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.