THE EAGLE IN THE LION’S JAWS
The strike of compositors which had maddened the conductors of daily
journals proved to be a blessing in disguise. Such stirring news had
come to hand that a few hours’ delay in publishing the morning papers
were worth all the terms that trades unions could exact--and more also.
The morning papers of December 27th became afternoon papers, and they
went off like wildfire.
Indeed there was news that staggered humanity:
Item One:--The death of Marcus White by drowning in the Thames--with
the murderous clutch of Raggett and another Leaguer still on his
throat. And this, it was recognised, meant not only the death of three
men--it was the death-blow of the League itself.
Item Two:--The direful catastrophe at Portsmouth dockyard, with all
that it meant, and might have meant, for England.
Item Three:--The treacherous night attack of the Germans at Plymouth,
so happily detected, and the subsequent victory of the British fleet.
Item Four:--Failure of a projected joint movement by the German and the
Russian fleets in the North Sea.
The stars in their courses had “fought against Sisera.” The concerted
action of the combined squadrons had come to naught, partly because of
the delay and blundering of the Russian admiral; mainly by reason of
the terrible storm which swept the sea and thundered on our shores on
that eventful night.
Battered and beaten by the tempest, the invading ships had made all
haste to return to port. Once again, as in the days of Queen Elizabeth,
“God blew, and they were scattered!”
But the heaviest stroke of misfortune suffered by the enemy was not
inflicted in the North Sea. The remnant of the German Squadron of
the south, seeking to escape from its pursuers, had found the flying
squadron despatched from Spithead completely barring their passage in
the Straits of Dover. The British crews were fresh and fit, burning
for battle. But once again in the history of nations discretion was
acknowledged to be the better part of warfare. The Germans were not
now in force or condition to show fight. Every ship fell into the hands
of the British admiral, and was promptly interned in Dover harbour.
There yet remained a startling postscript to this tremendous news. The
_Schiller_, pursued by the British cruiser _Cadmus_ and the destroyer
_Hornet_, on the 26th had made desperate efforts to escape capture.
Driven to the west in the darkness and the storm, the liner made a rash
attempt to double back between her pursuers and the Scilly Islands. The
result was fatal. Too late, the commander of the _Schiller_ discovered
his dangerous proximity to the “Bishop and his Clerks.” A terrific wave
swept the great liner like a plaything on the deadly rocks. There came
another mighty, shattering rush of water that drowned the captain and
swept a passenger, who stood beside him in that awful moment, clear of
the ship and far up on the tangled seaweed of the rocks.
So hot and close was the pursuit of the _Cadmus_ and the _Hornet_ that
they, too, narrowly escaped similar disaster. The _Cadmus_ was not
half a mile to windward when the _Schiller_ went ashore. The _Hornet_,
nearer in, only escaped by being refloated on the first great wave that
drowned the _Schiller_’s lights.
Of all on board the German liner only the one passenger was saved. This
passenger, bruised, exhausted, with a broken arm, received the prompt
and kindly attention of the coastguard. Little did these rough but
sympathetic folk suspect the exalted rank and dignity of the sufferer.
He seemed to be a foreigner, but knew much more of the King’s English
than was known to the humble islanders themselves. When the stranger
gave them a massive gold ring, set with a brilliant stone, by way of
parting gift, these good folk began to think they had entertained an
angel unawares.
In truth they had ministered, not to an angel--but to an emperor.
The skipper of the Trinity steamer that conveyed the stranger to St
Mary’s Island for temporary surgical treatment was a man who had seen
many illustrated newspapers. Though at first incredulous, he thought he
recognised the illustrious foreigner. He was quite sure of it before
the steamer left St Mary’s for Penzance with the passenger on board.
Lord Downland, as the reader is aware, knew who the stranger was before
his lordship left Berkeley Square--to run the gauntlet of the bomb
brigade--on his way to Windsor Castle.
The prisoner of England was none other than Kaiser William, King of
Prussia, German Emperor.