Shot after shot struck other portions of the Houses of Parliament, breaking the windows and carrying away pinnacles.

One of the twin towers of Westminster Abbey fell a few moments later, and another shell, crashing into the choir, completely wrecked Edward the Confessor’s shrine, the Coronation chair, and all the objects of antiquity in the vicinity.

The old Horse Guards escaped injury, but one of the cupolas of the new War Office opposite was blown away, while shortly afterwards a fire broke out in the new Local Government Board and Education Offices. Number 10 Downing Street, the chief centre of the Government, had its windows all blown in—a grim accident, no doubt—the same explosion shattering several windows in the Foreign Office.

Many shells fell in St. James’s and Hyde Parks, exploding harmlessly, but others, passing across St. James’s Park, crashed into that high building, Queen Anne’s Mansions, causing fearful havoc. Somerset House, Covent Garden Market, Drury Lane Theatre, and the Gaiety Theatre and Restaurant all suffered more or less, and two of the bronze footguards guarding the Wellington Statue at Hyde Park Corner were blown many yards away. Around Holborn Circus immense damage was being caused, and several shells bursting on the Viaduct itself blew great holes in the bridge.

So widespread, indeed, was the havoc, that it is impossible to give a detailed account of the day’s terrors. If the public buildings suffered, the damage to property of householders and the ruthless wrecking of quiet English homes may well be imagined. The people had been driven out from the zone of fire, and had left their possessions to the mercy of the invaders.

South of the Thames very little damage was done. The German howitzers and long-range guns could not reach so far. One or two shots fell in York Road, Lambeth, and in the Waterloo and Westminster Bridge Roads, but they did little damage beyond the breaking of all the windows in the vicinity.

When would it end? Where would it end?

Half the population of London had fled across the bridges, and from Denmark Hill, Champion Hill, Norwood, and the Crystal Palace they could see the smoke issuing from the hundred fires.

London was cowed. Those northern barricades, still held by bodies of valiant men, were making a last desperate stand, though the streets ran with blood. Every man fought well and bravely for his country, though he went to his death. A thousand acts of gallant heroism on the part of Englishmen were done that day, but, alas! all to no purpose. The Germans were at our gates, and were not to be denied.

As daylight commenced to fade the dust and smoke became suffocating. And yet the guns pounded away with a monotonous regularity that appalled the helpless populace. Overhead there was a quick whizzing in the air, a deafening explosion, and as masonry came crashing down the atmosphere was filled with poisonous fumes that half asphyxiated all those in the vicinity.

Hitherto the enemy had treated us, on the whole, humanely, but finding that desperate resistance in the northern suburbs, Von Kronhelm was carrying out the Emperor’s parting injunction. He was breaking the pride of our own dear London, even at the sacrifice of thousands of innocent lives.

The scenes in the streets within that zone of awful fire baffled description. They were too sudden, too dramatic, too appalling. Death and destruction were everywhere, and the people of London now realised for the first time what the horrors of war really meant.

Dusk was falling. Above the pall of smoke from the burning buildings the sun was setting with a blood-red light. From the London streets, however, this evening sky was darkened by the clouds of smoke and dust. Yet the cannonade continued, each shell that came hurtling through the air exploding with deadly effect and spreading destruction on all hands.

Meanwhile the barricades at the north had not escaped Von Kronhelm’s attention. About four o’clock he gave orders by field telegraph for certain batteries to move down and attack them.

This was done soon after five o’clock, and when the German guns began to pour their deadly rain of shell into those hastily improvised defences there commenced a slaughter of the gallant defenders that was horrible. At each of the barricades shell after shell was directed, and very quickly breaches were made. Then upon the defenders themselves the fire was directed—a withering, awful fire from quick-firing guns which none could withstand. The streets, with their barricades swept away, were strewn with mutilated corpses. Hundreds upon hundreds had attempted to make a last stand, rallied by the Union Jack they waved above, but a shell exploding in their midst had sent them to instant eternity.

Many a gallant deed was done that day by patriotic Londoners in defence of their homes and loved ones—many a deed that should have earned the V.C.—but in nearly all cases the patriot who had stood up and faced the foe had gone to straight and certain death.

Till seven o’clock the dull roar of the guns in the north continued, and people across the Thames knew that London was still being destroyed, nay pulverised. Then with one accord came a silence—the first silence since the hot noon.

Von Kronhelm’s field telegraph at Jack Straw’s Castle had ticked the order to cease firing.

All the barricades had been broken.

London lay burning—at the mercy of the German eagle.

And as the darkness fell the German Commander-in-Chief looked again through his glasses, and saw the red flames leaping up in dozens of places, where whole blocks of shops and buildings, public institutions, whole streets in some cases, were being consumed.

London—the proud capital of the world, the “home” of the Englishman—was at last ground beneath the iron heel of Germany!

And all, alas! due to one cause alone—the careless insular apathy of the Englishman himself!

CHAPTER VI

FALL OF LONDON

For a long time the German Field-Marshal had stood alone upon Hampstead Heath apart from his staff, watching the great tongues of flame leaping up here and there in the distant darkness. His grey, shaggy brows were contracted, his thin aquiline face thoughtful, his hard mouth twitching nervously, unable to fully conceal the strain of his own feelings as conqueror of the English. Von Kronhelm’s taciturnity had long ago been proverbial. The Kaiser had likened him to Moltke, and declared that “he could be silent in seven languages.” His gaze was one of musing, and yet he was the most active of men, and perhaps the cleverest strategist in all Europe. Often during the campaign he had astonished his aides-de-camp by his untiring energy, for sometimes he would even visit the outposts in person. On many occasions he had actually crept up to the most advanced posts at great personal risk to himself, so anxious had he been to see with his own eyes. Such visits from the Field-Marshal himself were not always exactly welcome to the German outposts, who, as soon as they showed the least sign of commotion consequent upon the visit, were at once swept by a withering English fire.

Yet he now stood there—the conqueror. And while many of his officers were installing themselves in comfortable quarters in houses about North End, North Hill, South Hill, Muswell Hill, Roslyn Hill, Fitzjohn’s Avenue, Netherhall, and Maresfield Gardens, and other roads in that vicinity, the great Commander was still alone upon the Heath, having taken nothing save a nip from his flask since his coffee at dawn.

Time after time telegraphic despatches were handed to him from Germany, and telephonic reports from his various positions around London, but he received them all without comment. He read, he listened, but he said nothing.

For a full hour he remained there, strolling up and down alone in quick impatience. Then, as though suddenly making up his mind, he called three members of his staff, and gave orders for the entry into London.

This, as he knew, was the signal for a terrible and bloody encounter. Bugles sounded. Men and officers, who had believed that the storm and stress of the day were over, and that they were entitled to rest, found themselves called upon to fight their way into the city that they knew would be defended by an irate and antagonistic populace.

Still, the order had been given, and it must be obeyed. They had expected that the advance would be at least made at dawn, but evidently Von Kronhelm feared that six hours’ delay might necessitate more desperate fighting. He intended, now that London was cowed, that she should be entirely crushed. The orders of his master the Kaiser were to that effect.

Therefore, shortly before nine o’clock the first detachments of German Infantry marched along Spaniards Road, and down Roslyn Hill to Haverstock Hill, where they were at once fired upon from behind the débris of the great barricade across the junction of Prince of Wales Road and Haverstock Hill. This place was held strongly by British Infantry, many members of the Legion of Frontiersmen,—distinguished only by the little bronze badge in their buttonholes,—and also by hundreds of citizens armed with rifles.

Twenty Germans dropped at the first volley, and next instant a Maxim, concealed in the first floor of a neighbouring house, spat forth its fire upon the invaders with deadly effect. The German bugle sounded the “Advance rapidly,” and the men emulously ran forward, shouting loud hurrahs. Major von Wittich, who had distinguished himself very conspicuously in the fighting around Enfield Chase, fell, being shot through the lung when just within a few yards of the half-ruined barricade. Londoners were fighting desperately, shouting and cheering. The standard-bearer of the 4th Battalion of the Brunswick Infantry Regiment, No. 92, fell severely wounded, and the standard was instantly snatched from him in the awful hand-to-hand fighting which that moment ensued.

Five minutes later the streets were running with blood, for hundreds, both Germans and British, lay dead and dying. Every Londoner struggled valiantly until shot down; yet the enemy, already reinforced, pressed forward, until ten minutes later the defenders were driven out of their position, and the house from which the Maxim was sending forth its deadly hail had been entered and the gun captured. Volley after volley was still, however, poured out on the heads of the storming party, but already the pioneers were at work clearing a way for the advance, and very soon the Germans had surmounted the obstruction and were within London.

For a short time the Germans halted, then, at a signal from their officers, they moved forward along both roads, again being fired upon from every house in the vicinity, many of the defenders having retired to continue their defence from the windows. The enemy therefore turned their attention to these houses, and after desperate struggles house after house was taken, those of the defenders not wearing uniform being shot down without mercy. To such no quarter was given.

The contest now became a most furious one. Britons and Germans fought hand to hand. A battalion of the Brunswick Infantry with some riflemen of the Guard took several houses by rush in Chalk Farm Road; but in many cases the Germans were shot by their own comrades. Quite a number of the enemy’s officers were picked off by the Frontiersmen, those brave fellows who had seen service in every corner of the world, and who were now in windows and upon roofs. Thus the furious fight from house to house proceeded.

This exciting conflict was practically characteristic of what was at that moment happening in fifty other spots along the suburbs of North London. The obstinate resistance which we made against the Germans was met with equally obstinate aggression. There was no surrender. Londoners fell and died fighting to the very last.

Against those well-trained Teutons in such overwhelming masses we, however, could have no hope of success. The rushes of the infantry and rifles of the Guards were made skilfully, and slowly but surely broke down all opposition.

The barricade in the Kentish Town Road was defended with valiant heroism. The Germans were, as in Chalk Farm Road, compelled to fight their way foot by foot, losing heavily all the time. But here, at length, as at other points, the barricade was taken, and the defenders chased, and either taken prisoner or else ruthlessly shot down. A body of citizens armed with rifles were, after the storming of the barricades in question, driven back into Park Street, and there, being caught between two bodies of Germans, slaughtered to a man. Through those unlit side-streets between the Kentish Town and Camden Roads—namely, the Lawford, Bartholomew, Rochester, Caversham, and Leighton Roads, there was much skirmishing, and many on both sides fell in the bloody encounter. A thousand deeds of bravery were done that night, but were unrecorded. Before the barricade in the Holloway Road—which had been strongly repaired after the breach made in it by the German shells—the enemy lost very heavily, for the three Maxims which had there been mounted did awful execution. The invaders, however, seeing the strong defence, fell back for full twenty minutes, and then, making another rush, hurled petrol bombs into the midst of our men.

A frightful holocaust was the result. Fully a hundred of the poor fellows were literally burned alive; while the neighbouring houses being set in flames, compelled the citizen free-shooters to quickly evacuate their position. Against such terrible missiles even the best-trained troops cannot stand, therefore no wonder that all opposition at that point was soon afterwards swept away, and the pioneers quickly opened the road for the victorious legions of the Kaiser.

And so in that prosaic thoroughfare, the Holloway Road, brave men fought gallantly and died, while a Scotch piper paced the pavement sharply, backwards and forwards, with his colours flying. Then, alas! came the red flash, the loud explosions in rapid succession, and next instant the whole street burst into a veritable sea of flame.

High Street, Kingsland, was also the scene of several fierce conflicts; but here the Germans decidedly got the worst of it. The whole infuriated population seemed to emerge suddenly from the side streets of the Kingsland Road on the appearance of the detachment of the enemy, and the latter were practically overwhelmed, notwithstanding the desperate fight they made. Then ringing cheers went up from the defenders.

The Germans were given no quarter by the populace, all of whom were armed with knives or guns, the women mostly with hatchets, crowbars, or edged tools.

Many of the Germans fled through the side streets towards Mare Street, and were hotly pursued, the majority of them being done to death by the maddened mob. The streets in this vicinity were literally a slaughter-house.

The barricades in Finchley Road and in High Road, Kilburn were also very strongly held, and at the first named it was quite an hour before the enemy’s pioneers were able to make a breach. Indeed, then only after a most hotly contested conflict, in which there were frightful losses on both sides. Petrol bombs were here also used by the enemy with appalling effect, the road being afterwards cleared by a couple of Maxims.

Farther towards Regent’s Park the houses were, however, full of sharpshooters, and before these could be dislodged the enemy had again suffered severely. The entry into London was both difficult and perilous, and the enemy suffered great losses everywhere.

After the breaking down of the defences in High Road, Kilburn, the men who had held them retired to the Town Hall, opposite Kilburn Station, and from the windows fired at the passing battalions, doing much execution. All efforts to dislodge them proved unavailing, until the place was taken by storm, and a fearful hand-to-hand fight was the outcome. Eventually the Town Hall was taken, after a most desperate resistance, and ten minutes later wilfully set fire to and burned.

In the Harrow Road and those cross streets between Kensal Green and Maida Vale the advancing Germans shared much the same fate as about Hackney. Surrounded by the armed populace, hundreds upon hundreds of them were killed, struck down by hatchets, stabbed by knives, or shot with revolvers, the crowd shouting, “Down with the Germans! Kill them! Kill them!”

Many of the London women now became perfect furies. So incensed were they at the wreck of their homes and the death of their loved ones that they rushed wildly into the fray with no thought of peril, only of bitter revenge. A German, whenever caught, was at once killed. In those bloody street fights the Teutons got separated from their comrades and were quickly surrounded and done to death.

Across the whole of the northern suburbs the scenes of bloodshed that night were full of horror, as men fought in the ruined streets, climbing over the smouldering débris, over the bodies of their comrades, and shooting from behind ruined walls. As Von Kronhelm had anticipated, his Army was compelled to fight its way into London.

The streets all along the line of the enemy’s advance were now strewn with dead and dying. London was doomed.

The Germans now coming on in increasing, nay, unceasing, numbers, were leaving behind them everywhere the trail of blood. Shattered London stood staggered.

Though the resistance had been long and desperate, the enemy had again triumphed by reason of his sheer weight of numbers.

Yet even though he were actually in our own dear London, our people did not mean that he should establish himself without any further opposition. Therefore, though the barricades had been taken, the Germans found in every unexpected corner men who shot at them, and Maxims which spat forth their leaden showers beneath which hundreds upon hundreds of Teutons fell.

Yet they advanced, still fighting. The scenes of carnage were awful and indescribable, no quarter being given to any armed citizens not in uniform, be they men, women, or children.

The German Army was carrying out the famous proclamation of Field-Marshal von Kronhelm to the very letter!

They were marching on to the sack of the wealthiest city of the world.

It wanted still an hour of midnight, London was a city of shadow, of fire, of death. The silent streets, whence all the inhabitants had fled in panic, echoed to the heavy tread of German infantry, the clank of arms, and the ominous rumble of guns. Ever and anon an order was shouted in German as the Kaiser’s legions went forward to occupy the proud capital of the world. The enemy’s plans appeared to have been carefully prepared. The majority of the troops coming from the direction of Hampstead and Finchley entered Regent’s Park, whence preparations were at once commenced for encampment; while the remainder, together with those who came down the Camden, Caledonian, and Holloway Roads turned along Euston Road and Oxford Street to Hyde Park, where a huge camp was formed, stretching from the Marble Arch right along the Park Lane side away to Knightsbridge.

Officers were very soon billeted in the best houses in Park Lane and about Mayfair,—houses full of works of art and other valuables that had only that morning been left to the mercy of the invaders. From the windows and balconies of their quarters in Park Lane they could overlook the encampment—a position which had evidently been purposely chosen.

Other troops who came in never-ending procession by Bow Road, Roman Road, East India Dock Road, Victoria Park Road, Mare Street, and Kingsland Road all converged into the City itself, except those who had come from Edmonton down the Kingsland Road, and who, passing along Old Street and Clerkenwell, occupied the Charing Cross and Westminster districts.

At midnight a dramatic scene was enacted when, in the blood-red glare of some blazing buildings in the vicinity, a large body of Prince Louis Ferdinand of Prussia’s 2nd Magdeburg Regiment suddenly swept up Threadneedle Street into the great open space before the Mansion House, whereon the London flag was still flying aloft in the smoke-laden air. They halted across the junction of Cheapside with Queen Victoria Street when, at the same moment, another huge body of the Uhlans of Altmark and Magdeburg Hussars came clattering along Cornhill, followed a moment later by battalion after battalion of the 4th and 8th Thuringen Infantry out of Moorgate Street, whose uniforms showed plain traces of the desperate encounters of the past week.

The great body of Germans had halted before the Mansion House, when General von Kleppen, the commander of the IVth Army Corps—who, it will be remembered, had landed at Weybourne—accompanied by Lieutenant-General von Mirbach of the 8th Division, and Frölich, commander of the cavalry brigade, ascended the steps of the Mansion House and entered.

Within, Sir Claude Harrison, the Lord Mayor, who wore his robes and jewel of office, received them in that great, sombre room wherein so many momentous questions concerning the welfare of the British Empire had been discussed. The representative of the City of London, a short, stout, grey-haired man, was pale and agitated. He bowed, but he could not speak.

Von Kleppen, however, a smart, soldierly figure in his service uniform and many ribbons, bowed in response, and in very fair English said:

“I regret, my Lord Mayor, that it is necessary for us to thus disturb you, but as you are aware, the British Army have been defeated, and the German Army has entered London. I have orders from Field-Marshal von Kronhelm to place you under arrest, and to hold you as hostage for the good behaviour of the City during the progress of the negotiations for peace.”

“Arrest!” gasped the Lord Mayor. “You intend to arrest me?”

“It will not be irksome, I assure you,” smiled the German commander grimly. “At least, we shall make it as comfortable as possible. I shall place a guard here, and the only restriction I place upon you is that you shall neither go out nor hold any communication with anyone outside these walls.”

“But my wife?”

“If her ladyship is here I would advise that she leave the place. It is better that, for the present, she should be out of London.”

The civic officials, who had all assembled for the dramatic ceremonial, looked at each other in blank amazement.

The Lord Mayor was a prisoner!

Sir Claude divested himself of his jewel of office, and handed it to his servant to replace in safe keeping. Then he took off his robe, and having done so, advanced closer to the German officers, who, treating him with every courtesy, consulted with him, expressing regret at the terrible loss of life that had been occasioned by the gallant defence of the barricades.

Von Kleppen gave the Lord Mayor a message from Von Kronhelm, and urged him to issue a proclamation forbidding any further opposition on the part of the populace of London. With the three officers Sir Claude talked for a quarter of an hour, while into the Mansion House there entered a strong guard of men of the 2nd Magdeburg, who quickly established themselves in the most comfortable quarters. German double sentries stood at every exit and in every corridor, and when a few minutes later the flag was hauled down and the German Imperial Standard run up, wild shouts of triumph rang from every throat of the densely packed body of troops assembled outside.

The joyous “hurrahs!” reached the Lord Mayor, still in conversation with Von Kleppen, Von Mirbach, and Frölich, and in an instant he knew the truth. The Teutons were saluting their own standard. The civic flag had, either accidentally or purposely, been flung down into the roadway below, and was trampled in the dust. A hundred enthusiastic Germans, disregarding the shouts of their officers, fought for the flag, and it was instantly torn to shreds, and little pieces preserved as souvenirs.

Shout after shout in German went up from the wildly excited troops of the Kaiser when the light wind caused their own flag to flutter out, and then as with one voice the whole body of troops united in singing the German National Hymn.

The scene was weird and most impressive. London had fallen.

Around were the wrecked buildings, some still smouldering, some emitting flame. Behind lay the Bank of England with untold wealth locked within; to the right, the damaged façade of the Royal Exchange was illuminated by the flickering light, which also shone upon the piled arms of the enemy’s troops, causing them to flash and gleam.

In those silent, narrow City streets not an Englishman was to be seen. Everyone save the Lord Mayor and his official attendants had fled.

The Government offices in Whitehall were all in the hands of the enemy. In the Foreign Office, the India Office, the War Office, the Colonial Office, the Admiralty and other minor offices were German guards. Sentries stood at the shattered door of the famous No. 10 Downing Street, and all up Whitehall was lined with infantry.

German officers were in charge of all our public offices, and all officials who had remained on duty were firmly requested to leave. Sentries were stationed to guard the archives of every department, and precautions were taken to guard against any further outbreaks of fire.

Across at the Houses of Parliament, with their damaged towers, the whole great pile of buildings was surrounded by triumphant troops, while across at the fine old Abbey of Westminster was, alas! a different scene. The interior had been turned into a temporary hospital, and upon matresses placed upon the floor were hundreds of poor maimed creatures, some groaning, some ghastly pale in the last moments of agony, some silent, their white lips moving in prayer.

On one side in the dim light lay the men, some in uniform, others inoffensive citizens, who had been struck by cruel shells or falling débris; on the other side lay the women, some mere girls, and even children.

Flitting everywhere in the half light were nurses, charitable ladies, and female helpers, with numbers of doctors, all doing their best to alleviate the terrible sufferings of that crowded place, the walls of which showed plain traces of the severe bombardment. In places the roof was open to the angry sky, while many of the windows were gaunt and shattered.

A clergyman’s voice somewhere was repeating a prayer in a low, distinct voice, so that all could hear, yet above all were the sighs and groans of the sufferers, and as one walked through that prostrate assembly of victims more than one was seen to have already gone to that land that lies beyond the human ken.

The horrors of war were never more forcibly illustrated than in Westminster Abbey that night, for the grim hand of Death was there, and men and women lying with their faces to the roof looked into Eternity.

Every hospital in London was full, therefore the overflow had been placed in the various churches. From the battlefields along the northern defences, Epping, Edmonton, Barnet, Enfield, and other places where the last desperate stand had been made, and from the barricades in the northern suburbs ambulance wagons were continually arriving full of wounded, all of whom were placed in the churches and in any large public buildings which had remained undamaged by the bombardment.

St. George’s, Hanover Square, once the scene of many smart weddings, was now packed with unfortunate wounded soldiers, British and Germans lying side by side, while in the Westminster Cathedral and the Oratory at Brompton the Roman Catholic priests made hundreds of poor fellows as comfortable as they could, many members of the religious sisterhoods acting as nurses. St. James’s Church in Piccadilly, St. Pancras Church, Shoreditch Church, and St. Mary Abbotts’, Kensington, were all improvised hospitals, and many grim and terrible scenes of agony were witnessed during that long eventful night.

The light was dim everywhere, for there were only paraffin lamps, and by their feeble illumination many a difficult operation had to be performed by those London surgeons who one and all had come forward, and were now working unceasingly. Renowned specialists from Harley Street, Cavendish Square, Queen Anne Street, and the vicinity were directing the work in all the improvised hospitals, men whose names were world-famous kneeling and performing operations upon poor unfortunate private soldiers or upon some labourer who had taken up a gun in defence of his home.

Of lady helpers there were hundreds. From Mayfair and Belgravia, from Kensington and Bayswater, ladies had come forward offering their services, and their devotion to the wounded was everywhere apparent. In St. Andrew’s, Wells Street, St. Peter’s, Eaton Square, in the Scottish Church in Crown Court, Covent Garden, in the Temple Church, in the Union Chapel in Upper Street, in the Chapel Royal, Savoy, in St. Clement Danes in the Strand, and in St. Martin’s-in-the-Fields there were wounded in greater or less numbers, but the difficulties of treating them were enormous owing to the lack of necessaries for the performance of operations.

Weird and striking were the scenes within those hallowed places, as, in the half darkness with the long, deep shadows, men struggled for life or gave to the women kneeling at their side their name, their address, or a last dying message to one they loved.

London that night was a city of shattered homes, of shattered hopes, of shattered lives.

The silence of death had fallen everywhere. The only sounds that broke the quiet within those churches were the sighs, the groans, and the faint murmurings of the dying.

CHAPTER VII

TWO PERSONAL NARRATIVES

“When the Hendon and Cricklewood Rifle Club was formed in 1906 I joined it, and in a month we had over 500 members. From that time the club—whose practices were held at the Normal Powder Company’s range, in Reuter’s Lane, Hendon—increased until it became one of the largest rifle clubs in the kingdom. As soon as news of the sudden invasion reached us, we all reported ourselves at headquarters, and out of four thousand of us there were only thirty-three absentees, all the latter being too far from London to return. We were formed into small parties, and, taking our rifles and ammunition, we donned our distinctive khaki tunics and peaked caps, and each company made its way into Essex independently, in order to assist the Legion of Frontiersmen and the Free-shooters to harass the Germans.

“Three days after the enemy’s landing, I found myself, with seventeen of my comrades, at a village called Dedham, close to the Stour, where we opened our campaign by lying in ambush and picking off a number of German sentries. It was exciting and risky work, especially when, under cover of darkness, we crept up to the enemy’s outposts and attacked and harassed them. Assisted by a number of the Frontiersmen, we scoured the country across to Sudbury, and in that hot, exciting week that followed dozens of the enemy fell to our guns. We snatched sleep where we could, concealing ourselves in thickets and begging food from the cottagers, all of whom gave us whatever they could spare. One morning, when just outside Wormingford village, we were surprised by a party of Germans. Whereupon we retired to a barn, and held it strongly for an hour until the enemy were forced to retire, leaving ten of their number dead and eight wounded. Ours was a very narrow escape, and had not the enemy been compelled to fight in the open, we should certainly have been overwhelmed and exterminated. We were an irregular force, therefore the Germans would give us no quarter. We carried our lives in our hands always.

“War brings with it strange companions. Many queer, adventurous spirits fought beside us in those breathless days of fire and blood, when Maldon was attacked by the Colchester garrison, and our gallant troops were forced back after the battle of Purleigh. Each day that went past brought out larger numbers of free-shooters from London, while the full force of the patriotic Legion of Frontiersmen had now concentrated until the whole country west of the line from Chelmsford to Saffron Walden seemed swarming with us, and we must have given the enemy great trouble everywhere. The day following the battle of Royston I had the most narrow escape. Lying in ambush with eight other men, all members of the Rifle Club, in College Wood, not far from Buntingford, I was asleep, being utterly worn out, when we were suddenly discovered by a large party of Uhlans. Two of my comrades were shot dead ere they could fire, while five others, including one of my best friends, Tom Martin, a clerk in the National Provincial Bank, who had started with me from Hendon, were taken prisoners. I managed to dodge the two big Uhlans who endeavoured to seize me, and into the face of one I fired my revolver, blowing half his bearded face away. In a moment a German bullet whistled past me; then another and another; but by marvellous good luck I was not hit, and managed to escape into the denser part of the wood, where I climbed a high tree, hiding among the branches, while the Germans below sought in vain for me. Those moments seemed hours. I could hear my own heart beat. I knew that they might easily discover me, for the foliage was not very thick. Indeed, twice one of the search parties passed right beneath me. Of my other comrade who had fled I had seen nothing. For three hours I remained concealed there. Once I heard loud shouts and then sounds of shots close by, and wondered whether any of our comrades, whom I knew were in the vicinity, had discovered the Germans. Then at last, just after sundown, I descended and carefully made my way out. For a long time I wandered about until the dusk was deepening into night, unable to discover my whereabouts. At last I found myself on the outskirts of the wood, but hardly had I gone a hundred yards in the open ere my eyes met a sight that froze my blood. Upon trees in close proximity to each other were hanging the dead bodies of my five comrades, including poor Tom Martin. They presented a grim, ghastly spectacle. The Uhlans had strung them to trees, and afterwards riddled them with bullets!

“Gradually, we were driven back upon London. Desperately we fought, each one of us, and the personal risk of every member of our club, of any other of the rifle clubs, and of the Frontiersmen, for the matter of that, was very great. We were insufficient in numbers. Had we been more numerous, I maintain that we could have so harassed the enemy that we could have held him in check for many months. With the few thousands of men we have we made it extremely uncomfortable for Von Kronhelm and his forces. Had our number been greater we could have operated more in unison with the British regular arms, and formed a line of defence around London so complete that it could never have been broken. As it was, however, when driven in, we were compelled to take a stand in manning the forts and entrenchments of the London lines, I finding myself in a hastily constructed trench not far from Enfield. While engaged there with the enemy, a bullet took away the little finger of my left hand, causing me excruciating pain, but it fortunately did not place me hors-de-combat. Standing beside me was a costermonger from Leman Street, Whitechapel, who had once been in the Militia, while next him was a country squire from Hampshire, who was a good shot at grouse, but who had never before handled a military rifle. In that narrow trench in which we stood beneath the rain of German bullets we were of a verity a strange, incongruous crowd, dirty, unkempt, unshaven, more than one of us wearing hastily applied bandages upon places where we had received injury. I had never faced death like that before, and I tell you it was a weird and strange experience. Every man among us knit his brows, loaded and fired, without speaking a word, except, perhaps, to ejaculate a curse upon those who threatened to overwhelm us and capture our capital.

“At last, though we fought valiantly—three men beside me having fallen dead through injudiciously showing themselves above the earthworks—we were compelled to evacuate our position. Then followed a terrible guerilla warfare as, driven in across by Southgate to Finchley, we fell back south upon London itself. The enemy, victorious, were following upon the heels of our routed army, and it was seen that our last stand must be made at the barricades, which, we heard, had in our absence been erected in all the main roads leading in from the Northern Heights.

“On Hampstead Heath I found about a dozen or so of my comrades, whom I had not seen since I had left Hendon, and heard from them that they had been operating in Norfolk against the German Guards, who had landed at King’s Lynn. With them I went through Hampstead and down Haverstock Hill to the great barricade that had been erected across that thoroughfare and Prince of Wales Road. It was a huge, ugly structure, built of every conceivable article—overturned tramcars, furniture, paving stones, pianos, wardrobes, scaffold boards, in fact everything and anything that came handiest—while intertwined everywhere were hundreds of yards of barbed wire. A small space had been left at the junction of the two roads in order to allow people to enter, while on the top a big Union Jack waved in the light breeze. In all the neighbouring houses I saw men with rifles, while from one house pointed the menacing muzzle of a Maxim, commanding the greater part of Haverstock Hill. There seemed also to be other barricades in the smaller roads in the vicinity. But the one at which I had been stationed was certainly a most formidable obstacle. All sorts and conditions of men manned it. Women, too, were there, fierce-eyed, towsled-haired women, who in their fury seemed to have become half savage. Men shouted themselves hoarse, encouraging the armed citizens to fight till death. But from the determined look upon their faces no incentive was needed. They meant, every one of them, to bear their part bravely, when the moment came.

“ ‘We’ve been here three whole days awaiting the enemy,’ one man said to me, a dark-haired, bearded City man in a serge suit, who carried his rifle slung upon his shoulder.

“ ‘They’ll be ’ere soon enough now, cockie,’ remarked a Londoner of the lower class from Notting Dale. ‘There’ll be fightin’ ’ere before long, depend on’t. This

THE ABOVE PROCLAMATION WAS POSTED ALL OVER THE
METROPOLIS ON THE DAY PRIOR TO THE BOMBARDMENT.

is more excitin’ sport than Kempton Park, ain’t it—eh?’

“That man was right, for a few hours later, when Von Kronhelm appeared upon Hampstead Heath and launched his infantry upon London, our barricade became a perfect hell. I was on the roof of a house close by, lying full length behind a sheltering chimney-stack, and firing upon the advancing troops for all I was worth. From every window in the vicinity we poured forth a veritable rain of death upon the Germans, while our Maxim spat fire incessantly, and the men at the barricade kept up a splendid fusillade. Ere long Haverstock Hill became a perfect inferno. Perched up where I was, I commanded a wide view of all that was in progress. Again and again the Germans were launched to the assault, but such a withering fire did we keep up that we held them constantly in check. Our Maxim served us admirably, for ever and anon it cut a lane in the great wall of advancing troops, until the whole roadway was covered with dead and maimed Germans. To my own gun many fell, as to those of my valiant comrades, for every one of us had sworn that the enemy should never enter London if we could prevent it.

“I saw a woman with her hair dishevelled deliberately mount to the top of the barricade and wave a small Union Jack; but next instant she paid for her folly with her life, and fell back dead upon the roadway below. If the enemy lost heavily, we did not altogether escape. At the barricade and in the houses in the immediate vicinity there were a number of dead and a quantity of wounded, the latter being carried away and tended to by a number of devoted ladies from Fitzjohn’s Avenue, and the more select thoroughfares in the neighbourhood. Local surgeons were also there, working unceasingly. For fully an hour the frightful conflict continued. The Germans were dogged in their perseverance, while we were equally active in our desperate resistance. The conflict was awful. The scenes in the streets below me now were beyond description. In High Street, Hampstead, a number of shops had been set on fire and were burning; while above the din, the shouts and the crackle of the rifles, there was now and then heard the deep boom of field guns away in the distance.

“We had received information that Von Kronhelm himself was quite near us, up at Jack Straw’s Castle, and more than one of us only wished he would show himself in Haverstock Hill, and thus allow us a chance of taking a pot-shot at him.

“Suddenly the enemy retreated back up Roslyn Hill, and we cheered loudly at what we thought was our victory. Alas! our triumph was not of long duration. I had descended from my position on the roof, and was walking at rear of the barricade, where the pavement and roadway were slippery with blood, when of a sudden the big guns, which it seemed had now been planted on Hampstead Heath, gave tongue, and a shot passed high above us far south into London. In a moment a dozen other guns roared, and within ten minutes we found ourselves beneath a perfect hail of high explosive projectiles, though being so near the guns we were comparatively safe. Most of us sought shelter in the neighbouring houses. No enemy was in sight, for they had now gathered up their wounded and retired back up to Hampstead. Their dead they left scattered over the roadway, a grim, awful sight on that bright, sunny morning.

“ ‘They’re surely not going to bombard a defenceless city?’ cried a man to me—a man whom I recognised as a neighbour of mine at Hendon. ‘It’s against all the rules of war.’

“ ‘They are bombarding London because of our defence,’ I said, and scarcely were those words out of my mouth when there was a bright red flash, a loud report, and the whole front of a neighbouring house was torn out into the roadway, while my friend and myself reeled by force of the terrific explosion. Two men standing near us had been blown to atoms.

“Some of the women about us now became panic-stricken. But the men were mostly cool and determined, standing within the shelter walls of the houses, down areas, or in coal cellers beneath the street. Thus for over three hours we waited under fire, not knowing from one moment to another whether a shell might not fall among us.

“Suddenly our fears were increased, when, soon after four o’clock, the Germans again appeared in Haverstock Hill, this time with artillery, which, notwithstanding the heavy fire we instantly directed upon them, they established in such a position as to completely command our hastily-constructed defences. The fire from Hampstead Heath was slackening when suddenly one of those guns before us on Haverstock Hill sent a shell right into the centre of our barricade. The explosion was awful. The whole front of the house in which I was fell out into the roadway, while a dozen heroic men were blown out of all recognition, and a great breach made in the obstruction. Another shell, another and another, struck in our midst, utterly disorganising our defence, and each time making great breaches in our huge barricade. Neither Maxim nor rifle was of any use against those awful shells.

“I stood in the wrecked room covered with dust and blood, wondering what the end was to be. To fire my rifle in that moment was useless. Not only did the German artillery train their guns upon the barricade, but on the houses which we had placed in a state of defence. They pounded away at them, and in a few minutes had reduced several to ruins, burying in the débris the gallant Londoners defending them. The house upon the roof of which I had, earlier in the day, taken up my position, was struck by two shells in rapid succession, and simply demolished, over forty brave men losing their lives in the terrible catastrophe.

“Again the enemy, after wrecking our defences, retired smartly up the hill as the terrible bombardment of London ceased. Our losses in the shelling of the barricade had been terrible. The roadway behind us was strewn with dead and dying, and with others I helped to bandage the wounded and remove them to private houses in the Adelaide and King Henry’s Roads, where the doctors were attending to their injuries. In Haverstock Hill lay the bodies of many women, more than one with a revolver still grasped in her stiffened hand. Ah! the scenes at that barricade defy description. They were awful. The pavements were like those of slaughter-houses and the whole road to beyond the Adelaide had been utterly wrecked, there being not a single house intact.

“And yet we rallied. Reinforcements came up from the direction of Regent’s Park—a great, unorganised crowd of armed men and women, doubly enraged by the cruel bombardment and the burning of their homes. With these reinforcements we resolved to still hold the débris of our barricade—to still dispute the advance of the invader, knowing that one division must certainly come down that road. So we reorganised our force and waited—waited while the sun sank with its crimson afterglow and darkness crept on, watching the red fires of London reflected upon the night sky, and wondering each one of us what was to be our fate.

“For hours we waited there, until the Kaiser’s legions came upon us, sweeping down Roslyn Hill to where we were still making a last stand. Though the street lamps were unlit, we saw them advancing by the angry glare of the fires of London, while we, too, were full in the light, and a mark for them. They fired upon us, and we returned their fusillade. We stood man to man, concealed behind the débris wherever we could get shelter from the rain of lead they poured upon us. They advanced by rushes, taking our position by storm. I was in the roadway, concealed behind an overturned tramcar, into the woodwork of which bullets were constantly imbedding themselves. The man next me fell backward—dead, without a word. But I kept on, well knowing that in the end we must give way. Those well-equipped hordes of the Kaiser I saw before me were, I knew, the conquerors of London. Yet we fought on valiantly for King and country—fought even when we came hand to hand. I shot a standard-bearer dead, but in an instant another took his place. For a second the German standard was trampled in the dust, but next moment it was aloft again, amid the ringing cheers of the conquerors. Again I fired, again, and yet again, as fast as I could reload, when of a sudden I knew that we were defeated, for our fire had slackened, and the Germans ran in past me. I turned, and as I did so I faced a big, burly fellow with a revolver. I put my hand to my own, but ere I could get it out a light flashed full in my face, and then I knew no more. When I recovered consciousness I found myself in the North-West London Hospital, in Kentish Town Road, with my head bandaged, and a nurse looking gravely into my face.

“And that is very briefly my story of how I fared during the terrible siege of London. I could tell you of many and many horrible scenes, of ruthless loss of life, and of women and children the innocent victims of those bloody engagements. But why should I? The horrors of the war are surely known to you, alas, only too well—far too well.”

Another narrative of great interest as showing the aspect of London immediately following its occupation by the Germans was that of a middle-aged linotype operator named James Jellicoe, employed on the Weekly Dispatch, who made the following statement to a reporter of the Evening News. It was published in the last edition of that journal prior to the suppression of the entire London Press by Von Kronhelm. He said:

“When the barricades in North London had been stormed by the Germans, and they had fought their way down to Oxford Street and Holborn, I chanced to be in Farringdon Street. Right through the bombardment during the whole afternoon we compositors on the Mail, the Evening News, and the Dispatch were compelled to work, and it had been a most exciting time, I can tell you. We didn’t know from one moment to another when a shell might fall through the roof among us. Two or three places in Whitefriars were struck, and Answers’ office in Tudor Street had been burned out. I had left work at eleven and gone to meet my boy Frank, who is on the Star in Stonecutter Street, intending to take him home to Kennington Park Road, where I live, when I first caught sight of the Germans. They were passing over the Viaduct, marching towards the City, while some of them ran down the steps into the Farringdon Road, ranging themselves along beneath the Viaduct as guards, in order to protect it, I suppose. They seemed a tall, sturdy, well-equipped body of men, and entirely surprised me, as they did the other people about me, who now saw them for the first time. I had been setting up ‘copy’ about the enemy for the past ten days or so, but had never imagined them to be such a sturdy race as they really were. There was no disorder among them. They obeyed the German words of command just like machines, while up above them marched battalion after battalion of infantry, and troop after troop of clattering cavalry, away to Newgate Street and the City.

“I heard it said that the Lord Mayor had already been taken a prisoner, and that the streets of the City proper were swarming with Germans. A quarter of an hour later I called for my boy, and together we made our way back along New Bridge Street to Blackfriars Bridge, when, to my amazement, I found such a great press of people flying south that many helpless women and children were being crushed to death. There was a frightful scene, illuminated by the red glare of the