“The expectation that the Germans intended an immediate descent on Sheffield was not realised because the German tactics were merely to reconnoitre and report on the defences of Sheffield if any existed. This they did by remaining to the eastward of the river Rother, whence the high ground rising before Sheffield could be easily observed.

“Before dusk one or two squadrons of Cuirassiers were seen to be examining the river to find fords and ascertain the capacity of the bridges, while others appeared to be comparing the natural features of the ground with the maps with which they all appeared to be provided.

“As night fell, however, the cavalry retired towards Doncaster, which town was occupied, the Angel being the cavalry headquarters. The reason the Germans could not advance at once upon Sheffield was that the cavalry was not strongly enough supported by infantry from their base, the distance from Goole being too great to be covered in a single day. That the arrangements for landing were in every detail perfect could not be doubted, but owing to the narrow channel of the Ouse time was necessary, and it is considered probable that fully three days must elapse from Sunday before the Germans are absolutely established.

“An attempt has been made by the Yorkshire Light Infantry and the York and Lancaster Regiment, with three battalions of Volunteers stationed at Pontefract, to discover the enemy’s strength and position between Askern and Snaith, but so far without avail, the cavalry screen across the whole country being impenetrable.

“The people of the West Riding, and especially the inhabitants of Sheffield, are stupefied that they have received no assistance—not even a reply to the Mayor’s telegram. This fact has leaked out, and has caused the greatest dissatisfaction. An enemy is upon us, yet we are in ignorance of what steps, if any, the authorities are taking for our protection.

“There are wild rumours here that the enemy have burned Grimsby, but these are generally discredited, for telegraphic and telephonic communication has been cut off, and at present we are completely isolated. It has been gathered from the invaders that the VIIIth Army Corps of the Germans have landed and seized Hull, but at present this is not confirmed. There is, alas! no communication with the place, therefore the report may possibly be true.

“Dewsbury, Huddersfield, Wakefield, and Selby are all intensely excited over the sudden appearance of German soldiers, and were at first inclined to unite to stem their progress. But the German proclamation showing the individual peril of any citizen taking arms against the invaders having been posted everywhere, has held everyone scared and in silent inactivity.

“ ‘Where is our Army?’ everyone is asking. The whole country has run riot in a single hour, now that the Germans are upon us. On every hand it is asked: ‘What will London do?’ ”

The following account, written by a reporter of the Hull Daily Mail, appeared in the London Evening News on Wednesday evening, and was the first authentic news of what had happened on the Humber on Sunday:—

“Hull, Monday Night.

“A great disaster has occurred here, and the town is in the hands of the Germans. The totally unexpected appearance in the river at dawn on Sunday of an extraordinary flotilla of all kinds of craft, filled with troops and being towed towards Goole, created the greatest alarm. Loud shouting in the street just before five o’clock awakened me, and I opened my window. Shouting to a seaman running past, I asked what was the matter, when the man’s astounding reply was: ‘The whole river is swarming with Germans!’ Dressing hastily, I mounted my bicycle and ran along the Beverley road through Prospect Street to the dock office, where around the Wilberforce monument the excited crowd now already collected was impassable, and I was compelled to dismount.

“On eager inquiry I learnt that half an hour before men at work in the Alexandra Dock were amazed to discern through the grey mists still hanging across the Humber an extraordinary sight. Scores of ocean-going tugs, each laboriously towing great Dutch barges and lighters, came into sight, and telescopes being quickly borrowed revealed every boat in question to be literally crammed with grey-coated men, evidently soldiers. At first it was believed that they were about to enter Hull, but they kept out in the channel, on the New Holland side, and were accompanied, it was seen, by a quantity of tramp steamers of small tonnage, evidently of such capacity as might get up to the port of Goole. It was at once patent that Goole was their objective.

“The alarm was at once raised in the town. The police ran down to the quays and the Victoria Pier, while the townspeople hastily dressed and joined them to witness the amazing spectacle.

“Somebody at the pier who had a powerful glass recognised the grey uniforms and declared them to be Germans, and then like wildfire the alarming news spread into every quarter of the town that the Germans were upon us.

“The police ran to the telegraph office in order to give the alarm, but it was at once discovered that both telegraph and telephone systems had suddenly been interrupted. Repeated calls elicited no reply, for the wires running out of Hull in every direction had been cut.

“In endless procession the strange medley of queer-looking craft came up out of the morning mist only to be quickly lost again in the westward, while the onlookers, including myself—for I had cycled to the Victoria Pier—gazed at them in utter bewilderment.

“At the first moment of alarm the East Yorkshire Volunteers hurried on their uniforms and assembled at their regimental headquarters for orders. There were, of course, no regular troops in the town, but the Volunteers soon obtained their arms and ammunition, and after being formed, marched down Heddon road to the Alexandra Dock.

“On every side was the greatest commotion, already bordering upon panic. Along Spring Bank, the Hessle road, the Anlaby road, and all the thoroughfares converging into Queen Victoria Square, came crowds of all classes eager to see for themselves and learn the truth of the startling rumour. The whole riverside was soon black with the excited populace, but to the astonishment of everyone the motley craft sailed on, taking no notice of us and becoming fewer and fewer, until ships appeared through the grey bank of fog only at intervals.

“One thing was entirely clear. The enemy, whoever they might be, had destroyed all our means of appealing for help, for we could not telephone to the military at York, Pontefract, Richmond, or even to the regimental district headquarters at Beverley. They had gone on to Goole, but would they turn back and attack us?

“The cry was that if they meant to seize Goole they would also seize Hull! Then the terrified crowd commenced to collect timber and iron from the yards, furniture from neighbouring houses, tramway-cars, omnibuses, cabs; in fact, anything they could lay their hands upon to form barricades in the streets for their own protection.

“I witnessed the frantic efforts of the people as they built one huge obstacle at the corner of Queen Street, facing the pier. Houses were ruthlessly entered, great pieces of heavy furniture—wardrobes, pianos, and sideboards—were piled anyhow upon each other. Men got coils of barbed wire, and lashed the various objects together with seamanlike alacrity. Even paving-stones were prised up with pickaxes and crowbars, and placed in position. The women, in deadly terror of the Germans, helped the men in this hastily improvised barrier, which even as I watched grew higher across the street until it reached the height of the first-storey windows in one great heterogeneous mass of every article conceivable—almost like a huge rubbish heap.

“This was only one of many similar barricades. There were others in the narrow Pier Street, in Wellington Street, Castle Street, south of Prince’s Dock, in St. John’s Street, between Queen’s Dock and Prince’s Dock, while the bridges over the river Hull were all defended by hastily improvised obstructions. In Jennings Street, on Sculcoates Bridge, and also the two railway bridges of the Hull and Barnsley and North-Eastern Railways were similarly treated. Thus the whole of the town west of the river Hull was at any rate temporarily protected from any landing eastward.

“The whole town now seemed in a perfect ferment. Wildest rumours were afloat everywhere, and the streets by six o’clock that morning were so crowded that it was almost impossible to move.

“Hundreds found themselves outside the barriers; indeed, the people in the Southcoates, Drypool, and Alexandra Wards were in the threatened zone, and promptly began to force their way into the town by escalading the huge barricades and scrambling over their crests.

“Foreigners—sailors and others—had a rough time of it, many of them being thrust back and threatened by the indignant townspeople. Each time a foreigner was discovered there was a cry of ‘spy,’ and many innocent men had fortunate escapes.

“The river seemed clear, when about seven o’clock there suddenly loomed up from seaward a great, ugly, grey-hulled warship flying the German flag. The fear was realised. Her sight caused absolute panic, for with a sudden swerve she calmly moored opposite the Alexandra Dock.

“Eager-eyed seamen, some of them Naval Reservists, recognised that she was cleared for action, and even while we were looking, two more similar vessels anchored in positions from which their guns could completely dominate the town.

“No sooner had these swung to their anchors than, from the now sunlit horizon, there rose the distant smoke of many steamers, and as the moments of terror dragged by, there came slowly into the offing a perfect fleet of all sizes of steamers, escorted by cruisers and destroyers.

“Standing behind the barricade in Queen Street I could overlook the Victoria Pier, and the next half-hour was the most exciting one in my whole life. Three dirty-looking steamers of, as far as I could judge, about 2500 tons each, anchored in a line almost midstream. From my coign of vantage I could hear the rattle of the cables in the hawse-pipes as many other vessels of about the same size followed their example farther down the river. No sooner had the anchors touched the bottom than boats were hoisted out, lowered from all the davits, and brought alongside, while into them poured hundreds upon hundreds of soldiers, all in a uniform dusky grey. Steam pinnaces quickly took these in charge, towing some of them to the Victoria Pier near where I stood, and others to the various wharves.

“Armed and accoutred, the men sprang ashore, formed up, and were quickly told off by their officers in guttural accents, when, from our barricade, close beside me, a Volunteer officer gave the order to fire, and a ragged volley rang sharply out.

“A young German infantry officer standing in Nelson Street, in the act of drawing his revolver from its pouch, pitched heavily forward upon his face with a British bullet through his heart. There were also several gaps in the German ranks. Almost instantly the order for advance was given. The defence was an ill-advised and injudicious one, having in view the swarm of invaders. Hundreds of boats were now approaching every possible landing-place right along the river front, and men were swarming upon every wharf and quay.

“Shots sounded in every direction. Then, quite suddenly, some unintelligible order was given in German, and the crowd of the enemy who had landed at our pier extended, and, advancing at the double, came straight for our barricade, endeavouring to take it by assault. It was an exciting moment. Our Volunteers poured volleys into them, and for a time were able to check them, although the Germans kept up a withering fire, and I found myself, a non-combatant, with bullets whistling about me everywhere, in unpleasant proximity.

“They were breathless moments. Men were continually falling on both sides, and one fierce-faced, black-haired woman, evidently a sailor’s wife, who had helped to build the barricade, fell dead at my side, shot through the throat. From the very beginning our defence at this point seemed utterly hopeless. The Volunteers—many of them friends of mine—very gallantly endeavoured to do what they could in the circumstances, but they themselves recognised the utter futility of fighting against what seemed to be a veritable army. They did their utmost, but the sudden rush of an enormous number of supports to strengthen the enemy’s advanced parties proved too much for them, and ten minutes later bearded Teutons came clambering over the barricades, ruthlessly putting to death all men in uniform who did not at once throw down their arms.

“As soon as I saw the great peril of the situation I confess that I fled, when behind me I heard a loud crash as a breach was at last made in the obstruction. I ran up Queen Street to Drypool Bridge, where at the barricade there I found desperate fighting in progress. The scene was terrible. The few Volunteers were bravely trying to defend us. Many civilians, in their frantic efforts to guard their homes, were lying upon the pavement dead and dying. Women, too, had been struck by the hail of German bullets, and the enemy, bent upon taking the town, fought with the utmost determination. From the ceaseless rattle of musketry which stunned the ears on every side it was evident that the town was being taken by assault.

“For five minutes or so I remained in Salthouse Lane, but so thick came the bullets that I managed to slip round to Whitefriargate, and into Victoria Square.

“I was standing at the corner of King Edward Street when the air was of a sudden rent by a crash that seemed to shake the town to its very foundations, and one of the black cupolas of the dock office was carried away, evidently by a high explosive shell.

“A second report, no doubt from one of the cruisers lying in the river, was followed by a great jet of flame springing up from the base of one of the new shops on the left side of King Edward Street—caused, as I afterwards ascertained, by one of those new petrol shells, of which we had heard so much in the newspapers, but the practicability of which our unprogressive Government had so frequently refused to entertain.

“In a flash three shops were well alight, and even while I watched the whole block from Tyler’s to the corner was furiously ablaze, the petrol spreading fire and destruction on every hand.

“Surely there is no more deadly engine in modern warfare than the terrible petrol bomb, as was now proved upon our unfortunate town. Within ten minutes came a veritable rain of fire. In all directions the houses began to flare and burn. The explosions were terrific, rapidly succeeding one another, while helpless men stood frightened and aghast, no man knowing that the next moment might not be his last.

“In those never-to-be-forgotten moments we realised for the first time what the awful horror of War really meant.

“The scene was frightful. Hull had resisted, and in retaliation the enemy were now spreading death and destruction everywhere among us.”

Reports now reached London that the VIIth German Army Corps had landed at Hull and Goole, and taking possession of those towns, were moving upon Sheffield in order to paralyse our trade in the Midlands. Hull had been bombarded, and was in flames! Terrible scenes were taking place at that port.

The disaster was, alas! of our own seeking.

Lord Roberts, who certainly could not be called an alarmist, had in 1905 resigned his place on the Committee of National Defence in order to be free to speak his own mind. He had told us plainly in 1906 that we were in no better position than we were five or six years previous. Behind the Regular Army we had no practicable reserve, while military training was more honoured in the breach than in the observance. The outlook was alarming, and the reasons for reform absolutely imperative.

He had pointed out to the London Chamber of Commerce in December 1905 that it was most important that our present unpreparedness for war should not be allowed to continue. We should use every endeavour to prevent the feeling of anxiety as to our unpreparedness from cooling down. England’s military hero, the man who had dragged us out of the South African muddle, had urged most strongly that a committee of the leading men of London should be formed to take the matter into their earnest consideration. The voice of London upon a question of such vital importance could not fail to carry great weight throughout the country.

A “citizen army,” he had declared, was needed as well as the Regular Army. The only way by which a sufficient amount of training could be given—short of adopting the Continental practice—was by giving boys and youths such an amount of drill and practice in rifle shooting as was possible while they were at school, and by some system of universal training after they reached manhood. And that Lord Roberts had urged most strongly.

Yet what had been done? Ay, what?

A deaf ear had been turned to every appeal. And now, alas! the long prophesied blow had fallen.

On that memorable Sunday, when a descent had been made upon our shores, there were in German ports on the North Sea nearly a million tons gross of German shipping. Normally, in peace time, half a million tons is always to be found there, the second half having been quietly collected by ships putting in unobserved into such ports as Emden, Bremen, Bremerhaven, and Geestemunde, where there are at least ten miles of deep-sea wharves, with ample railway access. The arrival of these crafts caused no particular comment, but they had already been secretly prepared for the transport of men and horses while at sea.

Under the cover of the Frisian Islands, from every canal, river, and creek had been assembled a huge multitude of flats and barges, ready to be towed by tugs alongside the wharves and filled with troops. Of a sudden, in a single hour it seemed, Hamburg, Altona, Cuxhaven, and Wilhelmshaven were in excited activity, and almost before the inhabitants themselves realised what was really in progress the embarkation had well commenced.

At Emden, with its direct cables to the theatre of war in England, was concentrated the brain of the whole movement. Beneath the lee of the covering screen of Frisian Islands, Borkum, Juist, Norderney, Langebog, and the others, the preparations for the descent upon England rapidly matured.

Troop-trains from every part of the Fatherland arrived with the punctuality of clockwork. From Düsseldorf came the VIIth Army Corps, the VIIIth from Coblenz, the IXth were already assembled at their headquarters at Altona, while many of them being stationed at Bremen embarked from there, the Xth came up from Hanover, the XIVth from Magdeburg, and the Corps of German Guards, the pride and flower of the Kaiser’s troops, arrived eagerly at Hamburg from Berlin and Potsdam, among the first to embark.

Each army corps consisted of about 38,000 officers and men, 11,000 horses, 144 guns, and about 2000 motor-cars, wagons, and carts. But for this campaign—which was more of the nature of a raid than of any protracted campaign—the supply of wheeled transport, with the exception of motor-cars, had been somewhat reduced.

Each cavalry brigade attached to an army corps consisted of 1400 horses and men, with some thirty-five light machine-guns and wagons. The German calculation—which proved pretty correct—was that each army corps could come over to England in 100,000 tons gross of shipping, bringing with them supplies for twenty-seven days in another 3000 tons gross. Therefore about 618,000 tons gross conveyed the whole of the six corps, leaving an ample margin still in German ports for any emergencies. Half this tonnage consisted of about 100 steamers, averaging 3000 tons each, the remainder being the boats, flats, lighters, barges, and tugs previously alluded to.

The Saxons who, disregarding the neutrality of Belgium, had embarked at Antwerp, had seized the whole of the flat-bottomed craft in the Scheldt and the numerous canals, as well as the merchant ships in the port, finding no difficulty in commandeering the amount of tonnage necessary to convey them to the Blackwater and the Crouch.

As hour succeeded hour, the panic increased.

It was now also known that, in addition to the various corps who had effected a landing, the German Guards had, by a sudden swoop into the Wash, got ashore at King’s Lynn, seized the town, and united their forces with Von Kleppen’s corps, who, having landed at Weybourne, were now spread right across Norfolk. This picked corps of Guards was under the command of that distinguished officer the Duke of Mannheim, while the infantry divisions were under Lieutenant-Generals von Castein and Von Der Decken.

The landing at King’s Lynn on Sunday morning had been quite a simple affair. There was nothing whatever to repel them, and they disembarked on the quays and in the docks, watched by the astonished populace. All provisions were seized at shops, including the King’s Lynn and County Stores, the Star Supply Stores, Ladyman’s and Lipton’s in the High Street, while headquarters were established at the municipal buildings, and the German flag hoisted upon the old church, the tower of which was at once used as a signal station.

Old-fashioned people of Lynn peered out of their quiet, respectable houses in King Street in utter amazement, but soon, when the German proclamation was posted, the terrible truth was plain.

In half an hour, even before they could realise it, they had been transferred from the protection of the British flag to the militarism of the German.

The Tuesday Market Place, opposite the Globe Hotel, was one of the points of assembly, and from there and from other open spaces troops of cavalry were constantly riding out of town by the Downham Market and Swaffham Roads. The intention of this commander was evidently to join hands with Von Kleppen as soon as possible. Indeed, by that same evening the Guards and IVth Corps had actually shaken hands at East Dereham.

A few cavalry, mostly Cuirassiers and troopers of the Gardes du Corps, were pushed out across the flat, desolate country over Sutton Bridge to Holbeach and Spalding, while others, moving south-easterly, came past the old Abbey of Crowland, and even to within sight of the square cathedral tower of Peterborough. Others went south to Ely.

Ere sundown on Sunday, stalwart, grey-coated sentries of the Guards Fusiliers from Potsdam and the Grenadiers from Berlin were holding the roads at Gayton, East Walton, Narborough, Markham, Fincham, Stradsett, and Stow Bardolph. Therefore on Sunday night, from Spalding on the east, Peterborough, Chatteris, Littleport, Thetford, Diss, and Halesworth were faced by a huge cavalry screen protecting the landing and repose of the great German Army behind it.

Slowly but carefully the enemy were maturing their plans for the defeat of our defenders and the sack of London.

CHAPTER XII

DESPERATE FIGHTING IN ESSEX

The starving East met the terrified West, but in those moments the bonds of terror united class with mass. Restaurants and theatres were closed, there was but little vehicular traffic in the streets, for of horses there were none, while the majority of the motor ’buses had been requisitioned, and the transit of goods had been abandoned. “The City,” that great army of daily workers, both male and female, was out of employment, and swelled the idlers and gossips, whose temper and opinion were swayed each half-hour by the papers now constantly appearing night and day without cessation.

Cabinet Councils had been held every day, but their decisions, of course, never leaked out to the public. The King also held Privy Councils, and various measures were decided upon. Parliament, which had been hurriedly summoned, was due to meet, and everyone speculated as to the political crisis that must now ensue.

In St. James’s Park, in Hyde Park, in Victoria Park, on Hampstead Heath, in Greenwich Park, in fact, in each of the “lungs of London,” great mass meetings were held, at which resolutions were passed condemning the Administration and eulogising those who, at the first alarm, had so gallantly died in defence of their country.

It was declared that by the culpable negligence of the War Office and the National Defence Committee we had laid ourselves open to complete ruin, both financially and as a nation.

The man-in-the-street already felt the strain, for the lack of employment and the sudden rise in the price of everything had brought him up short. Wives and families were crying for food, and those without savings and with only a few pounds put by looked grimly into the future and at the mystery it presented.

Most of the papers published the continuation of the important story of Mr. Alexander, the Mayor of Maldon, which revealed the extent of the enemy’s operations in Essex and the strong position they occupied.

It ran as below:—

“Of the events of the early hours of the morning I have no very clear recollection. I was bewildered, staggered, dumbfounded by the sights and sounds which beset me. Of what modern war meant I had till then truly but a very faint idea. To witness its horrid realities enacted in this quiet, out-of-the-way spot where I had pitched my tent for so many years, brought them home to me literally, as well as metaphorically. And to think that all this wanton destruction of property and loss of life was directly due to our apathy as a nation! The Germans had been the aggressors without a doubt, but as for us we had gone out of our way to invite attack. We had piled up riches and made no provision to prevent a stronger nation from gathering them. We had seen every other European nation, and even far-distant Japan, arm their whole populations and perfect their preparedness for the eventualities of war, but we had been content to scrape along with an apology for a military system—which was really no system at all—comforting ourselves with the excuse that nothing could possibly evade or compete with our magnificent navy. Such things as fogs, false intelligence, and the interruption of telegraphic and telephonic communication were not taken into account, and were pooh-poohed if any person, not content with living in a fool’s paradise, ventured to draw attention to the possibility of such contingencies.

“So foolhardy had we become in the end, that we were content to see an immense and threatening increase in the German shipbuilding programme without immediately ‘going one better.’ The specious plea that our greater rapidity in construction would always enable us to catch up our rivals in the race was received with acclamation, especially as the argument was adorned with gilt lettering in the shape of promised Admiralty economies.

“As might have been foreseen, Germany attacked us at the psychological moment when her rapidly increasing fleet had driven even our laissez faire politicians to lay down new ships with the laudable idea of keeping our naval pre-eminence by the rapidity of our construction. Our wide-awake enemy, seeing that should these be allowed to attain completion the place he had gained in the race would be lost, allowed them to be half finished and then suddenly attacked us.

“But to return to my personal experiences on this never-to-be-forgotten day. I had run down Cromwell Hill, and seeing the flames of Heybridge, was impelled to get nearer, if possible, to discover more particularly the state of affairs in that direction. But I was reckoning without the Germans. When I got to the bridge over the river at the foot of the hill, the officer in charge there absolutely prevented my crossing. Beyond the soldiers standing or kneeling behind whatever cover was offered by the walls and buildings abutting on the riverside, and a couple of machine guns placed so as to command the bridge and the road beyond, there was nothing much to see. A number of Germans were, however, very busy in the big mill just across the river, but what they were doing I could not make out. As I turned to retrace my steps, the glare of the conflagration grew suddenly more and more intense. A mass of dark figures came running down the brightly-illuminated road towards the bridge, while the rifle fire became louder, nearer, and heavier than ever. Every now and again the air became alive with, as it were, the hiss and buzz of flying insects. The English must have fought their way through Heybridge, and these must be the bullets from their rifles. It was dangerous to stay down there any longer, so I took to my heels. As I ran I heard a thundering explosion behind me, the shock of which nearly threw me to the ground. Looking over my shoulder, I saw that the Germans had blown up the mill at the farther end of the bridge, and were now pushing carts from either side in order to barricade it. The two Maxims, too, began to pump lead with their hammering reports, and the men near them commenced to fall in twos and threes. I made off to the left, and passed into the High Street by the end of St. Peter’s Church, now disused. At the corner I ran against Mr. Clydesdale, the optician, who looks after the library which now occupies the old building. He pointed to the tower, which stood darkly up against the blood-red sky.

“ ‘Look at those infernal Germans!’ he said. ‘They can’t even keep out of that old place. I wish we could have got the books out before they came.’

“I could not see any of our invaders where he was pointing, but presently I became aware of a little winking, blinking light at the very summit of the tower.

“ ‘That’s them,’ said Clydesdale. ‘They’re making signals, I think. My boy says he saw the same thing on Purleigh Church tower last night. I wish it would come down with them, that I do. It’s pretty shaky, anyway.’

“The street was fairly full of people. The Germans, it is true, had ordered that no one should be out of doors between eight in the evening and six in the morning; but just now they appeared to have their hands pretty full elsewhere, and if any of the few soldiers that were about knew of or thought anything of the interdiction, they said nothing. Wat Miller, the postman, came up and touched his cap.

“ ‘Terrible times, sir,’ he said, ‘ain’t they? There was a mort of people killed this afternoon by them shells. There was poor old Missis Reece in the London Road. Bed-ridden, she were, this dozen years. Well, sir, there ain’t so much as the head on her left. A fair mash up she were, poor old lady! Then there was Jones the carpenter’s three kids, as was left behind when their mother took the baby to Mundon with the rest of the women. The house was struck and come down atop of ’em. They got two out, but they were dead, poor souls! and they’re still looking for the other one.’

“The crash of a salvo of heavy guns from the direction of my own house interrupted the tale of horrors.

“ ‘That’ll be the guns in my garden,’ I said.

“ ‘Yes, sir; and they’ve got three monstrous great ones in the opening between the houses just behind the church there,’ said Clydesdale.

“As he spoke the guns in question bellowed out, one after the other.

“ ‘Look—look at the tower!’ cried the postman.

“The light at the top had disappeared, and the lofty edifice was swaying slowly, slowly, over to the left.

“ ‘She’s gone at last!’ exclaimed Clydesdale.

“It was true. Down came the old steeple that had pointed heavenward for so many generations, with a mighty crash and concussion that swallowed up even the noise of the battle, though cannon of all sorts and sizes were now joining in the hellish concert, and shell from the English batteries began to roar over the town. The vibration and shock of the heavy guns had been too much for the old tower, which, for years in a tottery condition, had been patched up so often.

“As soon as the cloud of dust cleared off we all three ran towards the huge pile of débris that filled the little churchyard. Several other people followed. It was very dark down there, in the shadow of the trees and houses, despite the firelight overhead, and we began striking matches as we looked about among the heaps of bricks and beams to see if there were any of the German signal party among them. Why we should have taken the trouble under the circumstances I do not quite know. It was an instinctive movement of humanity on my part, and that of most of the others, I suppose. Miller, the postman, was, however, logical. ‘I ’opes as they’re all dead!’ was what he said.

“I caught sight of an arm in a light blue sleeve protruding from the débris, and took hold of it in a futile attempt to remove some of the bricks and rubbish which I thought were covering the body of its owner. To my horror, it came away in my hand. The body to which it belonged might be buried yards away in the immense heap of ruins. I dropped it with a cry, and fled from the spot.

“Dawn was now breaking. I do not exactly remember where I wandered to after the fall of St. Peter’s Tower, but it must have been between half-past five and six when I found myself on the high ground at the north-western corner of the town, overlooking the golf links, where I had spent so many pleasant hours in that recent past that now seemed so far away. All around me were batteries, trenches, and gun-pits. But though the firing was still going on somewhere away to the right, where Heybridge poured black smoke skyward like a volcano, gun and howitzer were silent, and their attendant artillerymen, instead of being in cover behind their earthen parapets, were clustered on the top watching intently something that was passing in the valley below them. So absorbed were they that I was able to creep up behind them, and also get a sight of what was taking place. And this is what I saw:—

“Over the railway bridge which spanned the river a little to the left were hurrying battalion after battalion of green and blue clad German infantry. They moved down the embankment after crossing, and continued their march behind it. Where the railway curved to the right and left, about half a mile beyond the bridge, the top of the embankment was lined with dark figures lying down and apparently firing, while over the golf course from the direction of Beeleigh trotted squadron after squadron of sky-blue riders, their green and white lance pennons fluttering in the breeze. They crossed the Blackwater and Chelmer Canal, and cantered off in the direction of Langford Rectory.

“At the same time I saw line after line of the Germans massed behind the embankment spring over it and advance rapidly towards the lower portion of the town, just across the river. Hundreds fell under the fire from the houses, which must have been full of Englishmen, but one line after another reached the buildings. The firing was now heavier than ever—absolutely incessant and continuous—though, except for an occasional discharge from beyond Heybridge, the artillery was silent.

“I have but little knowledge of military matters, but it was abundantly evident, even to me, that what I had just seen was a very formidable counter-attack on the part of the Germans, who had brought up fresh troops either from the rear of the town or from farther inland, and launched them against the English under cover of the railway embankment. I was not able to see the end of the encounter, but bad news flies apace, and it soon became common knowledge in the town that our troops from Colchester had not only failed to cross the river at any point, but had been driven helter-skelter out of the lower town near the station and from the smoking ruins of Heybridge with great loss, and were now in full retreat.

“Indeed, some hundreds of our khaki-clad fellow-countrymen were marched through the town an hour or two later as prisoners, to say nothing of the numbers of wounded who, together with those belonging to the Germans, soon began to crowd every available building suitable for use as an hospital. The wounded prisoners with their escort went off towards Mundon, and are reported to have gone in the direction of Steeple. It was altogether a disastrous day, and our hopes, which had begun to rise when the British had penetrated into the northern part of the town, now fell below zero.

“It was a black day for us, and for England. During the morning the same officer who had captured me on the golf course came whirling into Maldon on a 24-h.p. Mercedes car. He drove straight up to my house, and informed me that he had orders to conduct me to Prince Henry, who was to be at Purleigh early in the afternoon.

“ ‘Was it in connection with the skirmish with the Volunteers?’ I asked.

“ ‘I don’t know,’ was the reply. ‘But I don’t fancy so. In the meantime, could I write here for an hour or two?’ he asked politely. ‘I have much to write to my friends in Germany, and have not had a minute up to now.’

“I was very glad to be able to oblige the young man in such a small way, and left him in my study till midday, very busy with pens, ink, and paper.

“After a makeshift of a lunch, the car came round, and we got into the back seat. In front sat his orderly and the chauffeur, a fierce-looking personage in a semi-military uniform. We ran swiftly down the High Street, and in a few minutes were spinning along the Purleigh Road, where I saw much that amazed me. I then for the first time realised how absolutely complete were the German plans.”

“Tuesday, September 4.

“About six o’clock this morning I awoke rather suddenly. The wind had gone round to the northward, and I was certain that heavy firing was going on somewhere in that direction. I opened the window and looked out. The ‘thud’ and rumble of a cannonade, with the accompaniment of an occasional burst of musketry, came clearly and loudly on the wind from the hills by Wickham Bishops village. The church spire was in plain view, and little faint puffs and rings of grey smoke were just visible in its vicinity every now and again, sometimes high up in the air, at others among the trees at its base. They were exploding shells; I had no doubt of that. What was going on it was impossible to say, but I conjectured that some of our troops from Colchester had come into collision with the Germans, who had gone out in that direction the day of their arrival. The firing continued for about an hour, and then died away.

“Soon after eight Count von Ohrendorff, the general officer commanding the 32nd Division, who appeared to be the supreme authority here, sent for me, and suggested that I should take steps to arrange for the manufacture of lint and bandages by the ladies living in the town. I could see no reason for objecting to this, and so promised to carry out his suggestion. I set about the matter at once, and, with the assistance of my wife, soon had a couple of score of more or less willing workers busily engaged in the National Schoolroom. In the meantime, the roll of a terrible cannonade had burst forth again from Wickham Bishops. It seemed louder and more insistent than ever. As soon as I got away from the schools I hurried home and climbed out on the roof. The top of the Moot Hall, the tower of St. Peter’s, and other better coigns of vantage had all been occupied by the Germans. However, with the aid of a pair of field-glasses I was able to see a good bit. Black smoke was now pouring from Wickham Bishops in clouds, and every now and again I fancied I could see the forked tongues of flame shooting up above the surrounding trees. A series of scattered black dots now came out on the open ground to the south of the church. The trees of Eastland Wood soon hid them from my sight, but others followed, mingled with little moving black blocks, which I took to be formed bodies of troops. After them came four or five guns, driven at breakneck pace towards the road that passes between Eastland and Captain’s Woods, then more black dots, also in a desperate hurry. Several of these last tumbled, and lay still here and there all over the slope.

“Other dots followed at their heels. They were not quite so distinct. I looked harder. Hurrah! They were men in khaki. We were hustling these Germans at last. They also disappeared behind the woods. Then from the fringe of trees about Wickham half a dozen big brilliant flashes, followed after an interval by the loud detonation of heavy cannon. I could not distinguish much more, though the rattle of battle went on for some time longer. Soon after eleven four German guns galloped in from Heybridge. These were followed by a procession of maimed and limping humanity. Some managed to get along unaided, though with considerable difficulty. Others were supported by a comrade, some carried between two men, and others borne along on stretchers. A couple of ambulance carts trotted out and picked up more wounded. Our bandages and lint had not long to wait before being required. After this there was a cessation of firing.

“About one o’clock the German general sent word to me that he thought an attack quite possible during the afternoon, and that he strongly advised me to get all the women and children out of the town—for the time being, at any rate. This was evidently well meant, but it was a pretty difficult matter to arrange for, to say nothing of raising a panic among the inhabitants. However, in an hour and a half’s time I had contrived to marshal several hundred of them together, and to get them out on to the road to Mundon. The weather was warm for the time of year, and I thought, if the worst came to the worst, they could spend the night in the old church. I left the sad little column of exiles—old, bent women helped along by their daughters, tiny children dragged along through the dust, clutching their mothers’ skirts, infants in arms, and other older and sturdier children staggering beneath the weight of the most precious home adornments—and made the best of my way back to arrange for the forwarding to them of their rations.

“At every step on my homeward way I expected to hear the cannonade begin again. But beyond the twittering of the birds in the trees and hedgerows, the creak and rumble of a passing cart, and the rush of a train along the railway on my left—just the usual sounds of the countryside—nothing broke the stillness. As I stepped out on the familiar highway I could almost bring myself to believe that the events of the past twenty-four hours were but the phantasmagoria of a dream. After interviewing some of the town councillors who were going to undertake the transport of provisions to the women and children at Mundon, I walked round to my own house.

“My wife and family had driven over to Purleigh on the first alarm, and had arranged to stay the night with some friends, on whatever shakedowns could be improvised, since every house in the peninsula harboured some of the ubiquitous German officers and men. I wandered through the familiar rooms, and came out into the garden—or rather what had been the garden. There I saw that the Saxon gunners were all standing to their pieces, and one of my none too welcome guests accosted me as I left the house.

“ ‘If you’ll take my advice, sare, you’ll get away out of this,’ he said in broken English.

“ ‘What! are you going to fire?’ I asked.

“ ‘I don’t fancy so. It wouldn’t hurt you if we were. But I think your English friends from Colchester are about to see if they can draw us.’

“As he spoke I became aware of a sharp, hissing noise like a train letting off steam. It grew louder and nearer, passed over our heads, and was almost instantly followed by a terrible crash somewhere behind the house. A deeper and more muffled report came up from the valley beyond Heybridge.

“ ‘Well, they’ve begun now, and the best thing you can do is to get down into that gun epaulment there,’ said the German officer.

“I thought his advice was good, and I lost no time in following it.

“ ‘Here comes another!’ cried he, as he jumped down into the pit beside me. ‘We’ll have plenty of them now.’

“So we did. Shell after shell came hissing and screaming at us over the tree-tops in the gardens lower down the hill. Each one of them sounded to me as if it were coming directly at my head, but one after another passed over us to burst beyond. The gunners all crouched close to the earthen parapet—and so did I. I am not ashamed to say so. My German officer, however, occasionally climbed to the top of the embankment and studied the prospect through his field-glasses. At length there was a loud detonation, and a column of dirt and smoke in the garden next below us. Then two shells struck the parapet of the gun-pit on our left almost simultaneously. Their explosion was deafening, and we were covered with the dust and stones they threw up.

“Immediately afterwards another shell passed so close over our heads that I felt my hair lift. It just cleared the parapet and plunged into the side of my house. A big hole appeared just to the right of the dining-room window, and through it came instantaneously the loud bang of the explosion. The glass was shattered in all the windows, and thick smoke, white and black, came curling from every one of them.

“ ‘The house is on fire!’ I shouted, and sprang madly from the pit. Heedless of the bombardment, I rushed into the building. Another crash sounded overhead as I entered, and a blaze of light shone down the stairway for an instant. Another projectile had found a billet in my home. I tried to make my way to my study, but found the passage blocked with fallen beams and ceiling. What with the smoke and dust, and the blocking of some of the windows, it was very dark in the hall, and I got quite a shock when, as I looked about me to find my way, I saw two red, glittering specks shining over the top of a heap of débris. But the howl that followed told me that they were nothing but the eyes of miserable Tim, the cat, who, left behind, had been nearly frightened out of his senses by the noise and concussion of the bursting shell. As I gazed at him another projectile struck the house quite close to us. Tim was simply smashed by a flying fragment. I was thrown down, and half buried under a shower of bricks and mortar. I think I must have lost consciousness for a time.

“The next thing I recollect was being dragged out into the garden by a couple of Saxons. I had a splitting headache, and was very glad of a glass of water that one of them handed me. Their officer, who appeared to be quite a decent fellow, offered me his flask.

“ ‘The house is all right,’ he said, with his strong accent. ‘It caught fire once, but we managed to get it under. Your friends have cleared off—at any rate for the present. They got too bold at last, and pushed their guns down till they got taken in flank by the warship in the river. They had two of their pieces knocked to bits, and then cleared out. Best thing you can do is to do the same.’

“I was in two minds. I could not save the house by staying, and might just as well join my people at Purleigh Rectory. On the other hand, I felt that it would better become me, as Mayor, to stick to the town. Duty triumphed, and I decided to remain where I was—at least for the present. All was now quiet, and after an early supper I turned in, and, despite the excitement of the day and my aching head, was asleep the moment I touched the pillow.”

“Wednesday, September 5.

“It must have been about three in the morning when I awoke. My head was much better, and for a minute or two I lay comfortably in the darkness, without any recollection of the events of the preceding day. Then I saw a bright reflection pass rapidly over the ceiling. I wondered vaguely what it was. Presently it came back again, paused a moment, and disappeared. By this time I was wide awake. I went to the window and looked out. It was quite dark, but from somewhere over beyond Heybridge a long white ray was sweeping all along this side of Maldon. Now the foliage of a tree in the garden below would stand out in pale green radiance against the blackness; now the wall of a house half a mile away would reflect back the moving beam, shining white as a sheet of notepaper.

“Presently another ray shone out, and the two of them moving backwards and forwards made the whole of our hillside caper in a dizzy dance. From somewhere far away to my right another stronger beam now streamed through the obscurity, directed apparently at the sources of the other two, and almost simultaneously came the crack of a rifle from the direction of Heybridge, sharp and ominous in the quiet darkness of the night. Half a dozen scattered shots followed; then a faint cheer. More and more rifles joined in, and presently the burring tap-tap-tap of a Maxim. I hurried on my clothes. The firing increased in volume and rapidity; bugles rang out here, there, and everywhere through the sleeping town, and above the rolling, rattling clamour of the drums I could distinguish the hurried tramp of hundreds of feet.

“I cast one glance from the window as I quitted the room. The electric searchlights had increased to at least half a dozen. Some reached out long, steady fingers into the vague spaces of the night, while others wandered restlessly up and down, hither and thither. Low down over the trees of the garden a dull red glare slowly increased in extent and intensity. The rattle of musketry was now absolutely continuous. As I ran out of the house into the street I was nearly carried off my feet by the rush of a battalion that was pouring down Cromwell Hill at the double. Hardly knowing what I did, I followed in their wake. The glare in front got brighter and brighter. A few steps, and I could see the cause of it. The whole of Heybridge appeared to be on fire, the flames roaring skywards from a dozen different conflagrations.”

England halted breathless. Fighting had commenced in real earnest.

The greatest consternation was caused by the publication in the Times of the description of the operations in Essex, written by Mr. Henry Bentley, the distinguished war correspondent, who had served that journal in every campaign since Kitchener had entered Khartum.

All other papers, without exception, contained various accounts of the British defence at the point nearest London, but they were mostly of the scrappy and sensational order, based more on report than upon actual fact. The Times account, however, had been written with calm impartiality by one of the most experienced correspondents at the front. Whether he had been afforded any special facilities was not apparent, but, in any case, it was the most complete and truthful account of the gallant attempt on the part of our soldiers to check the advance from Essex westward.

During the whole of that hot, stifling day it was known that a battle was raging, and the excitement everywhere was intense.

The public were in anxious terror as the hours crept by until the first authentic news of the result of the operations was printed in a special evening edition of the Times as follows:—

“(From our War Correspondent.)

“Danbury, Essex, September 8.

“To-day has been a momentous one for England. The great battle has raged since dawn, and though just at present there seems to be a lull, during which the opposing forces are, so to speak, regaining their breath, it can be by no means over.

“Dead and living alike will lie out on the battlefield the whole night through, for we must hold on to the positions so hardly won, and be ready to press forward at the first glimmer of daylight. Our gallant troops, Regular and Volunteer alike, have nobly vindicated the traditions of our race, and have fought as desperately as ever did their forebears at Agincourt, Albuera, or Waterloo. But while a considerable success—paid for, alas! by the loss of thousands of gallant lives—has been achieved, it will take at least another day’s hard fighting before victory is in our grasp. Nowadays a soldier need not expect to be either victorious or finally defeated by nightfall, and although this battle, fought as it is between much smaller forces and extending over a much more limited area than the great engagement between the Russians and Japanese at Liaoyang, will not take quite so long a time to decide, the end is not yet in sight. I write this after a hard day’s travelling backwards and forwards behind our advancing line of battle.

“I took my cycle with me in my motor-car, and whenever opportunity offered mounted it, and pushed forward as near to the fighting as I could get. Frequently I had to leave the cycle also, and crawl forward on hands and knees, sheltering in some depression in the ground, while the enemy’s bullets whined and whistled overhead. As reported in a previous issue, the Army which had assembled at Brentwood moved forward early on the 5th.

“During the afternoon the advanced troops succeeded in driving the enemy out of South Hanningfield, and before sundown they were also in full retreat from the positions they had held at East Hanningfield and Danbury. There was some stiff fighting at the latter place, but after a pounding from the artillery, who brought several batteries into action on the high ground north-west of East Hanningfield, the Germans were unable to withstand the attack of the Argyll and Sutherlands and the London Scottish, who worked their way through Danbury Park and Hall Wood right into their position, driving them from their entrenchments by a dashing bayonet charge. Everything north and east of the enemy’s main position, which is now known to lie north and south, between Maldon and the river Crouch, was now in our hands, but his troops still showed a stout front at Wickford, and were also reported to be at Rayleigh, Hockley, and Canewdon, several miles to the eastward. All preparations were made to assault the German position at Wickford at daybreak to-day, but our scouts found that the place had been evacuated. The news that Rayleigh and Hockley had also been abandoned by the enemy came in shortly afterwards. The German invaders had evidently completed their arrangements for the defence of their main position, and now said, in effect, ‘Come on, and turn us out if you can.’

“It was no easy task that lay before our gallant defenders. Maldon, perched on a high knoll, with a network of river and canal protecting it from assault from the northward, fairly bristles with guns, many of them heavy field howitzers, and has, as we know to our cost, already repulsed one attack by our troops. Farther south there are said to be many guns on the knolls about Purleigh. This little out-of-the-way hamlet, by the way, is noteworthy as having had as its Rector from 1632-1643 the great-great-grandfather of the famous George Washington, and the father of the first Washingtons who emigrated to Virginia. Great Canney Hill, standing boldly up like an immense redoubt, is reported to be seamed with entrenchments mounting many heavy guns. The railway embankment south of Maldon forms a perfect natural rampart along part of the enemy’s position, while the woods and enclosures south-west of Great Canney conceal thousands of sharpshooters. A sort of advanced position was occupied by the enemy at Edwin Hall, a mile east of Woodham Ferrers, where a pair of high kopjes a quarter of a mile apart offered command and cover to some of their field batteries.

“Our scouts have discovered also that an elaborate system of wire entanglements and other military obstacles protects almost the whole front of the somewhat extensive German position. On its extreme left their line is said to be thrown back at an angle, so that any attempt to outflank it would not only entail crossing the river Crouch, but would come under the fire of batteries placed on the high ground overlooking it. Altogether, it is a very tough nut to crack, and the force at our disposal none too strong for the work that lies before it.

“Further detail regarding our strength would be inadvisable for obvious reasons, but when I point out that the Germans are supposed to be between thirty and forty thousand strong, and that it is laid down by competent military authorities that to attack troops in an entrenched position a superiority of six to one is advisable, my readers can draw their own conclusions. For the same reason, I will not enumerate all the regiments and corps that go to compose our Army in Essex. At the same time there can be no harm in mentioning some of them which have particularly distinguished themselves in the hard fighting of the past twelve hours.

“Among these are the Grenadier and Irish Guards, the Inns of Court Volunteers, and the Honourable Artillery Company from London, and the Oxfordshire and two battalions of the Royal Marines from Chatham, which, with other troops from that place, crossed over at Tilbury and joined our forces. The last-mentioned are the most veteran troops we have here, as, besides belonging to a long-service corps, they have in their ranks a number of their Reservists who had joined at a day’s notice. The Marines are in reality, though not nominally, the most territorial of our troops, since the greater number of their Reserve men settle down in the immediate neighbourhood of their headquarters. It is this fact which enabled them to mobilise so much quicker than the rest of our regiments. The Oxfordshire, for instance, coming from the same garrison, has very few Reservists as yet, while most of the others are in the same plight. And yet the fiat has gone forth that the Marine Corps, despite its past record, the excellence of its men, and its constant readiness for active service, is to lose its military status. Would that we had a few more of its battalions with us to-day. But to return to the story of the great battle.

“The repairs to the railway line between Brentwood and Chelmsford, that had been damaged by the enemy’s cavalry on their first landing, were completed yesterday, and all night reinforcements had been coming in by way of Chelmsford and Billericay. The general headquarters had been established at Danbury, and thither I made my way as fast as my car could get along the roads, blocked as they were by marching horse, foot, and artillery. I had spent the night at South Hanningfield, so as to be on the spot for the expected attack on Wickford; but as soon as I found it was not to come off, I considered that at Danbury would be the best chance of finding out what our next move was to be.

“Nor was I mistaken. As I ran up to the village I found the roads full of troops under arms, and everything denoted action of some kind. I was lucky enough to come across a friend of mine on the staff—Captain B——, I will call him—who spared a moment to give me the tip that a general move forward was commencing, and that a big battle was imminent. Danbury is situated on the highest ground for many miles round, and as it bid fair to be a fine, clear day, I thought I could not do better than try and get a general look round from the summit of the church tower before proceeding farther. But I was informed that the General was up there with some of his staff and a signalling party, so that I could not ascend.

“However, no other newspaper correspondents were in the immediate vicinity, and as there was thus no fear of my case being quoted as a precedent, my pass eventually procured me admission to the little platform, which, by the way, the General left a moment after my arrival. It was now eight o’clock, the sun was fairly high in the heavens, and the light mists that hung about the low ground in the vicinity of Maldon were fast fading into nothingness. The old town was plainly distinguishable as a dark silhouette against the morning light, which, while it illumined the panorama spread out before me, yet rendered observation somewhat difficult, since it shone almost directly into my eyes. However, by the aid of my glasses I was able to see something of the first moves on the fatal chess-board where so many thousands of lives are staked on the bloody game of war.

“I noticed among other things that the lessons of the recent war in the East had not passed unobserved, for in all the open spaces on the eastern slope of the hill, where the roads were not screened by trees or coppices, lofty erections of hurdles and greenery had been placed overnight to hide the preliminary movements of our troops from the glasses of the enemy. Under cover of these regiment after regiment of khaki-clad soldiers, batteries of artillery, and ammunition carts, were proceeding to their allotted posts down the network of roads and lanes leading to the lower ground towards the south-east. Two battalions stood in quarter column behind Thrift Wood. They were kilted corps, probably the Argylls and the London Scottish. Several field batteries moved off to the left towards Woodham Walter. Other battalions took up their position behind Hyde Woods, farther away to the right, the last of them, the Grenadier Guards, I fancy, passing behind them and marching still farther southward.

“Finally two strong battalions, easily recognised as marines by their blue war-kit, marched rapidly down the main road and halted presently behind Woodham Mortimer Place. All this time there was neither sight nor sound of the enemy. The birds carrolled gaily in the old elms round my eyrie, the sparrows and martins piped and twittered in the eaves of the old church, and the sun shone genially on hill and valley, field and wood. To all appearance, peace reigned over the countryside, though the dun masses of troops in the shadows of the woodlands were suggestive of the autumn manœuvres. But for all this, the ‘Real Thing’ was upon us. As I looked, first one then another long and widely scattered line of crouching men in khaki issued from the cover of Hyde Woods and began slowly to move away towards the east. Then, and not till then, a vivid violet-white flash blazed out on the dim grey upland five miles away to the south-east, which had been pointed out to me as Great Canney, and almost at once a spout of earth and smoke sprang up a little way ahead of the advancing British. A dull boom floated up on the breeze, but was drowned in an ear-splitting crash somewhere close to me. I felt the old tower rock under the concussion, which I presently discovered came from a battery of big 4.7 guns established just outside the churchyard.

“There were at least six of them, and as one after another gave tongue, I descended from my rickety perch and went down to look at them. They were manned by a party of Bluejackets, who had brought them over from Chatham, and among the guns I found some of my acquaintances in the Boer War, ‘Joe Chamberlain’ and ‘Bloody Mary,’ to wit. But I must leave my own personal experiences, at least for the present, and endeavour to give a general account of the day’s operations so far as I was able to follow them by observation and inquiry. The movement I saw developing below me was the first step towards what I eventually discovered was our main objective—Purleigh. The open ground, flat as a billiard-table to the north of this towards Maldon, presented the weakest front to our attack, but it was considered that if we penetrated there we should in a very short time be decimated and swept away by the cross fire from Maldon and Purleigh, to say nothing of that from other positions we might certainly assume the enemy had prepared in rear.

“Could we succeed in establishing ourselves at Purleigh, however, we should be beyond effective range from Maldon, and should also take Great Canney in reverse, as well as the positions on the refused left flank of the enemy. Maldon, too, would be isolated. Purleigh, therefore, was the key of the position. We have not got it yet, but have made a good stride in its direction, and if it is true that ‘fortune favours the brave,’ ought certainly to be in possession of it by to-morrow evening. Our first move was in this direction, as I have already indicated. The scouts were picked men from the Line battalions, but the firing lines were composed of Volunteers and, in some cases, Militiamen. It was considered more politic to reserve the Regulars for the later stages of the attack. The firing from Canney, and afterwards from Purleigh, was at first at rather too long a range to be effective, even from the heavy guns that were in use, and later on the heavy long-range fire from ‘Bloody Mary’ and her sisters at Danbury, and other heavy guns and howitzers in the neighbourhood of East Hanningfield, kept it down considerably, although the big, high-explosive shells were now and again most terribly destructive to the advancing British.

“When, however, the firing line—which as yet had