The Final War 1896

The Final War,
Louis Tracy
1896

The Final War.
By Louis Tracy, published eighteen ninety six.

THE FINAL WAR.
CHAPTER ONE.
THE BALL AT THE EMBASSY.
THE month of May in Paris, if the elements be reasonably propitious, is a perfectly delightful period, and May-day of 1898 heralded in the promise of a gracious summer. The French capital was more than ordinarily full of visitors, and life in the world of fashion was like the changeful scenes of a ballet divertissement. Americans were there “from Chicago and New York, spending millions made in packing pork." Russian notabilities abounded, and Germans, the male element vastly predominating, were in such numbers that the wonted supply of lager beer fell short in the cafes. A mad whirl of gaiety and light-heartedness filled the thoughts of every class of society. This social abandonment was, if possible, accentuated by a species of political electricity that permeated the air, and of which all men were dimly conscious.
The new Ministry had taken up and developed the policy of colonial expansion given effect to by their predecessors, and a singular rapprochement with Germany was vaguely supposed to have contributed in a very remarkable way to the furtherance of French ambition. Both countries had been working amicably together for nearly a year, and already the result was felt in the most vulnerable portions of the British Empire.
It is true that England had long ago secured all the best markets for her produce, that her ships carried five-sixths of the commerce of the world, and that her surplus population had the pick of many continents wherein to live and prosper. But a determined attempt was now being made by her great commercial rivals to take from her some, at least, of the advantages gained by centuries of enterprise backed up by daring perseverance.
The Rhine dwindled into a stream of no political significance. Men openly said on the boulevards and in the brasseries of Paris and the beer gardens of Berlin that the star of England was beginning to wane. As a witty Frenchman put it: “The bones of Englishmen whiten the by-ways of the world: they make most excellent sign-posts for our future progress.”
But at the British Embassy, Lord and Lady Eskdale and their beautiful daughter Irene, felt that, come what might in the future, it was their present duty to maintain in regal style the hospitable traditions of the Rue du Faubourg St. Honore, and thus it came to pass that the first night in May was chosen for an official dinner, to be followed by a grand ball.
Strange and disquieting rumours were afloat. Scarce formed into words, they hinted at a fatal blow to be struck at some predominant power. To Captain Edward Harington, who not only filled the position of junior military attaché at the Embassy, but was also the accepted lover of Lady Irene Vyne, the Home Government owed the first suspicion of a secret and hostile combination.
He had pieced together some curious observations, made in his presence by certain high officials in France, and his conditions seemed no less accurate than alarming.
Inquiries made amongst the London bankers, with whom nearly every foreign prince had large dealings, showed that there had been a steady and continual withdrawal for no accountable reason, of the securities they held.
This was enough to put the Government on the alert. Harington’s timely service was of considerable value, and he reaped the benefit, for the kindly interest of an exalted personage means much. In fact, a staff appointment at Aldershot, when the next vacancy occurred, was promised to him.
His sister Ethel, a charming girl of Irene’s age, was in Paris on a visit to the Eskdales, and it was one of those coincidences suggestive of arrangement that Lieutenant Frank Rodney, of H.M.S. Magnificent, should have chosen gay Lutetia as the scene of a short leave of ten days. Harington and he were fast friends, and it was not unlikely that the tie of friendship might be strengthened, if the guardsman had not judged amiss the tendency of the pleasant-mannered sailor's thoughts. It was his ardent wish that Rodney might marry his sister, and Ethel had even stronger views on the question than her brother, so for once the course of true love appeared to be running smoothly.
The gathering in Lady Eskdale's reception room before dinner was announced was very select indeed. The French President and his wife, the Russian Ambassador and the Grand Duchess, the German Ambassador, the French Ministers of War and Marine, the Governor of Paris, and quite a number of other great people made the brilliant salon glitter with the magnificence of their diamond stars and ornaments, whilst the lovely dresses of the women toned down the gorgeous uniforms by their softer hues.
The British Ambassador, of course, took in Madame la Presidente to dinner. His interested and urbane manner gave no indication of the troubled state of his thoughts, though in very truth there had that afternoon been much cause for perplexity. A cipher telegram, dispatched at midday to London, was unaccountably interfered with en route, and a call from the Foreign Office for a repetition resulted in even greater confusion. In the endeavour to put matters right he also discovered that the telephonic communication between the two countries had unaccountably broken down.
Now, his message to Lord Salisbury, contained a very plain intimation that affairs were in an alarmingly unsettled condition in France, whilst large sales of British securities on the Bourse had emanated from inspired quarter, and not from any public movement. These sales had been proceeding steadily for some days, and had seemingly culminated that morning. From this condition of affairs he argued the necessity for keen watchfulness on the part of the British Government.
By an extraordinary' blunder, this message, although in a cypher believed to be known only to three men in London and three in Paris, was metamorphosed into an absurd reference to the weather, and the repetition brought about an inexplicable medley of meaningless nonsense. But Lord Eskdale was even more suave than usual to the President's wife.
There had been a grand review of the garrison of Paris that day, and the lady, with the fanfare of the trumpets still in her ears, asked the Ambassador what he thought of the troops.
“They were superb,” he replied. “Their soldierly qualities were such that I almost regretted it.'”
“But why?”
“I would prefer to see such perfect manhood engaged in the arts of peace rather than part and parcel of a huge machine of destruction.”
“That is exactly what I should expect to hear from an Englishman,” said Madame.
The Ambassador laughed. “Have we such a poor reputation as fire-eaters, then?” he queried.
“You speak with the accent of success,” she retorted. “It is always the interest of those who have the booty to prate of peace.”
“In such a matter, England’s interest,” he replied gravely, “is the interest of the world. The preservation of the peace of Europe is our inheritance.”
Madame smiled.
“What would you do,” she asked, “if the French were to dispute your guardianship?”
“Ah. Madame,” returned the courtly Ambassador, “it is not your men we fear, it is your women.”
“You laugh!” exclaimed Madame, stung by his playful treatment of her words. “But take care. A hundred years ago France taught the world the art of government. She must now teach it the art of empire.”
Lord Eskdale glanced rapidly at her, and for a moment a troubled look rested upon his face.
“A woman is seldom epigrammatic,” he reflected, “without being also indiscreet.”
Then aloud, with perfect serenity: “You have achieved more than half the task already, my dear lady.”
Madame paused appreciably before she answered, with a quick look at her companion: "In what sense?"
“Our hearts are already prostrate; it needs but the subjugation of our arms.”
“Ah, you were only leading me up to a pretty compliment. But I am glad that you acknowledge it is for us to contest with you the domination of the world.”
“I yield it to you now, without a murmur of dissent,” he said.
The Ambassador was clearly in a frivolous mood, so she changed the conversation to the prospects of the exhibition two years later.
Why, he never knew until afterwards—but Lord Eskdale felt that he added years to his life during the progress of that meal. It was apparently unending, and it required all his powers of self-command to restrain himself from cursing the excellence and prodigality of his cook.
At last it came to a conclusion, and Lady Eskdale rose, whilst his Excellence'' escorted Madame la Presidente to the door of the drawing-room. He returned at once, to find that the President and the Governor of Paris wished to be excused from attending the ball on the ground that affairs of departmental importance in connection with the spring maneuvers of the army in the north required their attention. Their departure helped to break up the other men into groups, and Lord Eskdale encountered Harington, who was present officially near the door.
“Edward,” he said. “Where is your friend Rodney? Can I see him at once?'”
Harington laughed. ”To tell the honest truth,” he replied, “he is dining in my bedroom, where he will dress, as he is bound to Ethel for the first dance.”
“Tell him to prepare for a long journey at once, without anyone being the wiser. You do the same, and meet me in my private office in five minutes.”
The guardsman was clever enough to smilingly assent as he lit a cigarette, for the German Ambassador had come to say that he also had pressing official work which would prevent him from remaining longer, and he hurried from the room.
In one of the passages Harington met Irene. He glanced hurriedly around to see if anyone was looking, then took her in his arms, hopelessly crushing her frock the while, kissed her fervently, and said: “Good-bye, dearest. Your father will explain, but don't say a word to a soul.”
And he disappeared towards his own apartments.
Irene thought he had taken leave of his wits, but she kept her amazement to herself, nevertheless.
When Frank Rodney heard his instructions, he thanked Heaven that he had had his dinner, seized some of Harington’s clothes and shirts, in case he should not have time to go to his hotel, and in three minutes announced himself ready for orders.
When they reached his Excellency’s study they found him awaiting them.
Without any preamble he thus addressed the naval officer:
“Lieutenant Rodney, I wish you to catch the ten o'clock train from the Gare de Lyon for Italy. Vou will reach Modane to-morrow morning at eight o'clock. From there send by Italian cable the single word “Britannia” to the Governor of Malta, and to Sir Michael Culme-Seymour, who commands the Mediterranean fleet, which is at present at Valetta. Repeat these two messages from Turin in the afternoon in case the first may have miscarried, as the officials at Modane are French. A homeward bound P and O steamer arrives at Brindisi thee following morning, and you must catch it, if necessary taking a special train for the purpose, and wiring the captain to wait for you as a Queen's messenger. Go on to Malta and tell the Governor in person the circumstances under which I sent you, and proceed by the same steamer, if you can, to Gibraltar, where you will then find the Mediterranean fleet. Here is 250 pounds in gold for your expenses, and this sum should be ample for all contingencies. It is now 9 15. You can do what I ask?“
“Yes, sir,” replied Rodney, “ But my leave expires in two days."
“Captain Harington will get that put right for you at the Admiralty. You, Harington, will leave for London by the eleven o'clock train, and, if you reach there by to-morrow morning—it is possible you may be detained—find Lord Salisbury or the Under-Secretary, and tell him my precise instructions to Lieutenant Rodney, subsequently explaining matters at the Admiralty. To-day my telegraphic dispatches have been interfered with, and from other indications I fear immediate and pressing European complications."
“It is an odd thing, sir,” said Harington, “that the French army maneuvers should be held so early this year, and quite close to Brest, whilst the Germans have followed their example in the locality of Bremerhaven.”
“And this morning, sir. whilst driving with Eth—I mean Miss Harington—near Vincennes, I counted 400 field-guns with their limbers, drawn up in a barrack square, and an astonishing number of empty trucks on some adjacent railway sidings,” added Rodney.
"I know, I know,” said Lord Eskdale, who was much agitated. “But now, my dear boys, go, and God be with you. If I am mistaken, Harington, return here towards the close of the week. Leave by this door, as it commands readier access to your rooms,”
He silently shook their hands and opened a door other than that by which they had entered.
Their preparations were soon made, and Rodney was evidently wishful to say something which he found difficulty in expressing. At last he spoke:
“By-the-way, Harington,” he said, “his Excellency forgot one thing. I will wire you at the club at Modane tomorrow to say I have got through. It may be allowed to pass even if the frightful burst-up which this business seems to indicate comes off. One more word, old chap, kiss Ethel for me.”
“Oh,” said Harington, “I didn't know you had reached that stage. Good-bye, old fellow, and good luck.”
And their fiacres rattled off through the lines of carriages which were bringing up guests to the Embassy.
The Russian Ambassador and several French Ministers had by this time absented themselves, and Lady Eskdale received more than one laughing complaint from a wife concerning the ungallantry of a missing spouse. Her ladyship was puzzled, but could get no opportunity of a quiet word with her husband, who looked completely at his ease chatting with various distinguished personages.
Irene and Ethel, who were, beyond doubt, the loveliest women present, were astonished at the absence of their wonted partners, and if Irene had some perception of the facts of the case, she obeyed her lover’s instructions and kept her scant information to herself. At last Ethel Harington lost all patience, and asked Lord Eskdale if he knew where her brother was.
His Excellency smiled as he replied: “Both he and Lieutenant Rodney have left Paris on affairs of State. They had no time even to say ‘Good-bye’ to you, my dear.”
Whereupon Ethel, in wonderment, communicated the news to Irene, and they both marveled greatly; but the fact did not prevent them from scribbling a name in front of every dance on the programme.
About midnight Lord Eskdale’s English valet managed to reach his minister and whisper: "There is an English gentleman in the hall, my lord, and he says as how he has a note for your lordship from Captain Harington, and he will give it to no one but your lordship personally."
“Take him to my study, Jenkins,” was the reply, and when his Excellency entered the room later he found awaiting him a stout, red-faced Briton, in the regulation check suit and deerstalker hat of the middle-class Englishman, when travelling on the Continent.
“Is your Excellency, my lord—I mean is your lordship his ex—that is to say, my lord, are you”
"Yes, I am Lord Eskdale,” was the kindly answer, much to his relief.
"Well, my lord, my name's Briggs, William Briggs, of Catford, where I do a bit in the bicycle line, though I don’t ride much myself nowadays, being a bit too heavy above. I’ve bin over 'ere a week, my lord, partly on business and partly on pleasure, as the saying is, and I was a-goin' home to-night when a young gent 'e comes up to me on the platform, an' he says, says 'e: 'You 're an Englishman?' 'Why, anybody can see that,' says I. An' says 'e: 'Are you in any special 'urry back?' and says I: ' It's the season, but I won't lose much for the matter of a few hours. But why d' ye ask?' Says 'e: ' I 'm Capting Harington from the Hembassy. 'Ere's my card,'—which 'e gev me—'I want yer to do his lordship the Hambassador a service.
Will yer stop till the morning train and take im'—meaning you. your lordship—' a note on a matter of great himportance to England, and 'ere s a fiver for yourself.' E seemed in desperate earnest, my lord, an' I wouldn't take 'is fiver, but 'ere s the note, ' and he handed Lord Eskdale an envelope addressed to himself and endorsed. '' Per kind favor of Mr. Briggs.
“ 'E said as 'ow I wasn't to give it to anybody but your lordship’s own self, my lord." and Mr. Briggs glowed with the thought of the fine story this would make for the habitués of the Cat and Anchor at Catford.
The note ran as follows: "Whilst detained for a moment in a block of carriages outside the Embassy, I heard one coachman say to another that he wondered why the President and a lot of Ministers and Ambassadors were driving off to Versailles at this time of the night. Here on the platform, there are General de Rosny, who, as you know, is Chief of the Staff, and a large number of staff officers travelling to Brest by the northern line. I thought you should know this.—E. H.”
“Mr. Briggs," said Lord Eskdale, when he had gravely re-read the penciled message, "you have, indeed, done your country a good turn by your readiness to postpone your journey. Will you write to me from Catford and assure me of your safe arrival there?”
“I will, my lord,” and Briggs visibly inflated.
“You had better stay here to-night, as it is so late, and I presume your luggage is at the station. My man will look after you. Good-night.”
Briggs did not explain that his luggage, consisting of a woolen shirt, a pair of socks, a brush and comb, and six collars, was contained in the small handbag on the table— his mind was too full of the glorious possibilities of Catford.
The President’s wife had retired at midnight, and by three o’clock the last carriage had rolled away from the courtyard of the Embassy. Lady Eskdale was about to seek her husband and chat with him concerning the events of the night when a closely-veiled woman sprang out of a hired carriage at the entrance to the Embassy, sped silently past the astonished footmen, and approached her ladyship. It was Madame la Presidente, pallid, with a fever-light in her eye.
“My dear,” she said in trembling accents. “I like you, and I have come, wrongly, perhaps, to warn you. You will be called upon to leave France before many hours have sped. I tell you that you may be prepared. Farewell!”
Without another word of explanation, she quitted her astounded hostess, and was rapidly driven off.
CHAPTER TWO.
A COUNCIL OF THE POWERS.
DURING the same night a strange scene was being enacted at Versailles. On Leaving the British Embassy Lord Eskdale's principal guests entered their carriages. Quiet directions were given to their coachmen, and the vehicles turned into the magnificent avenue of the Champs Elysees, already radiant with the freshness of early spring. They sped swiftly along past the Arc de Triomphe, and entered the Bois de Boulogne. It was scarcely ten o’clock when they passed Longchamps, on which the white tents of the soldiers, who had that day been renewed, shone beneath the moon. Soon Passy was left behind, and the hoofs of the horses clattered along the deserted streets of the village of Versailles. The carriages drove through the great gates of the Court of Honour, and pulled up before a narrow doorway where their occupants got out.
In a tapestried room above, a small group of men awaited them. Here, in the pleasure palace built by the great Louis, where he feasted with his mistresses and learnt the fatal news of Blenheim that shattered his ambitions—where Napoleon, too, met his Ministers after his brilliant campaign in Italy, and rested before making his last dash to Waterloo—a grim and unexampled Council was being held.
There were scarcely twenty persons present, but each was a figure of commanding importance in European politics. The military and diplomatic strength of a whole continent might be said to be represented here at its best. It was a strange alliance, hereditary foes meeting in friendly union, and Ministers who had for years schemed against each other with all the artifices of cunning at last linked together in a common purpose.
No small issue could have achieved this miracle. Before these men was set the hardest and most momentous task that ever perplexed the strength and wisdom of the world.
The President of the French Republic took the chair at the head of the table. Opposite him was General Caprivi, the Chancellor of Germany. To right and left were M. Hanotaux and Count Holbach, the French and German Foreign Ministers, and several of the chief diplomats of both countries. Near the President sat a tall and distinguished-looking man, with hair of iron-grey, and a grave, impenetrable countenance, who seldom spoke, but at whom, from time to time, those around him glanced uneasily. It was General Gourko, the trusted emissary of the Tsar of Russia. Other faces, too, known in every Court in Europe, and feared in many, might be seen.
Each one was grave and anxious. It might have been thought that some guilty bond held them in artificial union. Distrust seemed to peer from their eyes as a chance remark called up the lurking fires of hereditary hate. Yet there was a respectful silence when the President opened the conference.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “I have just paid the last official visit of a President of France to the representative of the Court of England. The armies of Germany and France are on the point of success. Tomorrow before noon we shall be at war with England!”
He turned, with a true French love of dramatic effect, to mark the effect of these words. The only response was a grave bow from Count Caprivi.
“The details we, of course, all know. It is enough for me to say that they have been efficiently carried out. England is secure and confident. Her Ambassador is occupied in the dance. Her navy is distributed over the globe. Her army is in India. And yet at Brest and Bremerhaven there are the invincible armies of the two allied powers, together with transports that will carry to the shores of England a mighty army. To-morrow we shall land upon those shores. Within a week we shall be at the gates of London. There is nothing that can withstand us. It may be that the instinctive courage of the English race may lead to a defence of London. We may not be able to occupy the city for three weeks. But I believe you are with me when I express the conviction that within a month the British Empire will be shattered, and that the flags of the chief united powers of Europe will float from the dome of the Mansion House!”
He paused and requested M. Hanotaux to detail the exact position of their preparations. Reading from an official document, the Foreign Minister showed how absolutely complete were the plans of the two allies, and how unsuspicious the English Government. An army large enough to win a continent, and a navy that might sweep a dozen oceans were ready to pounce upon the little island they all so deeply feared.
A murmur of approval followed the recital, and then Count Caprivi interrupted:
“Time is precious, and we have much to settle. The destruction of Great Britain is a matter of simple generalship. We need not waste time in estimating the number of days or the details of military occupation. We may regard the British Empire as already struck off the map. But I must remind you that several points remain yet to be settled in our joint treaty. How is Great Britain to be dismembered, and how are we to share her dependencies?”
Here M. Hanotaux rose and walked behind the chair of the President. Touching a cord that hung down from a roller upon the wall, he liberated a large map of the world which covered the whole space. It had many curious lines upon it and strange colours. Across the British Isles were written the words: “Under joint government.”
It was the map of the world as it was intended to be after the collapse of England. The strange colours were the emblems of the foreign powers that had bidden for her colonies.
The lines were marks to show how, in the greed of cruel appetite, the confederates had arranged to share some fair possession and split up a fertile country into fragments.
“Here," said the President, “is a precis of what we have already arranged. You will see,” pointing to the map, “that Canada falls to France. East Africa to Germany, Australia, New Zealand, and South Africa are governed by a joint board for the profit of the allies. Malta and Aden are dismantled. Dover is held by a joint garrison. England herself,” he concluded, “will be governed by a military-council in the interests of France and Germany for a time at least.
We are not inclined to be merciless, and if she behaves herself, we may be induced later on to grant a limited form of home rule, which will necessitate a sanction for all legislative measures from a combined Board of Administrators, meeting alternately at Berlin and Paris.
We shall also occupy Ireland to watch movements in England, and stamp out any signs of rebellion. Turkey and the Egyptian question can be settled satisfactorily at a later date.”
“There yet remain," said the German War Minister, “Gibraltar, India, West Africa, the West Indies, the Chinese possessions, and a number of smaller but yet difficult points.”
An eager discussion now arose, in which no one seemed prepared to come to a point. And at times there passed looks of malice and anger ill-suppressed as some slight word lit up hideous depths of selfishness or jealousy.
At last M. Hanotaux observed:
“We might begin with India. It is a large and splendid territory. France at least."
At this point General Gourko's impassive face relaxed. Turning to the President, he said:
“There is no need to discuss that point. India is claimed by Russia.”
M. Hanotaux started—and turned red.
A huge plum!” he exclaimed. “Do you want the lion's share, sir, without doing the lion's part?”
“M. le President.” said Gourko calmly, paving no heed, “there can be no discussion on this head. My instructions are final and peremptory. You say we are not fighting for our spoil. Is it not agreed that Russia is part is to hang hack and make no move till the moment comes—if ever such a moment needs to come? You forget, perhaps, that it is you, and not we that have demanded this blow. You have been forced to action by the decline of your commerce, the decay of your trade, your imperative need of fresh markets, your lack of colonies. England has seized all that is fairest on earth, and you can no longer exist against so huge a monopoly. You are both in desperate straits, and the imperative voice of your suffering peoples forces you to close with this all-devouring race which is checking your growth, crushing your strength, and throttling your prosperity. That is why you have formed this alliance, is it not?”
He paused, but there was no answer.
“Russia, however,” he continued, “has no such need. She has rich and fertile lands. Siberia alone adds a second empire to her throne. What she wants is, no doubt, a sea-coast. That sea-coast is India. If Russia helps you to secure the success of schemes she is not interested in, she demands that sea-coast. Gentlemen, you cannot oppose the resistless necessity of things. Russia must and will secure for herself the Indian Empire.”
His words fell inexorable and unanswerable. The quiescence of Russia was essential to England's overthrow. It was essential to the peaceful division of spoil. Large though the price she asked, there could be no refusal.
Then rose a debate upon Gibraltar, and it well-nigh brought to a close the temporary alliance between the powers. That impregnable fortress was coveted by all. But Count Holbach had not come unprepared for this. He had, that morning, had a long interview with the Spanish Minister, and it was in his power to outwit his French comrade.
He proposed that Gibraltar be returned to Spain.
To his joy, the French Minister accepted this method of settlement as the most satisfactory way out of the difficulty. If he could have seen a letter bearing the official stamp from Madrid that even then lay in M. Hanotaux's pocket, he would perhaps have been less satisfied with himself. Even now had the allies commenced to scheme against each other.
And thus the Conference went on, and by slow degrees all of the British Empire that remained was divided between the two countries. What was left of England was a crippled island under the heel of a despotic military government, a tributary state of less consequence than Bulgaria, and a people crushed, ruined, and enslaved.
“One point only,” observed Caprivi, as the Council was about to rise. “Germany, of course, claims Belgium.”
The Frenchmen started to their feet at this amazing announcement.
“Impossible!” cried the President.
“Not so,” replied Caprivi calmly. “It is no doubt a prize of value, but we are prepared to pay for it.”
M. Hanotaux turned upon him a look of disdain.
“And what payment do you presume to consider adequate?" he said.
The German put his finger carelessly upon a map which lay on the table. Then quietly:
“We offer Alsace and Lorraine!”
It was a startling denouement of the grim drama of hatred and selfishness that had just been played. But the German statesman knew his men.
Before he returned to Paris that night he placed in his pocket a signed precis, in which Belgium figured as a German dependency.
It was almost dawn when the Council rose.
“Adieu, gentlemen,” said the President with a bow. “When we next meet, it will be in Whitehall.”

CHAPTER THREE.
THE SCENE IN THE HOUSE.
EARLY the following morning it was known throughout London that something unusual was happening. The Lynx-eyed chroniclers of Ministerial movements brought to Fleet Street the intelligence that the Foreign Office had been thrown into unwonted commotion, as soon as it was opened, by the arrival from Paris of a young officer who sent in an urgent demand to see Lord Salisbury or the Under-Secretary.
The Prime Minister was away, but after the messenger had been closeted with the Under-Secretary for ten minutes, a telegram was dispatched to Hatfield, and special communications were sent to the residences of all the Cabinet Ministers summoning them to an immediate meeting. Meanwhile, the Under-Secretary had driven over to the War Office, where, in a short time, he was in close conferences with Lord Lansdowne, the Duke of Devonshire, and the Commander-in-Chief.
Wild rumours of every description were soon rife in the city, but the mood of the public generally was one of incredulity. In the absence of certain information it was felt that the importance of these incidents had been unduly exaggerated. Never had the political horizon been more serene, or the sense of public security more strong. Still, curiosity was sufficiently roused to draw a large number of spectators to the assembling of the House of Commons at midday.
But the aspect of the House was not one calculated to allay anxiety. Its members, as if constrained by a common impulse, had gathered from far and near in full numbers. There was no vestige of the carelessness which is generally to be discerned on days usually set apart for private business. Scattered about the precincts of the House in groups, they were earnestly discussing the occurrences of the morning, oppressed with vague forebodings that presaged a crisis.
Within the Chamber itself the scene was still less reassuring. The front Ministerial bench was absolutely unoccupied, and none but lieutenants kept watch and ward. Even the Opposition leaders were missing, save in two instances, and it was noticed with surprise and consternation that these gentlemen were summoned away almost as soon as they arrived. Excitement grew to a high pitch of tension when it was learned that a joint meeting of party leaders was then being held in the apartments of the Leader of the House, and that a courier had been dispatched by special train to Windsor.
Alone, amid all this bewilderment, one small body of men sat, grim and unmoved, as if disturbed by no passions but their own, and with minds firm set upon a common purpose. It was the Irish party, who had been fortunate enough to secure first place in the ballot for precedence upon this day, and were seeking to convince their fellow-members of the urgent importance of an Act to secure self-government for the County of Cork. Whilst the gravest statements were flying about the corridors of the House, and Liberals and Conservatives alike were thrilled with the sense of a common peril, the Irishmen did not swerve for a moment from their purpose.
The debate had commenced in an acrimonious manner; it had now become tragic. Finding no Cabinet Minister to assail, the Irish members consoled themselves by assailing each other. Mr. Healy had denounced Mr. Justin McCarthy, Mr. Sexton had denounced Mr. Healy, and Mr. Redmond had fallen on all three. The speeches disclosed a remarkable versatility in terms of abuse which reached its height when Mr. Dillon observed, amidst loud applause, that "the British lion would have his wings clipped unless he washed his hands in the flames of repentance," and added that Mr. Balfour had been for twelve years the hereditary-enemy of the Irish race.
Conspicuous amongst all was Dr. Tanner, whose crude and elementary style seemed born of the rude shocks of Parliamentary adversity. Twice had he sought to stretch the rules of the House as far as he might without breaking them, and twice had the Speaker called him to order, and threatened to name him. The debate had already lasted three hours. Dr. Tanner had got to the length of shaking his fist under the nose of a mild and inoffensive brother who had unfortunately cheered him at the wrong moment, and the Speaker was on the point of rising to fulfil the usual painful duty of bidding him withdraw, when, from behind Mr. Guyll's chair, Mr. Arthur Balfour appeared, followed by every occupant of the Treasury bench, whilst the Opposition leaders also quietly took their places. Upon each face there was an air of gravity which not even the severest issues had hitherto called forth.
A swift movement passed over the House, and in a moment—as though its members had learned the arrival of Ministers by intuition—every seat was occupied. Rarely had the Second Chamber been so crowded. Excitement grew when it was noticed that Lord Salisbury had entered the Peers' Gallery, and with him the Cabinet Ministers who belonged to the Upper House. There was a dead silence— the oppressive stillness that is less a calm than the momentary pause in the fury of a tempest. Dr. Tanner sat down abruptly, awed by the solemnity of the moment.
Without delay, and amidst a general hush, the leader of the House rose to his feet. As he advanced to the table it was noticed that he had no longer the languid manner commonly ascribed to him. He stood upright, pale, stern, determined, with an air of resolute pride and the dignity befitting a supreme occasion. There was no need for him to claim, in formal language, the indulgence of the House for interrupting its proceedings on a matter of State of pressing importance. Every eye was directed to him, every ear was strained to catch his opening words.
“There devolves upon me, sir," he began, turning for a moment to the Speaker, and not without a trace of emotion in his voice, “a grave and responsible duty. I have to inform the House that a crisis has arrived more serious and more pressing than any which has hitherto occurred in the history of this country.
Without warning and without just cause, whilst enjoying prosperity at home and in apparent peace with all the world, in the fullness of that content and happiness which have marked the reign of a wise and beneficent Sovereign to whom we draw still closer in loyalty and affection at a moment of common trial, we are faced with a danger which calls for all our courage and all our patriotism. Three hours ago there was placed in the hands of Her Majesty's Government a declaration of war from France and Germany.”
These words, spoken slowly and distinctly, fell upon the ears of the House in a deathlike stillness. For a moment its members seemed stunned. Mr. Balfour’s statement was difficult to credit, hard to understand, and, in the solemn stillness which followed, the House seemed groping in amazement to discover the sense of the phrases they had heard, to realize the terrible import that they bore.
And then a thrill swept through the Chamber—a thrill of horror, of indignation, but not of fear. The House of Commons never looked more dignified and impressive than when, after its first impulse of surprise, it sat rigid and impassive to hear the full story of this catastrophe.
“When I tell you, sir,” continued Mr. Balfour, “that by the terms of this declaration we have not merely to anticipate the attack of two powerful enemies, but that we may expect it now, at this very moment—that, in fact, hostilities have already commenced—this House will realize that the present is not a time for lengthy explanation. It will be enough for me to say that, without previous negotiations, demands have suddenly been made of Her Majesty's Government—demands shameful to receive and shameful to repeat in this House. Our enemies, whom yesterday we deemed our friends, asked nothing less than the dismemberment of the British Empire, and I need not say that it was in consequence of the immediate and scornful rejection of this ultimatum that the declarations of war, signed by the heads of the two combined nations, were handed to us. We,” and here Mr. Balfour drew himself up to his full height and turned upon the House, “we needed not the formality of a conference with the Parliament of England to indignantly cast aside the terms of peace, such as they were. We knew that you stood, in equal scorn and unanimity, behind us.”
He paused, and in a moment a ringing cheer went up. The House had regained its composure, if it lost nothing of its excitement, and, a wave of passionate emotion passed over it, fusing all parties into one—the party that stood behind all differences and made the British nation.
The Leader of the House then explained in greater detail how the two Ambassadors had called upon Lord Salisbury, and how the terms they asked had been peremptorily rejected. They had then handed in the formal declarations of war, which dated from midday. Free passage from England had been demanded and granted, and the representatives of France and Germany were no longer on our shores. There was redoubled excitement when he described the prompt action of the Government.

“At such a juncture,” he continued, “when England is face to face with two of the strongest nations of Europe-and Heaven grant that this be all!—it is no time for the accentuation of party differences. Two allied countries should at least be faced by a united people. We deemed we should be best showing the indomitable strength and single patriotism of our beloved land if for purposes of national defense, the line of political difference should entirely disappear. It was with this idea foremost, and, secondly, to ally with ourselves the best intellect and resource of England, that Her Majesty-'s Government sent for the leaders of the Liberal Party and asked them to assist in forming a Council of National Safety.
“It is, I am aware,” he went on, amid enthusiastic cheers, ”an unusual course, but our danger is also unusual. It is no time to stand by the shibboleths of form or precedent. It would be almost an insult to add that such assistance was even as soon as asked, and that a Council has been formed by mutual agreement which includes all that is most wise and most experienced in English statesmanship.
“If our enemies have counted upon the acerbities of party warfare as any evidence of a disunited nation, they will learn, bitterly and to their cost, that the tumult of political strife can never disturb, however slightly or remotely, the deep and eternal love that we all bear alike to our native land. They will come to realise that jealousy and rivalry pass away before the dangers that threaten us, and that we stand before the foe one race, one empire, one people, one party.”
Mr. Balfour sat down amid a scene of extraordinary enthusiasm. He had struck, nobly and well, the one note common to all Englishmen.
There was a moment's pause, and then Sir William Harcourt rose. His voice was broken with emotion as in brief words he thanked the Leader of the House for giving utterance with fervour so intense to the feelings of all parties. “Sir,” he concluded, turning full upon the Speaker, “from this moment there is no Opposition. The very term ceases to exist in the hour that our shores are threatened by a foreign foe. The Government has no supporters more warm than those who in time of peace have been compelled by conviction to oppose its policy."
The nerves of the House were so overwrought that it was perhaps well there should have occurred something in the nature of an anti-climax. The Irish party- had given no sign of the feelings that actuated them when Mr. Joseph Chamberlain rose to continue the discussion with a few incisive words. He recalled to the memory of the House some recent utterances of M. Constans in the French Senate.
“That statesman,” he observed," has not refrained from hinting at disunion on our own shores. He has plainly told us that a foreign enemy might look for help from Ireland. But,”—and the right honourable gentleman glanced fixedly at the Irish benches—“he went on to say that if the French Government had to deal with similar threats of disloyalty from any essential member of the Republic they would speedily settle insubordination by sending the ringleaders to New Caledonia.”
He was continuing when, to the amazement of the House, Dr. Tanner leaped to his feet, evidently under the stress of ungovernable excitement. Advancing several steps along the floor of the House between the crowded benches of startled members and hastily unbuttoning his frock coat, he exclaimed fiercely:
“Did he say that?”
Then tearing one arm out and exposing a white shirt sleeve, he cried out to Mr. Chamberlain:
“Tell him what I say. Tell him that if he dares to set his dirty foot in this country I’ll fight him and his bottle-holders single-handed myself!”
So saying, he flung off his coat into the middle of the gangway, and to the amazement of all and the consternation of those near him, squared up his fists as if he was then and there desirous of tackling M. Constans and bringing him to book in the very presence of the august Chamber.
The reaction had come. Mr. Chamberlain hastily sat down, and the House, in relief after its pent-up excitement, first shrieked with laughter, and then exhausted itself in wild applause.
For the first time in his Parliamentary career Dr. Tanner had violated a strict law of the House and remained unrebuked.
It needed but the moment and it had arrived. The Irish party, standing upon their benches, cheered and cheered to the echo the utterances of their comrade, who, with the feelings of a hero, modestly resumed his seat, half awed by the unusual spectacle of an indulgent House. It was noticed afterwards, as a significant fact, that it was Mr. Chamberlain himself who had succeeded in rousing this splendid burst of patriotism from the Irish members.
But the House quickly regained its ordinary gravity when Mr. Balfour again addressed it. He begged members to consider ways and means. They must not imagine that, however great the surprise, the country was unprepared. Even at that moment the War Office was in close consultation with the Admiralty and with the authorities at the Horse Guards. He asked them, however, to pass a Bill granting the Government fifty million pounds for war purposes, and he suggested that the Bill might be read a third time, and become law that day.
“I am sure I shall meet the approval of the House,” he continued, “if I inform it that Her Majesty's Government have lost no time in asking the late leader of the Liberal Party, a statesman whom we all revere, Mr. Gladstone,”— here there were loud cheers from every side of the House —“ to join the Council of National Safety. I need not adhere too closely to the forms of the House on such an occasion, and I will at once read the telegram he has dispatched in answer. Mr. Gladstone says:
“I am shocked beyond expression by your news, but I am ready to devote to the service of my country the last few hours that remain to me. I shall indeed be gratified if the scattered remnants of an old man's energy be found still serviceable in a cause so noble as the protection of his native land.
This is not merely a battle between England and her enemies, it is a struggle between order and anarchy, between the principles of peace and the passions of selfishness and envy. This outrageous declaration of war is nothing less than a betrayal of humanity. Let it be England's glory that she takes up the quarrel on behalf of freedom, honour, and prosperity, and earns anew the gratitude of the world. For present purposes, I would suggest the immediate reduction of the interest of our Consols to one percent, under conditions that will protect the poor, as affording the best evidence of the moral force that lies behind our national strength. It is a time for cheerful self-denial. I leave for London by the next train.”
Mr. Balfour passed on, and informed the House that the Government had resolved to reduce the charges on Consols as recommended, thus freeing their hands for further loans, and had already closed the Stock exchange to prevent a financial panic. Government brokers would be appointed for the transaction of necessary business. “As an evidence of the gravity of the situation,” he added, “I may state that during the progress of this debate I have learned that every British cable has been cut since midday, and our enemies have only left us in telegraphic communication with the United States, as, to cut the Atlantic cable would be an act of war with the American nation.”
There was no need for further discussion. Within ten minutes after the reading of the brief Bill which granted the Government fifty millions, it had been passed a third time. Dr. Tanner once more found himself popular by his willingness to disencumber the House of business.
“Let it not be said, sir,” he declared, “that Ireland is not willing to make sacrifices at a time of peril. We will withdraw the County of Cork Self-Government Bill for six months, and in saying this, I know that the people of Cork are at my back. [Loud cheers from the Irish benches.] We are the more ready to take this step, sir, because we see before us the prospects of a holy row worthy even of the best energies of the Irish party. [Laughter and applause.] At such a moment Cork is in the van.” [Renewed applause.]
The House rose at five o’clock. In two hours it had received the announcement of war and had made every preparation in its power to meet the enemy. The Briton is, perhaps rightly, accused of being stolid. It is certain that the members of Parliament left Westminster with as much sang froid as if they had just given their sanction to a new railway bill, or had resolved to add a shilling to the dog-tax.
But the news had long since spread through London and been flashed to the remotest districts of the United Kingdom. The public at first received the thrilling intelligence with incredulity, but as their doubts were dispersed, an intense desire to be up and doing made itself felt throughout the country and in the Metropolis. Business in London was at a standstill. The streets were crowded with what, at another time, might be regarded as a mob, but was now clearly recognizable as a national gathering animated with one thought, one purpose, one enthusiasm.
There needed some outlet for the high-wrought feeling that prevailed. It was fortunately provided by the statement that Her Majesty the Queen had left Windsor, and was on her way to Buckingham Palace to take up her residence in the Capital during the time of war, so as to be near her people and her Ministers.
There was a mighty rush of the excited multitude to Hyde Park, and as the Queen passed through in an open carriage, though the days were still cold, a wild, vociferous tumult of inextinguishable cheering rose from the vast throng. It was a nation voicing its own patriotism to its visible head.
When Her Majesty reached the Palace, the Mall and Buckingham Palace Road were crammed tumultuously. Distinctions of rank had faded with differences of political conviction, and, without waiting for solicitation, the Queen appeared upon the balcony leaning on the arm of her eldest son. There she remained several minutes, firm, proud, and erect, whilst her people raised cheer after cheer to assure her of their confidence, their loyalty, and their invincible courage.
The enthusiasm of the citizens of London was no idle boast, for in that memorable hour the citizen army of England was giving its heart's blood for the defense of the country.

CHAPTER FOUR.
HOW MAJOR PERKINS WON THE V C.
AT five o'clock that afternoon, Wednesday, May third, 1898, the chief coast-guard officer at Worthing telegraphed to London, Portsmouth, and Dover: “A vast fleet of ships-of-the-line, apparently French and German are standing in for the shore. They are now about ten miles out at sea, S W by S."
Half-an-hour later he wired again: “Fleet distant five miles. Advancing in four lines abreast. Six cables’ length between each line. Outer lines thirty-six armour-clads. Inner lines forty troopers, Messageries Maritimes, and North German Lloyd steamers. Big flotilla of gunboats and torpedo boats ten miles out. Possibly one hundred. Weather calm.”
At 6 15 p m. he sent this message: “Presume this is enemy announced by telegraph from London. Fleet anchored in same formation two miles out. Troopships and liners crowded with troops. Have counted 109 smaller craft. Preparations for landing being made. What shall I do?”
To which the answer was given: “Go to telephone office. Wire is switched on to Horse Guards. Send constant advice of progress of events.”
And the first message which was received by Lord WolseIey at the Horse Guards was to the following effect: “A number of flat-bottomed boats, or floats, each containing some two hundred men, have put off from the troopers, and the Volunteers are lining the beach.”
The Commander-in-Chief could not help smiling as an aide-de-camp repeated the concluding words to him, but anxious lines appeared in his face as he glanced at his watch, and saw it was only five minutes past seven.
“I hope the Brighton and South-coast people have kept their word, Brabazon,” he said to a staff officer who was standing near the fireplace.
“Well sir, the traffic-manager meant what he said,” was the reply. “I heard him tell the driver of the first train, which left Victoria with the Guards at 6 10, that if he got to Worthing within the hour he drew 50 pounds to-morrow, but if he didn't he got the sack.”
"What is the exact disposition at this moment?"
“Fourteen South-Western trains, each containing one thousand men, were ready at Aldershot at 5 30, waiting our telephonic orders, and they have since left at regular intervals of five minutes between each, the first starting at 6 p m. The London, Brighton, and South Coast Company are dispatching trains with regulars and volunteers from Victoria, London Bridge, and Clapham Junction as fast as they can fill them. By eight o'clock we should have ten thousand men there, by nine o'clock twenty, and in the early hours of the morning seventy, with two hundred guns.”
“I think we estimated that fifty Maxims would be in position on the sea front by 7 30 p m?”
"Yes, sir."
"Well," said the Commander-in-Chief, "we can now look into the Commissariat and field transport arrangements. Every man has a day's cooked rations with him, but we must be prepared for developments at that particular locality, although I fail to see how the enemy can possibly effect a landing if the fleet creates a timely diversion."
At that moment the Channel Squadron, under the command of Admiral Lord Charles Beresford, was steaming east from Spithead at the rate of ten knots per hour. The Admiral's pennant was hoisted on board the Magnificent, whilst the other vessels under his command were the Royal Sovereign, Blenheim, Empress of India, Endymion, Repulse, Resolution, Achilles, and Agamemnon. These, with twenty-two torpedo boats and the gunboat Speedy, were all the available force at his disposal for immediate action, so skillfully had the enemy planned the time and manner of his attack upon our shores.
With the exception of one, or possibly three, the most powerful ships in our Navy were in the Mediterranean, in China, in North America, in Australasia, at the Cape—anywhere on the face of the broad waters save in the English Channel. Lord Charles Beresford had received by semaphore the second of the coast-guard's telegrams before he gave the signal for departure, and he knew that he had nine warships to oppose thirty-six of equal or superior class, whilst he realized that the proportion of the enemy's smaller craft to those under his command was equally appalling in the mere point of view of numbers.
But of hesitation or doubt in his actions or in his heart there was none. No sooner was the fleet under way than another signal was made from the Admiral's ship, and when the words '”Remember Nelson” were deciphered, even the strict discipline of the British Navy could not prevent a great cheer bursting forth from every ship in the line.
These things were noted by the anxious watchers on the shore, and when Sir Evelyn Wood arrived at Worthing at 7 30 p m to take command of the defending forces, he found a telegram awaiting him from Lord Wolseley to inform him that naval assistance might be expected shortly after eleven o'clock. The Admiralty officials who made this calculation could not, of course, know what Lord Charles Beresford's exact plans were, but of one thing they were quite certain— he would attack the enemy as soon as ever he could reach them.
When the combined French and German fleets first hove in sight, the quiet little town of Worthing was naturally thrown into a state of intense excitement. The head constable informed the Mayor, and the Mayor sought the advice of the Town Clerk, who recommended that the fire-bell should be rung. This was promptly done, with the result that in ten minutes every soul in Worthing knew that the town was likely to be bombarded forthwith.

The man in charge of the fire-engine got steam up—evidently laboring under the impression that he must do something—and in the result he had his salary increased for the act, as the first shell from the enemy's flagship struck and fired the Town Hall, which must inevitably have been burned down but for the prompt arrival of the engine.
The local volunteers, to the number of 211, spontaneously gathered with their arms and accoutrements in the principal thoroughfare, and the resident major, a most worthy and stout linen-draper, placed himself at their head, mounted upon a horse that served admirably for the dual purpose of parade and parcels delivery.
He was busy behind his counter when the strange tidings of imminent invasion reached him. His cheek blanched and his heart beat tumultuously when he rushed upstairs to tell his wife, and that good lady suggested the immediate closing of the shop and a hasty retreat to her father's residence in the country.
But the major was stout of heart as of body. In a state of high nervous exaltation be sought for his sword and cross-belts, saying, as he donned them: "No, Margaret; my place is here. It will be a poor day for England when the first Volunteer officer who is called upon to do his duty flinches from the consequences. Kiss me, my dear. I cannot bear to meet the children, but, God willing, we will all come together again in peace and happiness." And he hurried forth to see to the secure girthing of his horse.
Fortunately there was a very large supply of ammunition on hand with the sergeant-instructor, as the corps was engaged upon its annual target practice, and the men rapidly stuffed their pockets with cartridges until they had over one hundred rounds each.
Then they fell in, in two companies, and the major, Perkins by name, thought it his duty to make a speech, as the circumstances were such as did not, to his knowledge, come within the purview of the Volunteer Regulations.
“Comrades,” he said, “our worthy Mayor has informed me that war has been declared against us by France and Germany, and we now know that Worthing has been singled out for attack. Whoa, hoy, whoa, there, “for a shell screamed through the air, passed into the Council Chamber of the Town Hall and burst there with a terrific report, and the Major's mount was tolerably fresh, as Saturday was his hardest day. The Major managed to return his sword, observing sotto voice: “I never can sit a horse with a drawn sword in my hand,” and continued aloud: “These Frenchmen and Germans are here in their hundreds of thousands, and they do not demand ransom from Worthing, but seek to destroy our town at once. They are worse than highway robbers, as they ask for both our money and our lives. It is our duty, comrades, to resist them to death.” [Loud cheers from the crowd, an interlude which the drill-instructor utilized to squint down the front rank of one company to see if the dressing was all right.] “I am not much good at tactics myself.” went on Major Perkins, “but I know what to do here. We must line the shore and let no damned foreigner set a foot on English soil until he steps over our dead bodies. Companies, form fours—left. By your right, quick march!”
Arrived on the Marine Parade, the Major and his little host found that six of the enemy's battle-ships had approached to within a mile and a half of low-water mark. They were on the western side of the pier, which they scrupulously refrained from damaging by their subsequent fire, as they expected to find it extremely useful when the active work of disembarkation began. An occasional shot was leisurely fired at the town, not so much by way of serious bombardment as to demonstrate that they were in earnest and would stand no nonsense.
The plan of the allies was now quite apparent. It was their intention to rapidly land sufficient troops and machine guns to hold the outlying portions of Worthing against any possible counter demonstration by the British, until three complete army corps, numbering 150,000 men all told, were concentrated in the locality. This number of troops actually accompanied the expedition.
They carried a fortnight's stores with them, and by the time a forward movement on London could be undertaken the French and German commanders estimated that reinforcements of three times the number of the expeditionary force would be at hand, whilst their fighting power would be enormously enhanced by the arrival of a vast quantity of stores and field ordnance.
Major Perkins extended his men on the beach in single rank with two paces interval. He told them to lie down, to sight their rifles at 400 yards, to aim low, and to concentrate their power, by order of their section commanders, on particular boats. These dispositions were hardly made before half-a-dozen launches appeared from the seaward side of the six warships, and rapidly steamed, or were rowed, towards the shore, in such fashion as led the onlookers to believe that the occupants expected no resistance.
They were soon bitterly undeceived. Volunteers are, as a rule, excellent marksmen, and bullets poured into the advancing boats at such a rate that the commander of the enemy's advance guard thought it best to retire until the sea front had been vigorously shelled by the battleships.
At this momentary repulse of the enemy the little defending force set up a great yell of delight, and the stout Major rode up and down the shingle inciting his men to keep up the reputation of Worthing, as though the quiet little watering-place was accustomed to similar murderous proceedings as part of the season’s routine.
So far not an Englishman had been injured, as the fire from the troops in the floats had been uncertain and ineffectual. But now the game was to assume a more desperate character. A perfect tornado of shells swept the sea front, wrecking every house facing the Channel, and killing and wounding a great number of people of all ages and both sexes whose curiosity had caused them to watch the progress of events rather than seek safety in flight.
Special attempts were made by the enemy to clear the beach of the unexpected line of defence which had proved its powers so unpleasantly, but it was far from easy to hit men lying down at the water’s edge, and the only real living target was the Major on his horse.
Both man and animal were in a perfect frenzy of excitement, and appeared to have charmed lives. More than once a time-fuse shrapnel burst right in front of them, but the zone of fire covered by the missiles in the shell left the space around them inviolate, and although appealed to by his subordinate officers to dismount, the Major would not listen to the suggestion.
From his elevated position he could see that a very much larger number of flat-bottomed boats and launches were now gathered behind the ironclads, and when the cannonading ceased something like 2000 troops were swiftly ferried towards the shore, with the evident determination to make good their landing this time. Whilst a few of the flotilla made straight for the beach the majority headed towards the pier and feu d’ enfer kept up between the belligerents on the sea-shore prevented the defenders from noting the undisturbed occupation of the pier-head by the enemy.
A volley from the leading boat brought down Major Perkins and his charger, but the Major arose from a cloud of dust, drew his sword, and shrieked in a shrill falsetto, for his natural voice had gone long since: “I 'm not dead yet, lads. Give it to 'em.”
But the end was seemingly close at hand.
More than half of the Worthing volunteers were killed or wounded, and the survivors were now firing blindly and ineffectively, being mad with the battle fever, and dazed with the singing of bullets and the smash of the projectiles against the stones on the beach.
Already some hundreds of Frenchmen had gained the platform of the pier and were forming up to advance into the town, whilst the leading launch was within a few feet of ramming her nose into the gravel beach, when the Major devoted all his remaining energies to one last yell:
“Fix bayonets! Centre close! Double!” and he jumped into the surf, brandishing his sword like a maniac, A big German officer leapt from the bow of the boat to meet him, but his heel turned on an uneven boulder, his lunge missed, and the Major hit him such a hearty whack on his steel pickel-haube with the flat of his sword that the German fell stunned into the sea, and was quietly but speedily drowned.
But now a fierce roar of many voices came from behind the Straggling group of volunteers. Ere anyone had realized what was happening, two companies of the Grenadier Guards flung themselves into three of the enemy's launches and gutted them with the bayonet as terriers might clear out rats under like conditions.
Two more companies deployed to left and right of the pier on the Marine Parade, and poured a hailstorm of lead into the advancing French column and their comrades in the boats, and, when the ornamental ironwork gates at the entrance of the pier had been smashed down, a couple of Maxims were run into position, with the result that the enemy dropped like swathes of grass before the sweep of a scythe.
A second time had the attack failed, utterly and disastrously.
Sir Evelyn Wood had now arrived and assumed control of affairs. The first Battalion of the Grenadier Guards had been conveyed from Victoria to Worthing, fi