignorant of what had occurred in the House of Commons at

Bristol, sat in Whitehall and wondered. He knew well that the English

were no fools, and their silence, therefore, caused him considerable

uneasiness. He had lost in the various engagements over 50,000 men, yet

nearly 200,000 still remained. His army of invasion was a no mean

responsibility, especially when at any moment the British might regain

command of the sea. His supplies and reinforcements would then be at

once cut off. It was impossible for him to live upon the country, and

his food bases in Suffolk and Essex were not sufficiently extensive to

enable him to make a prolonged campaign. Indeed, the whole scheme of

operations which had been so long discussed and perfected in secret in

Berlin was more of the nature of a raid than a prolonged siege.

CITY OF LONDON.

CITIZENS OF LONDON.

WE, the GENERAL COMMANDING the German Imperial Army occupying

London, give notice that:

(1) THE STATE OF WAR AND OF SIEGE continues to exist, and all

categories of crime, more especially the contravention of all

orders already issued, will be judged by Councils of War, and

punished in conformity with martial law.

(2) THE INHABITANTS OF LONDON and its suburbs are ordered to

instantly deliver up all arms and ammunition of whatever kind

they possess. The term arms includes firearms, sabres, swords,

daggers, revolvers, and sword-canes. Landlords and occupiers of

houses are charged to see that this order is carried out, but in

the case of their absence the municipal authorities and

officials of the London County Council are charged to make

domiciliary visits, minute and searching, being accompanied by a

military guard.

(3) ALL NEWSPAPERS, JOURNALS, GAZETTES, AND PROCLAMATIONS, of

whatever description, are hereby prohibited, and until further

notice nothing further must be printed, except documents issued

publicly by the military commander.

(4) ANY PRIVATE PERSON OR PERSONS taking arms against the German

troops after this notice will be EXECUTED.

(5) ON THE CONTRARY, the Imperial German troops will respect

private property, and no requisition will be allowed to be made

unless it bears the authorisation of the Commander-in-Chief.

(6) ALL PUBLIC PLACES are to be closed at 8 P.M. All persons

found in the streets of London after 8 P.M. will be arrested by

the patrols. There is no exception to this rule except in the

case of German Officers, and also in the case of doctors

visiting their patients. Municipal officials will also be

allowed out, providing they obtain a permit from the German

headquarters.

(7) MUNICIPAL AUTHORITIES MUST provide for the lighting of the

streets. In cases where this is impossible, each householder

must hang a lantern outside his house from nightfall until 8

A.M.

(8) AFTER TO-MORROW morning, at 10 o'clock, the women and

children of the population of London will be allowed to pass

without hindrance.

(9) MUNICIPAL AUTHORITIES MUST, with as little delay as

possible, provide accommodation for the German troops in private

dwellings, in fire-stations, barracks, hotels, and houses that

are still habitable.

=VON KRONHELM,

Commander-in-Chief.=

GERMAN MILITARY HEADQUARTERS,

WHITEHALL, LONDON, _September_ 21, 1910.

[Illustration: VON KRONHELM'S PROCLAMATION TO THE

CITIZENS OF LONDON.]

The German Field Marshal sat alone and reflected. Had he been aware of

the true state of affairs he would certainly have had considerable cause

for alarm. True, though Lord Byfield had made such a magnificent stand,

considering the weakness of the force at his disposal, and London was

occupied, yet England was not conquered.

No news had leaked out from Bristol. Indeed, Parliament had taken every

precaution that its deliberations were in secret.

The truth, however, may be briefly related. On the previous day the

House had met at noon in the Colston Hall--a memorable sitting, indeed.

The Secretary of State for War had, after prayers, risen in the hall and

read an official despatch he had just received from Lord Byfield, giving

the news of the last stand made by the British north of Enfield, and the

utter hopelessness of the situation. It was received by the assembled

House in ominous silence.

During the past week through that great hall the Minister's deep voice,

shaken by emotion, had been daily heard as he was compelled to report

defeat after defeat of the British arms. Both sides of the House had,

after the first few days, been forced to recognise Germany's superiority

in numbers, in training, in organisation--in fact in everything

appertaining to military power. Von Kronhelm's strategy had been

perfect. He knew more of Eastern England than the British Commander

himself, and his marvellous system of spies and advance agents--Germans

who had lived for years in England--had assisted him forward, until he

had now occupied London, the city declared to be impregnable.

Through the whole of September 20 the Minister constantly received

despatches from the British Field Marshal and from London itself, yet

each telegram communicated to the House seemed more hopeless than its

predecessor.

The debate, however, proceeded through the afternoon. The Opposition

were bitterly attacking the Government and the Blue Water School for its

gross negligence in the past, and demanding to know the whereabouts of

the remnant of the British Navy. The First Lord of the Admiralty flatly

refused to make any statement. The whereabouts of our Navy at that

moment was, he said, a secret, which must, at all hazards, be withheld

from our enemy. The Admiralty were not asleep, as the country believed,

but were fully alive to the seriousness of the crisis. He urged the

House to remain patient, saying that as soon as he dared he would make a

statement.

This was greeted by loud jeers from the Opposition, from whose benches,

members, one after another, rose, and, using hard epithets, blamed the

Government for the terrible disaster. The cutting down of our defences,

the meagre naval programmes, the discouragement of the Volunteers and of

recruiting, and the disregard of Lord Roberts' scheme in 1906 for

universal military training were, they declared, responsible for what

had occurred. The Government had been culpably negligent, and Mr.

Haldane's scheme had been all insufficient. Indeed, it had been nothing

short of criminal to mislead the Empire into a false sense of security

which did not exist.

For the past three years Germany, while sapping our industries, had sent

spies into our midst, and laughed at us for our foolish insular

superiority. She had turned her attention from France to ourselves,

notwithstanding the _entente cordiale_. She remembered how the

much-talked-of Franco-Russian alliance had fallen to pieces, and relied

upon a similar outcome of the friendship between France and Great

Britain.

The aspect of the House, too, was strange; the Speaker in his robes

looked out of place in his big uncomfortable chair, and members sat on

cane-bottomed chairs instead of their comfortable benches at

Westminster. As far as possible the usual arrangement of the House was

adhered to, except that the Press were now excluded, official reports

being furnished to them at midnight.

The clerks' table was a large plain one of stained wood, but upon it was

the usual array of despatches, while the Serjeant-at-Arms, in his

picturesque dress, was still one of the most prominent figures. The lack

of committee rooms, of an adequate lobby, and of a refreshment

department caused much inconvenience, though a temporary post and

telegraph office had been established within the building, and a

separate line connected the Prime Minister's room with Downing Street.

If the Government were denounced in unmeasured terms, its defence was

equally vigorous. Thus, through that never-to-be-forgotten afternoon the

sitting continued past the dinner hour on to late in the evening.

Time after time the despatches from London were placed in the hands of

the War Minister, but, contrary to the expectation of the House, he

vouchsafed no further statement. It was noticed that just before ten

o'clock he consulted in an earnest undertone with the Prime Minister,

the First Lord of the Admiralty, and the Home Secretary, and that a

quarter of an hour later all four went out and were closeted in one of

the smaller rooms with other members of the Cabinet for nearly half an

hour.

Then the Secretary of State for War re-entered the House and resumed his

seat in silence.

A few minutes afterwards Mr. Thomas Askern, member of one of the

Metropolitan boroughs, and a well-known newspaper proprietor, who had

himself received several private despatches, rose and received leave to

put a question to the War Minister.

"I would like to ask the Right Honourable the Secretary of State for

War," he said, "whether it is not a fact that soon after noon to-day the

enemy, having moved his heavy artillery to certain positions commanding

North London, and finding the capital strongly barricaded, proceeded to

bombard it? Whether that bombardment, according to the latest

despatches, is not still continuing at this moment; whether it is not a

fact that enormous damage has already been done to many of the principal

buildings of the metropolis, including the Government Offices at

Whitehall, and whether great loss of life has not been occasioned?"

The question produced the utmost sensation. The House during the whole

afternoon had been in breathless anxiety as to what was actually

happening in London; but the Government held the telegraphs and

telephone, and the only private despatches that had come to Bristol were

the two received by some roundabout route known only to the ingenious

journalists who had despatched them. Indeed, the despatches had been

conveyed the greater portion of the way by motor-car.

A complete silence fell. Every face was turned towards the War

Minister, who, seated with outstretched legs, was holding a fresh

despatch he had just received.

He rose, and, in his deep bass voice, said:--

"In reply to the honourable member for South-East Brixton, the statement

he makes appears, from information which has just reached me, to be

correct. The Germans are, unfortunately, bombarding London. Von

Kronhelm, it is reported, is at Hampstead, and the zone of the enemy's

artillery reaches, in some cases, as far south as the Thames itself. It

is true, as the honourable member asserts, an enormous amount of damage

has already been done to various buildings, and there has undoubtedly

been great loss of life. My latest information is that the non-combatant

inhabitants--old persons, women, and children--are in flight across the

Thames, and that the barricades in the principal roads leading in from

the north are held strongly by the armed populace, driven back into

London."

He sat down without further word.

A tall, thin, white-moustached man rose at that moment from the

Opposition side of the House. Colonel Farquhar, late of the Royal

Marines, was a well-known military critic, and represented West Bude.

"And this," he said, "is the only hope of England! The defence of London

by an armed mob, pitted against the most perfectly equipped and armed

force in the world! Londoners are patriotic, I grant. They will die

fighting for their homes, as every Englishman will when the moment

comes; yet, what can we hope, when patriotism is ranged against modern

military science? There surely is patriotism in the savage negro races

of Central Africa, a love of country perhaps as deep as in the white

man's heart; yet a little strategy, a few Maxims, and all defence is

quickly at an end. And so it must inevitably be with London. I contend,

Mr. Speaker," he went on, "that by the ill-advised action of the

Government from the first hour of their coming into power, we now find

ourselves conquered. It only remains for them now to make terms of peace

as honourable to themselves as the unfortunate circumstances will admit.

Let the country itself judge their actions in the light of events of

to-day, and let the blood of the poor murdered women and children of

London be upon their heads. (Shame.) To resist further is useless. Our

military organisation is in chaos, our miserably weak army is defeated

and in flight. I declare to this House that we should sue at this very

moment for peace--a dishonourable peace though it be; but the bitter

truth is too plain--England is conquered!"

As he sat down amid the "hear, hears," and the loud applause of the

Opposition there rose a keen-faced, dark-haired, clean-shaven man of

thirty-seven or so. He was Gerald Graham, younger son of an aristocratic

house, the Yorkshire Grahams, who sat for North-East Rutland. He was a

man of brilliant attainments at Oxford, a splendid orator, a

distinguished writer and traveller, whose keen brown eye, lithe upright

figure, quick activity, and smart appearance, rendered him a born leader

of men. For the past five years he had been marked out as a "coming

man."

As a soldier he had seen hard service in the Boer War, being mentioned

twice in despatches; as an explorer he had led a party through the heart

of the Congo and fought his way back to civilisation through an

unexplored land with valiant bravery that had saved the lives of his

companions. He was a man who never sought notoriety. He hated to be

lionised in society, refused the shoals of cards of invitation which

poured in upon him, and stuck to his Parliamentary duties, and keeping

faith with his constituents to the very letter.

As he stood up silent for a moment, gazing around him fearlessly, he

presented a striking figure and in his navy serge suit he possessed the

unmistakable cut of the smart, well-groomed Englishman who was also a

man of note.

The House always listened to him, for he never spoke without he had

something of importance to say. And the instant he was up a silence

fell.

"Mr. Speaker," he said, in a clear, ringing voice, "I entirely disagree

with my honourable friend the member for West Bude. England is not

conquered! She is not beaten!"

The great hall rang with loud and vociferous cheers.

"London may be invested and bombarded. She may even be sacked, but

Englishmen will still fight for their homes and fight valiantly. If we

have a demand for indemnity let us refuse to pay it. Let us

civilians--let the civilians in every corner of England--arm themselves

and unite to drive out the invader! (Loud cheers.) I contend, Mr.

Speaker, that there are millions of able-bodied men in this country

who, if properly organised, will be able to gradually exterminate the

enemy. Organisation is all that is required. Our vast population will

rise against the Germans, and before the tide of popular indignation and

desperate resistance the power of the invader must soon be swept away.

Do not let us sit calmly here in security, and acknowledge that we are

beaten. Remember, we have at this moment to uphold the ancient tradition

of the British race, the honour of our forefathers, who have never been

conquered. Shall we acknowledge ourselves conquered in this the

twentieth century?"

"No!" rose from hundreds of voices, for the House was now carried away

by young Graham's enthusiasm.

"Then let us organise!" he urged. "Let us fight on. Let every man who

can use a sword or gun come forward, and we will commence hostilities

against the Kaiser's forces that shall either result in their total

extermination or in the power of England being extinguished. Englishmen

will die hard. I myself will, with the consent of this House, head the

movement, for I know that in the country we have millions who will

follow me and will be equally ready to die for our country if necessary.

Let us withdraw this statement that we are conquered. The real, earnest

fight is now to commence," he shouted, his voice ringing clearly through

the hall. "Let us bear our part, each one of us. If we organise and

unite, we shall drive the Kaiser's hordes into the sea. They shall sue

us for peace, and be made to pay us an indemnity, instead of us paying

one to them. I will lead!" he shouted; "who will follow me?"

In London the Lord Mayor's patriotic proclamations were now obliterated

by a huge bill bearing the German Imperial arms, the text of which told

its own grim tale.

In the meantime the news of the fall of London was being circulated by

the Germans to every town throughout the kingdom, their despatches being

embellished by lurid descriptions of the appalling losses inflicted upon

the English. In Manchester, a great poster, headed by the German

Imperial arms, was posted up on the Town Hall, the exchange, and other

places, in which Von Kronhelm announced the occupation of London; while

in Leeds, Bradford, Stockport, and Sheffield similarly worded official

announcements were also posted. The Press in all towns occupied by the

Germans had been suppressed, papers only appearing in order to publish

the enemy's orders. Therefore this official intelligence was circulated

by proclamation, calculated to impress upon the inhabitants of the

country how utterly powerless they were.

NOTICE AND ADVICE.

TO THE CITIZENS OF LONDON.

I ADDRESS YOU SERIOUSLY.

We are neighbours, and in time of peace cordial relations have

always existed between us. I therefore address you from my heart

in the cause of humanity.

Germany is at war with England. We have been forced to penetrate

into your country.

But each human life spared, and all property saved, we regard as

in the interests of both religion and humanity.

We are at war, and both sides have fought a loyal fight.

Our desire is, however, to spare disarmed citizens and the

inhabitants of all towns and villages.

We maintain a severe discipline, and we wish to have it known

that punishment of the severest character will be inflicted upon

any who are guilty of hostility to the Imperial German arms,

either open or in secret.

To our regret any incitements, cruelties, or brutalities we must

judge with equal severity.

I therefore call upon all local mayors, magistrates, clergy, and

schoolmasters to urge upon the populace, and upon the heads of

families, to urge upon those under their protection, and upon

their domestics, to refrain from committing any act of hostility

whatsoever against my soldiers.

All misery avoided is a good work in the eye of our Sovereign

Judge, who sees all men.

I earnestly urge you to heed this advice, and I trust in you.

Take notice!

=VON KRONHELM,

Commanding the Imperial German Army.=

GERMAN MILITARY HEADQUARTERS,

WHITEHALL, LONDON, _September_ 20, 1910.

While Von Kronhelm sat in that large sombre room in the War Office, with

his telegraph instrument to Potsdam ever ticking, and the wireless

telegraphy constantly in operation, he wondered, and still wondered, why

the English made no response to his demands. He was in London. He had

carried out his Emperor's instructions to the letter, he had received

the Imperial thanks, and he held all the gold coin he could discover in

London as security. Yet, without some reply from the British Government,

his position was an insecure one. Even his thousand and one spies who

had served him so well ever since he had placed foot upon English soil

could tell him nothing. The deliberations of the House of Commons at

Bristol were a secret.

In Bristol the hot, fevered night had given place to a gloriously sunny

morning with a blue and cloudless sky. Above Leigh Woods the lark rose

high in the sky, trilling his song, and the bells of Bristol rang out as

merrily as they ever did, and above the Colston Hall still floated the

Royal Standard--a sign that the House had not yet adjourned.

While Von Kronhelm held London, Lord Byfield and the remnant of the

British Army, who had suffered such defeat in Essex and north of London,

had, four days later, retreated to Chichester and Salisbury, where

reorganisation was in rapid progress. One division of the defeated

troops had encamped at Horsham. The survivors of those who had fought

the battle of Charnwood Forest, and had acted so gallantly in the

defence of Birmingham, were now encamped on the Malvern Hills, while the

defenders of Manchester were at Shrewsbury. Speaking roughly, therefore,

our vanquished troops were massing at four points, in an endeavour to

make a last attack upon the invader. The Commander-in-Chief, Lord

Byfield, was near Salisbury, and at any hour he knew that the German

legions might push westward from London to meet him and to complete the

_coup_.

The League of Defenders formed by Gerald Graham and his friends was,

however, working independently. The wealthier classes, who, driven out

of London, were now living in cottages and tents in various parts of

Berks, Wilts, and Hants, worked unceasingly on behalf of the League,

while into Plymouth, Exmouth, Swanage, Bristol, and Southampton more

than one ship had already managed to enter laden with arms and

ammunition of all kinds, sent across by the agents of the League in

France. The cargoes were of a very miscellaneous character, from modern

Maxims to old-fashioned rifles that had seen service in the war of 1870.

There were hundreds of modern rifles, sporting guns, revolvers,

swords--in fact, every weapon imaginable, modern and old-fashioned.

These were at once taken charge of by the local branches of the League,

and to those men who presented their tickets of identification the arms

were served out, and practice conducted in the open fields. Three

shiploads of rifles were known to have been captured by German warships,

one off Start Point, another a few miles outside Padstow, and a third

within sight of the coastguard at Selsey Bill. Two other ships were

blown up in the Channel by drifting mines. The running of arms across

from France and Spain was a very risky proceeding; yet the British

skipper is nothing if not patriotic, and every man who crossed the

Channel on those dangerous errands took his life in his hand.

Into Liverpool, Whitehaven, and Milford weapons were also coming over

from Ireland, even though several German cruisers, who had been up to

Lamlash to cripple the Glasgow trade, had now come south, and were

believed still to be in the Irish Sea.

CHAPTER VIII.

DEFENCES OF SOUTH LONDON.

Preparations were being continued night and day to place the

working-class districts in Southwark and Lambeth in a state of strong

defence, and the constant meetings convened in public halls and chapels

by the newly-formed League of Defenders incited the people to their

work. Everybody lent a willing hand, rich and poor alike. People who had

hitherto lived in comfort in Regent's Park, Hampstead, or one or other

of the better-class northern suburbs, now found themselves herded among

all sorts and conditions of men and women, and living as best they could

in those dull, drab streets of Lambeth, Walworth, Battersea, and

Kennington. It was, indeed, a strange experience for them. In the sudden

flight from the north, parents had become separated from their children

and husbands from their wives, so that in many cases haggard and forlorn

mothers were in frantic search of their little ones, fearing that they

might have already died of starvation or been trampled underfoot by the

panic-stricken multitudes. The dense population of South London had

already been trebled. They were penned in by the barricades in many

instances, for each district seemed to be now placing itself in a state

of defence, independent of any other.

[Illustration:

THE DEFENCES OF

SOUTH LONDON

on Sept 26^{th}

]

Kennington, for instance, was practically surrounded by barricades, tons

upon tons of earth being dug from the "Oval" and the "Park." Besides the

barricades in Harleyford Road and Kennington Lane, all the streets

converging on the "Oval" were blocked up, a huge defence arm just being

completed across the junction of Kennington and Kennington Park Roads,

and all the streets running into the latter thoroughfare from that

point to the big obstruction at the "Elephant" were blocked by

paving-stones, bags of sand, barrels of cement, bricks, and such-like

odds and ends impervious to bullets. In addition to this, there was a

double fortification in Lambeth Road--a veritable redoubt--as well as

the barricade at Lambeth Bridge, while all the roads leading from

Kennington into the Lambeth Road, such as St. George's Road, Kennington

Road, High Street, and the rest, had been rendered impassable and the

neighbouring houses placed in a state of defence. Thus the whole

district of Kennington became therefore a fortress in itself.

This was only a typical instance of the scientific methods of defence

now resorted to. Mistakes made in North London were not now repeated.

Day and night every able-bodied man, and woman too, worked on with

increasing zeal and patriotism. The defences in Haverstock Hill,

Holloway Road, and Edgware Road, which had been composed of overturned

tramcars, motor 'buses, household furniture, etc., had been riddled by

the enemy's bullets. The lesson had been heeded, and now earth, sand,

tiles, paving-stones, and bricks were used.

From nearly all the principal thoroughfares south of the river the

paving-stones were being rapidly torn up by great gangs of men, and

whenever the artillery brought up a fresh Maxim or field-gun the wildest

demonstrations were made. The clergy held special services in churches

and chapels, and prayer meetings for the emancipation of London were

held twice daily in the Metropolitan Tabernacle at Newington. In

Kennington Park, Camberwell Green, the Oval, Vauxhall Park, Lambeth

Palace Gardens, Camberwell Park, Peckham Rye and Southwark Park a

division of Lord Byfield's army was encamped. They held the Waterloo

terminus of the South-Western Railway strongly, the Chatham Railway from

the Borough Road Station--now the terminus--the South-Eastern from

Bricklayers' Arms, which had been converted into another terminus, as

well as the Brighton line, at Battersea Park and York Road.

The lines destroyed by the enemy's spies in the early moments of the

invasion had long ago been repaired, and up to the present railway and

telegraphic communication south and west remained uninterrupted. The

"Daily Telegraph" had managed to transfer some of its staff to the

offices of a certain printer's in Southwark, and there, under

difficulties, published several editions daily despite the German

censorship. While northern London was without any news except that

supplied from German sources, South London was still open to the world,

the cables from the south coast being, as yet, in the hands of the

British, and the telegraphs intact to Bristol and to all places in the

West.

Thus, during those stifling and exciting days following the occupation,

while London was preparing for its great uprising, the "South London

Mirror," though a queer, unusual-looking sheet, still continued to

appear, and was read with avidity by the gallant men at the barricades.

Contrary to expectation, Von Kronhelm was leaving South London severely

alone. He was, no doubt, wise. Full well he knew that his men, once

within those narrow, tortuous streets beyond the river, would have no

opportunity to manoeuvre, and would, as in the case of the assault of

Waterloo Bridge, be slaughtered to a man. His spies reported that each

hour that passed rendered the populace the stronger, yet he did nothing,

devoting his whole time, energy, and attention to matters in that half

of London he was now occupying.

Everywhere the walls of South London were placarded with manifestoes of

the League of Defenders. Day after day fresh posters appeared, urging

patience and courage, and reporting upon the progress of the League. The

name of Graham was now upon every one's lips. He had, it seemed, arisen

as saviour of our beloved country. Every word of his inspired

enthusiasm, and this was well illustrated at the mass meeting on Peckham

Rye, when, beneath the huge flag of St. George, the white banner with

the red cross--the ancient standard of England--which the League had

adopted as theirs, he made a brilliant and impassioned appeal to every

Londoner and every Englishman.

Report had it that the Germans had set a price upon his head, and that

he was pursued everywhere by German spies--mercenaries who would kill

him in secret if they could. Therefore he was compelled to go about with

an armed police guard, who arrested any suspected person in his

vicinity. The Government, who had at first laughed Graham's enthusiasm

to scorn, now believed in him. Even Lord Byfield, after a long council,

declared that his efforts to inspire enthusiasm had been amazingly

successful, and it was now well known that the "Defenders" and the Army

had agreed to act in unison towards one common end--the emancipation of

England from the German thraldom.

Some men of the Osnabrueck Regiment, holding Canning Town and Limehouse,

managed one night, by strategy, to force their way through the Blackwall

Tunnel and break down its defences on the Surrey side in an attempt to

blow up the South Metropolitan Gas Works.

The men holding the tunnel were completely overwhelmed by the number

that pressed on, and were compelled to fall back, twenty of their number

being killed. The assault was a victorious one, and it was seen that the

enemy were pouring out, when, of a sudden, there was a dull, heavy roar,

followed by wild shouts and terrified screams, as there rose from the

centre of the river a great column of water, and next instant the tunnel

was flooded, hundreds of the enemy being drowned like rats in a hole.

The men of the Royal Engineers had, on the very day previous, made

preparations for destroying the tunnel if necessary, and had done so ere

the Germans were aware of their intention. The exact loss of life is

unknown, but it is estimated that over 400 men must have perished in

that single instant, while those who had made the sudden dash towards

the Gas Works were all taken prisoners, and their explosives

confiscated.

The evident intention of the enemy being thus seen, General Sir Francis

Bamford, from his headquarters at the Crystal Palace, gave orders for

the tunnels at Rotherhithe and that across Greenwich Reach, as well as

the several "tube" tunnels and subways, to be destroyed, a work which

was executed without delay, and was witnessed by thousands, who watched

for the great disturbances and upheavals in the bed of the river.

In the Old Kent Road the bridge over the canal, as well as the bridges

in Wells Street, Sumner Road, Glengall Road, and Canterbury Road, were

all prepared for demolition in case of necessity, the canal from the

Camberwell Road to the Surrey Dock forming a moat behind which the

defenders might, if necessary, retire. Clapham Common and Brockwell Park

were covered with tents, for General Bamford's force, consisting mostly

of auxiliaries, were daily awaiting reinforcements.

Lord Byfield, now at Windsor, was in constant communication by wireless

telegraphy with the London headquarters at the Crystal Palace, as well

as with Hibbard on the Malvern Hills and Woolmer at Shrewsbury. To

General Bamford at Sydenham came constant news of the rapid spread of

the national movement of defiance, and Lord Byfield, as was afterwards

known, urged the London commander to remain patient, and invite no

attack until the League were strong enough to act on the offensive.

Affairs of outpost were, of course, constantly recurring along the river

bank between Windsor and Egham, and the British Free-shooters and

Frontiersmen were ever harassing the Saxons.

Very soon Von Kronhelm became aware of Lord Byfield's intentions, but

his weakness was apparent when he made no counter-move. The fact was

that the various great cities he now held required all his attention and

all his troops. From Manchester, from Birmingham, from Leeds, Bradford,

Sheffield, and Hull came similar replies. Any withdrawal of troops from

either city would be the signal for a general rising of the inhabitants.

Therefore, having gained possession, he could only now sit tight and

watch.

From all over Middlesex, and more especially from the London area, came

sensational reports of the drastic measures adopted by the Germans to

repress any sign of revolt. In secret, the agents of the League of

Defenders were at work, going from house to house, enrolling men,

arranging for secret meeting-places, and explaining in confidence the

programme as put forward by the Bristol committee. Now and then,

however, these agents were betrayed, and their betrayal was in every

case followed by a court-martial at Bow Street, death outside in the

yard of the police station, and the publication in the papers of their

names, their offence, and the hour of the execution.

Yet, undaunted and defiantly, the giant organisation grew as no other

society had ever grown, and its agents and members quickly developed

into fearless patriots. It being reported that the Saxons were facing

Lord Byfield with the Thames between them, the people of West London

began in frantic haste to construct barricades. The building of

obstructions had, indeed, now become a mania north of the river as well

as south. The people, fearing that there was to be more fighting in the

streets of London, began to build huge defences all across West London.

The chief were across King Street, Hammersmith, where it joins Goldhawk

Road, across the junction of Goldhawk and Uxbridge Roads, in the Harrow

Road where it joins Admiral Road, and Willesden Lane, close to the

Paddington Cemetery, and the Latimer Road opposite St. Quintin Park

Station. All the side streets leading into the Goldhawk Road, Latimer

Road, and Ladbroke Grove Road were also blocked up, and hundreds of

houses placed in a state of strong defence.

With all this Von Kronhelm did not interfere. The building of such

obstructions acted as a safety-valve to the excited populace, therefore

he rather encouraged than discountenanced it. The barricades might, he

thought, be of service to his army if Lord Byfield really risked an

attack upon London from that direction.

Crafty and cunning though he was, he was entirely unaware that those

barricades were being constructed at the secret orders of the League of

Defenders, and he never dreamed that they had actually been instigated

by the British Commander-in-Chief himself.

Thus the Day of Reckoning hourly approached, and London, though crushed

and starving, waited in patient vigilance.

At Enfield Chase was a great camp of British prisoners in the hands of

the Germans, amounting to several thousands. Contrary to report, both

officers and men were fairly well treated by the Germans, though with

his limited supplies Von Kronhelm was already beginning to contemplate

releasing them. Many of the higher-grade officers who had fallen into

the hands of the enemy, together with the Lord Mayor of London, the

Mayors of Hull, Goole, Lincoln, Norwich, Ipswich, and the Lord Mayors of

Manchester and Birmingham, had been sent across to Germany, where,

according to their own reports, they were being detained in Hamburg and

treated with every consideration. Nevertheless, all this greatly

incensed Englishmen. Lord Byfield, with Hibbard and Woolmer, was leaving

no stone unturned in order to reform our shattered Army, and again

oppose the invaders. All three gallant officers had been to Bristol,

where they held long consultation with the members of the Cabinet, with

the result that the Government still refused to entertain any idea of

paying the indemnity. The Admiralty were confident now that the command

of the sea had been regained, and in Parliament itself a little

confidence was also restored.

Yet we had to face the hard facts that nearly two hundred thousand

Germans were upon British soil, and that London was held by them.

Already parties of German commissioners had visited the National

Gallery, the Wallace Collection, the Tate Gallery, and the British and

South Kensington Museums, deciding upon and placing aside certain art

treasures and priceless antiques ready for shipment to Germany. The

Raphaels, the Titians, the Rubenses, the Fra Angelicos, the Velasquezes,

the Elgin Marbles, the best of the Egyptian, Assyrian, and Roman

antiques, the Rosetta Stone, the early Biblical and classical

manuscripts, the historic charters of England, and such-like treasures

which could never be replaced, were all catalogued and prepared for

removal. The people of London knew this; for though there had been no

newspapers, information ran rapidly from mouth to mouth. German sentries

guarded our world-famous collections, which were now indeed entirely in

the enemy's hands, and which the Kaiser intended should enrich the

German galleries and museums.

One vessel flying the British flag had left the Thames laden with spoil,

in an endeavour to reach Hamburg, but off Harwich she had been sighted

and overhauled by a British cruiser, with the result that she had been

steered to Dover. Therefore our cruisers and destroyers, having thus

obtained knowledge of the enemy's intentions, were keeping a sharp

lookout about the coast for any vessels attempting to leave for German

ports.

Accounts of fierce engagements in the Channel between British and German

ships went the rounds, but all were vague and unconvincing. The only

solid facts were that the Germans held the great cities of England, and

that the millions of Great Britain were slowly but surely preparing to

rise in an attempt to burst asunder the fetters that now held them.

Government, Army, Navy, and Parliament had all proved rotten reeds. It

was now every man for himself--to free himself and his loved ones--or to

die in the attempt.

Through the south and west of England Graham's clear, manly voice was

raised everywhere, and the whole population were now fast assembling

beneath the banner of the Defenders, in readiness to bear their part in

the most bloody and desperate encounter of the whole war.

The swift and secret death being meted out to the German sentries--or,

in fact, to any German caught alone in a side street--having been

reported to Von Kronhelm, he issued another of his now famous

proclamations, which was posted upon half the hoardings in London; but

the populace at once amused themselves by tearing it down wherever it

was discovered. Von Kronhelm was the arch-enemy of London, and it is

believed that there were at that moment no fewer than five separate

conspiracies to encompass his death. Londoners detested the Germans, but

with a hatred twenty times the more intense did they regard those men

who, having engaged in commercial pursuits in England, had joined the

colours and were now acting as spies.

CHAPTER IX.

REVOLTS IN SHOREDITCH AND ISLINGTON.