BOMBARDMENT OF NEWHAVEN.
At sea the night was dark and moonless. A thick mist hung near the land.
The Coastguard and Artillery on our southern and eastern shores spent a
terribly anxious time, peering from their points of vantage out into the
cavernous darkness where no light glimmered. The Harbour Defence
Flotilla was in readiness, and under the black cliffs sentinels kept
watch with every nerve strained to its highest tension, for the safety
of England now depended upon their alertness. The great waves crashed
and roared, and the mist, obscuring the light of vessels passing up and
down the Channel, seemed to grow more dense as the hours wore on.
In the midst of the feverish excitement that had spread everywhere
throughout the length and breadth of the land, the troops were, a couple
of hours after the receipt of the alarming news in London, already being
mobilised and on their way south and east by special trains. Men, arms,
ammunition, and stores were hurried forward to repel attack, and in the
War Office and Admiralty, where the staffs had been suddenly called
together, the greatest activity prevailed. Messages had been flashed
along the wires in every direction giving orders to mobilise and
concentrate at certain points, and these instructions were being obeyed
with that promptness for which British soldiers and sailors are
proverbial.
Yet the high officials at the War Office looked grave, and although
affecting unconcern, now and then whispered ominously together. They
knew that the situation was critical. An immediate and adequate naval
defence was just possible, but the Channel Squadron was manoeuvring off
the Irish coast, and both the Coastguard Squadron and the Steam Reserve
at the home ports were very weak. It was to our land army that we had to
trust, and they were divided in opinion as to the possibility to
mobilise a sufficient force in time to bar the advance.
Military experts did not overlook the fact that to Dunkirk, Calais,
Boulogne, Dieppe, Fecamp, Havre, Honfleur, and Cherbourg ran excellent
lines of railway, with ample rolling-stock, all Government property, and
at the beck and call of the French War Minister. In the various ports
there was adequate wharf accommodation and plenty of steam tonnage. From
the brief official despatches received from Paris before the cutting of
the wires, it was apparent that the French War Office had laid its plans
with much forethought and cunning, and had provided against any
_contretemps_. An army of carpenters and engineers had been put to work
in the ports to alter the fittings of such of the merchant steamers as
were destined to convey horses, and these fittings, prepared beforehand,
were already in position. Four army corps had for several weeks been
manoeuvring in Normandy, so that the Reservists had become accustomed to
their work, and in excellent condition for war; therefore these facts,
coupled with the strong support certain to be rendered by the warships
of the Tsar, led experts to regard the outlook as exceedingly gloomy.
For years military and naval men had discussed the possibilities of
invasion, haggled over controversial points, but had never arrived at
any definite opinion as to the possibility of an enemy's success. Now,
however, the defences of the country were to be tested.
Our great Empire was at stake.
The power of steam to cause rapid transit by land and sea, the
uncertainty of the place of disembarkment, and the great weight of
modern naval artillery, combined to render the defences of England on
the coast itself most uncertain and hazardous, and to cause grave doubts
to arise in the minds of those who at that critical moment were
directing the forward movement of the forces.
The British public, whose national patriotism found vent in expressions
of confidence in the Regular Army and Volunteers, were ignorant of the
facts. They knew that two great Powers had combined to crush our island
stronghold, and were eager that hostilities should commence in order
that the enemy should be taught a severe lesson for their presumption.
They, however, knew nothing of the plain truth, that although the 1st
Army Corps at Aldershot would be ready to move at a few hours' notice,
yet it was hopeless to try and prevent the disembarkation of the French
army corps along a long line of unprotected coast by the action of a
land force only one-third of their strength.
So, by the water's edge, the lonely posts were kept through the night by
patient, keen-sighted sentinels, ready at any moment to raise the alarm.
But the dense mist that overhung everything was tantalising, hiding
friend and foe alike, and no sound could be heard above the heavy roar
of the waters as they rolled in over the rocks.
London, infuriated, enthusiastic, turbulent, knew no sleep that night.
The excitement was at fever-heat. At last, soon after daybreak, there
came the first news of the enemy. A number of warships had suddenly
appeared through the fog off the Sussex coast, and had lost no time in
asserting their presence and demanding a large sum from the Mayor of
Newhaven.
The French first-class battery cruiser _Tage_, the _Devastation_, the
_Pothuau_, the _Arethuse_ and others, finding that their demand was
unheeded, at once commenced shelling the town. Although our Coastguard
Squadron and first-class Steam Reserve had mobilised, yet they had
received orders and sailed away no one knew whither. The forts replied
vigorously, but the fire of the enemy in half an hour had wrought
terrible havoc both in the town and in the forts, where several of the
guns had been rendered useless and a number of men had been killed.
Hostilities had commenced.
Never during the century had such scenes been witnessed in the streets
of London as on that memorable Sunday morning. The metropolis was
thrilled.
Dawn was spreading, saffron tints were in the sky heralding the sun's
coming. Yet Regent Street, Piccadilly, and the Strand, usually entirely
deserted at that hour on a Sabbath morning, were crowded as if it were
midday.
Everywhere there was excitement. Crowds waited in front of the newspaper
offices in Fleet Street, boys with strident voices sold the latest
editions of the papers, men continued their snatches of patriotic
ballads, while women were blanched and scared, and children clung to
their mothers' skirts timidly, vaguely fearing an unknown terror.
The shadow of coming events was black and dim, like a funeral pall. The
fate of our Empire hung upon a thread.
Twenty-four hours ago England was smiling, content in the confidence of
its perfect safety and immunity from invasion; yet all the horrors of
war had, with a startling, appalling suddenness, fallen and bewildered
it. The booming of French cannon at Newhaven formed the last salute of
many a brave Briton who fell shattered and lifeless.
As the sun rose crimson from the grey misty sea, the work of destruction
increased in vigour. From the turrets of the floating monsters smoke and
flame poured forth in continuous volume, while shot and shell were
hurled into the town of Newhaven, which, it was apparent, was the centre
of the enemy's attack, and where, owing to the deepening of the harbour,
troops could effect a landing under cover of the fire from the
ironclads.
Frightful havoc was wrought by the shells among the houses of the little
town, and one falling on board the Brighton Railway Company's mail
steamer _Paris_, lying alongside the station quay, set her on fire. In
half an hour railway station and quays were blazing furiously, while the
flames leaped up about the ship, wrapping themselves about the two
white funnels and darting from every porthole.
The Custom House opposite quickly ignited, and the inflammable nature of
its contents caused the fire to assume enormous proportions. Meanwhile
the bombardment was kept up, the forts on shore still replying with
regularity, steadiness, and precision, and the armoured coast train of
the 1st Sussex Artillery Volunteers, under Captain Brigden, rendering
excellent service. In one of the forts a man was standing in front of a
small camera-obscura, on the glass of which were a number of mysterious
marks. This glass reflected the water and the ships; and as he stood by
calmly with his hand upon a keyboard, he watched the reflections of the
hostile vessels moving backwards and forwards over the glass. Suddenly
he saw a French gunboat, after a series of smartly-executed manoeuvres,
steaming straight over one of the marks, and, quick as lightning, his
finger pressed one of the electric keys. A terrific explosion followed,
and a column of green water shot up at the same instant. The gunboat
_Lavel_ had been suddenly blown almost out of the water by a submarine
mine! Broken portions of her black hull turned over and sank, and
mangled remains of what a second before had been a crew of enthusiastic
Frenchmen floated for a few moments on the surface, then disappeared.
Not a soul on board escaped.
Along the telegraph line from the signal-station on Beachy Head news of
the blowing up of the enemy's gunboat was flashed to London, and when,
an hour later, it appeared in the newspapers, the people went half mad
with excitement. Alas, how they miscalculated the relative strength of
the opposing forces!
They were unaware that our Channel Fleet, our Coastguard Squadron, and
our Reserve were steaming away, leaving our southern shores _practically
unprotected_!