LONDON BOMBARDED.
The Hand of the Destroyer had reached England's mighty metropolis. The
lurid scene was appalling.
In the stormy sky the red glare from hundreds of burning buildings grew
brighter, and in every quarter flames leaped up and black smoke curled
slowly away in increasing volume.
The people were unaware of the events that had occurred in Surrey that
day. Exhausted, emaciated, and ashen pale, the hungry people had endured
every torture. Panic-stricken, they rushed hither and thither in
thousands up and down the principal thoroughfares, and as they tore
headlong away in this _sauve qui peut_ to the northern suburbs, the
weaker fell and were trodden under foot.
Men fought for their wives and families, dragging them away out of the
range of the enemy's fire, which apparently did not extend beyond the
line formed by the Hackney Road, City Road, Pentonville Road, Euston
Road, and Westbourne Park. But in that terrible rush to escape many
delicate ladies were crushed to death, and numbers of others, with their
children, sank exhausted, and perished beneath the feet of the fleeing
millions.
Never before had such alarm been spread through London; never before had
such awful scenes of destruction been witnessed. The French
Commander-in-chief, who was senior to his Russian colleague, had been
killed, and his successor being unwilling to act in concert with the
Muscovite staff, a quarrel ensued. It was this quarrel which caused the
bombardment of London, totally against the instructions of their
respective Governments. The bombardment was, in fact, wholly
unnecessary, and was in a great measure due to some confused orders
received by the French General from his Commander-in-chief. Into the
midst of the surging, terrified crowds that congested the streets on
each side of the Thames, shells filled with melinite dropped, and,
bursting, blew hundreds of despairing Londoners to atoms. Houses were
shattered and fell, public buildings were demolished, factories were set
alight, and the powerful exploding projectiles caused the Great City to
reel and quake. Above the constant crash of bursting shells, the dull
roar of the flames, and the crackling of burning timbers, terrific
detonations now and then were heard, as buildings, filled with
combustibles, were struck by shots, and, exploding, spread death and
ruin over wide areas. The centre of commerce, of wealth, of intellectual
and moral life was being ruthlessly wrecked, and its inhabitants
massacred. Apparently it was not the intention of the enemy to invest
the city at present, fearing perhaps that the force that had penetrated
the defences was not sufficiently large to accomplish such a gigantic
task; therefore they had commenced this terrible bombardment as a
preliminary measure.
Through the streets of South London the people rushed along, all
footsteps being bent towards the bridges; but on every one of them the
crush was frightful--indeed, so great was it that in several instances
the stone balustrades were broken, and many helpless, shrieking persons
were forced over into the dark swirling waters below. The booming of the
batteries was continuous, the bursting of the shells was deafening, and
every moment was one of increasing horror. Men saw their homes swept
away, and trembling women clung to their husbands, speechless with fear.
In the City, in the Strand, in Westminster, and West End streets the
ruin was even greater, and the destruction of property enormous.
Westward, both great stations at Victoria, with the adjoining furniture
repositories and the Grosvenor Hotel, were burning fiercely; while the
Wellington Barracks had been partially demolished, and the roof of St.
Peter's Church blown away. Two shells falling in the quadrangle of
Buckingham Palace had smashed every window and wrecked some of the
ground-floor apartments, but nevertheless upon the flagstaff, amidst the
dense smoke and showers of sparks flying upward, there still floated the
Royal Standard. St. James's Palace, Marlborough House, Stafford House,
and Clarence House, standing in exposed positions, were being all more
or less damaged; several houses in Carlton House Terrace had been
partially demolished, and a shell striking the Duke of York's Column
soon after the commencement of the bombardment, caused it to fall,
blocking Waterloo Place.
Time after time shells whistled above and fell with a crash and
explosion, some in the centre of the road, tearing up the paving, and
others striking the clubs in Pall Mall, blowing out many of those noble
time-mellowed walls. The portico of the Athenaeum had been torn away like
pasteboard, the rear premises of the War Office had been pulverised, and
the Carlton, Reform, and United Service Clubs suffered terrible damage.
Two shells striking the Junior Carlton crashed through the roof, and
exploding almost simultaneously, brought down an enormous heap of
masonry, which fell across the roadway, making an effectual barricade;
while at the same moment shells began to fall thickly in Grosvenor Place
and Belgrave Square, igniting many houses, and killing some of those who
remained in their homes petrified by fear.
Up Regent Street shells were sweeping with frightful effect. The Cafe
Monico and the whole block of buildings surrounding it was burning, and
the flames leaping high, presented a magnificent though appalling
spectacle. The front of the London Pavilion had been partially blown
away, and of the two uniform rows of shops forming the Quadrant many
had been wrecked. From Air Street to Oxford Circus, and along Piccadilly
to Knightsbridge, there fell a perfect hail of shell and bullets.
Devonshire House had been wrecked, and the Burlington Arcade destroyed.
The thin pointed spire of St. James's Church had fallen, every window in
the Albany was shattered, several houses in Grosvenor Place had suffered
considerably, and a shell that struck the southern side of St. George's
Hospital had ignited it, and now at 2 A.M., in the midst of this awful
scene of destruction and disaster, the helpless sick were being removed
into the open streets, where bullets whistled about them and fragments
of explosive shells whizzed past.
As the night wore on London trembled and fell. Once Mistress of the
World, she was now, alas! sinking under the iron hand of the invader.
Upon her there poured a rain of deadly missiles that caused appalling
slaughter and desolation. The newly introduced long-range guns, and the
terrific power of the explosives with which the French shells were
charged, added to the horrors of the bombardment; for although the
batteries were so far away as to be out of sight, yet the unfortunate
people, overtaken by their doom, were torn limb from limb by the
bursting bombs.
Over the roads lay men of London, poor and rich, weltering in their
blood, their lower limbs shattered or blown completely away. With
wide-open haggard eyes, in their death agony they gazed around at the
burning buildings, at the falling debris, and upward at the
brilliantly-illumined sky. With their last breath they gasped prayers
for those they loved, and sank to the grave, hapless victims of
Babylon's downfall.
Every moment the Great City was being devastated, every moment the
catastrophe was more complete, more awful. In the poorer quarters of
South London whole streets were swept away, and families overwhelmed by
their own demolished homes. Along the principal thoroughfares shop
fronts were shivered, and the goods displayed in the windows strewn
about the roadway.
About half-past three a frightful disaster occurred at Battersea. Very
few shells had dropped in that district, when suddenly one fell right in
the very centre of a great petroleum store. The effect was frightful.
With a noise that was heard for twenty miles around, the whole of the
great store of oil exploded, blowing the stores themselves high into the
air, and levelling all the buildings in the vicinity. In every direction
burning oil was projected over the roofs of neighbouring houses, dozens
of which at once caught fire, while down the streets there ran great
streams of blazing oil, which spread the conflagration in every
direction. Showers of sparks flew upwards, the flames roared and
crackled, and soon fires were breaking out in all quarters.
Just as the clocks were striking a quarter to four, a great shell struck
the Victoria Tower of the Houses of Parliament, bringing it down with a
terrific crash. This disaster was quickly followed by a series of
others. A shell fell through the roof of Westminster Abbey, setting the
grand old historic building on fire; another tore away the columns from
the front of the Royal Exchange; and a third carried away one of the
square twin towers of St. Mary Woolnoth, at the corner of Lombard
Street.
Along this latter thoroughfare banks were wrecked, and offices set on
fire; while opposite, in the thick walls of the Bank of England, great
breaches were being made. The Mansion House escaped any very serious
injury, but the dome of the Stock Exchange was carried away; and in
Queen Victoria Street, from end to end, enormous damage was caused to
the rows of fine business premises; while further east the Monument,
broken in half, came down with a noise like thunder, demolishing many
houses on Fish Street Hill.
The great drapery warehouses in Wood Street, Bread Street, Friday
Street, Foster Lane, and St. Paul's Churchyard suffered more or less.
Ryland's, Morley's, and Cook's were all alight and burning fiercely;
while others were wrecked and shattered, and their contents blown out
into the streets. The quaint spire of St. Bride's had fallen, and its
bells lay among the debris in the adjoining courts; both the
half-wrecked offices of the _Daily Telegraph_ and the _Daily Chronicle_
were being consumed.
The great clock-tower of the Law Courts fell about four o'clock with a
terrific crash, completely blocking the Strand at Temple Bar, and
demolishing the much-abused Griffin Memorial; while at the same moment
two large holes were torn in the roof of the Great Hall, the small black
turret above fell, and the whole of the glass in the building was
shivered into fragments.
It was amazing how widespread was the ruin caused by each of the
explosive missiles. Considering the number of guns employed by the
French in this cruel and wanton destruction of property, the desolation
they were causing was enormous. This was owing to the rapid extension of
their batteries over the high ground from One Tree Hill through Peckham
to Greenwich, and more especially to the wide ranges of their guns and
the terrific power of their shells. In addition to the ordinary
projectiles filled with melinite, charges of that extremely powerful
substance lignine dynamite were hurled into the city, and, exploded by a
detonator, swept away whole streets, and laid many great public
buildings in ruins; while steel shells, filled with some arrangement of
liquid oxygen and blasting gelatine, produced frightful effects, for
nothing could withstand them.
One of these, discharged from the battery on Denmark Hill, fell in the
quadrangle behind Burlington House, and levelled the Royal Academy and
the surrounding buildings. Again a terrific explosion sounded, and as
the smoke cleared it was seen that a gelatine shell had fallen among the
many turrets of the Natural History Museum, and the front of the
building fell out with a deafening crash, completely blocking the
Cromwell Road.
London lay at the mercy of the invaders. So swiftly had the enemy cut
their way through the defences and opened their hail of destroying
missiles, that the excited, starving populace were unaware of what had
occurred until dynamite began to rain upon them. Newspapers had ceased
to appear; and although telegraphic communication was kept up with the
defenders on the Surrey Hills by the War Office, yet no details of the
events occurring there had been made public for fear of spies. Londoners
had remained in ignorance, and, alas! had awaited their doom. Through
the long sultry night the situation was one of indescribable panic and
disaster.
The sky had grown a brighter red, and the streets within the range of
the enemy's guns, now deserted, were in most cases blocked by burning
ruins and fallen telegraph wires; while about the roadways lay the
shattered corpses of men, women, and children, upon whom the shells had
wrought their frightful work.
The bodies, mutilated, torn limb from limb, were sickening to gaze
upon.