WILLIAM LE QUEUX: 15 Dystopian Novels & Espionage Thrillers (Illustrated Edition). William Le Queux
vicinity there were a number of dead and a quantity of wounded, the latter being carried away and tended to by a number of devoted ladies from Fitzjohn’s Avenue, and the more select thoroughfares in the neighbourhood. Local surgeons were also there, working unceasingly. For fully an hour the frightful conflict continued. The Germans were dogged in their perseverance, while we were equally active in our desperate resistance. The conflict was awful. The scenes in the streets below me now were beyond description. In High Street, Hampstead, a number of shops had been set on fire and were burning; while above the din, the shouts and the crackle of the rifles, there was now and then heard the deep boom of field guns away in the distance.
“We had received information that Von Kronhelm himself was quite near us, up at Jack Straw’s Castle, and more than one of us only wished he would show himself in Haverstock Hill, and thus allow us a chance of taking a pot-shot at him.
“Suddenly the enemy retreated back up Roslyn Hill, and we cheered loudly at what we thought was our victory. Alas! our triumph was not of long duration. I had descended from my position on the roof, and was walking at rear of the barricade, where the pavement and roadway were slippery with blood, when of a sudden the big guns, which it seemed had now been planted on Hampstead Heath, gave tongue, and a shot passed high above us far south into London. In a moment a dozen other guns roared, and within ten minutes we found ourselves beneath a perfect hail of high explosive projectiles, though being so near the guns we were comparatively safe. Most of us sought shelter in the neighbouring houses. No enemy was in sight, for they had now gathered up their wounded and retired back up to Hampstead. Their dead they left scattered over the roadway, a grim, awful sight on that bright, sunny morning.
“ ‘They’re surely not going to bombard a defenceless city?’ cried a man to me — a man whom I recognised as a neighbour of mine at Hendon. ‘It’s against all the rules of war.’
“ ‘They are bombarding London because of our defence,’ I said, and scarcely were those words out of my mouth when there was a bright red flash, a loud report, and the whole front of a neighbouring house was torn out into the roadway, while my friend and myself reeled by force of the terrific explosion. Two men standing near us had been blown to atoms.
“Some of the women about us now became panic-stricken. But the men were mostly cool and determined, standing within the shelter walls of the houses, down areas, or in coal cellers beneath the street. Thus for over three hours we waited under fire, not knowing from one moment to another whether a shell might not fall among us.
“Suddenly our fears were increased, when, soon after four o’clock, the Germans again appeared in Haverstock Hill, this time with artillery, which, notwithstanding the heavy fire we instantly directed upon them, they established in such a position as to completely command our hastily-constructed defences. The fire from Hampstead Heath was slackening when suddenly one of those guns before us on Haverstock Hill sent a shell right into the centre of our barricade. The explosion was awful. The whole front of the house in which I was fell out into the roadway, while a dozen heroic men were blown out of all recognition, and a great breach made in the obstruction. Another shell, another and another, struck in our midst, utterly disorganising our defence, and each time making great breaches in our huge barricade. Neither Maxim nor rifle was of any use against those awful shells.
“I stood in the wrecked room covered with dust and blood, wondering what the end was to be. To fire my rifle in that moment was useless. Not only did the German artillery train their guns upon the barricade, but on the houses which we had placed in a state of defence. They pounded away at them, and in a few minutes had reduced several to ruins, burying in the débris the gallant Londoners defending them. The house upon the roof of which I had, earlier in the day, taken up my position, was struck by two shells in rapid succession, and simply demolished, over forty brave men losing their lives in the terrible catastrophe.
“Again the enemy, after wrecking our defences, retired smartly up the hill as the terrible bombardment of London ceased. Our losses in the shelling of the barricade had been terrible. The roadway behind us was strewn with dead and dying, and with others I helped to bandage the wounded and remove them to private houses in the Adelaide and King Henry’s Roads, where the doctors were attending to their injuries. In Haverstock Hill lay the bodies of many women, more than one with a revolver still grasped in her stiffened hand. Ah! the scenes at that barricade defy description. They were awful. The pavements were like those of slaughter-houses and the whole road to beyond the Adelaide had been utterly wrecked, there being not a single house intact.
“And yet we rallied. Reinforcements came up from the direction of Regent’s Park — a great, unorganised crowd of armed men and women, doubly enraged by the cruel bombardment and the burning of their homes. With these reinforcements we resolved to still hold the débris of our barricade — to still dispute the advance of the invader, knowing that one division must certainly come down that road. So we reorganised our force and waited — waited while the sun sank with its crimson afterglow and darkness crept on, watching the red fires of London reflected upon the night sky, and wondering each one of us what was to be our fate.
“For hours we waited there, until the Kaiser’s legions came upon us, sweeping down Roslyn Hill to where we were still making a last stand. Though the street lamps were unlit, we saw them advancing by the angry glare of the fires of London, while we, too, were full in the light, and a mark for them. They fired upon us, and we returned their fusillade. We stood man to man, concealed behind the débris wherever we could get shelter from the rain of lead they poured upon us. They advanced by rushes, taking our position by storm. I was in the roadway, concealed behind an overturned tramcar, into the woodwork of which bullets were constantly imbedding themselves. The man next me fell backward — dead, without a word. But I kept on, well knowing that in the end we must give way. Those well-equipped hordes of the Kaiser I saw before me were, I knew, the conquerors of London. Yet we fought on valiantly for King and country — fought even when we came hand to hand. I shot a standard-bearer dead, but in an instant another took his place. For a second the German standard was trampled in the dust, but next moment it was aloft again, amid the ringing cheers of the conquerors. Again I fired, again, and yet again, as fast as I could reload, when of a sudden I knew that we were defeated, for our fire had slackened, and the Germans ran in past me. I turned, and as I did so I faced a big, burly fellow with a revolver. I put my hand to my own, but ere I could get it out a light flashed full in my face, and then I knew no more. When I recovered consciousness I found myself in the North-West London Hospital, in Kentish Town Road, with my head bandaged, and a nurse looking gravely into my face.
“And that is very briefly my story of how I fared during the terrible siege of London. I could tell you of many and many horrible scenes, of ruthless loss of life, and of women and children the innocent victims of those bloody engagements. But why should I? The horrors of the war are surely known to you, alas, only too well — far too well.”
Another narrative of great interest as showing the aspect of London immediately following its occupation by the Germans was that of a middle-aged linotype operator named James Jellicoe, employed on the Weekly Dispatch, who made the following statement to a reporter of the Evening News. It was published in the last edition of that journal prior to the suppression of the entire London Press by Von Kronhelm. He said:
“When the barricades in North London had been stormed by the Germans, and they had fought their way down to Oxford Street and Holborn, I chanced to be in Farringdon Street. Right through the bombardment during the whole afternoon we compositors on the Mail, the Evening News, and the Dispatch were compelled to work, and it had been a most exciting time, I can tell you. We didn’t know from one moment to another when a shell might fall through the roof among us. Two or three places in Whitefriars were struck, and Answers’ office in Tudor Street had been burned out. I had left work at eleven and gone to meet my boy Frank, who is on the Star in Stonecutter Street, intending to take him home to Kennington Park Road, where I live, when I first caught sight of the Germans. They were passing over the Viaduct, marching towards the City, while some of them ran down the steps into the Farringdon Road, ranging themselves along beneath the Viaduct as guards, in order to protect it, I suppose. They seemed a tall, sturdy, well-equipped body of men, and entirely surprised me, as they did the