life-long dream. He, more than any other Colonial statesman, has been
interested in the preservation of purely British influence in the
Southern Hemisphere, and he sees in the present European conflict a
certain promise that the blundering ineptitude of Lord Derby and his
successors will be finally rendered harmless. The fact that England is
fighting shoulder to shoulder with Germany will, Sir Thomas thinks,
facilitate a friendly exchange by means of which the north-eastern
portion of New Guinea may be brought under the dominion of the British
Crown. He insists, with some vehemence, on the undoubted fact, that if
his own policy had not been obstructed by the Home authorities, the
northern waters of these seas would have been given over to the
undivided empire of Great Britain, and he urges strongly the
advisability of seizing the present moment to undo the blunders of the
past. He approves warmly of the combined action of New South Wales and
Victoria, and declares that their proposal to seize New Caledonia is not
merely statesmanlike and patriotic, but could hardly have been avoided
in the circumstances.
In New South Wales Sir Henry Parkes and the Hon. Mr. Dibbs sink, for
once, all party differences, and the venerable Leader of the Opposition
supports the action of the Government as warmly as if it had been taken
at his own initiative. Here, in Melbourne, the Government and Opposition
are, in quite as pronounced a fashion, at one with each other. In short,
outside the Governors, whose official position condemns them to
neutrality, there is not a dissentient voice to be heard. New Caledonia
has long been a thorn in the Australian side. It is only 700 miles from
the coast of Queensland, and the northern colony and its parent
neighbour have long since tired of being overrun by escaped French
convicts of the vilest type. You, in England, have little conception of
the resentment which is inspired in the breasts of the most loyal
Australians by the supineness and folly which allowed the Home
Government to sit idly by whilst a French penal settlement was
established so near our shores. Australia complains, and complains with
justice, that she has been treated from the first as a reservoir into
which might be poured the most abominable draff of English society. It
was bad enough, and more than bad enough, to be compelled to receive the
refuse of the Home Country. But when the escapes from New Caledonia
began to be so numerous as to prove a decided nuisance, the indignation
of the public was naturally aroused. Whatever you may think of us in
England, we Australians are, at least, a patient and enduring people. We
have made mild demonstrations in the way of departmental remonstrance,
and have done nothing more. Had we been stronger than we are we should
long since have made the presence of the French Government in New
Caledonia a _casus belli_.
The Mother Country is so indifferent to our aspirations and our needs,
that she has never given herself the trouble to recognise the gravity of
this special cause of complaint. At least 300 cases of escape from New
Caledonia to Australian shores are known and recorded. In the case of
the ‘exiles’ we naturally rejoice. We have given home and a glad welcome
to that distinguished artist, M. Henri, who was banished from his native
France for his political opinions, and who has now achieved for himself
a perfectly unique position in Australian art. There is, assuredly, not
one man in the Australian Continent who would willingly have put an
obstacle in the way of escape of M. Henri Rochefort. It is not men of
this type to whose presence in our neighbourhood we object. But it is
undeniable that the French criminals who now people New Caledonia, are
men of the most abominable of all conceivable types. The grievance—the
true grievance—is not merely that the French Government should have been
allowed to defile our neighbourhood by the deportation of these people,
but that they should positively have determined to perpetuate the race.
How many people in England are aware of the shameful and stupid fact
that the French Government, having massed its most awful male outcasts
in New Caledonia, deliberately sent out to them female convicts of the
most abandoned type in order that the men might marry and reproduce
their own likeness? The mere incidental question of bigamy by government
authority need scarcely be considered. Amongst the women sent out were
parricides, simple murdresses, and creatures soiled by all the crimes of
which nature is capable. One of the brides had murdered both her father
and her mother, and another, on the outward voyage, threw her own baby
out of a port-hole. The sires of the future French settlement were, of
course, worthy of their partners, and one may fairly ask what could
possibly be expected of a race so founded. I have myself spoken with
Englishmen upon this question, and have been met with a laugh, a shrug
of the shoulders, and an allusion to an ancient proverb about a pot and
kettle. It is undeniable that Hobart Town and Botany Bay welcomed in
their time a great deal of human evil, but it never came unalloyed, and
an examination of facts will teach any inquirer that a good fifty per
cent. of the so-called crimes for which men and women were expatriated,
were no more than the ebullitions of an impatient patriotism, or the
escapades of unguided youth. Leaving that aside, nobody pretends that
the Australian population of three and a half millions is seriously
tainted. We are troubled by certain forms of rowdyism and brutality, and
we have a dangerous class rooted amongst us. That a great law-abiding
population should be handicapped in that way by the past action of the
Mother Country was hard enough to bear in all conscience, but that
England should have sat supine whilst a foreign power doubled, trebled,
and quadrupled, the curse upon our borders is intolerable.
We Anglo-Saxons are everywhere a long-suffering and rather stupid
people. Australia herself has been somewhat to blame for her own partial
acquiescence in this injustice, and there are vast numbers of her
inhabitants who know little and care less about the question. The
Australian citizen who had suffered from the inroads of a gang of
foreign desperadoes has a sympathetic interest in the matter, but he is
only one in ten thousand, and the fact is that we have been far too
tame.
The distance between New Caledonia and Australia is, as I have said
already, about 700 miles. That between the Sandwich Islands and the
United States is about 2000 miles. But those islands are directly under
American control, and the United States have always held that the
presence of a foreign power there would have to be regarded as a menace.
Just as she warned away France from Mexico, she would now warn away any
foreign intruder in the South Seas. It is easy to conceive that England
herself might have been equally wise. The French treatment of the
Canaques, whom they dispossessed when they took forcible possession of
the island, has been wrong-headed in the extreme. They have had the
absurdest panics about impossible native risings, and have sent out
numberless expeditions to destroy the food supplies of the wretched
natives. Things are quieter now, and the Canaques are effectively cowed.
It was decided last night by telegraphic communication between the
Premiers of Victoria and New South Wales, that the two leading Colonies
should jointly invite Queensland, Western Australia, South Australia,
and Tasmania to lend their authority for the immediate dispatch of the
Australian squadron to Noumea. An intimation of the fact has been sent
to the Home Government, but no permission has been asked. It is not in
the least likely that England will interfere with us at such a moment,
and on such a question, but even if she did, the question is one so
vitally affecting the destinies of Australia that we should be compelled
to take the matter into our own hands.
LORD CHARLES SCOTT OBJECTS.
_June 6._
There is a rumour abroad to the effect that Admiral Lord Charles Scott
has put his veto on the dispatch of the fleet until such time as
instructions can be received from England, but though this report has
been angrily seized upon by the populace, no credence whatever appears
to be attached to it in quarters where the most trustworthy information
might naturally be looked for. It has served, however, to enliven the
city to a very remarkable extent, and the mere hint of opposition to the
popular will has created a widespread excitement, and has made it
evident that the men of the colonies are bent on having their own way.
Collins Street and Bourke Street are patrolled by vast bands, who groan
loudly at the name of the Admiral and cheer the local leaders of public
opinion. It is quite a fortuitous occurrence that the various bodies of
Melbourne cadets had arranged to march with their bands through the
principal streets this evening, but the event has given colour and stir
to the _al fresco_ entertainment provided by the populace for their own
delectation. Special editions of the evening papers confirm the rumoured
action of the Admiral, and the excitement is growing to fever heat. Lord
Charles Scott’s position is that the squadron of which he holds command
is intended for defensive purposes only, and cannot be legitimately
employed in offensive operations without the direct sanction of the war
authorities at home. He is likely to be technically in the right, but
the fact that England and France are already actively engaged is
generally held here, amongst the most moderate men, to abrogate this
rule, and to make it the immediate and obvious duty of Australia to take
her place in action. In the meantime, so the Sydney telegrams inform us,
the squadron now lying in the harbour there is making every preparation
for active service, and it is entirely probable that, after all, no real
delay may ensue.
INSTRUCTIONS FROM THE ADMIRALTY.
DEPARTURE OF THE EXPEDITION.
MIDNIGHT.
After all, there will be no waiting. A telegraphic dispatch has been
received from the Admiralty, and the instructions are that the squadron
shall take instant action. A special train to Sydney has been chartered
by the Premier. He will be accompanied by three or four members of the
Ministry, and I have succeeded in attaching myself to the party. The
train starts in an hour.
_June 7._
The Ministerial train has broken the record, and at four o’clock the
Ministerial party is steaming across the beautiful harbour towards the
flagship. Driving hurriedly through the streets of the city, we have had
time to see no more than that the main thoroughfares are gay with
bunting, though the streets themselves are empty. The whole population
has turned out to witness the departure of the squadron, and from the
deck of the launch a crowd of many scores of thousands is visible about
Lady Macquarrie’s Chair. The great harbour is thronged with every kind
of craft. All the merchant ships are gaily decorated everywhere. The
weather is heavenly, and the harbour, with its sparkling waters and
majestic lines of headland, can rarely have been seen to more advantage.
The spirit of the people is evidently and entirely in the enterprise on
which they have embarked. The four ships of the Australian squadron lie
in sight of the vast crowd, and are already volleying clouds of smoke.
As I lift my eyes from the note-book in which I am rapidly scrawling
these lines, I can see that the great hulk of the flagship has begun to
move. Flash goes a gun from her black side, and a hundred rolling echoes
bellow from the surrounding heights. The crowd sends back a
heart-stirring cheer, and a gun from the fort responds to the Admiral’s
salute. Vessel after vessel salutes, and the fort answers each in turn.
Like leviathans afloat move our bulwarks on the brine, a score of times
huger than when Campbell sung the prowess of the British arms at sea.
Before we can reach the flagship they are all well under weigh, and
forging grandly towards the open waters. Aboard some of the yachts and
launches are brass bands, not all of the finest quality. They play ‘God
save the Queen’ in all manner of keys and in different times. The result
is not what one might fancy, for everybody seems to find it wildly
exhilarating. The cheers from the immense concourse near Government
House grow fainter and fainter as we recede, and at last die away
altogether. There is a fresh breeze in the open, and a roughish sea, and
so in a while even the most enthusiastic of the pursuers are willing to
turn back again. The spectacle is over. The squadron has steamed away,
and Australia stands ready to strike her first blow in the cause of the
British race in the seas of the Southern Hemisphere.
THE FRANCO-GERMAN CAMPAIGN—THE GERMAN ADVANCE.
RENEWED FIGHTING—ROUT OF THE FRENCH ARMY.
(_From our Special Correspondent with the Germans._)
SUIPPES, _May 19_.
A whole week has passed and we have not moved. Our cavalry and most of
my Corps are enjoying the hospitality of the French barracks at the camp
of Chalons, horribly dirty, still, better than a bivouac in the pouring
rain we have been enduring. Our officers’ patrols go daily south of
Chalons-sur-Marne and eastward to Bar-le-Duc.
Rheims is observed—practically invested—for our scouts tear up the
railways leading to it from Paris as fast as the enemy can lay them down
again, and further to the westward patrols are in touch with the French
Army of the North, and we learn that troops are daily being moved by
rail to the southward, which corroborates other information that they
are again going to try on us Bourbaki’s stroke of 1870, and, under the
circumstances, it is about the best thing they can do.
In our rear the Reserve Divisions are working day and night to complete
our road and railway communications with the Namur-Luxembourg Railway,
and as everything has been foreseen to the smallest detail years in
advance—even the girders for bridges made and kept in stock—and the
country, moreover, presents no serious difficulties (certainly none to
frighten our engineers of Afghanistan experience, and the Germans are
but little behind us), I have no doubt that our halt here will be but of
short duration; indeed, some of the roads are evidently through already,
for our Reserve ammunition waggons came up yesterday. The line through
Mezières-Givet is also expected to be open in a day or two, and then our
siege train will be able to take the works of Rheims under fire in
earnest. This delay, I need hardly say, is very much against the
feelings of our Hotspurs, and I have listened to many an oration from
young subalterns to prove how differently old Moltke would have led
them. With due deference, I think it can be shown from his own works
that he would have done nothing of the kind. His own saying was that the
art of war was only the practical application of principles to the
attainment of the end in view—viz., the subjugation of the enemy to your
will—at what knowledge of the circumstances shows you to be at the
moment the cheapest possible cost to the country.
In 1870, with a vast numerical superiority, no fortifications to speak
of on the enemy’s side, and no allies on his own, the principle of
extermination by a series of battles was the best policy to adopt. How,
against almost equal numbers, backed by fortresses not to be
despised—the first victory having been won and the fighting value of our
troops thereby doubled—our best game is not to break our heads against
the enemy’s strong places, but in a central position to await his
offensive returns and move out to meet him—not stand to be attacked—as
soon as his plans are sufficiently indicated by our cavalry outposts.
It was a wise stroke on the part of the enemy to lead off with a first
blow from Russia; but we countered it by the immediate assumption of the
offensive, which enabled us to score first blood against France. For the
present we can await the decision in Russia in comparative security.
The troops are not idle meanwhile. After a day’s rest and the
reorganisation of the regiments in consequence of losses—which, by the
way, amount to only 10 per cent. in the Corps engaged—they were at work
again drilling with the same intensity of purpose as if the spring
inspections and not a battle lay before them. That was a lesson they
learnt from the last war—viz., that the command of men in the squadron
or company is personal property, and cannot be handed over like charge
of the quartermaster’s store. A leader must know his men, and they must
know him by actual contact on the parade ground if the full fighting
worth is to be got out of the men.
11 P.M.
News of our victory at Alexandrovo has just come in. That will set free
a couple of Corps at least for this, the _decisive_ theatre. If only
they had our Midland and North-Western traffic managers!
SUIPPES, _May 25_, 10 P.M.
We move at 5 A.M. to-morrow, direction Bar-le-Duc—_i.e._ S.E.
HEITH LE MAURUPT, _May 27_, 10 P.M.
Another most decisive victory for the Germans. Censor will not allow any
more.
CAMP OF CHALONS, _May 31_, 10 A.M.
Another victory; now I may tell you all that has happened in the order
in which it occurred. As I had anticipated, the French have again tried
Bourbaki’s move, with much the same results. As far as we can learn,
three Corps were transferred from the line of the northern fortresses,
by Paris—Lyons, and the whole of their Army of the East moved northward
to meet us, their right on the line of their eastern defences.
Our 2d Army moved up both banks of the Aisne to meet them, it was
theoretically wrong, no doubt, but we could not help it. The 3d passed
troops over the Meuse, to form on their left, and we—_i.e._ the
1st—detached three Corps to reinforce the right, leaving two ‘field’
Corps and a number of Reserve Divisions (I understand six) to hold the
Army of the North in check, and retire slowly before it if seriously
attacked.
My Corps rendezvoused on the 26th at 4 A.M. around Suippes. The country
had been thoroughly reconnoitred, and, guided by officers of the
Topographical Staff, all combatant branches moved straight across
country, in the good old Napoleonic method, trains and Corps Artillery
only by the roads. The rain had ceased, and the going was fairly good;
anyway, we all agreed that it was infinitely preferable work to stewing
in dusty lanes in closed columns, with never a breath of fresh air, even
though in the bottoms the soil was somewhat heavy. The men were in the
best of spirits at the start—reviving the good old march to Sedan joke,
‘Mit Armen links schwenkt! Gerade aus’—but the sun came out, and by 5
P.M., when we had covered nearly twenty miles as the crow flies, faces
began to look drawn and weary. Then we caught the sound of the guns in
front, and the men stepped out again briskly.
About 6.30 we got the order to halt and bivouac; fortunately we were
close to some ponds and a stream. Our cavalry had this time come little
into conflict with the enemy, but after driving in a few patrols had
come on the French infantry, practically deployed for action, heading a
little west of north, and had not attempted to make any impression.
Indeed, there was no reason why they should, for they could see
everything perfectly from some neighbouring ridges, and so had fulfilled
their duties. We, at least, knew where the enemy was, and he did not
know where we were. So far we had the advantage.
The fight began with a race for the ridges. We had no particular
advantage, and a scrimmaging fight began at once all along the line. Our
artillery was in great part neutralised; so was that of the other side.
It simply became a struggle of endurance—the Germans, relying on the
superior discipline of their men, could afford to feed the fighting line
more slowly (_i.e._ with greater distance between the following lines),
and thanks to the perfection of their Staff, trained to work as nearly
as possible under wartime conditions, the mechanism of the feed worked
with less friction and more certainty; fresh troops were always
forthcoming when they were required. On the other side the machinery
wanted lubricating, owing to their radically defective conception of the
nature of the infantry fight, which induced them to move to the attack
in a succession of extended lines following one another too quickly;
their strength melted away almost before they reached the actual
fighting line, and then the Staff failed to send support quickly enough.
It was soon evident that they were bleeding to exhaustion more rapidly
than we were.
Thus hour by hour our attack pressed home like waves of an incoming
tide, and from a distance the effect was most curious to watch. Two long
undulating lines—a light blue haze hanging over them—each seemed to be
backed by some elastic force; as the equilibrium at one point was
disturbed, one line recoiled and the other pressed forward till flanking
fire brought it again to a stop for the moment.
By noon the edge of the high ground overlooking the valley, through
which runs the Rhine-Marne Canal, was reached, and now the flood was
running strong in our favour. Then we could see, too, how these
disturbances in the equilibrium of the two lines were occasioned. The
smaller units of the French thought too much of their flanks, too little
of their centre. Thus, where two battalions or companies touched, the
men balled up and crowded together, offering a better target; then the
fire from the centre relaxed, and the moment the pressure of the enemy’s
fire gave way, the Germans dashed forward to fill up the vacuum. Soon,
too, the French endeavoured to bring up their reserves in column, for
their men would no longer advance in extended order; and now the small
calibre rifle and its great penetration justified its existence; I had
not thought much of it before. But the employment of columns induced a
new feature—viz., a tendency in the larger units (_e.g._ divisions) to
close on their centre—and presently before our eyes we saw a great gap
opening out behind the enemy’s fighting line. The time for the final
blow was close at hand. Our gunners, coming up under cover of the hills,
were crushing the artillery of the enemy out in the plain, and had some
attention to spare for his reserves. I saw a cavalry aide-de-camp leave
the Staff of the Army Commander, who was close at hand, and I made
tracks as fast as I could for some broken ground, where I hoped to be
safe from the coming storm.
Twenty minutes afterwards, heading straight for the gap I described
above, came at least eight squadrons in line at a gallop. Their ground
scouts yelled at their own infantry in front to lie down, and they
mostly did so. The cavalry checked for a moment at them, as if at a
fence, and then swept down on the infantry in front, not two hundred
yards distant, rode over and beyond them, wheeled outwards, and bore
down on the reserves. As they passed our infantry, the latter threw
themselves into groups to let the second line of cavalry—which still
remained in squadron columns—through, and then four more lines of
cavalry followed, and the whole plain became a sea of dust and
confusion. Our infantry rallied into company columns, and dashed forward
with the bayonet in pursuit, and we had the last tableau of Waterloo
over again. The canal and the stream in the hollow put a stop to our
advance, and fresh infantry with the pioneer companies moved forward to
make good the crossing, which might have been a troublesome business
enough, had not the troops to our left—_i.e._ west—already carried the
passages at Revigny.
Darkness was now rapidly coming on, and the fight here died away. I rode
back to the rear, and found food and a welcome with the Headquarters of
our third Corps, which had only just reached the ground and had not been
engaged.