FATEFUL DAYS FOR THE OLD FLAG.
A cloudy moonless night, with a gusty wind which now and then swept the
tops of the forest trees, causing the leaves to surge like a summer sea.
Withered branches creaked and groaned, and a dog howled dismally down in
Flimwell village, half a mile away. Leaning with his back against the
gnarled trunk of a giant oak on the edge of the forest, his ears alert
for the slightest sound, his hand upon his loaded magazine rifle,
Geoffrey Engleheart stood on outpost duty. Dressed in a rough shooting
suit, with a deerstalker hat and an improvised kit strapped upon his
back, he was half hidden by the tall bracken. Standing motionless in the
deep shadow, with his eyes fixed upon the wide stretch of sloping
meadows, he waited, ready, at the slightest appearance of the enemy's
scouts, to raise the alarm and call to arms those who were sleeping in
the forest after their day's march.
The City Civilian Volunteer Battalion which he had joined was on its way
to take part in the conflict, which every one knew would be desperate.
Under the command of Major Mansford, an experienced elderly officer who
had long since retired from the Lancashire Regiment, but who had at once
volunteered to lead the battalion of young patriots, they had left
London by train for Maidstone, whence they marched by way of Linton,
Marden, and Goudhurst to Frith Wood, where they had bivouacked for the
night on the Sussex border.
It was known that Russian scouts had succeeded in getting as far as
Wadhurst, and it was expected that one of the French reconnoitring
parties must, in their circuitous survey, pass the border of the wood on
their way back to their own lines. Up to the present they had been
practically unmolested. The British army was now mobilised, and Kent,
Sussex, and Hampshire were overrun with soldiers. Every household gave
men accommodation voluntarily, every hostelry, from the aristocratic
hotels of the watering-places to the unassuming Red Lions of the
villages, was full of Britain's brave defenders. The echoes of old-world
village streets of thatched houses with quaint gables were awakened
night and day by the rumbling of heavy artillery, the shouts of the
drivers as they urged along their teams, and the rattle of ammunition
carts and of ambulance waggons, while on every high road leading south
battalions were on the march, and eager to come within fighting range of
the audacious foreigners.
At first the peaceful people of the villages gazed, wondered, and
admired, thinking some manoeuvres were about to take place--for military
manoeuvres always improve village trade. But they were very quickly
disillusioned. When they knew the truth--that the enemy was actually at
their doors, that the grey-coated masses of the Russian legions were
lying like packs of wolves in the undulating country between Heathfield,
Etchingham, and the sea--they were panic-stricken and appalled. They
watched the stream of redcoats passing their doors, cheering them, while
those who were their guests were treated to the best fare their hosts
could provide.
Tommy Atkins was now the idol of the hour.
Apparently the enemy, having established themselves, were by no means
anxious to advance with undue haste. Having landed, they were, it was
ascertained, awaiting the arrival of further reinforcements and
armaments from both Powers; but nothing definite was known of this,
except some meagre details that had filtered through the American
cables, all direct telegraphic communication with the Continent having
now been cut off.
Alas! Moloch had grinned. He had sharpened his sickle for the terrible
carnage that was to spread through Albion's peaceful land.
Terrible was the panic that the invasion had produced in the North.
Food had risen to exorbitant prices. In the great manufacturing centres
the toiling millions were already feeling the pinch of starvation, for
with bread at ninepence a small loaf, meat at a prohibitive figure, and
the factories stopped, they were compelled to remain with empty stomachs
and idle hands.
Birmingham, Manchester, Liverpool, Newcastle, and the larger towns
presented a gloomy, sorry aspect. Business was suspended, the majority
of the shops were closed, the banks barred and bolted, and the only
establishments where any trade flourished were the taverns and music
halls. These were crowded. Drink flowed, gold jingled, and the laughter
at wild jest or the thunder of applause which greeted dancing girls and
comic vocalists was still as hearty as of old. Everywhere there was a
sordid craving for amusement which was a reflex of the war fever. The
people made merry, for ere long they might be cut down by a foeman's
steel.
Restless impatience thrilled the community from castle to cottage,
intensified by the vain clamourings of Anarchist mobs in the greater
towns. As in London, these shock-headed agitators held high revel,
protesting against everything and everybody--now railing, now
threatening, but always mustering converts to their harebrained
doctrines. In Manchester they were particularly strong. A number of
serious riots had occurred in Deansgate and in Market Street. The mob
wrecked the Queen's Hotel, smashed numbers of windows in Lewis's great
emporium, looted the _Guardian_ office, and set fire to the Town Hall. A
portion of the latter only was burned, the fire brigade managing to
subdue the flames before any very serious damage was occasioned.
Although the police made hundreds of arrests, and the stipendiary sat
from early morning until late at night, Anarchist demonstrations were
held every evening in the city and suburbs, always resulting in
pillage, incendiarism, and not unfrequently in murder. In grey,
money-making Stockport, in grimy Salford, in smoky Pendleton, and even
in aristocratic Eccles, these demonstrations were held, and the
self-styled "soldiers of the social revolution" marched over the granite
roads, headed by a dirty scarlet flag, hounding down the Government, and
crying shame upon them for the apathy with which they had regarded the
presence of the bearded Caucasian Tcherkesses of the White Tsar.
The kingdom was in wild turmoil, for horror heaped upon horror. Outrages
that commenced in London were repeated with appalling frequency in the
great towns in the provinces. An attempt had been made to assassinate
the Premier while speaking in the Town Hall, Birmingham, the bomb which
was thrown having killed two hard-working reporters who were writing
near; but the Prime Minister, who seemed to lead a charmed existence,
escaped without a scratch.
In Liverpool, where feeling against the War Office ran high, there were
several explosions, two of which occurred in Bold Street, and were
attended by loss of life, while a number of incendiary fires occurred at
the docks. At Bradford the Town Hall was blown up, and the troops were
compelled to fire on a huge mob of rioters, who, having assembled at
Manningham, were advancing to loot the town.
The cavalry barracks at York was the scene of a terrific explosion,
which killed three sentries and maimed twenty other soldiers; while at
Warwick Assizes, during the hearing of a murder trial, some unknown
scoundrel threw a petard at the judge, killing him instantly on the
bench.
These, however, were but few instances of the wild lawlessness and
terrible anarchy that prevailed in Britain, for only the most flagrant
cases of outrage were reported in the newspapers, their columns being
filled with the latest intelligence from the seat of war.
It must be said that over the border the people were more law-abiding.
The Scotch, too canny to listen to the fiery declamations of hoarse and
shabby agitators, preferred to trust to British pluck and the strong arm
of their brawny Highlanders. In Caledonia the seeds of Anarchy fell on
stony ground.
In Northern and Midland towns, however, the excitement increased hourly.
It extended everywhere. From Ventnor to the Pentlands, from Holyhead to
the Humber, from Scilly to the Nore, every man and every woman existed
in fearfulness of the crash that was impending.
It was now known throughout the breadth of our land that the Government
policy was faulty, that War Office and Admiralty organisation was a
rotten make-believe, and, worst of all, that what critics had long ago
said as to the inadequacy of our naval defence, even with the ships
built under the programme of 1894, had now, alas! proved to be true.
The suspense was awful. Those who were now living in the peaceful
atmospheres of their homes, surrounded by neighbours and friends in the
centre of a great town, and feeling a sense of security, might within a
few days be shot down by French rifles, or mowed down brutally by
gleaming Cossack _shushkas_. The advance of the enemy was expected
daily, hourly; and the people in the North waited, staggered,
breathless, and terrified. Men eagerly scanned the newspapers; women
pressed their children to their breasts.
In the mining districts the shock had not inspired the same amount of
fear as at the ports and in the manufacturing centres. Possibly it was
because work was still proceeding in the pits, and constant work
prevents men from becoming restless, or troubling themselves about a
nation's woes. Toilers who worked below knew that foreign invaders had
landed, and that the Militia and Volunteers had been called out, but
they vaguely believed that, the seat of war being away down south--a
very long distance in the imagination of most of them--everything would
be over before they could be called upon to take part in the struggle.
In any case coal and iron must be got, they argued, and while they had
work they had little time for uneasiness. Nevertheless, great numbers of
stalwart young miners enrolled themselves in the local Volunteer corps,
and burned to avenge the affront to their country and their sovereign.
Those were indeed fateful, ever-to-be-remembered days.
Amid this weary, anxious watching, this constant dread of what might
next occur, an item of news was circulated which caused the greatest
rejoicing everywhere. Intelligence reached New York, by cable from
France, that Germany had combined with England against the
Franco-Russian alliance, that her vast army had been mobilised, and that
already the brave, well-drilled legions of the Emperor William had
crossed the Vosges, and passed the frontier into France. A sharp battle
had been fought near Givet, and that, as well as several other French
frontier towns which fell in 1870, were again in the hands of the
Germans.
How different were German methods to those of the British!
With a perfect scheme of attack, every detail of which had been long
thought out, and which worked without a hitch, the Kaiser's forces were
awaiting the word of command to march onward--to Paris. For years--ever
since they taught France that severe lesson in the last disastrous
war--it had been the ambition of every German cavalryman to clink his
spurs on the asphalte of the Boulevards. Now they were actually on their
way towards their goal!
The papers were full of these latest unexpected developments, the
details of which, necessarily meagre owing to the lack of direct
communication, were eagerly discussed. It was believed that Germany
would, in addition to defending her Polish frontier and attacking
France, also send a naval squadron from Kiel to England.
The Tsar's spy had been foiled, and Russia and France now knew they had
made a false move! Russia's rapid and decisive movement was intended to
prevent the signing of the secret alliance, and to bar England and
Germany from joining hands. But happily the sly machinations of the
Count von Beilstein, the released convict and adventurer, had in a
measure failed, for Germany had considered it diplomatic to throw in
her fortune with Great Britain in this desperate encounter.
A feeling of thankfulness spread through the land. Nevertheless, it was
plain that if Germany intended to wield the double-handled sword of
conquest in France, she would have few troops to spare to send to
England.
But those dark days, full of agonising suspense, dragged on slowly. The
French well knew the imminent danger that threatened their own country,
yet they could not possibly withdraw. Mad enthusiasts always!
It must be war to the death, they decided. The conflict could not be
averted. So Britons unsheathed their steel, and held themselves in
readiness for a fierce and desperate fray.
The invasion had indeed been planned by our enemies with marvellous
forethought and cunning. There was treachery in the Intelligence
Department of the British Admiralty, foul treachery which placed our
country at the mercy of the invader, and sacrificed thousands of lives.
On the morning following the sudden Declaration of War, the officer in
charge of the telegraph bureau at Whitehall, whose duty it had been to
send the telegrams ordering the naval mobilisation, was found lying dead
beside the telegraph instrument--stabbed to the heart! Inquiries were
made, and it was found that one of the clerks, a young Frenchman who had
been taken on temporarily at a low salary, was missing. It was further
discovered that the murder had been committed hours before, immediately
the Mobilisation Orders had been sent; further, that fictitious
telegrams had been despatched cancelling them, and ordering the Channel
Fleet away to the Mediterranean, the Coastguard Squadron to Land's End,
and the first-class Reserve ships to proceed to the North of Scotland in
search of the enemy! Thus, owing to these orders sent by the murderer,
England was left unprotected.
Immediately the truth was known efforts were made to cancel the forged
orders. But, alas! it was too late. Our Fleets had already sailed!