Do you remember the week-end between Friday, 31st July, and Monday, 3rd August? It was the most anxious and exciting time that living Britons have ever known. On every tongue there was the same question: "Are we going to war?" Everywhere you saw people feverishly buying edition after edition of the evening papers, and gathering into little groups to discuss the situation.
London, as you know, is the chief money market of the world, and the effect of wars and rumours of wars in any country on the globe is felt at once in the City of London. When it was evident that the four greatest continental nations were setting their armies in motion, stocks and shares fell to such a low price that dealing in them became impossible. Many of the stockbroking firms failed, and business was suspended, not only in London, but on almost every exchange throughout the world. It was thought that there would be a shortage of gold, and from noon onwards on the 31st of July the court-yard of the Bank of England was crowded with people eager to exchange notes for gold. Nevertheless "the Old Lady of Threadneedle Street," as the Bank of England is sometimes called, remained perfectly calm, and inside the building business went on as usual. On the 1st of August the bank rate[165]rose to 10 per cent., and the Stock Exchange was closed.
On Sunday, 2nd August, the Naval Reserves[166]were called up, and the War Office became very active. A number of the London Territorial[167]regiments were on their way to camp for their annual training, but they were ordered to return and remain within reach of headquarters. It was very clear to everybody that the issue of war or peace was hanging in the balance.
On Sunday, 2nd August, the first important act of war was committed. Look at the map on page38, and find the river Moselle. Not far from its left bank you will see the city of Luxemburg, which stands in the little independent duchy of the same name, at the south-east corner of Belgium. This state is about as large as the county of Essex, and its population is less than that of the city of Edinburgh. It is a country of low ridges and meadow land, and more than a quarter of its surface is covered with forests. There are good deposits of iron, and many of the people are engaged in mining and smelting the ore. From 1825 to 1867 the state belonged to Germany, and down to 1872 its fortress was in the hands of the Prussians. In that year the garrison was withdrawn, the fortress was dismantled, and the state was neutralized. The army of Luxemburg only consists of 150 soldiers and the same number of armed policemen. Its Grand Duchess is Marie Adelaide, who is now in her twenty-first year.
I want you to notice especially that the Germans did not propose to invade France by the routes which they followed in 1870. In that year, you will remember, they crossed the frontier in the direction of Metz, and south of it. They had determined not to do this during the present war, because, as you will gather from the map on page98, the country is hilly, and therefore difficult to traverse, and because the frontier is protected by a chain of very powerful fortresses. As we shall see later, they wished to enter France very quickly, and beat her as rapidly as possible. Time was all-important to them, and they could not afford to waste it in the long business of besieging barrier fortresses. They therefore decided to invade France by the easy route through Belgium, even though they would have to break a solemn treaty by so doing.
The frontier between Belgium and Germany is very narrow, only about forty miles in width. As this space is insufficient for the quick and orderly transfer of the huge armies which the Germans proposed to send into France, they determined to break another treaty, and enter through Luxemburg as well. This would give them another forty miles of line across which to advance, and would place them in possession of a town in which the whole network of railways uniting Germany, France, and Belgium forms a junction. Once in Luxemburg, they were in command of the whole system of roads and railways leading from North Germany into France and Belgium.
When the inhabitants of Luxemburg awoke on the hot Sunday morning of 2nd August, they were surprised to find that the Adolf Bridge, which leads to the city across the river Alzette, was in the hands of the Germans. A little later, armed motor cars, filled with German officers and men, were seen approaching the city. It was the vanguard of the 39th Regiment. A member of the Luxemburg Government met the invaders, and handed them a copy of the treaty guaranteeing the neutrality of the state. They told him that they knew all about the treaty, but that they had their orders. The Archduchess now drove up, and tried to block the path of the Germans with her motor car. She was told to go home at once; and, having no force behind her, was obliged to obey.
On and on came the Germans, and the people were greatly surprised to see amongst them many men who up to that time had been clerks in the offices of Luxemburg. These men, while pretending to be peaceful citizens, had made themselves thoroughly acquainted with the geography of the country, had carefully noted the best points for the Germans to occupy, and the places where they could procure provisions. Before nightfall the whole state was in their hands; the roads and railways were guarded by sentries; and houses, woods, and standing crops which might afford cover to the enemy were destroyed.
That same day German cavalry crossed the French border near Longwy,[168]and farther south, near Strassburg, they pushed across the frontier to the town of Cirey-les-Forges.[169]Still farther south, near the Swiss boundary, another raid was made. You will remember that the French had promised to keep their troops back from the border as long as there was the slightest chance of bringing Austria and Russia to agreement.
Monday, 3rd August, was the most remarkable Bank Holiday ever known in Britain. All Bank Holiday excursions were cancelled, for the railways were in the hands of the military authorities. Hundreds of thousands of persons, who would otherwise have spent the day at the seaside or in the country, were forced to remain in London. Great crowds gathered at Westminster to see the members of Parliament enter Palace Yard. It was known that a Cabinet Council had been held on the previous day, and that a very important statement was to be made that very afternoon.
Let us peep into the House of Commons on that memorable occasion. The Chamber, which is far too small to accommodate all the members of Parliament, is crowded to excess. All the green benches are filled, the side galleries are thronged, and there are rows of chairs in the gangways. It is evident that a matter of great pith and moment is now about to arise. There is some preliminary business to be got through, and the House is impatient to see the end of it. Then Sir Edward Grey rises, and amidst loud cheering advances to the table, and begins the most fateful speech that was ever made in all our long history. He is very grave, and his set face shows traces of the anxious and laborious days through which he has recently passed. He speaks without passion, and with no attempt at fine language; but every word that he utters is full of deep meaning, and the House listens with eager attention.
He tells his fellow-members that the Government has worked with a single mind, and with all the earnestness in its power, to preserve the peace, but that its labours have proved vain—Germany and Russia have declared war on each other. Then he goes on to speak of our friendship with France—that warm and cordial friendship, which has replaced the enmity of long ages. This friendship, he declares, entails duties upon us. The French fleet is in the Mediterranean Sea, because of the good feeling and confidence that has grown up between us, and the northern andwestern coasts of France are without defence. "My own feeling is," he says, "that if a foreign fleet, engaged in a war which France had not sought, and in which she had not been the aggressor, came down the English Channel and bombarded and battered the unprotected coasts of France, we could not stand aside." The loud cheers which immediately break forth show that the great majority of the members thoroughly agree with him. When the cheers have subsided, he proceeds: "We could not see this going on practically within sight of our eyes, with our arms folded, doing nothing, and I believe that would be the feeling of this country."
France, he says, is entitled to know at once whether she can depend upon British support should her northern and western coasts be attacked. He has therefore given an assurance to the French Government that, should the German fleet come into the Channel or through the North Sea to undertake hostile operations against the French coasts or shipping, the British fleet, if Parliament approves, will give all the protection in its power. The cheers that follow this statement clearly show that the House of Commons fully approves of the undertaking which he has given to France.
Then he turns to the all-important question of Belgium. He tells the House what you already know—namely, that in 1870 we made a stand for the neutrality of that little country, and were thus able to save her from the horrors of invasion. What we did then, we are trying to do now. France has given us her assurance that she will not enter Belgium if it is not invaded by another Power, but Germany refuses to reply. She has already asked King Albert to grant unopposed passage for her troops through his country, and has promised to guarantee its independence if he will consent to this course; but, at the same time, she has threatened to treat Belgium as an enemy if the request is refused. The Belgians are determined to resist the invasion of their land by every means in their power.
Our treaty with Belgium binds us in honour to take her part. If in a crisis like this we run away, we shall lose the respect of the nations—a respect which we can never regain. Though we might, by husbanding our resources, be able at the end of the war to prevent the whole of western Europe from falling into the hands of Germany, our moral position would be such——. The rest of the sentence is lost amidst a loud burst of cheering. Almost to a man the members of theHouse of Commons are convinced that we should sink to the lowest depths of dishonour were we to abandon Belgium in her dark hour of trial.
The cheers are renewed when Sir Edward Grey declares that our Fleet has been mobilized, and that our Army is mobilizing. Britain is ready to play her part, whatever that may be. Then the speaker points out the one bright spot in the whole terrible situation. Formerly, when Britain has been engaged in war, the Irish people have seized the opportunity to rise in revolt. At this time we have no such fear. Finally, he believes that, should war come, the Government will be supported, not only by the House of Commons, but by the determination, the resolution, the courage, and the endurance of the whole country. Amidst loud and prolonged cheers the speaker resumes his seat.
Then the Leader of the Opposition[170]rises and pledges the loyalty of his followers in this great and grave crisis. So, too, does the leader of the Irish Nationalists,[171]and only one voice is heard disapproving of the course which the Government proposes to take. In the face of national peril the vast majority of the men of every party, creed, and sect stand shoulder to shoulder—forgetting their differences of opinion, and only remembering that they are Britons, faced with the greatest danger that has ever threatened their land. When Lord Macaulay, in his balladHoratius, wished to show us the Romans in their noblest aspect, he said,—
"Then none was for a party;Then all were for the State; . . .The Romans were like brothersIn the brave days of old."
"Then none was for a party;Then all were for the State; . . .The Romans were like brothersIn the brave days of old."
So it is with Britons all over the world in these days of anxiety and peril. None is for a party, and all are for the State; and so it will be until the war clouds roll away, and peace once more smiles upon us.
That afternoon the King and Queen drove from Buckingham Palace along the Mall, and were everywhere greeted with the heartiest of cheers, especially when they passed the German Embassy.[172]His Majesty couldnot fail to understand the meaning of these cheers—the nation was one in heart and mind in the great task which lay before it. In the evening, thousands of people gathered outside Buckingham Palace, singing patriotic songs and cheering again and again. Just after nine o'clock the King, accompanied by the Queen and the Prince of Wales, appeared on the balcony above the entrance to the north side of the Palace. Then the cheers grew louder than ever. The King and Queen bowed again and again to the people, and the Prince waved his hand. By this time it was clear to all the world that the people of Britain were ready to face the future, as Sir Edward Grey had prophesied, with determination, resolution, courage, and endurance.
Next morning Sir Edward Grey telegraphed to Sir Edward Goschen, bidding him request an immediate assurance from the German Government that Belgium would not be invaded. Later in the day he telegraphed again, telling our Ambassador that Belgium had already been invaded, and asking for a satisfactory reply by twelve o'clock that night. If such a reply was not forthcoming, Sir Edward Goschen was told to ask for his passports, and say that Great Britain would do everything in her power to uphold those treaty rights of Belgium to which Germany was a party as well as Great Britain.
Sir Edward Goschen accordingly called upon the German Secretary of State, Herr von Jagow, about seven o'clock that evening, and delivered his message. The Secretary at once replied that he was sorry to say that he could give no such undertaking, for the German troops were already in Belgium. He then explained why his Government had been obliged to take this step, and, in so doing, revealed the German plan of campaign. They had to advance into France, he said, by the quickest and easiest way, so as to be able to strike a decisive blow as soon as possible. It was a matter of life and death to them; for, if they had gone by the more southern route, they would have had bad roads to cross and strong fortresses to take, and would, therefore, have wasted much time. This loss of time would mean that the Russians would be able to bring up their troops to the German frontier before the German conquestof France was complete. As Russia had an almost endless number of soldiers, they were bound to overthrow France as quickly as possible before the Russians could muster in full strength.
Sir Edward Goschen then asked if there was not still time for the Germans to draw back, and so avoid bringing Great Britain into the war. To this, Herr von Jagow replied that it was now too late. Thus there was nothing left for Sir Edward Goschen to do but to demand his passports. Before doing so, however, he went to see the Chancellor, the man next in authority to the Kaiser himself. Then followed one of the most dramatic interviews known to history.
Sir Edward Goschen tells us that he found the Chancellor much upset, and that he at once began a loud, angry speech, which lasted twenty minutes. He said that the step taken by the British Government was terrible to a degree. We were going to war just for a word—"neutrality"—a word which had so often been set aside in time of war. Just for a treaty—"a scrap of paper"—we were going to fight a kindred nation which desired nothing better than to be friends with us. What we had done was like striking a man from behind while he was struggling for his life against two foes. He should hold Great Britain responsible for all the terrible events that might happen.
Sir Edward Goschen strongly protested against this statement, and said that in the same way that the Chancellor and Herr von Jagow thought the violation of Belgium's neutrality was a matter of life and death to them, so it was a matter of life and death to the honour of Great Britain that she should keep her solemn engagements, and do her utmost to defend Belgium if she should be attacked. If Great Britain did not keep faith, what confidence would other nations have in her word for the future? To which the Chancellor replied, "Has the British Government thought of the price at which this compact will be kept?" Sir Edward Goschen replied that no fear of consequences could be regarded as an excuse for breaking solemn engagements; and he would have said more, but the Chancellor was so agitated by the news that Great Britain would fight for her honour, that he was incapable of listening to reason.
So the painful interview ended. A report of what had passed was drawn up and handed in at a telegraph office a little before 9 p.m., but was never dispatched.
You can now understand how the German Government regards its solemn agreements. When they stand in the way of its ambitions they are but "scraps of paper," to be torn into shreds. You can also understand how anxious Germany was to keep us out of this war. Up to the last she believed that we should not fight, and that she would be allowed to work her wicked will on Belgium and France, while we stood by without lifting a finger. We want no other charter of right for taking part in this war than the speech of the German Chancellor which you have just read.
By our action we had put a spoke in the German wheel, and it was soon evident that the Berlin crowds understood this, for they gathered before the British Embassy and hurled stones at the windows. Police were summoned, and the street was cleared; but large crowds assembled at the stations, and jeered at Sir Edward Goschen as he travelled to the Dutch frontier. Just before he left Berlin the Kaiser sent him a message, regretting what had taken place, and saying that he would no longer retain his rank as a British field-marshal and a British admiral.
Later on, the Chancellor made a speech in Parliament, and tried to explain why Germany had broken her plighted word with regard to the neutrality of Luxemburg and Belgium. He said, "We are now in a state of necessity, and necessity knows no law. We were compelled to override the just protest of the Luxemburg and Belgian Governments. The wrong—I speak openly—that we are committing we will endeavour to make good as soon as our military goal is reached. Anybody who is threatened as we are threatened, and is fighting for his highest possessions, can only have one thought—how he isto hack his way through." Thus Germany began the war by a confession of wrongdoing. Since the Chancellor spoke, nothing more has been said of the "wrong;" but attempts have been made to prove that Germany only invaded Belgium because Great Britain and France were about to do so, and she wished to be ahead of them. There is not a particle of truth in this excuse.
At 11 p.m. on the 4th of August Great Britain declared war on Germany.
The order for placing the British Army on a war footing was signed the same day, and immediately all the reservists of the Regular army and the Territorials were called to the colours. At once the country became an armed camp. Everywhere we heard the tramp of soldiers, the rattle of moving guns, and the rumble of baggage trains. The railways passed into the hands of the Government, and time-tables were suspended in order that the troops might be moved to and fro without loss of time. The Territorials took over the work of home defence, and guards were stationed at arsenals, reservoirs, bridges, and docks. The country was so full of German spies that it was feared attempts would be made to do damage to the railways and other important public works; but thanks to the careful guard kept by our citizen soldiers, no harm was done. Even the Boy Scouts, whose motto is "Be Prepared," were pressed into service. In a hundred different ways they proved useful, especially as messengers.
Next day Lord Kitchener was appointed Secretary of War, with the approval of the whole nation. Everybody felt that the right man was in the right place, and that he would see us through. It is said that, when he entered the War Office for the first time as Secretary, he asked the porter, "Is there a bed here?" "No, sir," replied the man. "Then get one," he said, clearly showing that he meant to spend his nights as well as his days in the laborious work of raising armies and fitting them for the work of war. At the same time Sir John Jellicoe[173]was appointed to command the Grand Fleet in home waters.
On the 6th of August the Prime Minister asked the House of Commons for a war vote of a hundred millions of money, and seized the occasion to reply to the question, What are we fighting for? In the first place, he said, we are fighting to keep our solemn promise—a promise which, had it been made between private persons in the ordinary course of life,would have been thought so binding in law and honour that no self-respecting man would have dreamed of setting it aside. In the second place, we are fighting on behalf of the little nations. When their safety has been guaranteed by treaty, we are determined that they shall not be crushed out of existence by any Power, however strong and over-mastering it may be. No nation, he said, has ever entered into a great war with a clearer conscience or with a more certain knowledge that it is fighting for the right. We are not battling for power or land or gold, not even for our own selfish interests, but we are struggling to maintain that good faith amongst the nations without which the world would sink back into barbarism.
The war vote was at once granted, and it was quickly agreed that the Army should be increased by half a million men. On the next day Lord Kitchener called for a first army of 100,000 men, and instantly recruits of high quality came flocking to the colours. Men waited in front of the London recruiting offices hour after hour for days together, in order to offer their services to the country. From the Colonies and from India came the most loyal of messages, and the most generous offers of men and money. The whole Empire was united as never before, in this the most righteous war that has ever been waged.
I have already told you that there was what is called a "run" upon the Bank of England at the prospect of war. In order that the nation should be steadied at this crisis, the Bank Holiday was continued for three days longer, and an order was made that no one need pay his business debts for a month. To keep gold in the banks for the service of the Government, paper money was introduced, and postal orders passed from hand to hand instead of coin. The newspapers were not allowed to print anything they pleased about the war, for fear that the enemy might gain important information. All war news was to be passed by what is called a censor before being printed.
Meanwhile our Grand Fleet was watching and waiting for the German Navy to come out and fight. Our sailors seized many German merchant vessels on the seas, and those that were in our ports were captured; but the warships of the enemy were nowhere visible. We soon began to understand that the Germans did not propose to risk their ships in battle for some time to come. One of their military writers had recommended that they should try to reduce our Navy to the strength of their own by means of submarine[174]and destroyer[175]attacks before coming out to fight. On the second day after war was declared, we discovered that they had planned another method of sinking our ships without endangering their own.
Here is a little picture of what is known as a floating mine. It consists of a hollow, pear-shaped case, containing an electric battery and a large amount of gun-cotton, or some other high explosive. Thismine is thrown into the sea, and by means of an iron weight is made to float three or four feet below the surface. If the mine is struck hard, it will cant over sixty-five or seventy degrees. Then the mercury in a little cup would overflow, and by so doing would complete an electric circuit and explode the gun-cotton. So terrible is the explosive force of gun-cotton, that it will tear asunder the biggest ship, and either cripple it or send it to the bottom. Never before has any nation strewn the open seas with such floating mines, and their use in this way is against all the laws of war which are observed by civilized nations.
The Germans soon discovered that large mine-layers ran a great risk of being sunk by the guns of our warships, so they employed fishing-boats and other small craft to lay these deadly engines in the sea. Many of these ships flew the flag of a neutral Power, and thus pretended that they were engaged on lawful and peaceful business. The North Sea became a death-trap, and our Admiralty had to meet the danger by employing a large number of trawlers to sweep up the mines.
The work is done in the following way. Two trawlers sailing parallel with each other drag through the sea a steel hawser which is attached to each of them. The hawser drags the mines along, and they are then picked up. You can readily understand how dangerous this work is. The trawlers themselves may strike a mine, and be blown up; or two mines drawn along by the hawser may collide when they are near to the trawlers, in which case the same result follows. Many gallant smacksmen have lost their lives in trying to free the sea from this terrible peril. We ought to think of them as heroes of the best and highest type. Always remember that it is more glorious to save life than to destroy it.
On the 6th of August a flotilla of British destroyers, accompanied by the light cruiser[176]Amphion,[177]sighted a German vessel off theDutch coast engaged in throwing out floating mines. TheLance, a British destroyer, at once attacked this vessel, and in four shots destroyed her bridge, tore away her stern, and sank her—all within the space of six minutes. Some fifty members of the crew were saved by the British boats. Though the mine-layer was at the bottom of the sea, she had done her deadly work, and was soon to achieve a victory. As theAmphionwas steaming towards Harwich, and was about thirty miles off Aldeburgh, she struck one of the mines laid by the sunken ship, and was instantly blown up. The bow of the ship was shattered, and in less than twenty minutes she sank, with a loss of 131 lives. The captain, sixteen officers, and 135 men were saved; but twenty German prisoners confined in the bow were killed by the explosion of their own mine. Since theAmphionwent down, many peaceful merchant ships and trawlers, both British and neutral, have been sunk by these mines, as well as two other British warships.
Here is a section of a submarine, a type of vessel which is now being used for the first time in warfare. You see that it is shaped like a rather fat cigar, tapering towards its after or tail end. In the centre of the top of the hull we see a small conning-tower. At the stern there is a propeller, and also a series of rudders which enables it to steer to and fro, or up and down. If you study the picture, you will see what the interior of a submarine is like. By means of tanks, which can be filled with water or emptied, the submarine can sink or rise at will. When she comes near an enemy, she sinks until only a short mast appears above the surface. This mast is a hollow tube fitted with a lens and mirrors, so arranged that images of objects outside the boat and above the surface are thrown on to another mirror, where they are examined by means of a magnifying glass. This "periscope," as the hollow mast is called, is the eye of the submarine. It enables her to see when her hull is beneath the waves. If she sinks altogether, or if the periscope should be carried away, she is blind and can see nothing.
Some submarines have a gun on deck, but their real weapon is the torpedo. There is a picture of one on page183. It is really a little warship in itself, with its own hull, propeller, rudders, engines, and a mass of gun-cotton in the place of guns. This explosive is stored in thehead of the torpedo, which is provided with a striker-rod of steel. When this rod hits the target it is forced back and explodes a little charge, which in its turn explodes the gun-cotton which lies behind it. A torpedo is fired from a tube, and immediately it strikes the water its engines begin to work. It then rushes towards its target at the rate of forty or fifty miles an hour for a distance of three miles or more. By means of a very remarkable piece of apparatus, it is steered back to its line of fire if it should be turned out of its course. If the aim is sure, and the torpedo hits its mark, the gun-cotton explodes with such terrific force that it will sink or cripple the biggest ship afloat.
On ordinary warships a torpedo can be fired from a tube either above or below water. The tube can be moved just like a gun, and so a correct aim can be taken. The tubes of a submarine, however, are all below water, and they are fixed so that the submarine itself must be moved into the right position before it can discharge a torpedo with correct aim.
Submarines have been called, with good reason, "the deadliest things that keep the sea." With only the thin periscope showing above the waves, they can silently and secretly creep within range of a warship, and send off a torpedo on its deadly errand. To detect the thin periscope from the bridge of a warship is not easy, and during the present war several gallant ships have been taken unawares and sent to the bottom.
Now let me tell you the story of a submarine that failed.
On the 9th of August a flotilla of German submarines was in the North Sea. Their narrow gray bodies were furrowing the waves at a speed of about fifteen knots an hour. On the little deck of each of them stood a commander, sweeping the horizon through powerful glasses for signs of the enemy. Down below men were standing by the motors, examining the gauges, filling the compressed air chambers, and making sure that the torpedoes were "ship-shape."
Yonder is Submarine U 9. Suddenly her commander closes his glasses with a snap. He has sighted the funnels of British cruisers, and the hour of action has arrived. The long-expected signal rings out below, and the commander leaves the tiny deck and withdraws into the interior through a hatch, which is carefully closed behind him. He takes his place in the conning-tower, where, under his hand and eye, is all the apparatus needed for steering and controlling the boat.
A valve is opened, and air is allowed to escape from the water-ballast tanks in the bottom of the vessel. Water flows in, and the submarine sinks until she is running "awash," with the base of the conning-tower only just clear of the waves. She is now ready to dive. This she must do before getting within range of the cruisers out yonder. There are hundreds of keen eyes on the British warships, and even the conning-tower of a submarine a mile away will be seen. A wheel is moved, the boat tilts downward slightly at the bows, and in a few moments the water is swirling round the windows of the conning-tower. Diving has begun. Down, down she goes. Presently the wheel is moved again, and the boat returns to an even keel. The only part of her that now shows above the water is the periscope.
The commander glues his eyes to the mirror which gives him a view of the sea around. The images of the cruisers grow larger and larger; one of them, H.M.S.Birmingham, is now within range. He moves his boat so that the torpedo tube at her bow points directly towards theBirmingham. His hand hovers over the switch which will launch a torpedo on its death-dealing errand. Why risk missing to avoid the slight danger of discovery? Another five hundred yards, and then——
The fateful moment has come. His hand slightly trembles with excitementas he prepares to make the trifling movement which may send some hundreds of men to a watery grave, and a gallant ship, worth more than a million of money, to the bottom.
He presses the button; a flap opens in the tube in the bows; a valve admits compressed air into the rear end of it, and a shining torpedo leaps forward towards the quarry.
Crash!The image in the periscope has disappeared, and the submarine rocks slightly. The periscope has been sighted by a keen eye on theBirmingham, and a superb shot has carried it away. The submarine is now as blind as the giant after Ulysses had bored into his one eye. The biter has been bitten. It cannot remain under water, for a touch of the cruiser's steel bow will be the stroke of doom. If it comes up, a storm of shell will rage about it. The commander has a choice of perils. Desperately he decides to come up and endeavour to fire another torpedo.
The horizontal rudders are set in motion; compressed air is admitted to the ballast chambers, and some of the water is blown out. The conning-tower rises above the level of the water; but, before she can use her sting, all is over. The cruiser's quick-firing guns have been waiting, and the moment the deck appears a four-inch shell is discharged at it. The armour at the base of the conning-tower is cleft through as though it were a biscuit-box. Water rushes in, and a minute later the ill-fated craft, a marvel of ingenuity, lies on the bottom, twenty fathoms deep. There it will rust away long after the war in which it played such a brief part has passed into history.
Such is the story of how H.M.S.Birminghamsank the German submarine U 9. Some accounts tell us that the periscope was not shot away, but that when the torpedo from the submarine missed its mark, the cruiser made a rapid turn and drove straight at her, crumpling her to pieces by the terrible force of its weight and speed. This is the method which our cruisers usually adopt when attacked by submarines. They steam rapidly in a zigzag course, so as to disconcert those who are aiming the torpedo, and, at the first sign of the submarine's presence, charge down upon her and sink her.
Before I describe the German invasion of Belgium, I must explain certain military terms which will crop up again and again in the following pages. Unless you understand these terms, you cannot read war news intelligently.
An army, you know, is a body of armed men, trained and organized and disciplined for the work of war. Most of the fighting men in an army are either infantry, cavalry, or artillery. Let me tell you something about each of these "arms."
Infantryare foot-soldiers armed with rifles and bayonets. In time of peace you have seen them marching by in their scarlet and blue uniforms and smart spiked helmets. You have also seen the Highlanders, with their waving feather bonnets, short scarlet coats with yellow facings, white belts and gaiters, plaid stockings, and bare knees. In time of war all these fine uniforms are discarded, and the men are dressed in khaki.
Every foot-soldier belongs to aregiment, and is one of acompanyof that regiment. A company consists of 227 men of all ranks, and is commanded by a captain or major, with a captain as second in command. Every company is divided into four platoons under lieutenants, each of whom has a sergeant as second in command, and each platoon consists of four sections under junior sergeants, corporals, or lance-corporals.
In the British Army four companies form abattalion, which has been well called the household or family to which the soldier belongs. It consists, when at war strength, of 1,007 men, including what is called headquarters—that is, the battalion staff, the men of the machine-gunsection, the signallers, pioneers, and the bandsmen who in time of war serve as stretcher-bearers. A battalion is commanded by a lieutenant-colonel, who is assisted by a major, an adjutant, a quartermaster, together with a number of sergeants, orderlies, and clerks. The adjutant is specially responsible for the book-keeping of the battalion, for issuing the orders, and for seeing that all military duties are properly performed. The quartermaster has charge of the stores, clothing, and the equipment of the men.
The strength of an infantry force is reckoned in battalions, not in regiments. Four battalions—that is, 4,000 men—form abrigadeof infantry, which is commanded by a brigadier-general, who is assisted by a brigade-major and a staff-captain.
Foot-soldiers are now armed with what is called a magazine rifle. The short Lee-Enfield,[178]which our infantry carry, can fire a dozen aimed shots in a minute; and if the magazine is opened, the ten cartridges in it can be discharged in less than thirty seconds. With this rifle, which is sighted up to 2,800 yards, a man can hit a large object a mile and a half away, and if he is a good shot, can kill a man at half a mile. The cartridge—which contains bullet and powder in one case—is so light that a man can carry his one hundred and twenty cartridges without much discomfort. The powder used is smokeless, so that it is almost impossible to tell where the shots come from if the riflemen takecover—that is, if they conceal themselves behind bushes, rocks, or hedges. British soldiers are exceedingly good at taking cover, and they learnt the art from the Boers in South Africa. They are careful to notice the folds and waves of the ground, and to take advantage of everything which will hide them from the enemy. A skilful leader can march his company or platoon across country so that a man sitting still half a mile away from his route cannot catch as much as a glimpse of it.