WILLIAM LE QUEUX: 15 Dystopian Novels & Espionage Thrillers (Illustrated Edition). William Le Queux
the same fate as about Hackney. Surrounded by the armed populace, hundreds upon hundreds of them were killed, struck down by hatchets, stabbed by knives, or shot with revolvers, the crowd shouting, “Down with the Germans! Kill them! Kill them!”
Many of the London women now became perfect furies. So incensed were they at the wreck of their homes and the death of their loved ones that they rushed wildly into the fray with no thought of peril, only of bitter revenge. A German, whenever caught, was at once killed. In those bloody street fights the Teutons got separated from their comrades and were quickly surrounded and done to death.
Across the whole of the northern suburbs the scenes of bloodshed that night were full of horror, as men fought in the ruined streets, climbing over the smouldering débris, over the bodies of their comrades, and shooting from behind ruined walls. As Von Kronhelm had anticipated, his Army was compelled to fight its way into London.
The streets all along the line of the enemy’s advance were now strewn with dead and dying. London was doomed.
The Germans now coming on in increasing, nay, unceasing, numbers, were leaving behind them everywhere the trail of blood. Shattered London stood staggered.
Though the resistance had been long and desperate, the enemy had again triumphed by reason of his sheer weight of numbers.
Yet even though he were actually in our own dear London, our people did not mean that he should establish himself without any further opposition. Therefore, though the barricades had been taken, the Germans found in every unexpected corner men who shot at them, and Maxims which spat forth their leaden showers beneath which hundreds upon hundreds of Teutons fell.
Yet they advanced, still fighting. The scenes of carnage were awful and indescribable, no quarter being given to any armed citizens not in uniform, be they men, women, or children.
The German Army was carrying out the famous proclamation of Field-Marshal von Kronhelm to the very letter!
They were marching on to the sack of the wealthiest city of the world.
It wanted still an hour of midnight, London was a city of shadow, of fire, of death. The silent streets, whence all the inhabitants had fled in panic, echoed to the heavy tread of German infantry, the clank of arms, and the ominous rumble of guns. Ever and anon an order was shouted in German as the Kaiser’s legions went forward to occupy the proud capital of the world. The enemy’s plans appeared to have been carefully prepared. The majority of the troops coming from the direction of Hampstead and Finchley entered Regent’s Park, whence preparations were at once commenced for encampment; while the remainder, together with those who came down the Camden, Caledonian, and Holloway Roads turned along Euston Road and Oxford Street to Hyde Park, where a huge camp was formed, stretching from the Marble Arch right along the Park Lane side away to Knightsbridge.
Officers were very soon billeted in the best houses in Park Lane and about Mayfair, — houses full of works of art and other valuables that had only that morning been left to the mercy of the invaders. From the windows and balconies of their quarters in Park Lane they could overlook the encampment — a position which had evidently been purposely chosen.
Other troops who came in never-ending procession by Bow Road, Roman Road, East India Dock Road, Victoria Park Road, Mare Street, and Kingsland Road all converged into the City itself, except those who had come from Edmonton down the Kingsland Road, and who, passing along Old Street and Clerkenwell, occupied the Charing Cross and Westminster districts.
At midnight a dramatic scene was enacted when, in the blood-red glare of some blazing buildings in the vicinity, a large body of Prince Louis Ferdinand of Prussia’s 2nd Magdeburg Regiment suddenly swept up Threadneedle Street into the great open space before the Mansion House, whereon the London flag was still flying aloft in the smoke-laden air. They halted across the junction of Cheapside with Queen Victoria Street when, at the same moment, another huge body of the Uhlans of Altmark and Magdeburg Hussars came clattering along Cornhill, followed a moment later by battalion after battalion of the 4th and 8th Thuringen Infantry out of Moorgate Street, whose uniforms showed plain traces of the desperate encounters of the past week.
The great body of Germans had halted before the Mansion House, when General von Kleppen, the commander of the IVth Army Corps — who, it will be remembered, had landed at Weybourne — accompanied by Lieutenant-General von Mirbach of the 8th Division, and Frölich, commander of the cavalry brigade, ascended the steps of the Mansion House and entered.
Within, Sir Claude Harrison, the Lord Mayor, who wore his robes and jewel of office, received them in that great, sombre room wherein so many momentous questions concerning the welfare of the British Empire had been discussed. The representative of the City of London, a short, stout, grey-haired man, was pale and agitated. He bowed, but he could not speak.
Von Kleppen, however, a smart, soldierly figure in his service uniform and many ribbons, bowed in response, and in very fair English said:
“I regret, my Lord Mayor, that it is necessary for us to thus disturb you, but as you are aware, the British Army have been defeated, and the German Army has entered London. I have orders from Field-Marshal von Kronhelm to place you under arrest, and to hold you as hostage for the good behaviour of the City during the progress of the negotiations for peace.”
“Arrest!” gasped the Lord Mayor. “You intend to arrest me?”
“It will not be irksome, I assure you,” smiled the German commander grimly. “At least, we shall make it as comfortable as possible. I shall place a guard here, and the only restriction I place upon you is that you shall neither go out nor hold any communication with anyone outside these walls.”
“But my wife?”
“If her ladyship is here I would advise that she leave the place. It is better that, for the present, she should be out of London.”
The civic officials, who had all assembled for the dramatic ceremonial, looked at each other in blank amazement.
The Lord Mayor was a prisoner!
Sir Claude divested himself of his jewel of office, and handed it to his servant to replace in safe keeping. Then he took off his robe, and having done so, advanced closer to the German officers, who, treating him with every courtesy, consulted with him, expressing regret at the terrible loss of life that had been occasioned by the gallant defence of the barricades.
Von Kleppen gave the Lord Mayor a message from Von Kronhelm, and urged him to issue a proclamation forbidding any further opposition on the part of the populace of London. With the three officers Sir Claude talked for a quarter of an hour, while into the Mansion House there entered a strong guard of men of the 2nd Magdeburg, who quickly established themselves in the most comfortable quarters. German double sentries stood at every exit and in every corridor, and when a few minutes later the flag was hauled down and the German Imperial Standard run up, wild shouts of triumph rang from every throat of the densely packed body of troops assembled outside.
The joyous “hurrahs!” reached the Lord Mayor, still in conversation with Von Kleppen, Von Mirbach, and Frölich, and in an instant he knew the truth. The Teutons were saluting their own standard. The civic flag had, either accidentally or purposely, been flung down into the roadway below, and was trampled in the dust. A hundred enthusiastic Germans, disregarding the shouts of their officers, fought for the flag, and it was instantly torn to shreds, and little pieces preserved as souvenirs.
Shout after shout in German went up from the wildly excited troops of the Kaiser when the light wind caused their own flag to flutter out, and then as with one voice the whole body of troops united in singing the German National Hymn.
The scene was weird and most impressive. London had fallen.
Around were the wrecked buildings, some still smouldering, some emitting flame. Behind lay the Bank of England with untold wealth locked within; to the right, the damaged façade of the Royal Exchange was illuminated by the flickering light, which also shone upon the piled arms of the enemy’s troops, causing