Weird and striking were the scenes within those hallowed places, as, in the half darkness with the long, deep shadows, men struggled for life or gave to the women kneeling at their side their name, their address, or a last dying message to one they loved.
London that night was a city of shattered homes, of shattered hopes, of shattered lives.
The silence of death had fallen everywhere. The only sounds that broke the quiet within those churches were the sighs, the groans, and the faint murmurings of the dying.
CHAPTER VII
TWO PERSONAL NARRATIVES
Some adequate idea of the individual efforts made by the citizens of London to defend their homes against the invader may be gathered from various personal narratives afterwards printed in certain newspapers. All of them were tragic, thrilling, and struck that strong note of patriotism which is ever latent in the breast of every Englishman, and more especially the Londoner.
The story told to a reporter of the Observer by a young man named Charles Dale, who in ordinary life was a clerk in the employ of the Royal Mail Steam Packet Company, in Moorgate Street, depicted, in graphic details, the frightful conflict. He said:
“When the Hendon and Cricklewood Rifle Club was formed in 1906 I joined it, and in a month we had over 500 members. From that time the club—whose practices were held at the Normal Powder Company’s range, in Reuter’s Lane, Hendon—increased until it became one of the largest rifle clubs in the kingdom. As soon as news of the sudden invasion reached us, we all reported ourselves at headquarters, and out of four thousand of us there were only thirty-three absentees, all the latter being too far from London to return. We were formed into small parties, and, taking our rifles and ammunition, we donned our distinctive khaki tunics and peaked caps, and each company made its way into Essex independently, in order to assist the Legion of Frontiersmen and the Free-shooters to harass the Germans.
“Three days after the enemy’s landing, I found myself, with seventeen of my comrades, at a village called Dedham, close to the Stour, where we opened our campaign by lying in ambush and picking off a number of German sentries. It was exciting and risky work, especially when, under cover of darkness, we crept up to the enemy’s outposts and attacked and harassed them. Assisted by a number of the Frontiersmen, we scoured the country across to Sudbury, and in that hot, exciting week that followed dozens of the enemy fell to our guns. We snatched sleep where we could, concealing ourselves in thickets and begging food from the cottagers, all of whom gave us whatever they could spare. One morning, when just outside Wormingford village, we were surprised by a party of Germans. Whereupon we retired to a barn, and held it strongly for an hour until the enemy were forced to retire, leaving ten of their number dead and eight wounded. Ours was a very narrow escape, and had not the enemy been compelled to fight in the open, we should certainly have been overwhelmed and exterminated. We were an irregular force, therefore the Germans would give us no quarter. We carried our lives in our hands always.
“War brings with it strange companions. Many queer, adventurous spirits fought beside us in those breathless days of fire and blood, when Maldon was attacked by the Colchester garrison, and our gallant troops were forced back after the battle of Purleigh. Each day that went past brought out larger numbers of free-shooters from London, while the full force of the patriotic Legion of Frontiersmen had now concentrated until the whole country west of the line from Chelmsford to Saffron Walden seemed swarming with us, and we must have given the enemy great trouble everywhere. The day following the battle of Royston I had the most narrow escape. Lying in ambush with eight other men, all members of the Rifle Club, in College Wood, not far from Buntingford, I was asleep, being utterly worn out, when we were suddenly discovered by a large party of Uhlans. Two of my comrades were shot dead ere they could fire, while five others, including one of my best friends, Tom Martin, a clerk in the National Provincial Bank, who had started with me from Hendon, were taken prisoners. I managed to dodge the two big Uhlans who endeavoured to seize me, and into the face of one I fired my revolver, blowing half his bearded face away. In a moment a German bullet whistled past me; then another and another; but by marvellous good luck I was not hit, and managed to escape into the denser part of the wood, where I climbed a high tree, hiding among the branches, while the Germans below sought in vain for me. Those moments seemed hours. I could hear my own heart beat. I knew that they might easily discover me, for the foliage was not very thick. Indeed, twice one of the search parties passed right beneath me. Of my other comrade who had fled I had seen nothing. For three hours I remained concealed there. Once I heard loud shouts and then sounds of shots close by, and wondered whether any of our comrades, whom I knew were in the vicinity, had discovered the Germans. Then at last, just after sundown, I descended and carefully made my way out. For a long time I wandered about until the dusk was deepening into night, unable to discover my whereabouts. At last I found myself on the outskirts of the wood, but hardly had I gone a hundred yards in the open ere my eyes met a sight that froze my blood. Upon trees in close proximity to each other were hanging the dead bodies of my five comrades, including poor Tom Martin. They presented a grim, ghastly spectacle. The Uhlans had strung them to trees, and afterwards riddled them with bullets!
“Gradually, we were driven back upon London. Desperately we fought, each one of us, and the personal risk of every member of our club, of any other of the rifle clubs, and of the Frontiersmen, for the matter of that, was very great. We were insufficient in numbers. Had we been more numerous, I maintain that we could have so harassed the enemy that we could have held him in check for many months. With the few thousands of men we have we made it extremely uncomfortable for Von Kronhelm and his forces. Had our number been greater we could have operated more in unison with the British regular arms, and formed a line of defence around London so complete that it could never have been broken. As it was, however, when driven in, we were compelled to take a stand in manning the forts and entrenchments of the London lines, I finding myself in a hastily constructed trench not far from Enfield. While engaged there with the enemy, a bullet took away the little finger of my left hand, causing me excruciating pain, but it fortunately did not place me hors-de-combat. Standing beside me was a costermonger from Leman Street, Whitechapel, who had once been in the Militia, while next him was a country squire from Hampshire, who was a good shot at grouse, but who had never before handled a military rifle. In that narrow trench in which we stood beneath the rain of German bullets we were of a verity a strange, incongruous crowd, dirty, unkempt, unshaven, more than one of us wearing hastily applied bandages upon places where we had received injury. I had never faced death like that before, and I tell you it was a weird and strange experience. Every man among us knit his brows, loaded and fired, without speaking a word, except, perhaps, to ejaculate a curse upon those who threatened to overwhelm us and capture our capital.