The first American King

A murmur—faint at first—gradually swelling until it merged into a positive cry of alarm! A strange confusion without the gates, which rapidly communicated to the grounds within; the sharp blasts of a bugle; shouts of command; the movements of men; cries, confusion—then a panic among the guests and a promiscuous dash to gain the shelter of the mansion! It all came with the vividness and rapidity of a thunderbolt!

The garden-party at Fairoaks had promised well to be spoken of as a red-letter social event. The guests had been royally amused. The presence of the King and Queen had lent a special luster to the occasion and then, too, there was the beautiful Miss Cameron, affording opportunity alike for observation and for gossip. The entertainment, under the direction of Sir Richard Hollowboy, Imperial and Royal Director of Pyrotechnics and Plastics, had been a huge success. Sir Richard had more than sustained his high reputation; upon this occasion he had fairly eclipsed himself.

Among the features of Sir Richard’s entertainment were a series of what Sir Richard was pleased to term, “Fifteen-o’clock Fireworks”—this designation being presumably intended to create the impression of fireworks by daylight. The “daylight fireworks,” as a matter of fact, consisted of certain really wonderful smoke effects in the air, representing extremely interesting and well-executed tableaux.

One of the most colossal reproductions was attracting the interest of the guests when suddenly something of a most startling nature occurred. From all four points of the compass there appeared, as if coming from the sky itself, a number of strange aërial forms, which massed themselves about the gigantic figure in the air and hovered directly above the grounds of the garden-party. Fantastic forms of varying sizes were these strange apparitions—forms which suggested somewhat the outlines of a ship, or boat; but then—who ever saw a ship, or a boat, floating in mid-air? Someone whispered that they formed part of the entertainment; yet there was something too material, too realistic, about them to warrant this belief. And were not those human forms moving about in them?

Outside the gates of Fairoaks, too, strange events were occurring. The two sentries at the gates, stationed there because of the presence of their Majesties, noticed a number of peculiarly constructed mobiles suddenly make their appearance in the highway. These mobiles stopped before the grounds of Fairoaks and the foremost advanced as if to make its way through the gates. There was something suspicious about the general appearance and movements of these mobiles, and one of the sentries promptly challenged.

His answer was a sudden flash of rifle barrels, a point-blank volley and, shot through head and breast, the sentry dropped dead in his tracks. His companion, apparently unwounded, hastily dodged behind the high stone wall and, with a ringing shout, gave the alarm to his fellow-guardsmen, comfortably encamped upon one of the wide-stretching lawns a short distance away.

In an instant, the guards were up and doing. Through the gateway they swarmed and into the roadway. They were met by rifle fire from the mobiles, which, however, immediately beat a hasty retreat. The guards, several of their number wounded, started in pursuit, led by Captains Farquharson and Bingham. The huge aërial shapes which had been hovering over the grounds, now made movement and rapidly changed their positions until they floated over the highway, immediately above the pursuing guards.

Now followed a scene which was as novel in its form of attack as it was effective and terrible. The air-ships—for it was now plainly to be seen that air-ships they were—began raining down missiles, in the form of exploding bombs, upon the advancing soldiers. Some of these missiles struck the men direct and killed them outright, while others fell upon the hard bed of the highway and exploded, carrying death and destruction in wide circles.

In less than a minute the highway was filled with a long track of dead and wounded men, and still the deadly missiles continued to rain down. Further pursuit of the mobiles was obviously impossible. Farquharson and Bingham halted their men. Several volleys were fired at the air-ships, but this fire was utterly ineffective. They were either bullet-proof or out of range.

Unless the officers would see the extermination of the entire command there in the highway, evidently the only thing to be done was to find shelter immediately for the men—the shelter of the mansion. Besides, in view of this attack, prudence suggested rallying the guards around the person of the King.

The command was accordingly given to retreat, in extended order, upon the house. This movement was only executed with further loss, as the air-ships continued to follow up and attack. In approaching and passing through the gateway leading into the grounds, the men were necessarily more or less massed, and here the loss was heavy. Captains Farquharson and Bingham stationed themselves at the approaches to this gateway, awaiting the passage of the last man, in order that they themselves might be the last to pass through. It was here that Captain Farquharson fell. His brother officer bent over him, in the endeavor to lend him aid, but one glance was sufficient to show him that all hope here was past. Then, coolly as if on parade, he made his way through the grounds and was the last to enter the house.

His first act was to make provision for defense. He stationed his men upon the broad main stairway and also in position to command the windows at the ground and first stories upon all four sides of the house. To attempt to station any men upon the roof was obviously useless, as they would be destroyed from above by the air-ships, which had been the fate of the men in the highway. His wounded he disposed of as best he could, and the royal party and the guests he gathered together in one group in the big drawing-rooms on the second floor.

His next thought was of those outside who had been wounded, and he organized a small corps of men, under Lieutenant Richmond Dobson, to go out under a flag of truce and bring them in. This corps started out, but returned in a very few minutes empty-handed. Lieutenant Dobson reported that the air-ships had strictly respected the flag of truce, but at the gateway he had been met by a similar signal from the mobiles. The person in command of this party, who wore a peculiarly-shaped gold star upon his left shoulder, had informed Lieutenant Dobson that he could not be permitted to proceed, but that his wounded would be cared for. The attacking party, he was informed, had ample surgical assistance with them for this purpose. The Lieutenant had then been requested to return to the mansion and bear a message to the officer in command to the effect that unless an unconditional surrender was made within five minutes an attack upon the mansion itself would be begun.

“Oh!” exclaimed Captain Bingham fiercely, “it looks as if they were well-organized and well-prepared, but we are at least under some shelter here. Did you inquire in whose name this command was made?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And what was the answer?”

“That it was made in the name of the General commanding the First Army Corps of the New Republic.”

“What! A general in command—the First Army Corps!” muttered Captain Bingham. “That sounds like a comprehensive organization. It looks serious!”

At this moment a servant of the house approached with word that His Majesty wished to see Captain Bingham and hear his report.

Captain Bingham accordingly went upstairs and communicated to the King all he had learned.

“Have you audiphoned to the palace for such soldiers as are there?” inquired His Majesty.

“It would be absolutely useless to do so, Sire,” replied Captain Bingham. “There is but a comparatively small force there, and should they attempt to come to our relief they would be exterminated to a man before they reached us. Nearly half of my command was either killed or wounded in traversing the short distance from the roadway to the house. What would it be with any force from the palace attempting to approach over several miles of ground?”

“True,” said the King. “Where can assistance, then, be obtained?”

“The nearest point from which effective aid can be sent,” replied Captain Bingham, “is from the city, and I have already audiphoned to the army headquarters there. I have explained the attack, and stated that we are besieged and have requested the immediate dispatch of a large force, which has been promised me. I did this, as it seemed to me to be the only thing to do, although I frankly confess that I do not see how even a large force can prevail against an enemy they cannot reach. Possibly, however, they may be able to beat off the air-ships with heavy guns, though I am not sanguine of success.”

“But,” said the King, “it will be some time before assistance can reach us from the city.”

“Allowing for everything,” replied Captain Bingham, “about three hours. I have furthermore counseled, as a measure of precaution, that no attempt be made to approach here until after nightfall. With the aid of darkness and a large force, we might at least hope to get you, Sire, and your suite safely away.”

“What is it they desire—what is it they ask?” questioned the King.

“I know no more, Sire, than I have already reported to you.”

The King reflected a moment.

“Send out to them and inquire,” he commanded.

Lieutenant Dobson was sent forth once more, accompanied by a private bearing a flag of truce. He returned in even less time than before. The answer he bore was that no further information would be furnished; no further delay granted. Unless the King and everyone within the mansion made unconditional surrender within three minutes after the return of the flag of truce, an attack would be begun forthwith.

Captain Bingham reported at once to His Majesty.

“Ah, they appear, then, to know positively that We are here!” said the King.

“Evidently, Sire,” replied Captain Bingham.

“What remains, then to be done?”

“Nothing, Sire,” answered Captain Bingham, with grim determination, “except for the Guards to defend this house and those within it while one stone stands upon another and while there is one man left upon his feet!”

As he spoke there was a sound of rending, of tearing and of disrupted masonry on the eastern side of the mansion.

“The attack has begun, Sire!” said Captain Bingham. “I would ask your permission to return to my men.” And with a bow as courtly and as deferential as if he were standing in the great ball-room of the palace, Captain Richard Bingham backed from the royal presence and returned to his men.

As soon as he reached his post at the head of the main stairway, Captain Bingham quickly perceived that the attack had been renewed by the air-ships and that it was directed by hurling explosives against the eastern wall of the building. So powerful were these explosives that a great gaping aperture soon appeared, stretching from window to window, wide and deep enough to have admitted a motor of the largest type. The attack was then shifted to the front of the house and the front wall blown open in a similar manner. Then, with a crash, the whole of the great front door was blown in.

The soldiers on the ground floor and upon the main stairway were now exposed to a raking fire from two sides and the air-ships were not slow to follow up their advantage. They hurled their explosive missiles into the men massed upon the stairway and with rifle fire picked off individual soldiers at windows and upon the lower floor. The soldiers returned the fire with spirit, sending volley after volley at the air-ships as they appeared through the great, yawning gaps in the walls. This fire seemed, however, utterly ineffectual against the strong sides of the air-ships and the protecting shields thrown up around them. Comrades were falling fast on every side; the air was filled with the groans and the cries of the wounded and the dying; the men were growing disheartened. Then the voice of Captain Bingham rang out above the tumult:

“Guards, stand fast and die like men!”

A hoarse cheer, despairing yet valiant—the final testimony to the native valor of the American soldier—came from the men in response to their leader’s words. Yes, they would die like men! And carbines were replenished with fresh determination, and fresh volleys were poured in upon the enemy.

But it was all of no avail. Their efforts, directed against an enemy they could not reach, were futile. Down went Lieutenant Dobson, the last of the sub-alterns yet unscathed, and still the missiles continued to rain upon the devoted and rapidly diminishing band.

The terrible devastation going on was not unknown to those gathered in the shelter of the drawing-rooms, and the same servant who had come to him before, now crept forth to Captain Bingham’s side. In his hand he carried a large pocket-handkerchief of white silk, attached to the end of a stick. This he extended to Captain Bingham.

“His Majesty directs you to surrender,” he stammered, his teeth chattering with the horror of the sights about him.

Captain Bingham turned upon him with the blazing eyes of a madman. “You lie, you scoundrel!” he shouted. “You have misunderstood His Majesty’s orders!” And with the flat of his sword he struck the emblem of surrender from the man’s hand, and with the point of his sword at the man’s throat he drove him back to the shelter of the drawing-rooms.

And now the stairway, broken and demolished in many places, was slippery with blood and choked with the bodies of the fallen. The rain of missiles had ceased and had been succeeded by a sharp rifle fire which rapidly picked off the few remaining survivors. Down went the color sergeant at Captain Bingham’s side. The Captain stood at the head of the stairway, still guarding the approach to the drawing-rooms. He had been struck on the left side of the head by a flying fragment of some kind, and from the wound the blood trickled down his pale face and over his uniform. He was the last man left.

The rifle fire from the air-ships closed entirely, and through the demolished front there surged a mass of men—men from the mobiles. They were armed with rifles and upon their left shoulders they bore a white star. A golden star of peculiar formation glittered upon the shoulder of their leader, and he carried a sword.

“Surrender!” shouted this leader, advancing up the stairway, sword in hand, followed by his men.

Captain Bingham, standing grim and bloody at the head of the stairs, made no reply.

“Surrender!” repeated the leader. “Do you not see that your men are all dead and that you are ours?”

“Curse you,” came the reply from the guardsman, “as they went, so will I go. You shall never pass while I live.” And with upraised sword he stood blocking the way to the drawing-rooms.

The leader now crossed swords with Captain Bingham, while two of his men sought to creep by to right and left and either attack, or capture, the Captain from the side. But the officers of the guards were all brilliant swordsmen, and Captain Bingham in that last desperate stand fully vindicated the honor and the reputation of the famous Guards’ corps. Besides, being at the extreme top of the stairway, he held an advantage which served to offset the odds against him. First he wounded the man to the right and an instant later cut down the man on the left. Then, with a quick half-arm cut which laid his opponent’s face open from forehead to chin, he sent the leader reeling backward down the stairs.

When his men saw their leader fall, a howl of dismay and rage went up. There was a quick flash of leveled rifles and a volley. Captain Bingham rose to his full height and for one brief instant his form stood erect and rigid. He raised his sword high aloft and his voice broke into a great hoarse cry—the last salute of the last of the Guards to the cause he served:

“Long live the King!”

Then his sword-arm dropped, the weapon fell clattering from his hand and, with a headlong plunge, he crashed down the stairs over the dead bodies of his men.