There were about sixteen midshipmen on board the three ships. Some of them were cadets at Osborne or Devonport when the war began. All the older boys were hurried off to the sea, and were proud and happy to go. Some of them have kept the "Watch on the Brine" all through the long and bitter winter; others have helped to patrol distant seas and capture enemy ships; some have fought a good fight in the naval battles; all have done their duty, and many have died for their country.
There was a very lucky middy on board theAboukirwhen she went down. One of the survivors asks: "What do you think of this regarding one of our brave midshipmen? He was on board the first ship which was struck, and as she was settling down he jumped overboard and swam clear of the swirling water caused by the sinking vessel. He was picked up by another of the cruisers; but she also was struck, and in her turn began to sink. The midshipman was uninjured by the explosion, and again he jumped and cleared the downward suction. He was picked up and put on board the third cruiser; but before long she, too, received her death wound. Again he got clear, and clung to a piece of wreckage, from which he was finally rescued."
A ship's carpenter on board theAboukirhad a similar experience. He was on board all the three cruisers when they were torpedoed. When theCressywent down he swam to a raft, which towed him along for some distance, until a ship's boat picked him up.
A middy of theCressy, a lad of sixteen, named Cazalet, commanded a whaler which was engaged in the work of rescue. He was actually the means of saving some eighty-eight lives. Altogether he picked up three boatloads of men, and not until there were no more survivors in sight did he seek refuge on board a Dutch trawler.
A fifteen-year-old drummer boy of the Marines managed to keep his head above water for about four hours. An empty rum cask floated by him, and he seized it and clung on to it until he was rescued. Strange to say, he suffered no harm from his long bath in the stormy sea.
In the first few days of the war there were rumours that a big naval battle had been fought in the North Sea, and that the bulk of the German fleet had been sent to the bottom. The wish was father to the thought. Most British people expected that there would be big sea fights, and they had no doubt of the result. We already know that the Germans had no intention of coming out in force to meet Sir John Jellicoe's ships. Their policy was to stick close to their own coasts, and try to wear us down by mines and torpedo attacks. As day after day went by and there was no startling news, impatient people began to ask, "What is the Navy doing?"
The Navy, though it had vanished into the unknown, was very busy, and was doing its work wonderfully well. Our light cruisers, destroyers, and submarines were continually watching the movements of the enemy. They are, as you know, the "eyes and ears" of the Fleet, and it was their business to inform Sir John Jellicoe the moment that enemy ships attempted to leave their harbours, so that he might bring them to action. Further, our warships had to prevent commerce raiders from slipping out and creeping into the ocean between Norway and the Orkneys in order to prey on the trade routes. Many of our warships were busy night and day examining neutral ships, to see that they did not smuggle what we call contraband of war[90]into Germany, while others acted asconvoys to troopships and supply ships, or as pilots to friendly traders passing through the mine-fields. Fleets of trawlers, as you know, were engaged in sweeping up mines. The Navy, you observe, was fully occupied in the North Sea, "bottling up" the German fleet, and preventing war supplies from reaching the German ports; while, out on the ocean, our cruisers were policing the trade routes, capturing the enemy's merchant ships, and chasing his commerce destroyers. The best proof that the Navy was doing its work in the best possible way was the absolute helplessness of the Germans to impede our overseas trade, or to interfere with the movements of our troops in all parts of the world.
Though there was no chance of a Trafalgar in the North Sea, there was an engagement in the month of August 1914 worthy of the name of a battle. I have kept the story of this sea fight for the present chapter. Three hours after we declared war two British submarines, E6 and E8, were on their way to the Bight of Heligoland on a scouting mission, and from that time onward a constant watch was maintained on the doings of the enemy's fleet in his own waters. Our submarines pushed right into the mouth of the Elbe, discovered the numbers and movements of the enemy's patrols, examined his anchorages, and picked up much useful information. Of course the Germans did not allow them to do this work in peace. They were constantly attacked by gun fire and torpedoes, and hunted by destroyers.
The submarines discovered that every night a flotilla of German light warships and destroyers was in the habit of coming out from Heligoland, or from one of the ports behind it, and cruising for some hours in the North Sea. As soon as Sir John Jellicoe heard the news, he made plans for a great "round up" of this night-cruising flotilla. His object was "to cut off the German light craft from home, and engage them at leisure in the open sea."
The command of this expedition was given to Rear-Admiral Sir David Beatty, one of the youngest admirals in our Navy. He was born in County Wexford in 1871, and is thus an Irishman, like Lord Kitchener. He entered the Navy in his thirteenth year. His mettle was first proved in an expedition that was sent to reconquer the Sudan in 1898. In command of the gunboat flotilla on the Upper Nile, he did such brilliant workthat he was at once marked out for promotion. Two years later, at the early age of twenty-nine, he became a captain. In the same year he took part in the fighting against the Chinese Boxers, and at thirty-nine was promoted rear-admiral. For two years he was naval secretary to the First Lord of the Admiralty, and on the outbreak of war was placed in command of the First Battle Cruiser Squadron. Never before in the history of our Navy has so young a man held so high a rank.
"Look well at this man as he paces backward and forward across the airy platform out among the smoke and rigging and sea wind." He is a little man, but very well proportioned and remarkably full of vigour. "You feel that energy has been poured into him at enormous pressure, that it is working and boiling within him, and that some one is sitting on the safety-valve." His face is heavily lined, but his features are clear cut, and his gray eyes are quick and searching, like those of a bird."There is, indeed, something birdlike about the whole man—in his quickness, his neatness, his smooth plumage, his effortless exercise of strength, and appearance of happiness and light-heartedness. His voice is deep and resonant—strangely deep to issue from so small and slim a body; and as he snaps out an order to his flag-lieutenant—'G16'—and as, on the word, the signal flags run up to the yardarm, and the white bone[91]that each ship carries in her teeth spreads wider and bigger as the speed of the squadron is increased to sixteen knots, you realize a little what an admiral's word stands for, and what powers are entrusted to him."
Sir David Beatty's flagship was the battle cruiserLion. You will hear much about battle cruisers in the following pages, so let me now tell you how a battle cruiser differs from a battleship. There are two distinct types of modern warships of the largest size—namely, thebattleship and the battle cruiser. The battleship, sometimes called a Dreadnought or super-Dreadnought, after the name of the first of the type, has thicker armour and less speed than the battle cruiser; that is practically all the difference between them. You may call the battle cruiser a cross between the battleship and the cruiser; she has the big guns of the former and the speed of the latter. She gains this speed by having a less weight of armour, and, as a rule, a smaller number of guns.
The most powerful weapon used in our Navy is the 15-inch gun, with which the latest of our battleships, theQueen Elizabeth(launched 1915), is armed. This gun, which weighs ninety tons, throws a shot weighing five-sixths of a ton at a velocity of more than a mile a second for a range of 10,000 yards, or roughly six miles. Of course the full range of the gun is much more than this. It can make good practice at 20,000 yards, or roughly 11 miles; at six miles the gun can be laid so as to hit the target practically every time. The 13.5-inch gun, with which the battle cruisers are mainly armed, is only a little less powerful than the 15-inch gun. It throws a projectile of 1,400 lbs. weight, and can be discharged twice a minute.
You will see in what ways a modern super-Dreadnought battleship differs from a battle cruiser if you examine the following figures
Queen Elizabeth(super-Dreadnought).—Length, 620 feet; tonnage, 27,500; horse-power, 28,000; speed per hour, 25 knots;[92]armour, belt of 13½ inch thickness; armament, eight 15-inch guns and sixteen 6-inch guns.
Lion(battle cruiser).—Length, 660 feet; tonnage, 26,350; horse-power, 70,000; speed per hour, 31 knots; armour, belt of 9¾ inch thickness; armament, eight 13.5-inch guns and sixteen 4-inch guns.
TheLion,Tiger,Queen Mary, andPrincess Royalare the four most powerful battle cruisers in existence.
Cruisers, of which we possessed 121 when war broke out, are the fighting scouts of the Fleet. What are called armoured cruisers, such as the unfortunateCressy,Aboukir, andHogue, are protected by belts of armour plate, varying from 6 inches to 8 inches in thickness. Protected cruisers have decks of armour plate instead of belts. The most modern cruisers, which are known as light armoured cruisers, have beendescribed as "destroyers of destroyers." The light cruiserArethusa, for example, has a belt of armour plating from 3 to 3½ inches thick. She is 410 feet long, displaces 3,600 tons, and has turbine engines that give her a speed of thirty knots. Like all the most modern warships, she consumes oil in place of coal. She mounts two 6-inch, six 4-inch, and four machine guns, with four torpedo tubes.
Next in importance to the cruisers come the destroyers, of which we possessed 227 at the beginning of the war. These vessels may be said to correspond with the armoured motor car used by the Army. They are all built for speed, and most of them can steam over thirty miles an hour. TheSwift, the largest destroyer in our Navy, has actually done over forty-four miles an hour; theTartar, however, carries off the record, with a speed of nearly forty-six miles an hour. TheSwiftdisplaces 2,170 tons, and is almost as big as the smallest of the light cruisers. Destroyers of the "L" class displace 965 tons, have a speed of about thirty-three miles an hour, and carry three 4-inch guns.
Life on board a destroyer is very strenuous. Destroyers act as policemen of the seas, and they must go on their beat whatever the weather may be. If you have not seen one of these small craft riding through a gale, you can have no idea of the way in which wind and waves play pitch-and-toss with them in foul weather. Officers and men alike must wear heavy sea-boots and oilskins, for they are often up to their knees in water, and drenched with the spray that breaks freely over the decks. As a destroyer usually goes through the waves rather than over them, she is built with a raised fore part, from which in rough weather the water streams away like a little Niagara. In bad weather everything must be tightly battened down, and this means that while the deck hands are swept by cold, wind-driven sheets of water, the men in the engine rooms have to work in a very hot and stifling atmosphere. A destroyer always travels at high speed on patrol work, and she dances about on a zigzag course in order to avoid the deadly foe lurking beneath the surface. Trying though the life on a destroyer is, many men prefer it to service on a big ship. There is extra pay, which Jack calls "hard-lying money," and there is more freedom in various ways.
The remaining class of warships consists of submarines. I described these vessels in Chapter XVII. of Volume I.
I must now return to the story of how the enemy was rounded up in Heligoland Bight.[93]At midnight on 26th August a squadron of submarines left Harwich accompanied by two destroyers, which escorted them to positions near the enemy's coast, and began scouting diligently for the under-water craft of the enemy. At five o'clock next evening (27th August) the First and Third Destroyer Flotillas steamed out of the harbour. Earlier in the day the Battle Cruiser Squadron, the First Light Cruiser Squadron, and the Seventh Cruiser Squadron had put to sea. All were under orders to meet at a certain position early on the morning of 28th August. I think you can imagine the feelings of our men as the ships crept forward, with no lights showing, through the night. They were about to penetrate the enemy's waters and fall upon him unawares.
The morning of the 28th broke calm and windless. There was a thick haze over the waters, and the keenest eyes in the fleet could not pierce the mist for more than three miles around. Just before 7 a.m. the gaunt island of Heligoland, with its forts, painted lodging-houses, andcrumbling sea cliffs, loomed out of the fog. This diagram will show you the position of our various squadrons at this time. The submarines, you will observe, were close to Heligoland; but they made no attempt to conceal themselves, as the sea was like a mill-pond, and their periscopes were plainly visible. Approaching rapidly from the north-west were Commodore Tyrwhitt's two destroyer flotillas, led by theArethusaand theFearless. TheArethusa, which I have already described, was a new ship with an old and honoured name. She had just left the builder's yard, and was now about to undergo her baptism of fire. Perhaps you have heard or read the famous old song "The Arethusa;" it tells how a British man-of-war in June 1778 was attacked by four French ships, and how she gallantly drove them off after a fight which lasted two hours.
"The fight was off the Frenchman's land;We forced them back upon the strand,For we fought till not a stick would standOf the gallantArethusa."
"The fight was off the Frenchman's land;We forced them back upon the strand,For we fought till not a stick would standOf the gallantArethusa."
The newArethusawas now about to prove herself worthy of her ancient renown.
Behind the destroyers, and a little to the south-west of them, was the Seventh Cruiser Squadron. To the north-east of the destroyers lay the First Light Cruiser Squadron, and Sir David Beatty's Battle Cruiser Squadron, consisting of theLion,Queen Mary,New Zealand, andInvincible.
The submarines near Heligoland were the decoy ducks. They were probably first sighted by a German seaplane, and shortly afterwards a number of German destroyers, two cruisers, and some submarines came out from behind the island to attack them. When our submarines saw them they and their attendant destroyers fled westward, and the German destroyers followed them, and thus were drawn away from the island into the open sea. Soon, however, they sighted the British flotillas bearing down on them from the north-east. Then they turned tail and tried to make for home; but our destroyers and the two cruisers altered their course to port, so as to cut them off. For about half an hour theArethusaand the destroyers were engaged with the German destroyers; but at 7.57 a.m. two enemy cruisers, one with four funnels and the other with two, appeared, and the nearest of them, the one with two funnels, wasengaged. She was theAriadne, and the other was probably theStrassburg. Both of them attacked theArethusa, and for about a quarter of an hour she received the heavy fire of both ships. Then theStrassburgturned her attention to theFearless, and left theAriadneto cope with theArethusa.
During the action theArethusawas hit many times, and was much damaged. All her guns were out of action except one 6-inch gun, with which she replied to the enemy's fire. About 8.15 one of her shells wrecked the forebridge of theAriadne, whereupon she turned tail and made for Heligoland. Meanwhile theFearlesshad driven off theStrassburg, and the destroyers had sunk the German commodore's destroyer, and had damaged some of the others. With that humanity which has always distinguished British seamen, the destroyers lowered their boats and attempted to save the lives of the German sailors struggling in the water. While engaged in this work of mercy a German cruiser fired on them, and two of the boats could not be picked up. Later on, when these open boats were twenty-five miles from the nearest land, and that land the enemy's fortress, with nothing but fog and foes around them, they were wondrously saved. "Suddenly," writes an officer, "a swirl alongside, and up, if you please, pops His Britannic Majesty's submarine E4, opens his conning tower, takes them all on board, shuts up again, dives, and brings them home 250 miles! Is that not magnificent? No novel would dare to face the critics with an episode like that in it, except, perhaps, Jules Verne; and all true."
All the British ships were now ordered to turn to the westward and reduce speed to twenty knots. TheArethusawas badly in need of repair. A water tank had been hit; all the guns but one were for the time being out of action, and a fierce fire broke out which was only got under with difficulty. She soon repaired herself, however; got nearly all of her guns into working order; and brought ammunition on deck, ready for the next bout.
The bulk of our fleet had kept out of sight, and the Germans believed that they had only submarines, destroyers, and two cruisers to fight. Here was a glorious chance to wipe out the two British cruisers. About ten o'clock two of our destroyers reported that they were being chased by three cruisers of the enemy—theMainz, theKöln, and a heaviervessel, probably theStrassburg. TheArethusa, with theFearlessand the First Flotilla, at once made for the three German cruisers, and about eleven o'clock sighted theStrassburg, if that was her name. She opened a heavy fire at once, and the poor, batteredArethusawas again in peril. Thanks to a vigorous attack by theFearlessand the destroyers, theStrassburgdrew off and disappeared in the haze. Ten minutes later she appeared on the starboard quarter, and again attacked theArethusa; but her shots fell short. No such mistake was made by the British gunners; both theArethusaand theFearlesshit the German ship repeatedly, and so badly damaged her that she finally drew out of the fight and ran for home.
Four minutes later theMainzappeared, and was at once set upon by our cruisers and destroyers. So severely was she handled that in less than twenty-five minutes her engines had stopped, flames were leaping up from her decks, and she was sinking.
When the news that several enemy ships had joined battle reached Sir David Beatty, he saw at once that the situation was critical. He had already sent off the Light Cruiser Squadron to help the destroyers; now he decided to take the Battle Cruiser Squadron into action. At 11.30 his ships turned their heads east-south-east, and rapidly worked up to full speed. It was a risky business to take his cruisers through a mine-strewn sea infested by submarines, but in warfare risks must be taken if battles are to be won. He had no fear of submarines, however, as he was travelling very quickly, and the sea was so calm that periscopes could be easily seen. He considered that his force was quite powerful enough to deal with any enemy ships that might come out to meet him, except a battle squadron. If he made a dash into the fight, the whole business would probably be over before a battle squadron of the enemy had time to arrive on the scene.
Just as theMainzwas seen to be sinking, the Light Cruiser Squadron arrived, and their shells rained down upon the devoted ship. She was completely riddled by shot, and her end had come. An officer who saw her sinking wrote:—
"TheMainzwas absolutely gallant. The last I saw of her, absolutely wrecked alow and aloft, her whole midships blazing and fuming. She had one gun forward and one aft, still spitting forth fury and defiance, like a wild cat mad with wounds."
While theMainzwas sinking, theKölnappeared on the starboard,and broadsides were discharged at long range. At this moment the British battle cruisers, with the white ensign streaming from their bows, were seen looming through the mist. They had arrived just at the right moment, and the worn and wearied men of theArethusa, black with the grime of gun-fire, knew that victory was at hand. Commodore Tyrwhitt, of theArethusa, pointed out theKölnto Sir David Beatty, and his 13.5-inch guns got to work. At 10,000 yards he hit her again and again, and she turned to flee, with the flames streaming out from her like blood-red pennons.
TheAriadnenow hove in sight, coming from the southward. Two salvos from the terrible 13.5-inch guns were enough for her; she disappeared in the mist, burning furiously and in a sinking condition. Then the battle cruisers circled north again to finish off theKöln. Two salvos were fired, and she sank like a stone with all on board.
At 1.40 the battle was over. The battle cruisers turned to the northward, and theQueen Maryfor the second time that day was attacked by a submarine. Again she avoided a deadly torpedo by a quick turn of the helm. The great gray monsters covered the retirement of the destroyers, and by 6 p.m. all were making for port. Before midnight the whole British force was safely back in its own waters.
The enemy had lost two new cruisers—theMainzand theKöln—and an older vessel, theAriadne. The vessel which I have called theStrassburgwas seriously damaged; one destroyer was sunk, and at least seven others suffered greatly. Some seven hundred Germans perished, and about three hundred were taken prisoners, amongst them the son of Admiral von Tirpitz, the chief of the German navy.
Our casualties were thirty-two killed and fifty-two wounded, and we did not lose a single ship. TheArethusawas badly damaged, it is true, but she was ready for sea a week later. Every British ship that took part in the battle was entitled to paint upon her honour-board in letters of gold the words, "Heligoland, August 28, 1914." As a tribute to the gallant part which theArethusahad played in the fight, the Admiralty ordered the famous old song to be engraved on a brass plate and set up on the ship. The first verse runs as follows:—
"Come, all ye sailors bold,Whose hearts are cast in honour's mould,While English glory I unfold.Huzza for theArethusa!Her men are staunchTo their favourite launch.And when the foe shall meet our fire,Sooner than strike we'll all expireOn board of theArethusa."
"Come, all ye sailors bold,Whose hearts are cast in honour's mould,While English glory I unfold.Huzza for theArethusa!Her men are staunchTo their favourite launch.And when the foe shall meet our fire,Sooner than strike we'll all expireOn board of theArethusa."
Before we leave the story of the Battle of Heligoland Bight let me try to describe the experiences of the men behind the big guns. "Gun crews, stand to your stations!" comes the terse order. Instantly every man drops his job, whatever it may be, and the various squads fall in and march off to their barbettes or casemates, straining their eyes as they go to catch a sight of the enemy. All the wooden fittings which are likely to catch fire, or form what sailors call "shell traps," have been thrown overboard, the stanchions and the davits and the chains around the decks have been unshipped, and the vessel is now a mere skeleton of its former self. Everything that might get loose and "take charge" has been securely lashed. The guns and torpedoes have been made ready; the ammunition has been carefully examined and arranged, so that it can be quickly hoisted to the guns; and the engines have been overhauled. Hose pipes have been run along the decks, and everything likely to take fire has been plentifully soused with sea-water.
Probably you know that each pair of big guns is mounted on a revolving platform within what is called a turret—that is, a chamber of thick armour-plate which revolves with the guns. Beneath this turret is a working chamber, some nine or ten feet in height, and from it a thick steel tube descends through the decks to the magazines below. Inside this tube, which revolves with the gun platform, are "lifts," which hoist the shells up to the barbette.
The crews enter the barbettes by means of massive steel doors, which are firmly closed behind them. When the doors are closed, it is impossible for them to know what is going on in other parts of the ship, except for the little that they can observe through the sighting-hood of the guns. The steel chamber in which they are stationed is lighted by electricity, and the guns, the platform, and the hoists are worked by water power.The crew set the machinery working, and bring up a supply of shells, one of which is placed in the yawning breech of each great gun.
Presently a telephone bell rings, and a voice is heard asking "if it takes a week for the barbette to get ready for action." It is the gunnery lieutenant, who is talking "sarcastic." He is in what is called the "fire-control station," which is a steel chamber high on the top of a tripod mast. In this chamber are the range-finders and all the other apparatus necessary for directing the fire of every big gun on the ship. Around the steel walls are telephones, speaking-tubes, and electric buttons. By means of very wonderful devices the officer in the "fire-control station" ranges and sights every gun in the ship. The men in the turrets have merely to obey his instructions, and fire the guns when he gives the word.
"Prepare to open fire at twenty thousand yards," snaps the voice at the telephone. The machinery clangs, and the guns raise their noses high in the air. "Revolve to ten degrees on your port bow," comes the next order; and, as though by magic, the whole turret swings itself round to the required position. Then comes a pause, which the men declare is more trying to the nerves than anything that happens during the actual fighting. Little or nothing can be seen from the barbette; from the "fire-control station" the target is a mere speck on the horizon about eleven miles away.
Presently the telephone rings again. "Let go with No. 1 gun" is the welcome order. The men cheer and fling themselves face down on the floor, and push home the cotton wool with which they have previously plugged their ears, to prevent the risk of deafness. The captain of the gun pulls a lanyard; there is a "kick" that makes the barbette reel, then a deafening report, as a shell weighing nearly a thousand pounds speeds over the waters on its deadly mission.
Instantly the men spring up, the breech is thrown open, a jet of water is sent along the barrel, and another shell is thrown in. Meanwhile the officer in command of the barbette calls out, "Stand by for No. 2 gun." When No. 2 gun has been fired the telephone bell rings, and the voice from above is heard to say, "Both miles wide; try to hit something next time." "We are here to fire the gun, not to range it," mutters the captain of the turret as he makes a few hasty calculations and some adjustments. "Both guns at once, dead line ahead," comes the nextorder. Round spins the barbette again on its axis, and then a terrific jerk and an awful roar as the two weapons go off together. At once every eye is turned to the indicator which shows the result of the shots. "One well home, the other a trifle short." The gunners caper about in huge delight.
By this time the whole of the big guns of the ships are barking away, all under the careful eye of the little group of officers perched up aloft. "Salvo firing[94]on signal" is now the order, and the range, elevation, and direction of the guns are given. Once more the silence is tense. Suddenly the indicating needle of every big gun on the ship begins to move in unison.Fire!Then there is a mighty roar, and the ship shudders and pauses on its onward course. "Nasty one for somebody," says a bluejacket as he wipes the perspiration from his face and bare chest. "Hope they liked it," chimes in another as the guns are loaded again.
Now there is a loud report, followed by a crash of bent and battered metal not far off. "Pretty near one that," says a gunner. "Wonder if it has done any damage." There is no time for further inquiry; damage has been done. A large shell from the enemy has hit another barbette, and has exploded. The lieutenant in charge has been glancing through the sighting-hood; he drops like a log, and two other men have fallen beside him. A few bolt-heads have been crisply shorn off by the immense jerk of the impact, and they have fled across the steel chamber like rifle bullets; one poor fellow is killed, and a second has a leg broken. It is the price of Admiralty, and without pause a midshipman takes the lieutenant's place and "carries on."
Still the firing continues, and the air in the turret by this time is almost stifling. The electric fans have failed owing to some damage below. Presently, however, comes the welcome order, "Enemy's ship out of action. Out of the barbette, and muster on deck." A loud roar of cheering goes up; the great doors are pushed back, and the men take up their stations and watch the last throes of the enemy's ship as it lurches and sinks beneath the waves. Nothing but the work of rescue now remains. All undamaged boats are manned and hoisted out, and away they go on their errand of mercy. The battle is over and won.
When the army of von Kluck was sweeping through Northern France like a roaring flood, most people thought that he was aiming at Paris, the heart and centre of the country. In Chapter X. of our first volume I told you that after the great surrender at Sedan the Germans swooped down upon the beautiful capital, and began to besiege it. I also told you how, after four months of hunger and misery, it yielded, and the hosts of Germany marched through its streets in triumph.
Was Paris again to be besieged?—that was the question. The Parisians were quite sure that they would soon be ringed round by the Germans. They knew that von Kluck was rapidly approaching, and on the afternoon of 30th August they saw the first of his war hawks come swooping over the city. It dropped five bombs; but only one person was killed, and the damage done to property was slight. Attached to a sandbag which was dropped from the aeroplane was the following message: "The German army is at the gates of Paris; there is nothing left to you but to surrender." This was not quite true, but a few days later German cavalry actually were within cannon shot of the northern forts; they were as near to the towers of Notre Dame[95]as the battlements of Windsor are to the dome of St. Paul's. Scouts in motor cars were reported only nine miles from Paris itself, and it is said that German officers who had American lady friends in the city sent them notes arranging to come to tea with them!
Four days before the first German aeroplane was seen a new governmentcame into power, and included in it were the leading members of all the parties in the country. The same day a new governor, General Gallieni,[96]was appointed to take over the defence of Paris. The French capital, as you know, is one of the most strongly fortified places in Europe. It is protected by an outer ring of forts, which are built at distances varying from six to ten miles from the centre of the city. This ring is eighty miles round, and within it are three entrenched camps—one on the north, another on the east, and a third on the south-east. A railway, more than sixty miles in length, connects all the works and supplies them with ammunition and stores. All this sounds very formidable; but we know that the strongest forts cannot stand against modern siege guns and high explosives. Further, the guns of the Paris forts were by no means up to date, and the trenches between them were not properly protected. General Gallieni worked night and day to remedy these defects; but the time at his disposal was all too short.
One of the leading citizens proposed that Paris should be given up to the Germans, in order that its monuments and treasures of art might be saved from destruction. General Gallieni would not listen for a moment to any such craven proposal. He said that Paris would defend itself, even though it should suffer the fate of Louvain. The Parisians were with him almost to a man.
Gallieni diligently prepared for a siege. He had trenches dug in the streets on the outskirts of the city, and he collected vast quantities of provisions within the fortified area. Thousands of cattle and sheep were coralled on almost every green space within the ring of fortifications, and the Bois de Boulogne[97]became one vast stockyard. Meanwhile long strings of people waited before the doors of the shops to buy stocks of provisions. Over a million Parisians deserted the city for the towns and villages of the south; and though large numbers of refugees flocked in from the north, Paris lost its busy appearance, and took on an "early morning" air.
In ordinary times Paris is the most brilliantly lighted city in Europe, and at night the glare illuminates the sky for scores of square miles.Had its myriads of electric lamps gleamed out while the Germans were so near at hand, the safety of the city would have been endangered by bombs from Zeppelins and aeroplanes. Consequently, Paris by night became a city of gloom. All the cafés and shops were closed by eight in the evening, and the lamps were veiled and only lighted on one side of the street. On the roofs of most of the chief public buildings search-lights were installed, and all through the night they flung their dazzling rays across the darkness. On 3rd September 1914 the Government was removed to Bordeaux. "It only leaves Paris," said a proclamation, "after having taken all precautions in its power for the defence of the town and of the entrenched camps. It knows that it need not recommend calm and resolution to the admirable Parisian population, which shows every day that it is equal to its greatest duties."
Hardly had the Government left the city when tidings arrived which showed clearly that there was to be no siege of Paris just yet. Some of the Parisians professed to be disappointed: they had filled their houses with tinned sardines, preserved fruits, bags of coffee, and bundles of vegetables, and had prepared themselves to stand the longest siege known to history—and now the Germans would not play the game! But, really, they were overjoyed when they knew that they and their city were free from attack for some time to come.
What was the news which had thus relieved the minds of the Parisians? On 3rd September von Kluck was at Chantilly,[98]the great racing centre of France, twenty-five miles from the gates of Paris. Two days later, aviators reported that he was twenty miles to the east of Paris. Instead of bearing down on the city he had marched south-east—that is, away from it. Why?
In 1870, you will remember, the Germans did not attempt to besiege Paris until Bazaine's army had been shut up in Metz and MacMahon's army had surrendered at Sedan. Before Paris was besieged the armies of France had been hopelessly defeated. To encircle Paris needs half a million men, and no sane general would dare to detach such a large number of troops for this purpose while his enemy was capable of taking the field against him. It is true that the Allies had been forced to retreat from theBelgian border, and that von Kluck believed the British to be a broken, panic-stricken mob; nevertheless he could not think of investing Paris until he had destroyed them. As his enemy was then moving south-east of Paris, he had to move south-east too, in order to keep in contact with him. Paris could wait until the Allies were thoroughly beaten. So von Kluck turned away from Paris and marched south-east.
On 5th September 1914 the Allied armies were in the position in which General Joffre wished them to be. Let us look at the line which they then held. The 3rd Army (A) stretched from the Upper Meuse, south of Verdun, westwards to Bar-le-Duc, and facing it was the army of the Crown Prince. The 4th Army (B) was on its left, astride of the Upper Marne, looking north across the plain towards Châlons. Westwards to Sézanne[99]was the 9th Army (C), and facing it was von Buelow's army. Still farther to the west were the 5th French Army (D) and the British (E); while north of the Marne, moving towards the Ourcq, was the 6th French Army (F), which, all unknown to the Germans, had been organized in Paris, where it was safe from the prying eyes of their airmen. Later on we shall study the position of the Allied armies on the left wing (D, E, F) more closely.
Before we do so, however, I will try to give you some idea of the kind of country in front of the French line. Let us imagine that you are travelling westwards from Verdun in early September. Leaving behind you the narrow vale of the Upper Meuse, you traverse an upland country of many ravines and much undergrowth, with here and there small woods and pastures. Then you cross a small stream, and, looking southwards, see the deep woods that stretch towards Bar-le-Duc. The road now rises, and to the northward is the plateau of the Argonne,[100]a long, low ridge of clay, which forms the natural bulwark of north-east France; west of it runs the Aisne and east of it the Aire, a tributary of the Aisne. A small river cuts its way through it in a deep furrow. A French writer says that if we leave out of account the lengthwise furrow through which the river runs, the plateau may be compared with a wave just when it curls and is about to break on the shore. The summits of the plateau range in height from about 450 feet to 1,000 feet.
An extensive forest is always a bar to an invader. In the days when the English were conquering Britain, a very dense and trackless forest, 130 miles long by 30 miles broad, covered that part of South England between the North Downs and the South Downs which we call the Weald. For many years this forest prevented the South Saxons, who had occupied the coast, from pushing their conquests northwards to the Thames. In the same way the Forest of the Argonne checked early invaders of France from the east. No other part of France is so thickly wooded, and in its deep recesses wolves are still found. Two roads and one railway cross it from west to east; but otherwise there are only a few forest paths, which lead nowhere. This difficult region was the scene of desperate fighting during many months of the war.
For a hundred miles to the west of the Argonne stretches a region of chalky moorlands, crossed by many ridges, and broken by heaths, coppices, and fir plantations. This is the Salisbury Plain of France, and men have long foretold that on its dreary levels the Armageddon of Europe would be fought. Still travelling west, we come to the Heights of Champagne, which I have already described. South of the deep-cut valley of the Marne, which, you will remember, marks the southern limit ofthis chalk plateau, is a region crossed by the Petit Morin and the Grand Morin, both tributaries of the Marne. These tributaries, though not rapid, are so deep that they cannot be forded, but they are well provided with stone bridges. Much of the district through which they flow is well wooded, and dotted with country houses. Round about Sézanne we find rolling downs, and to the north of it the extensive marsh of St. Gond.
The whole region between Paris and the Upper Meuse is very famous in French history. From Domremy, on the Meuse, came Joan of Arc to revive the broken spirits of her countrymen, and inspire them to drive the English out of France. It was in Rheims Cathedral, you will remember, that the Maid had her great hour of triumph, when she knelt at the feet of the Dauphin and greeted him as King of France. At Valmy, twenty miles north-east of Châlons, there is a pyramid which commemorates a great French victory over the Prussians in the fateful year 1792; and on the old Roman road north of Châlons is a huge oval mound, known as the Camp of Attila. It is said to mark the spot where his merciless hordes were overcome in the middle of the fifth century. On the wide flats in the neighbourhood of Châlons the Romans and Goths were hurled back in ancient times, and there, too, "furious Frank and fiery Hun" strove for the mastery. Once more the fate of France was to be decided on these historic fields.
Now we must return to von Kluck, and pay particular attention to his movements, for on them depended the fortunes of the whole German army. Study the diagram on the next page closely, and you will see how he thrust his head into the lion's jaws. When we left him at Chantilly, twenty-five miles from Paris, he was to all intents and purposes marching directly on the city. Suddenly, as you know, he swerved to the south-east. Why he did so nobody exactly knows, though many reasons have been suggested. I have already mentioned the most probable one—namely, that a siege of Paris before the enemy was thoroughly routed would have been the height of folly. Some say that as certain army corps had been sent to East Prussia, it was necessary for the Germans to close in on the left. Whatever the reason was, von Kluck suddenly began marching south-east. He crossed the river Marne, and continued in this direction, with the object, it is supposed, of cutting off the French centre from Paris.