The Invasion of 1910

This was greeted by loud jeers from the Opposition, from whose benches, members, one after another, rose, and, using hard epithets, blamed the Government for the terrible disaster. The cutting down of our defences, the meagre naval programmes, the discouragement of the Volunteers and of recruiting, and the disregard of Lord Roberts’ scheme in 1906 for universal military training, were, they declared, responsible for what had occurred. The Government had been culpably negligent, and Mr. Haldane’s scheme had been all insufficient. Indeed, it had been nothing short of criminal to mislead the Empire into a false sense of security which did not exist.

For the past three years Germany, while sapping our industries, had sent her spies into our midst, and laughed at us for our foolish insular superiority. She had turned her attention from France to ourselves, notwithstanding the entente cordiale. She remembered how the much-talked-of Franco-Russian alliance had fallen to pieces, and relied upon a similar outcome of the friendship between France and Great Britain.

The aspect of the House, too, was strange; the Speaker in his robes looked out of place in his big uncomfortable chair, and members sat on cane-bottomed chairs instead of their comfortable benches at Westminster. As far as possible the usual arrangement of the House was adhered to, except that the Press were now excluded, official reports being furnished to them at midnight.

The clerks’ table was a large plain one of stained wood, but upon it was the usual array of despatch-boxes, while the Serjeant-at-Arms, in his picturesque dress, was still one of the most prominent figures. The lack of committee rooms, of an adequate lobby, and of a refreshment department caused much inconvenience, though a temporary post and telegraph office had been established within the building, and a separate line connected the Prime Minister’s room with Downing Street.

If the Government were denounced in unmeasured terms, its defence was equally vigorous. Thus, through that never-to-be-forgotten afternoon the sitting continued past the dinner hour on to late in the evening.

Time after time the despatches from London were placed in the hands of the War Minister, but, contrary to the expectation of the House, he vouchsafed no further statement. It was noticed that just before ten o’clock he consulted in an earnest undertone with the Prime Minister, the First Lord of the Admiralty, and the Home Secretary, and that a quarter of an hour later all four went out and were closeted in one of the smaller rooms with other members of the Cabinet for nearly half an hour.

Then the Secretary of State for War re-entered the House and resumed his seat in silence.

A few minutes afterwards, Mr. Thomas Askern, member for one of the metropolitan boroughs, and a well-known newspaper proprietor, who had himself received several private despatches, rose and received leave to put a question to the War Minister.

“I would like to ask the Right Honourable the Secretary of State for War,” he said, “whether it is not a fact that soon after noon to-day the enemy, having moved his heavy artillery to certain positions commanding North London, and finding the capital strongly barricaded, proceeded to bombard it? Whether that bombardment, according to the latest despatches, is not still continuing at this moment; whether it is not a fact that enormous damage has already been done to many of the principal buildings of the metropolis, including the Government Offices at Whitehall, and whether great loss of life has not been occasioned?”

The question produced the utmost sensation. The House during the whole afternoon had been in breathless anxiety as to what was actually happening in London; but the Government held the telegraphs and telephone, and the only private despatches that had come to Bristol were the two received by some roundabout route known only to the ingenious journalists who had despatched them. Indeed, the despatches had been conveyed the greater portion of the way by motor-car.

A complete silence fell. Every face was turned towards the War Minister, who, seated with outstretched legs, was holding in his hand a fresh despatch he had just received.

He rose, and, in his deep bass voice, said —

“In reply to the honourable member for South-East Brixton, the statement he makes appears, from information which has just reached me, to be correct. The Germans are, unfortunately, bombarding London. Von Kronhelm, it is reported, is at Hampstead, and the zone of the enemy’s artillery reaches, in some cases, as far south as the Thames itself. It is true, as the honourable member asserts, an enormous amount of damage has already been done to various buildings, and there has undoubtedly been great loss of life. My latest information is that the non-combatant inhabitants – old persons, women, and children – are in flight across the Thames, and that the barricades in the principal roads leading in from the north are held strongly by the armed populace, driven back into London.”

He sat down without further word.

A tall, thin, white-moustached man rose at that moment from the Opposition side of the House. Colonel Farquhar, late of the Royal Marines, was a well-known military critic, and represented West Bude.

“And this,” he said, “is the only hope of England! The defence of London by an armed mob, pitted against the most perfectly equipped and armed force in the world! Londoners are patriotic, I grant. They will die fighting for their homes, as every Englishman will when the moment comes; yet, what can we hope, when patriotism is ranged against modern military science? There surely is patriotism in the savage negro races of Central Africa, a love of country perhaps as deep as in the white man’s heart; yet a little strategy, a few Maxims, and all defence is quickly at an end. And so it must inevitably be with London. I contend, Mr. Speaker,” he went on, “that by the ill-advised action of the Government from the first hour of their coming into power, we now find ourselves conquered. It only remains for them now to make terms of peace as honourable to themselves as the unfortunate circumstances will admit. Let the country itself judge their actions in the light of events of to-day, and let the blood of the poor murdered women and children of London be upon their heads. (Shame.) To resist further is useless. Our military organisation is in chaos, our miserably weak army is defeated, and in flight. I declare to this House that we should sue at this very moment for peace – a dishonourable peace though it be; but the bitter truth is too plain – England is conquered!”

As he sat down amid the “hear, hears” and loud applause of the Opposition there rose a keen-faced, dark-haired, clean-shaven man of thirty-seven or so. He was Gerald Graham, younger son of an aristocratic house, the Yorkshire Grahams, who sat for North-East Rutland. He was a man of brilliant attainments at Oxford, a splendid orator, a distinguished writer and traveller, whose keen brown eye, lithe upright figure, quick activity, and smart appearance rendered him a born leader of men. For the past five years he had been marked out as a “coming man.”

As a soldier he had seen hard service in the Boer War, being mentioned twice in despatches; as an explorer he had led a party through the heart of the Congo and fought his way back to civilisation through an unexplored land with valiant bravery that had saved the lives of his companions. He was a man who never sought notoriety. He hated to be lionised in society, refused the shoals of cards of invitation which poured in upon him, and stuck to his Parliamentary duties, and keeping faith with his constituents to the very letter.

As he stood up silent for a moment, gazing around him fearlessly, he presented a striking figure, and in his navy serge suit he possessed the unmistakable cut of the smart, well-groomed Englishman who was also a man of note.

The House always listened to him, for he never spoke without he had something of importance to say. And the instant he was up a silence fell.

“Mr. Speaker,” he said, in a clear, ringing voice, “I entirely disagree with my honourable friend the member for West Bude. England is not conquered! She is not beaten!”

The great hall rang with loud and vociferous cheers from both sides of the House. Then, when quiet was restored by the Speaker’s stentorian “Order-r-r! Order!” he continued —

“London may be invested and bombarded. She may even be sacked, but Englishmen will still fight for their homes, and fight valiantly. If we have a demand for indemnity, let us refuse to pay it. Let us civilians – let the civilians in every corner of England – arm themselves and unite to drive out the invader! (Loud cheers.) I contend, Mr. Speaker, that there are millions of able-bodied men in this country who, if properly organised, will be able to gradually exterminate the enemy. Organisation is all that is required. Our vast population will rise against the Germans, and before the tide of popular indignation and desperate resistance the power of the invader must soon be swept away. Do not let us sit calmly here in security, and acknowledge that we are beaten. Remember, we have at this moment to uphold the ancient tradition of the British race, the honour of our forefathers, who have never been conquered. Shall we acknowledge ourselves conquered in this the twentieth century?”

“No!” rose from hundreds of voices, for the House was now carried away by young Graham’s enthusiasm.

“Then let us organise!” he urged. “Let us fight on. Let every man who can use a sword or gun come forward, and we will commence hostilities against the Kaiser’s forces that shall either result in their total extermination or in the power of England being extinguished. Englishmen will die hard. I myself will, with the consent of this House, head the movement, for I know that in the country we have millions who will follow me and will be equally ready to die for our country if necessary. Let us withdraw this statement that we are conquered. The real, earnest fight is now to commence,” he shouted, his voice ringing clearly through the hall. “Let us bear our part, each one of us. If we organise and unite, we shall drive the Kaiser’s hordes into the sea. They shall sue us for peace, and be made to pay us an indemnity, instead of us paying one to them. I will lead!” he shouted; “who will follow me?”

In London the Lord Mayor’s patriotic proclamations were now obliterated by a huge bill bearing the German Imperial arms, the text of which told its own grim tale. It is reproduced on next page, and at its side was printed a translation in German text.

In the meantime the news of the fall of London was being circulated by the Germans to every town throughout the kingdom, their despatches being embellished by lurid descriptions of the appalling losses inflicted upon the English. In Manchester, a great poster, headed by the German Imperial arms, was posted up on the Town Hall, the Exchange, and other places, in which Von Kronhelm announced the occupation of London; while in Leeds, Bradford, Stockport, and Sheffield, similarly worded official announcements were also posted. The Press in all towns occupied by the Germans had been suppressed, papers only appearing in order to publish the enemy’s orders. Therefore, this official intelligence was circulated by proclamation, calculated to impress upon the inhabitants of the country how utterly powerless they were.

While Von Kronhelm sat in that large sombre room in the War Office, with his telegraph instrument to Potsdam ever ticking, and the wireless telegraphy constantly in operation, he wondered, and still wondered, why the English made no response to his demands. He was in London. He had carried out his Emperor’s instructions to the letter, he had received the Imperial thanks, and he held all the gold coin he could discover in London as security. Yet, without some reply from the British Government, his position was an insecure one. Even his thousand and one spies who had served him so well ever since he had placed foot upon English soil could tell him nothing. The deliberations of the House of Commons at Bristol were a secret.

In Bristol the hot, fevered night had given place to a gloriously sunny morning, with a blue and cloudless

NOTICE AND ADVICE—TO THE CITIZENS OF LONDON—

I ADDRESS YOU SERIOUSLY.

We are neighbours, and in time of peace cordial relations have always existed between us. I therefore address you from my heart in the cause of humanity.

Germany is at war with England. We have been forced to penetrate into your country.

But each human life spared, and all property saved, we regard as in the interests of both religion and humanity.

We are at war, and both sides have fought a loyal fight.

Our desire is, however, to spare disarmed citizens and the inhabitants of all towns and villages.

We maintain a severe discipline, and we wish to have it known that punishment of the severest character will be inflicted upon any who are guilty of hostility to the Imperial German arms, either open or in secret.

To our regret any incitements, cruelties, or brutalities we must judge with equal severity.

I therefore call upon all local mayors, magistrates, clergy, and schoolmasters to urge upon the populace, and upon the heads of families, to urge upon those under their protection, and upon their domestics, to refrain from committing any act of hostility whatsoever against my soldiers.

All misery avoided is a good work in the eye of our Sovereign Judge, who sees all men.

I earnestly urge you to heed this advice, and I trust in you.

Take notice!

VON KRONHELM,Commanding the Imperial German Army.

German Military Headquarters,

Whitehall, London, September 20, 1910.

sky. Above Leigh Woods the lark rose high in the sky, trilling his song, and the bells of Bristol rang out as merrily as they ever did, and above the Colston Hall still floated the Royal Standard – a sign that the House had not yet adjourned.

While Von Kronhelm held London, Lord Byfield and the remnant of the British Army, who had suffered such defeat in Essex and north of London, had, four days later, retreated to Chichester and Salisbury, where reorganisation was in rapid progress. One division of the defeated troops had encamped at Horsham. The survivors of those who had fought the battle of Charnwood Forest, and had acted so gallantly in the defence of Birmingham, were now encamped on the Malvern Hills, while the defenders of Manchester were at Shrewsbury. Speaking roughly, therefore, our vanquished troops were massing at four points, in an endeavour to make a last attack upon the invader. The Commander-in-Chief, Lord Byfield, was near Salisbury, and at any hour he knew that the German legions might push westward from London to meet him and to complete the coup.

The League of Defenders formed by Gerald Graham and his friends was, however, working independently. The wealthier classes, who, driven out of London, were now living in cottages and tents in various parts of Berks, Wilts, and Hants, worked unceasingly on behalf of the League, while into Plymouth, Exmouth, Swanage, Bristol, and Southampton more than one ship had already managed to enter laden with arms and ammunition of all kinds, sent across by the agents of the League in France. The cargoes were of a very miscellaneous character, from modern Maxims to old-fashioned rifles that had seen service in the war of 1870. There were hundreds of modern rifles, sporting guns, revolvers, swords – in fact, every weapon imaginable, modern and old-fashioned. These were at once taken charge of by the local branches of the League, and to those men who presented their tickets of identification the arms were served out, and practice conducted in the open fields. Three shiploads of rifles were known to have been captured by German warships, one off Start Point, another a few miles outside Padstow, and a third within sight of the coastguard at Selsey Bill. Two other ships were blown up in the Channel by drifting mines. The running of arms across from France and Spain was a very risky proceeding; yet the British skipper is nothing if not patriotic, and every man who crossed the Channel on those dangerous errands took his life in his hand.

Into Liverpool, Whitehaven, and Milford weapons were also coming over from Ireland, even though several German cruisers, who had been up at Lamlash to cripple the Glasgow trade, had now come south, and were believed still to be in the Irish Sea.

CHAPTER IX

WHAT WAS HAPPENING AT SEA

Our fleet, however, was not inactive. The Germans had mined the Straits of Dover, and one of the turbine Channel steamers had been sunk with great loss of life. They had bombarded Brighton, mined Portsmouth, and made a raid on the South Wales coal ports.

How these raiders were pursued is best described in the official history of the invasion, as follows: —

The Trevose wireless station signalled that the Germans were off Lundy about 2 p.m., steaming west with fourteen ships of all kinds, some moving very slowly. The Lion and Kincardineshire at once altered course to the north, so as to intercept them and draw across their line of retreat. At the same time they learnt that two British protected cruisers had arrived from Devonport off the Longships, and were holding the entrance to the English Channel, and moving slowly north behind them.

About 3.30 the wireless waves came in so strongly from the north-east that the captain of the Lion, who was in charge of the cruiser division, became certain of the proximity of the German force. The signals could not be interpreted, as they were tuned on a different system from the British. The Germans must have also felt the British signals, since about this time they divided, the three fast liners increasing speed and heading west, while the rest of the detachment steered north-west. The older German vessels were delayed some fifteen minutes by the work of destroying the four colliers, which they had carried off forcibly with them from Cardiff, and removing their crews. Delay at such a moment was most dangerous.

Soon after 3.45 p.m. the lookout on board the Lion reported from the masthead, smoke on the horizon right ahead. The Lion’s head was set towards the smoke, which could be only faintly seen, and her speed was increased to twenty-one knots. The Kincardineshire altered course simultaneously – she was ten miles away on the port beam of the Lion, and in constant communication by wireless with the Selkirk, which was still farther out. Ten minutes later the Selkirk signalled that she saw smoke, and that with the ten destroyers accompanying her she was steering towards it. Her message added that the Irish Sea destroyers were in sight, coming in very fast from the north, nine strong, with intervals of two miles between each boat, still keeping their speed of thirty knots.

The cordon was now complete, and the whole force of twenty-two cruisers and torpedo craft turned in towards the spot where the enemy was located. At 4.5 the lookout on the Lion reported a second cloud of smoke on the horizon, rather more to starboard than the one first seen, which had been for some minutes steadily moving west. This second cloud was moving very slowly north-westwards.

The captain of the Lion determined to proceed with his own ship towards this second cloud, and directed the Kincardineshire, which was slightly the faster cruiser, to follow the movements of the first-seen smoke and support the Selkirk in attacking the ships from which it proceeded.

The enemy’s fleet soon came into view several miles away. Three large steamers were racing off towards the Atlantic and the west; seven smaller ships were steaming slowly north-west. In the path of the three big liners were drawn up the Selkirk and the ten destroyers of the Devonport flotilla, formed in line abreast, with intervals of two miles between each vessel, so as to cover as wide an extent of sea as possible. The Kincardineshire was heading fast to support the Selkirk and attack the three large German ships. Farther to the north, but as yet invisible to the Lion, and right in the path of the squadron of old German ships, were nine destroyers of the Irish Sea flotilla, vessels each of 800 tons and thirty-three knots, also drawn up in line abreast, with intervals of two miles to cover a wide stretch of water.

The moment the Germans came into view the two protected cruisers at Land’s End were called up by wireless telegraphy, and ordered to steam at nineteen knots towards the Selkirk. The two Devonport battleships, which had now reached Land’s End, were warned of the presence of the enemy.

Sighting the ten Devonport destroyers and the Selkirk to the west of them, the three fast German liners, which were the Deutschland, Kaiser Wilhelm II., and Kronprinz Wilhelm, all three good for twenty-three knots in any weather, made a rush for the gap between the Devonport destroyers and the Kincardineshire. Perceiving their intention, the Kincardineshire turned to cut them off, and the ten destroyers and the Selkirk headed to engage them. In danger of all being brought to action and destroyed if they kept together, the German liners scattered at 4.15: the Deutschland steered south-east to pass between the Kincardineshire and the Lion; the Kaiser Wilhelm steered boldly for a destroyer which was closing in on her from the starboard bow; and the Kronprinz Wilhelm ran due north.

The Deutschland, racing along at a tremendous speed, passed between the Kincardineshire and the Lion. The Lion at long range put three 9.2-inch shells into her without stopping her; the Kincardineshire gave her a broadside from her 6-inch guns at about 5000 yards, and hit her several times. But the British fire did not bring her to, and she went off to the south-west at a great pace, going so fast that it was clear the armoured cruisers would stand little chance of overhauling her.

The Kaiser Wilhelm charged through the line of destroyers, receiving a heavy fire from the 6-inch weapons of the Selkirk and Kincardineshire, and in her turn pouring a rapid fire upon two of the Devonport destroyers, which attempted to torpedo her, and missed her at about 900 yards. The Selkirk, however, was close astern of her, and with her engines going twenty-three knots, which was just a fraction less than what the German engineers were doing, concentrated upon her a very heavy fire from all her 6-inch guns that would bear.

The fore-turret with its two 6-inch weapons in two minutes put twenty shells into the German stern. One of these projectiles must have hit the steering gear, for suddenly and unexpectedly the Kaiser Wilhelm came round on a wide circle, and as she wheeled, the broadside of the British cruiser came into action with a loud crash, and at 3000 yards rained 100-lb. and 12-lb. shells upon the liner. The beating of the pom-poms in the Selkirk could be heard above the roar of the cannonade; and seeing that the liner was now doomed, the British destroyers drew off a little.

Under the storm of shells the German crew could not get the steering gear in working order. The great ship was still turning round and round in a gigantic circle, when the Lion came into action with her two 9·2’s and her broadside of eight 6-inch weapons. Round after round from these was poured into the German ship. The British gunners shot for the water-line, and got it repeatedly. At 4.40, after a twenty minutes’ fight, the white flag went up on board the Kaiser Wilhelm, and it was seen that she was sinking. Her engines had stopped, she was on fire in twenty places, and her decks were covered with the dying and the dead. The first of the raiders was accounted for.

Meantime, the Kronprinz Wilhelm had with equal swiftness dashed north, receiving only a few shots from the Selkirk, as she passed her, 8000 yards away. The British armoured cruiser Kincardineshire followed in the German ship’s wake ten miles astern and quite out of range. The German liner was seen by the ocean-going destroyers of the Irish Sea flotilla, which headed after her, and four of them going thirty knots easily drew ahead of her. To attack such a vessel with the torpedo was an undertaking which had no promise of success.