BABYLON BURNING.
Dynamite had shattered Charing Cross Station and the Hotel, for its
smoke-begrimed facade had been torn out, and the station yard was filled
with a huge pile of smouldering debris. On either side of the Strand
from Villiers Street to Temple Bar scarcely a window had been left
intact, and the roadway itself was quite impassable, for dozens of
buildings had been overthrown by shells, and what in many cases had been
handsome shops were now heaps of bricks, slates, furniture, and twisted
girders. The rain of fire continued. Dense black smoke rising in a huge
column from St. Martin's Church showed plainly what was the fate of that
noble edifice, while fire had now broken out at the Tivoli Music Hall,
and the clubs on Adelphi Terrace were also falling a prey to the flames.
The burning of Babylon was a sight of awful, appalling grandeur.
The few people remaining in the vicinity of the Strand who escaped the
flying missiles and falling buildings, sought what shelter they could,
and stood petrified by terror, knowing that every moment might be their
last, not daring to fly into the streets leading to Holborn, where they
could see the enemy's shells were still falling with unabated regularity
and frightful result, their courses marked by crashing buildings and
blazing ruins.
Looking from Charing Cross, the Strand seemed one huge glaring furnace.
Flames belched from windows on either side, and, bursting through roofs,
great tongues of fire shot upwards; blazing timbers fell into the
street; and as the buildings became gutted, and the fury of the
devouring element was spent, shattered walls tottered and fell into the
roadway. The terrific heat, the roar of the flames, the blinding smoke,
the stifling fumes of dynamite, the pungent, poisonous odour of
melinite, the clouds of dust, the splinters of stone and steel, and the
constant bursting of shells, combined to render the scene the most awful
ever witnessed in a single thoroughfare during the history of the world.
From Kensington to Bow, from Camberwell to Somers Town, from Clapham to
Deptford, the vast area of congested houses and tortuous streets was
being swept continually. South of the Thames the loss of life was
enormous, for thousands were unable to get beyond the zone of fire, and
many in Brixton, Clapham, Camberwell, and Kennington were either maimed
by flying fragments of shell, buried in the debris of their homes, or
burned to death. The disasters wrought by the Frenchmen's improved
long-range weapons were frightful.
London, the all-powerful metropolis, which had egotistically considered
herself the impregnable Citadel of the World, fell to pieces and was
consumed. She was frozen by terror, and lifeless. Her ancient monuments
were swept away, her wealth melted in her coffers, her priceless objects
of art were torn up and broken, and her streets ran with the blood of
her starving toilers.
Day dawned grey, with stormlight gloom. Rain-clouds scudded swiftly
across the leaden sky. Along the road in front of the Crystal Palace,
where the French batteries were established, the deafening discharges
that had continued incessantly during the night, and had smashed nearly
all the glass in the sides and roof of the Palace, suddenly ceased.
The officers were holding a consultation over despatches received from
the batteries at Tulse Hill, Streatham, Red Post Hill, One Tree Hill,
and Greenwich, all of which stated that ammunition had run short, and
they were therefore unable to continue the bombardment.
[Illustration: THE FRENCH BOMBARDING LONDON FROM THE CRYSTAL PALACE
PARADE.]
Neither of the ammunition trains of the two columns of the enemy had
arrived, for, although the bombarding batteries were unaware of it, both
had been captured and blown up by British Volunteers.
It was owing to this that the hostile guns were at last compelled to
cease their thunder, and to this fact also was due the fortunes of the
defenders in the events immediately following.
Our Volunteers occupying the line of defence north of London, through
Epping and Brentwood to Tilbury, had for the past three weeks been in
daily expectation of an attempt on the part of the invaders to land in
Essex, and were amazed at witnessing this sudden bombardment. From their
positions on the northern heights they could distinctly see how
disastrous was the enemy's fire, and although they had been informed by
telegraph of the reverses we had sustained at Guildford and Leatherhead,
yet they had no idea that the actual attack on the metropolis would be
made so swiftly. However, they lost not a moment. It was evident that
the enemy had no intention of effecting a landing in Essex; therefore,
with commendable promptitude, they decided to move across the Thames
immediately, to reinforce their comrades in Surrey. Leaving the 2nd and
4th West Riding Artillery, under Col. Hoffmann and Col. N. Creswick,
V.D., at Tilbury, and the Lincolnshire, Essex, and Worcestershire
Volunteer Artillery, under Col. G. M. Hutton, V.D., Col. S. L. Howard,
V.D., and Col. W. Ottley, the greater part of the Norfolk,
Staffordshire, Tay, Aberdeen, Manchester, and Northern Counties Field
Brigades moved south with all possible speed. From Brentwood, the 1st,
2nd, 3rd, and 4th Volunteer Battalions of the Norfolk Regiment, under
Col. A. C. Dawson, Col. E. H. H. Combe, Col. H. E. Hyde, V.D., and Col.
C. W. J. Unthank, V.D.; the 1st and 2nd North Staffordshire, under Col.
W. H. Dutton, V.D., and Col. F. D. Mort, V.D.; and the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd
South Staffordshire, under Col. J. B. Cochrane, V.D., Col. T. T. Fisher,
V.D., and Col. E. Nayler, V.D.; the 2nd, 4th, 5th, and 6th Royal
Highlanders, under Col. W. A. Gordon, V.D., Col. Sir R. D. Moncreiffe,
Col. Sir R. Menzies, V.D., and Col. Erskine; the 7th Argyll and
Sutherland Highlanders, under Col. J. Porteous, V.D.; the 3rd, 4th, and
5th Gordon Highlanders, under Col. A. D. Fordyce, Col. G. Jackson, V.D.,
and Col. J. Johnston--were, as early as 2 A.M., on their way to London.
At this critical hour the Engineer and Railway Volunteer Staff Corps
rendered invaluable services. Under the direction of Col. William Birt,
trains held in readiness by the Great Eastern Railway brought the
brigades rapidly to Liverpool Street, whence they marched by a
circuitous route beyond the zone of fire by way of Marylebone,
Paddington, Kensington Gardens, Walham Green, and across Wandsworth
Bridge, thence to Upper Tooting, where they fell in with a large force
of our Regular infantry and cavalry, who were on their way to outflank
the enemy.
Attacking a detachment of the French at Tooting, they captured several
guns, destroyed the enemy's field telegraph, and proceeded at once to
Streatham, where the most desperate resistance was offered. A fierce
fight occurred across Streatham Common, and over to Lower Norwood and
Gipsy Hill, in which both sides lost very heavily. Nevertheless our
Volunteers from Essex, although they had been on the march the greater
part of the night, fought bravely, and inflicted terrible punishment
upon their foe. The 3rd and 4th Volunteer Battalions of the Gordon
Highlanders and the 1st Norfolk, attacking a French position near the
mouth of the railway tunnel, displayed conspicuous bravery, and
succeeded in completely annihilating their opponents; while in an
opposite direction, towards Tooting, several troops of French cavalry
were cut up and taken prisoners by two battalions of Royal Highlanders.
The batteries on Streatham Hill having been assaulted and taken, the
force of defenders pushed quickly onward to Upper Norwood, where our
cavalry, sweeping along Westow Hill and Church Street, fell upon the
battery in front of the Crystal Palace. The enemy, owing to the
interruption of their field telegraph, were unaware of their presence,
and were completely surprised. Nevertheless French infantrymen rushed
into the Crystal Palace Hotel, the White Swan, Stanton Harcourt, the
Knoll, Rocklands, and other houses at both ends of the Parade, and from
the windows poured forth withering volleys from their Lebels. Our
cavalry, riding down the broad Parade, used their sabres upon the
artillerymen, and the whole of the French troops were quickly in a
confused mass, unable to act with effect, and suffering appallingly from
the steady fire of our Volunteers, who very soon cleared the enemy from
the White Swan, and, having been drawn up outside, poured forth a
galling rifle fire right along the enemy's position. Suddenly there was
loud shouting, and the British "Cease fire" sounded. The French, though
fighting hard, were falling back gradually down the hill towards
Sydenham Station, when suddenly shots were heard, and turbaned cavalry
came riding into them at a terrific pace from the rear.
The British officers recognised the new-comers as a squadron of Bengal
Lancers! At last India had sent us help, and our men sent up a loud
cheer. A large force of cavalry and infantry, together with two
regiments of Goorkas, had, it appeared, been landed at Sheerness. They
had contemplated landing in Hampshire, but, more unfortunate than some
of their compatriots who had effected a landing near Southampton, they
were driven through the Straits of Dover by the enemy's cruisers.
Marching north in company with a force from Chatham, they had earlier
that morning attacked and routed the enemy's right flank at Blackheath,
and, after capturing the battery of the foe at Greenwich, greater part
of the escort of which had been sent over to Lewisham an hour before,
they slaughtered a battalion of Zouaves, and had then extended across to
Denmark Hill, where a sanguinary struggle occurred.
The French on Dog Kennel, Red Post, Herne, and Tulse Hills turned their
deadly machine guns upon them, and for a long time all the positions
held out. At length, however, by reason of a splendid charge made by the
Bengal Lancers, the battery at Red Post Hill was taken and the enemy
slaughtered. During the next half-hour a fierce hand-to-hand struggle
took place up Dog Kennel Hill from St. Saviour's Infirmary, and
presently, when the defenders gained the spur of the hill, they fought
the enemy gallantly in Grove Lane, Private Road, Bromar Road, Camberwell
Grove, and adjoining roads. Time after time the Indian cavalry charged,
and the Goorkas, with their keen knives, hacked their way into those of
the enemy who rallied. For nearly an hour the struggle continued
desperately, showers of bullets from magazine rifles sweeping along the
usually quiet suburban thoroughfares, until the roads were heaped with
dead and dying, and the houses on either side bore evidence of the
bloody fray. Then at last the guns placed along the hills all fell into
our hands, and the French were almost completely swept out of existence.
Many were the terrible scenes witnessed in the gardens of the quaint
last-century houses on Denmark Hill. Around those old-world residences,
standing along the road leading down to Half Moon Lane, time-mellowed
relics of an age bygone, Indians fought with Zouaves, and British
Volunteers struggled fiercely hand to hand with French infantrymen. The
quiet old-fashioned quarter, that was an aristocratic retreat when
Camberwell was but a sylvan village with an old toll gate, when cows
chewed the cud upon Walworth Common, and when the Walworth Road had not
a house in the whole of it, was now the scene of a frightful massacre.
The deafening explosions of cordite from magazine rifles, the exultant
shouts of the victors and the hoarse shrieks of the dying, awakened the
echoes in those quaint old gardens, with their Dutch-cut zigzag walks,
enclosed by ancient red brick walls, moss-grown, lichen covered, and
half hidden by ivy, honeysuckle, and creepers. Those spacious grounds,
where men were now being mercilessly slaughtered, had been the scene of
many a brilliant _fete champetre_, where splendid satin-coated _beaux_,
all smiles and _ailes de pigeon_, whispered scandal behind the fans of
dainty dames in high-dressed wigs and patches, or, clad as Watteau
shepherds, had danced the _al fresco_ minuet with similarly attired
shepherdesses, and later on played _piquet_ and drank champagne till
dawn.
[Illustration: GOORKAS SLAUGHTERING THE FRENCH ARTILLERY AT GREENWICH
OBSERVATORY.]
In the good old Georgian days, when Johnson walked daily under the trees
in Gough Square, when Macklin was playing the "Man of the World," and
when traitors' heads blackened on Temple Bar, this colony was one of the
most rural, exclusive, and gay in the vicinity of London. Alas, how it
has decayed! Cheap "desirable residences" have sprung up around it, the
hand of the jerry-building Vandal has touched it, the sound of traffic
roars about it; yet still there is a charm in those quaint old gardens
of a forgotten era. From under the dark yew hedges the jonquils still
peep out early--the flowers themselves are those old-fashioned sweet
ones beloved of our grandmothers--and the tea roses still blossom on the
crumbling walls and fill the air with their fragrance. But in this
terrible struggle the walls were used as defences, the bushes were torn
down and trampled under foot, and the flowers hung broken on their
stalks, bespattered with men's blood!
Proceeding south again, the defenders successfully attacked the strong
batteries on One Tree Hill at Honor Oak, and on Sydenham Hill and Forest
Hill, and then extending across to the Crystal Palace, had joined hands
with our Volunteers from Essex, where they were now wreaking vengeance
for the ruthless destruction caused in London.
The bloodshed along the Crystal Palace Parade was fearful. The French
infantry and artillery, overwhelmed by the onward rush of the defenders,
and now under the British crossfire, fell in hundreds. Dark-faced Bengal
Lancers and Goorkas, with British Hussars and Volunteers, descended upon
them with appalling swiftness; and so complete was the slaughter, that
of the whole force that had effected that terribly effectual bombardment
from Sydenham, not more than a dozen survived.
By noon many of the shops on Westow Hill and private residences on
College Hill and Sydenham Hill had been wantonly ignited by the enemy;
but when the firing ceased some hours later, the roads were heaped with
the corpses of those whose mission it had been to destroy London.
Of all those batteries which had caused such frightful desolation and
loss of life during the night, not one now remained. The two French
columns had been swiftly wiped out of existence; and although our forces
had suffered very considerably, they nevertheless were able to go south
to Croydon later that afternoon, in order to take part in resisting the
vigorous and desperate attack which they knew would sooner or later be
made by the whole French army massed beyond the Surrey Hills. The sun
was on the horizon, and the shadows were already deepening.
Assistance had arrived tardily, for the damage to property in London
during the night had been enormous; nevertheless at this the eleventh
hour we had inflicted upon the French a crushing defeat, and now England
waited, trembling and breathless, wondering what would be the final
outcome of this fierce, bloody struggle for our national existence.