On the morning of Tuesday, April 28th 189—, the publication in London of the following Reuter’s telegram created no small amount of uneasiness and excitement in commercial as well as in political circles. The telegram was dated, “Toulon, Monday Evening,” and it was thus worded:—

“This afternoon a bluejacket, belonging to the British Mediterranean Fleet, which arrived here yesterday, got into an altercation in a café with a French seaman. Other sailors, British and French, who were present, took sides; the argument assumed the dimensions of a quarrel; blows were freely exchanged; and the British bluejackets were at last driven into the street, and thence to their boats. In the course of the disturbance some revolver and rifle shots were fired, it is believed by the Frenchmen, and, unfortunately, there seems to have been bloodshed, and possibly loss of life. Owing, however, to the excited attitude of the local population, to the extreme reticence of the police, and to the fact that a military cordon has been drawn round the scene of the outbreak, it is as yet impossible to obtain any trustworthy particulars. The Maritime Prefect at once went on board the British flagship Victoria. It is supposed that his object was to offer or to ask for explanations; but, upon his return to the shore, no public announcement was made, and nothing definite is therefore known. The situation, without being serious, may at any moment become so. The local authorities are in brisk telegraphic communication with Paris.”

This telegram was, in itself, alarming; but the gravity of its import was increased a thousandfold by an announcement which followed it in the columns of the Times.

“The above news,” said that journal, “is, so far as we can learn, the latest that has been received from France. It reached the Times office shortly after eight o’clock last evening. We at once took steps to obtain further particulars. We were, however, informed that between half-past seven and half-past eight telegraphic communication with France had been totally interrupted, and that all the Channel cables, as well as the Irish cable from Havre to Waterville, had ceased to work. There is reason, therefore, to fear that the Toulon affair is of graver importance than Reuter’s agent seems to have suspected when he sent off his dispatch. Up to the hour of going to press, no further intelligence bearing upon the matter has reached us. We hope, however, to receive further news in the course of the night by way of Belgium or Holland, communication with those countries being still open. A copy of Reuter’s telegram was, immediately after the arrival of the message, posted up in all the clubs, and exhibited in the windows of several newspaper offices in Fleet Street. The news caused much speculation and excitement, and, for the remainder of the evening, formed everywhere the sole topic of conversation. It is a subject for congratulation that Parliament is sitting, and that all the Ministers are in town. In the Commons, as will be seen on reference to our Parliamentary report, the Under Secretary for Foreign Affairs rose at nine o’clock, and, apologising for interrupting the senior member for Northampton, who at the moment was speaking in support of the motion for the appointment of a Royal Commission on International Arbitration, read the telegram to the House, which listened in hushed silence. In reply to several questions, the right honourable gentleman stated that he had no further information, and that he trusted that, until further news should be forthcoming, the House and the country would, in deference to the susceptibilities of a friendly Power, refrain from demonstrations of any kind. He hoped that the affair would have no serious results; and he had every confidence, he said, that the French Government would act in the matter with absolute fairness. In answer to a question as to the alleged interruption of telegraphic communication, he replied that he had no information. At a late hour all the Ministers met in informal conclave in the Prime Minister’s room in the House of Lords. They had not separated when we went to press, and nothing, therefore, is known of the upshot of their deliberations. But in the lobbies, and among private members, the fact of the interruption of communications was definitely substantiated soon after ten o’clock, and it naturally excited much alarm. There is very little doubt that the cables have been deliberately cut; though a few sanguine people assert that the non-receipt of further news is due entirely to the effects of the storm which raged during the evening, and which, pitiless as it was, failed to disperse the crowds that thronged the neighbourhood of St. Stephen’s in anxious expectation of hearing that some additional Ministerial announcement had been made. The behaviour of the people was strikingly quiet and orderly. Strong feeling was, of course, general, but, for the most part, its exhibition was suppressed. That there were very few noisy demonstrations or patriotic harangues in the streets, may, however, be partially attributed to the effect of the rain, which fell in torrents.

“Upon inquiring at midnight at the French Embassy at Albert Gate, we were assured that no information as to the Toulon affair had been officially received.

“For the satisfaction of those who may be ignorant on the subject, we give below the strength of that portion of the Mediterranean Fleet which anchored off Toulon on Sunday afternoon.

“The rest of the Mediterranean Fleet consists exclusively of unarmoured cruisers and light vessels, and is composed of H.M. ships Amphion, Dolphin, Cockatrice, Gannet, Hecla, Imogene, Landrail, Melita, Phaeton, and Sandfly, with one or two stationary vessels. Several are in the Levant or the Red Sea, and none are nearer to Toulon than Malta or Gibraltar. Of the French ships at Toulon we have at present no particular information. We know, however, that there are at least twelve ironclads ready for, or actually in, commission, several powerful cruisers, and a considerable number of torpedo boats, both large and small.”

In a leading article on the Toulon affair, the Times advised its readers to suspend the formation of opinion until further news should be received; to abstain from any demonstrations which might make worse a state of things that was already sufficiently grave; and loyally to support the Government in whatever measures it might deem itself called upon to adopt. Much the same advice was given by all the other London morning papers, not one of which, it should be added, contained any more detailed news than appeared in the Times.

And, upon the whole, the advice was faithfully acted upon throughout that Tuesday of anxiety and agitation. A few roughs raised insulting shouts outside the French Embassy, and some truculent individuals broke a window there with stones; but in each case the police promptly interfered, and took the offenders into custody. No more news reached London until shortly before midday; but the early editions of all the evening papers contained the following telegram, which had been received by way of Brussels and the Middelkerke-Ramsgate cable:—

“Advices from Toulon report that, shortly after nine o’clock last night, the British Mediterranean Fleet, consisting of eleven battleships, two belted cruisers, and four other vessels, quitted its anchorage off that port. A French squadron hastily put to sea at about the same time. The object of these movements is unknown, and in consequence, the most alarming rumours are current. Toulon is in a state of great excitement, and bodies of men patrol the streets singing patriotic songs. Several British bluejackets were killed in yesterday’s affray. The authorities refuse to give any information; but it is known here that last evening at a late hour all the submarine cables connecting the British Islands with France were cut by order of the French Government. All messages that cross the Franco-Belgian frontier are now jealously scrutinised, and several have been stopped.”

During the day, with very brief intervals between them, many still more alarming telegrams poured in. The more important of them are quoted below:—

“Ostend, Tuesday, 12.15 p.m.—The British Ambassador to the French Republic has suddenly arrived here. Late last night he was roused from his bed and ordered to quit Paris at two hours’ notice; and he was subsequently conducted by an armed escort to the Belgian frontier. He leaves at once by special steamer for England. The French Toulon Fleet, it is rumoured, put to sea yesterday evening, with orders to prevent the British Fleet from leaving until full satisfaction should be given for the alleged murders by British sailors during yesterday’s riots. It is also rumoured that, in defiance of the Maritime Prefect’s order to the contrary, the British Admiral has quitted his anchorage. The situation is regarded as most serious; and the dismissal of the Ambassador clearly points to a rupture. French troops are being rapidly concentrated at Cherbourg, Brest, Lorient, Dunquerque, and other coast towns; and it is whispered that, as a precautionary measure, a Belgian army corps is to be mobilised and is to occupy the frontier. Numerous British refugees from France have already reached this place.”

“Dover, Tuesday, 12.38 p.m.—The passenger steamer Victoria started this morning as usual for Calais. When she was at a distance of about two miles from the French coast, a French gunboat hailed her and informed her captain that communication between England and France is forbidden, pending the issue of further directions from Paris. The Victoria had, therefore, no alternative but to return. Two other passenger steamers have been similarly treated. The excitement here is intense.”

“Brussels, Tuesday, 1.50 p.m.—The French Government last night sent to the Admiral at Toulon orders which, if they be acted upon, can only bring about immediate war between France and Great Britain. The orders were to prevent, at all hazards, the British Fleet from putting to sea so long as the serious questions which were raised by yesterday’s riot should remain unsettled. The exact nature of these questions lies in some obscurity. The prospect of war is said to have already provoked unbounded enthusiasm in Paris.”

“Flushing, Tuesday, 3.20 p.m.—It is reported that the formal declaration by France of war with Great Britain is only a question of hours; and it is believed that this precipitancy is due to the conviction which is entertained in French Government circles that England is just now very ill-prepared, particularly in the Mediterranean; and that France, by striking a sudden and unexpected blow, may produce results such as she could scarcely hope to attain, if ample time were allowed her adversary for the making of complete preparations. In the meantime the French army is mobilising.”

“Portsmouth, Tuesday, 3.30 p.m.—Orders have just been received here for the immediate commissioning of every ship in harbour that can, by any exertion on the part of the dockyard officials, be made ready for the pennant, and for the hurried preparation of all the rest, not excluding several old vessels that have recently been advertised as ‘For Sale,’ or even some obsolete gunboats. Similar orders have been telegraphed to each of the naval ports. The dockyard, where, until to-day, work was slacker than it has been since the departure of the ships for last year’s Naval Manœuvres, is already the scene of feverish activity. The coastguard ironclads have been directed to assemble with all haste at Spithead, and not to wait for their full complements, but to leave their respective ports as soon as they can get up steam. Some of them are expected to-morrow. The Naval Commander-in-Chief is now concerting with the General in command of the Southern District elaborate measures for the defence, by means of mines, booms, and picket-boats, of the port and of the anchorage at Spithead, and to-night the carrying out of their plans will be begun. Masthead electric lights of novel design are being fitted to some of the larger battleships. These are so arranged as to shed a zone of illumination all around the vessel, but to leave the craft herself in comparative darkness, and it is confidently expected that they will be of great value should our squadrons be obliged to anchor at night within raiding distance of the enemy’s torpedo boats. Some experienced officers, however, are of opinion that a ship which desires to remain exempt from attack should on no account exhibit a light of this kind, since it must of necessity be visible from a considerable distance to the foe; and they do not hesitate to say that, even if they be supplied with it, they will not use it. The advantage of the light lies in the fact that no ship, so long as she employs it, can possibly be closely approached by any enemy that does not to a very dangerous extent expose himself. On the other hand, it is pointed out that the apparatus is large, and offers so fine a mark for machine-gun fire, that it could doubtless be easily extinguished by moderately good gunners at 3000 yards, or even more. Experts here are loud in their regrets that this device, which is quite new, has not, together with other electric lighting devices which are much older, been properly experimented with in peace time, and that, in consequence, no certainty exists as to either its practical utility or its vulnerability. Unfortunately there are symptoms of the existence of a certain degree of friction between the naval and military authorities; nor can this be wondered at when it is remembered by how vague and arbitrary a line their respective functions are divided. The feeling here is strongly to the effect that all the defences on the sea-front should be unreservedly entrusted to the Navy and Royal Marines. On the other hand, there is an undoubted lack of both officers and men even for the manning of the vessels which are to be commissioned. So great, indeed, is the scarcity of stokers, seamen-gunners, and signalmen, that only by calling out all the reserves can even the immediate necessities of the situation be supplied. It is not certain, however, that the reserves will be of much use, seeing that the engines of modern men-of-war greatly differ, as a rule, from those of merchant vessels; that few men of the Royal Naval Reserve have any practical familiarity with heavy breech-loading guns; and that hardly any men, outside the service proper, are qualified as signalmen. There is also a scarcity of lieutenants, and a good many small craft will, if commissioned at all, apparently have to be commanded by gunners, carpenters, and boatswains. As for the local permanent defences, they are very imperfect. Many of the works on the land side have no guns at all, and the re-arming of Southsea Castle and the Spithead forts has not yet been completed. War is here regarded as as good as declared. No one, and least of all naval men, can look forward to it with anything like light-heartedness, and many Portsmouth people regard the prospect with distinct apprehension, and propose to leave the town as soon as they can conveniently do so; yet the naval and military population here shows an admirable spirit, and numbers of retired officers of both services are offering their assistance to the Government.”

“Brussels, Tuesday, 5.8 p.m.—There are grave reports from the South. It is said that a conflict of some nature has actually taken place between the British and French Fleets off Toulon, but no details of any kind are given. There is also serious news from Paris. A declaration of war is undoubtedly by this time on its way to London. It was to have been dispatched at noon. The French capital is violently excited, and extremely enthusiastic. Very little news reaches this city, and that little slips through the fingers of very jealous French censors, dozens of whom must be employed along the frontier.”

“Barcelona, Tuesday, 5.20 p.m.—The Italian steamer Monte Pulciano, which arrived here this afternoon, reports that very late last night, when off Toulon, she heard the sound of heavy firing, and saw in the sky the reflections of what seemed to be explosions on a very large scale. She did not, however, call at any French port, and so brings no definite intelligence.”

“Genoa, Tuesday, 6 p.m.—The news of difficulties having suddenly arisen at Toulon had scarcely reached this place ere rumours began to arrive to the effect that the French Admiral had received orders from Paris to destroy the British Fleet in case it should attempt to quit Toulon Roads. No one credited this report at first, but it must now be admitted that corroborative evidence of a kind is not lacking. A correspondent at Hyères telegraphs that much heavy firing took place late last night off that town, but, apparently, at a great distance out at sea, and that to-day some French men-of-war, which seemed to be somewhat damaged, re-entered Toulon. All messages from France are subjected to strict censorship, in consequence of the strained relations between that country and Great Britain. Too much reliance must not, therefore, be placed upon the trustworthiness of this news.”

Then came the most unambiguous telegram of the eventful day.

“Dover, Tuesday, 6.20 p.m.—A French torpedo boat named the Lance has just entered the harbour under a flag of truce. The lieutenant in command of her brought dispatches which have already been sent on by train to the French Ambassador in London. Their purport is, however, no secret. They contain an announcement to the effect that the British Admiral having refused to consider the legitimate demand of the authorities at Toulon for apology and reparation in the matter of yesterday’s riot, and having, in defiance of French orders to the contrary, quitted Toulon Roads while the grievances of the French Government remained unredressed, the French Republic recalls its Ambassador and declares war against Great Britain. The French lieutenant, who was of course not allowed to land, departed as soon as he had communicated with the coastguard boat which went out to meet him. The civil population is apprehensive lest the town may be shelled to-night. Steam is being got up to work the turret on the Admiralty pier; and the men are to sleep beside their guns both there and in the various batteries on the heights. Stringent measures are to be adopted to preclude all possibility of a coup de main; and no vessels will in future be allowed to enter or leave the port until they have been searched. Very few people here are likely to sleep much to-night. Numbers of nervous folk are going inland without even waiting to pack up their effects. A large French man-of-war is now visible in the Strait, but her name is not known. It is hoped that she may be brought to action by the Audacious from Hull, the Hotspur from Harwich, or the Iron Duke from the Forth; for all these ships have been ordered to rendezvous at Spithead, and one or more of them is expected to pass Dover to-night. Here there is not so much as a gunboat; but it is believed that, at the latest, by Friday, some of the coast-defence ironclads will be assembled in the Downs, where, in case of need, they will be within easy reach of this most important position. No lights are to be shown to-night, and the windows of even private houses are ordered to be darkened. Pickets are to go round to enforce this rule. The town is already, in fact, though not in name, in a state of siege; and so long as hostilities last, it must be a prey to continual and very harassing alarms, if to nothing worse.”

A later telegram explained that “the large French man-of-war” which had excited Dover was only a steam yacht.

These were not the only telegrams that brought the country to a quick realisation of the fearful suddenness with which she had fallen into a state of war with her nearest neighbour and most powerful maritime rival. There were many others, but the effect of all was the same. They startled England, not only with the definite news of imminent hostilities, but also with the vague report, which was far more terrible, that some paralysing blow had already been dealt against the Power which, for three centuries at least, had prided herself upon being mistress of the seas. The nature and result of that mysterious blow were alike unknown; but lack of knowledge, fed by apprehension, often produces strange popular impressions; and the very absence of definite news from the Mediterranean Fleet was, at such a juncture, almost by itself sufficient to create very wild alarm.

The excitement in London increased, therefore, as the day wore on. The House met early, but the Ministers were able to say little that was encouraging. They were prepared, in case of necessity, to maintain the honour of the Sovereign and of the Empire; they had adopted such measures as prudence and the counsel of the most experienced officers suggested, and as their immediately available resources rendered possible; and they were, until late in the afternoon, not altogether hopeless that peace might still be preserved; but they had only the most meagre information to give: they were unable to inspire the public with that confidence which they professed to feel; and worst of all, they had absolutely no intelligence concerning the Mediterranean Fleet save that it had left Toulon on Monday night.

In the afternoon crowds gathered in Trafalgar Square and other public places; and, in spite of the efforts that were made by the police to disperse the people, addresses—treasonable as well as patriotic—were delivered by persons who, whether they were loyal or not, would in the circumstances have more wisely kept their mouths shut. Most of the theatres opened as usual; and those which opened were thronged, for the temperament of the population at the moment required that men should congregate in any place where the latest news was likely to be obtainable. But no attention seemed anywhere to be paid to the performance. People loitered in the passages and foyers, and talked or listened with tongues and ears devoted to one topic only. As the successive editions of the evening papers came out, copies were brought in and handed round, and struggled for even by the musicians in the orchestra. Twenty-four hours previously, war had seemed the most improbable of catastrophes. It was now practically certain, and what its end might be no one could foretell. At the Lyceum Theatre “Macbeth” was being played. Towards the conclusion of the first act the curtain was suddenly lowered, and the familiar figure of Mr. Irving immediately appeared before it.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” said the great actor, who was much moved, “news of a very grave character has this moment reached the theatre; and I deem it my duty to interrupt the performance in order to communicate it to you. I regret to have to say that, according to a telegram which I hold in my hand, the British Fleet in the Mediterranean was yesterday attacked by a French Fleet of superior force, and was very severely handled. There are, unfortunately, no details. I trust that the news is not really so grave as it at present sounds; but even if it be untrue that war has actually broken out, and that our brave bluejackets have already been surprised by anything in the remotest degree resembling disaster, I feel that I shall only, in the circumstances, be forestalling your wishes, when I announce that the performance cannot continue. Ladies and gentlemen, it is not for me, standing before you in this dress, to say much; but this I must say: the opportunity seems to have arisen for us to show that we are still the sons of our fathers. This, you will agree with me, we may do, not merely by volunteering or otherwise directly contributing towards the defence of our country; but also by lending a steadfast and loyal moral support to her most gracious Majesty’s Ministers in this moment of terrible anxiety and public danger. England, facing her enemies, has always hitherto been as one man. Let us see to it that she be one man now. Let us banish all divisions; let us think not of ourselves but of our country; and, believe me, though the path through this difficulty may be dark and terrible, we shall emerge into the light.”

The earlier part of this brief address was listened to almost in silence. The latter part provoked first low expressions of approval and then cheers. When Mr. Irving had concluded the audience, as with one accord, stood up bareheaded; and, as the orchestra played the first note or two of the National Anthem, there began a scene of indescribably contagious enthusiasm. People leapt upon the seats and waved hats or handkerchiefs; women burst into tears; and there was a confused babel of sounds which, in a few moments, blended into the noble and solemn chorus of “God save the Queen.”