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The Great War in England in 1897
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The Great War in England in 1897

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The Great War in England in 1897

At last the thousands of grey-coats swarming over the country fell in such enormous numbers upon the British rifle pits on the Mersey bank, that the first line of defence was at length utterly broken down; but in doing this the enemy's front had become much exposed, whereupon the Maxims on the railway embankment between the river and Barton suddenly burst forth a perfect hail of bullets, and in a short time a whole division of Russian infantry, cavalry, and artillery had been literally swept out of existence.

The batteries down in the Stretford Road, combined with those on the embankment, had up to this moment played greater havoc with the foe than any other. The men of the Manchester Regiment, both Regulars and Volunteers, were displaying the greatest coolness; but unfortunately the Lancashire Fusiliers and the Loyal North Lancashire, who had manned the trenches, had been partially annihilated, the majority lying dead, their bodies scattered over the level fields and roads. Yet, notwithstanding the strenuous opposition of the British batteries at this point, the Russians were bringing up huge reinforcements from Altrincham, Cheadle, and Northenden, and by establishing strong batteries commanding Stretford, they at last, about five o'clock, succeeded in killing nearly half the gallant defenders, and driving back the survivors up the Barton Road.

The tide of grey-coats rushing onward, captured the British guns, and although the batteries on the railway embankment still held out, and the enemy suffered heavily from their Maxims, yet they pressed on into Stretford town, and commenced to sack it. Messrs. Williams, Deacon's Bank, was entered, the safes blown open, and large sums in gold and notes abstracted, shops were entered and looted, and houses ransacked for jewellery.

Thus Stretford fell.

Its streets ran with blood; and on, over the bodies of its brave defenders, the hordes of the Great White Tsar marched towards Manchester.

Meanwhile the British batteries on the railway embankment had also fallen into the hands of the Russians, who were now driving the survivors over towards Barton. They did not, however, retreat without a most desperate resistance. A row of thatched and white-washed cottages at the bend of the road they held for a long time, emptying their magazine rifles with deadly effect upon their pursuers, but at last they were driven north, and half an hour later joined their comrades who had massed at Barton, but who had been attacked in great force and fallen back in good order to Pendleton.

By this time the enemy, having pierced the line of outposts, had occupied Barton and Eccles. At the former place they had set on fire a number of factories, and out of mere desire to cause as much damage to property as possible, they had blown up both the bridge that carried the road over the Ship Canal, and also destroyed the magnificent swinging aqueduct which carried the Bridgewater Canal over the other.

This great triumph of engineering – one of the most successful feats of the decade – was blown into the air by charges of gun-cotton, and now lay across the Ship Canal a heap of fallen masonry and twisted iron cantilevers, while the water from the Bridgewater Canal was pouring out in thousands of tons, threatening to flood the surrounding district, and the church opposite had been wrecked by the terrific force of the explosion.

A frightful panic had been caused in Manchester by these reverses. The scenes in the streets were indescribable. At the barricades, however, the enemy met with a desperate resistance.

Three great columns were marching on Manchester at that moment. The first, having broken the line of defence near Fallowfield, divided into two divisions; one, advancing up the Wilmslow Road, stormed the great barricade opposite Rusholme Hall, while the other appeared on the Withington Road, and commenced to engage the defences that had been thrown across Moss Lane and Chorlton Road. The second column advanced to where Eccles Old Road joins Broad Street at Pendleton; and the third, sweeping along up the Stretford Road, met with a terrific resistance at the Botanic Gardens at Trafford, the walls of which, on either side of the road, were loopholed and manned by infantry and artillery; while opposite, the Blind Asylum was held by a regiment of infantry, and a strong barricade, with a battery of 12-pounders, had been established a little further towards the city, at the junction of the Chester and Stretford New Roads.

The enemy advanced here in enormous force; but, seeing the formidable defences, a number of cavalry and infantry turned off along the Trafford Road, blew up the bridge of the Ship Canal in order to prevent a pursuing force of British cavalry from following, and after setting fire to the great dock warehouses and crowd of idle ships, continued along to Eccles New Road, where, however, they were met by another force of our Hussars, and totally routed and cut up.

From this point the tide of battle turned. It was already half-past five, and the sun was sinking when the Russian forces prepared for their final onslaught. Cossacks and Dragoons charged again and again, and infantry with bayonets fixed rushed onward to the barricades in huge grey legions, only to be met by a sweeping rain of British bullets, which filled the roads with great heaps of dead. In these defences, rendered doubly strong by the patriotic action of the stalwart civilians of Manchester, the invaders could make no breach, and before every one of them they fell in thousands.

The men in the entrenchments saw the foe were falling back, and found the attack growing weaker. Then signals were made, and they raised a long hearty cheer when the truth was flashed to them.

The news was inspiriting, and they fought on with redoubled energy, for they knew that the great body of reserves from Ashton-under-Lyne, Hyde, and Compstall, as well as those who had been occupying the hills on the edge of the Peak, had been pushed right past Stretford to Barton, and were now advancing like a huge fan, outflanking the Russians and attacking them in their rear.

The British tactics were excellent, for while the invaders were attacked by cavalry and infantry on the one side, the defenders manning the barricades made a sudden sortie, cutting their way into them with bayonet rushes which they could not withstand, and which had a terribly fatal effect.

The Tsar's forces, unable to advance or retreat, and being thus completely surrounded, still fought on, and as they refused to surrender, were literally massacred by thousands by British troops, while many guns and horses were captured, thousands of rounds of ammunition seized, and many men taken prisoners.

The fight in that evening hour was the most fiercely contested of any during that day. The fate of Manchester was in the hands of our gallant soldiers, who, although necessarily losing heavily before such an enormous army, behaved with a courage that was magnificent, and which was deserving the highest commendation that could be bestowed.

As dusk gathered into darkness, the enemy were being forced back towards the Mersey over the roads they had so recently travelled, but still fighting, selling their lives dearly. The highways and fields were strewn with their dead and dying, for while infantry fired into their front from the cover of houses and walls, our cavalry, with whirling sabres, fell upon them and hacked them to pieces. Neither Cossacks nor Dragoons proved a match for our Hussars, Lancers, and Yeomanry, and even in face of the machine guns which the Russians brought into play in an endeavour to break the line and escape, our infantry dashed on with grand and magnificent charges, quickly seizing the Nordenfelts, turning their own guns against them, and letting loose a fire that mowed down hundreds.

Across the neighbouring country our forces swept in good attack formation, and all along that great line, nearly six miles in length, the slaughter of Russians was frightful.

In the falling gloom fire flashed from the muzzles of rifles, cannon, and machine guns, and far above the terrible din sounded shrill cries of pain and hoarse shouts of despair as the great Army that had devastated our beloved country with fire and sword was gradually annihilated. In those roads in the south of the city the scenes of bloodshed were awful, as a force of over 20,000 Russians were slaughtered because they would not yield up their arms.

Outside Stretford a last desperate stand was made, but ere long some British cavalry came thundering along, and cut them down in a frightful manner, while about the same time a Russian flying column was annihilated over at Davy-Hulme; away at Carrington a retreating brigade of infantry which had escaped over the river was suddenly pounced upon by the defenders and slaughtered; and at Altrincham the enemy's headquarters were occupied, and the staff taken prisoners. Ere the Russian General could be forced to surrender, however, he placed a revolver to his head, and in full view of a number of his officers, blew his brains out.

Then, when the moon shone out from behind a dark bank of cloud just before midnight, she shed her pale light upon the wide battlefield on both sides of the Mersey, whereon lay the bodies of no fewer than 30,000 Russians and 12,000 British, while 40,000 Russians and 16,000 British lay wounded, nearly 10,000 Russians having been disarmed and marched into the centre of the city as prisoners.

The victory had only been achieved at the eleventh hour by dint of great courage and forethought, and being so swift and effectual it was magnificent.

Manchester was safe, and the public rejoicings throughout that night were unbounded.

The loss of life was too awful for reflection, for 12,000 of Britain's heroes – men who had won the battle – were lying with their white lifeless faces upturned to the twinkling stars.

BOOK III

THE VICTORY

CHAPTER XXVIII.

A SHABBY WAYFARER

In Sussex the situation was now most critical. The struggle between the French invaders and the line of Volunteers defending London was long and desperate, but our civilian soldiers were bearing their part bravely, showing how Britons could fight, and day after day repelling the repeated assaults with a vigour that at once proved their efficiency.

Three days after the battle at Manchester had been fought and won, a man with slouching gait and woeful countenance, attired in a cheap suit of shabby grey, stood on the steps of the Granton Hotel, at Granton, and with his hands thrust into his pockets gazed thoughtfully out over the broad waters of the Firth of Forth, to where the Fifeshire hills loomed dark upon the horizon. Slowly his keen eyes wandered away eastward to the open sea, an extensive view of which he obtained from the flight of steps whereon he stood, and then with a sigh of disappointment he buttoned his coat, and, grasping his stick, descended, and walked at a leisurely pace along the road through Newhaven to Leith.

"To-night. To-night at sundown!" he muttered to himself, as he bent his head to the wind.

Involuntarily he placed his hand to his hip to reassure himself that a letter he carried was still safe.

"Bah!" he continued, "I declare I feel quite timid to-night. Everything is so quiet here; the houses look deserted, and everybody seems to have left the place. Surely they can have no suspicion, and – and if they had? What does it matter? – eh, what?"

Quickening his pace, he passed down the long, quaint street of Newhaven, lined on each side by ancient fishermen's cottages, and then, crossing the railway, passed under the wall of Leith Fort, whereon a couple of sentries were pacing. Glancing up at the two artillerymen, with the half-dozen obsolete guns behind them, and their background of grass-grown mounds and buildings, the wayfarer smiled. He was thinking how different would be the scene at this spot ere long.

Leith Fort was a sort of fortified back-garden. The railway ran close to the sea, parallel with which was the highway, and upon higher ground at the back was a block of buildings, before which a few black old cannon were placed in formidable array, and in such a position as to be fully exposed to any destructive projectiles fired from the sea.

On went the down-at-heel wayfarer, his shifty eyes ever on the alert, viewing with suspicion the one or two persons he met. Apparently he was expecting the arrival of some craft, for his gaze was constantly turned towards the wide expanse of grey water, eager to detect the smallest speck upon the horizon. Any one who regarded him critically might have noticed something remarkable about his appearance, yet not even his most intimate friends would have recognised in this broken-down, half-starved clerk, who had arrived at Granton that morning, after tramping over from Glasgow, the popular man-about-town, the Count von Beilstein!

"Those fools will soon be swept away into eternity," he muttered to himself, as he glanced back in the direction of the fort. "They will have an opportunity of tasting Russian lead, and of practising with their guns, which are only fit for a museum. They mount guard to defend an attack! Bah! They seek their own destruction, for no force can withstand that which will presently appear to give them a sudden rousing. They will be elevated – blown into the air, together with their miserable guns, their barracks, and the whole of their antiquated paraphernalia. And to me the world owes this national catastrophe! I am the looker-on. These British have a proverb that the looker-on sees most of the game. Bien! that is full of truth."

And he chuckled to himself, pursuing his way at the same pace, now and then glancing back as if to assure himself that no one dogged his footsteps. Darkness had crept on quickly as he passed along through the open country at Fillyside and entered Portobello, the little watering-place so popular with holiday makers from Edinburgh during the summer. Along the deserted promenade he strolled leisurely from end to end, and passing out of the town through Joppa, came at length to that rugged shore between the Salt Pans and Eastfield. The tide was out, so, leaving the road, he walked on in the darkness over the shingles until he came to a small cove, and a moment later two men confronted him.

A few sentences in Russian were rapidly exchanged between the spy and the men, and then the latter at once guided him to where a boat lay in readiness, but concealed. Five minutes later the Count was being rowed swiftly but silently away into the darkness by six stalwart men belonging to one of the Tsar's battleships.

The oars dipped regularly as the boat glided onwards, but no word was exchanged, until about twenty minutes later the men suddenly stopped pulling, a rope thrown by a mysterious but vigilant hand whistled over their heads and fell across them, and then they found themselves under the dark side of a huge ironclad. It was the new battleship, Admiral Orlovski, which had only just left the Baltic for the first time. Without delay the spy climbed on board, and was conducted at once by a young officer into the Admiral's private cabin.

A bearded, middle-aged man, in handsome naval uniform, who was poring over a chart, rose as he entered. The spy, bowing, said briefly in Russian —

"I desire to see Prince Feodor Mazaroff, Admiral of the Fleet."

"I am at your service, m'sieur," the other replied in French, motioning him to a chair.

The Count, seating himself, tossed his hat carelessly upon the table, explaining that he had been sent by the Russian Intelligence Department as bearer of certain important documents which would materially assist him in his operations.

"Yes," observed the Prince, "I received a telegram from the Ministry at Petersburg before I left Christiansand, telling me to await you here, and that you would furnish various information."

"That I am ready to do as far as lies in my power," replied the Count, taking from his hip pocket a bulky packet, sealed with three great daubs of black wax. This he handed to the Prince, saying, "It contains maps of the country between Edinburgh and Glasgow, specially prepared by our Secret Service, together with a marked chart of the Firth of Forth, and full detailed information regarding the troops remaining to defend this district."

The Admiral broke the seals, and glanced eagerly through the contents, with evident satisfaction.

"Now, what is the general condition of the south of Scotland?" the Prince asked, lounging back, twirling his moustache with a self-satisfied air.

"Totally unprepared. It is not believed that any attack will be made. The military left north of the Cheviots after mobilisation were sent south to assist in the defence of Manchester."

"Let us hope our expedition to-night will meet with success. We are now one mile east of Craig Waugh, and in an hour our big guns will arouse Leith from its lethargy. You will be able to watch the fun from deck, and give us the benefit of your knowledge of the district. Is the fort at Leith likely to offer any formidable resistance?" continued the Admiral. "I see the information here is somewhat vague upon that point."

"The place is useless," replied the spy, as he stretched out his hand and took a pencil and paper from the Prince's writing-table. "See! I will sketch it for you. In the character of a starving workman who desired to volunteer I called there, and succeeded in obtaining a good view of the interior. They have a few modern guns, but the remainder are old muzzleloaders, which against such guns as you have on board here will be worse than useless." And as he spoke he rapidly sketched a plan of the defences in a neat and accurate manner, acquired by long practice. "The most serious resistance will, however, be offered from Inchkeith Island, four miles off Leith. There has lately been established there a new fort, containing guns of the latest type. A plan of the place, which I succeeded in obtaining a few days ago, is, you will find, pinned to the chart of the Firth of Forth."

The Admiral opened out the document indicated, and closely examined the little sketch plan appended. On the chart were a number of small squares marked in scarlet, surrounded by a blue circle to distinguish them more readily from the dots of red which pointed out the position of the lights. These squares, prepared with the utmost care by von Beilstein, showed the position of certain submarine mines, a plan of which he had succeeded in obtaining by one of his marvellous master-strokes of finesse.

"Thanks to you, Count, our preparations are now complete," observed the Prince, offering the spy a cigarette from his silver case, and taking one himself. "Our transports, with three army corps, numbering nearly 60,000 men and 200 guns, are at the present moment lying 12 miles north of the Bass Rock, awaiting orders to enter the Firth, therefore I think when we land we shall" —

A ray of brilliant white light streamed for a moment through the port of the cabin, and then disappeared.

The Prince, jumping to his feet, looked out into the darkness, and saw the long beam sweeping slowly round over the water, lighting up the ships of his squadron in rapid succession.

"The search-lights of Inchkeith!" he gasped, with an imprecation. "I had no idea we were within their range, but now they have discovered us there's no time to be lost. For the present I must leave you. You will, of course, remain on board, and land with us"; and a moment later he rushed on deck, and shouted an order which was promptly obeyed.

Suddenly there was a low booming, and in another second a column of dark water rose as the first shot ricochetted about five hundred yards from their bows. Orders shouted in Russian echoed through the ship, numbers of signals were exchanged rapidly with the other vessels, and the sea suddenly became alive with torpedo boats.

Time after time the British guns sounded like distant thunder, and shots fell in the vicinity of the Russian ships. Suddenly, as soon as the men were at their quarters, electric signals rang from the conning-tower of the Admiral Orlovski, and one of her 56-tonners crashed and roared from her turret, and a shot sped away towards where the light showed. The noise immediately became deafening as the guns from nine other ships thundered almost simultaneously, sending a perfect hail of shell upon the island fort. In the darkness the scene was one of most intense excitement.

For the first time the spy found himself amidst the din of battle, and perhaps for the first time in his life his nerves were somewhat shaken as he stood in a convenient corner watching the working of one of the great guns in the turret, which regularly ran out and added its voice to the incessant thunder.

CHAPTER XXIX.

LANDING OF THE ENEMY AT LEITH

All the vessels were now under steam and approaching Inchkeith, when suddenly two shells struck the Admiral Orlovski amidships, carrying away a portion of her superstructure.

Several of the other vessels were also hit almost at the same moment, and shortly afterwards a torpedo boat under the stern of the flagship was struck by a shell, and sank with all hands. Time after time the Russian vessels poured out their storm of shell upon the fort, now only about a mile and a half distant; but the British fire still continued as vigorous and more effective than at first.

Again the flagship was struck, this time on the port quarter, but the shot glanced off her armour into the sea; while a moment later another shell struck one of her fighting tops, and, bursting, wrecked two of the machine guns, and killed half a dozen unfortunate fellows who had manned them. The débris fell heavily upon the deck, and the disaster, being witnessed by the spy, caused him considerable anxiety for his own safety.

Even as he looked he suddenly noticed a brilliant flash from one of the cruisers lying a little distance away. There was a terrific report, and amid flame and smoke wreckage shot high into the air. An explosion had occurred in the magazine, and it was apparent the ship was doomed! Other disasters to the Russians followed in quick succession. A cruiser which was lying near the Herwit light-buoy blazing away upon the fort, suddenly rolled heavily and gradually heeled over, the water around her being thrown into the air by an explosion beneath the surface. A contact mine had been fired, and the bottom of the ship had been practically blown out, for a few minutes later she went down with nearly every soul on board.

At the moment this disaster occurred, the Admiral Orlovski, still discharging her heavy guns, was about half-way between the Briggs and the Pallas Rock, when a search-light illuminated her from the land, and a heavy fire was suddenly opened upon her from Leith Fort.

This was at once replied to, and while five of the vessels kept up their fire upon Inchkeith, the three others turned their attention towards Leith, and commenced to bombard it with common shell.

How effectual were their efforts the spy could at once see, for in the course of a quarter of an hour, notwithstanding the defence offered by Leith Fort and several batteries on Arthur's Seat, at Granton Point, Wardie Bush, and at Seaside Meadows, near Portobello, fires were breaking out in various quarters of the town, and factories and buildings were now burning with increasing fury. The great paraffin refinery had been set on fire, and the flames, leaping high into the air, shed a lurid glare far away over the sea.

Shells, striking the Corn Exchange, wrecked it, and one, flying away over the fort, burst in the Leith Distillery, with the result that the place was set on fire, and soon burned with almost equal fierceness with the paraffin works. The shipping in the Edinburgh, Albert, and Victoria Docks was ablaze, and the drill vessel H.M.S. Durham had been shattered and was burning. A great row of houses in Lindsay Road had fallen prey to the flames, while among the other large buildings on fire were the Baltic Hotel, the great goods station of the North British Railway, and the National Bank of Scotland.

In addition to being attacked from the forts on the island, and on land, the Russians were now being vigorously fired upon by the British Coastguard ship Impérieuse, which, with the cruiser Active, and the gunboat cruisers Cockchafer, Firm, and Watchful, had now come within range. Soon, however, the enemy were reinforced by several powerful vessels, and in the fierce battle that ensued the British ships were driven off. Then by reason of the reinforcements which the Russians brought up, and the great number of transports which were now arriving, the defence, desperate though it had been, alas! broke down, and before midnight the invader set his foot upon Scottish soil.

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