WILLIAM LE QUEUX: 15 Dystopian Novels & Espionage Thrillers (Illustrated Edition). William Le Queux
upon the pair hidden in the scaffolding above. It was a dangerous proceeding, for had a stray bullet struck that case full of explosives, we should have been all blown to atoms in an instant. Several times all four emptied their magazines into that semicircular opening, but to no effect. The fusilade from the river quickly attracted the attention of those above, to whom the affair was a complete mystery. One rifleman upon the bridge, thinking we were the enemy, actually opened fire upon us; but we shouted who we were, and that spies were concealed below, whereupon he at once desisted.
“A dozen times our party fired, when at last one man’s dark body fell heavily into the stream with a loud splash; and about a minute later the third fell backwards, and the rolling river closed over him. All three had thus met with their well-merited deserts.
“ ‘I wonder if they’ve lit the fuse?’ suggested one Frontiersman. ‘Let’s go nearer.’
“We both rowed forward beneath the arch, when, to our horror, we all saw straight above us, right under the crown, a faint red glow. A fuse was burning there!
“ ‘Quick!’ cried one of the sharpshooters. ‘There’s not an instant to spare. Land me at the ladder, and then row away for your lives. I’ll go and put it out if there’s yet time.’
“In a moment Frank had turned the bow of the boat, and the gallant fellow had run nimbly up the ladder as he sheered off again. We saw him up upon the scaffolding. We watched him struggling to get the iron cylinder free from the wire with which it was bound against the stone. He tugged and tugged, but in vain. At any instant the thing might explode and cause the death of hundreds, including ourselves. At last, however, something suddenly fell with a big splash into the stream. Then we sent up a ringing cheer.
“Waterloo Bridge was saved!
“People on the bridge above shouted down to us, asking what we were doing, but we were too occupied to reply, and as the man who had so gallantly risked his life to save the grand old bridge from destruction regained the boat we pulled away back to the police pier. Hardly had we got ashore when we distinctly saw a bright red flash beneath the Hungerford railway bridge, followed by a terrific explosion, as part of the massive iron structure fell into the river, a tangled mass of girders. All of us chanced to have our faces turned towards Charing Cross at that moment, and so great was the explosion that we distinctly felt the concussion. The dastardly work was, like the attempt we had just foiled, that of German spies, acting under orders to cause a series of explosions at the time of the entry of the troops into London, thus to increase the terror in the hearts of the populace. But instead of terrifying them it only irritated them. Such wanton destruction was both unpardonable and inconceivable, for it seemed most probable that the Germans would now require the South-Eastern Railway for strategic purposes. And yet their spies had destroyed the bridge.
“With the men who had shot the three Germans and my lad Frank I ascended to Waterloo Bridge by the steps from the Embankment, and there we fought our way through the entrance of the huge barricade that had been hastily erected. The riflemen who had so readily responded to Frank’s alarm explained to us that they and their companions, aided by a thousand armed civilians of all kinds, intended to hold the bridge in case the enemy attempted to come southward upon the Surrey side. They told us also that all the bridges were being similarly held by those who had survived the terrible onslaught upon the barricades in the northern suburbs. The Germans were already in the City, the Lord Mayor was a prisoner, and the German flag was flying in the smoke above the War Office, upon the National Gallery, and other buildings. Of all this we were aware, and from the aspect of those fierce, determined-looking men around us we knew that if the enemy’s hordes attempted to storm the bridges they would meet with a decidedly warm reception.
“Behind the bridge the multitude pressed on both ways, so that we were stopped close behind the barricade, where I found myself held tightly beside a neat-looking little Maxim, manned by four men in different military uniforms — evidently survivors from the disaster at Epping or at Enfield. This was not the only machine gun, for there were, I saw, four others, so placed that they commanded the whole of Wellington Street, the entrances to the Strand and up to Bow Street. The great crowd in the open space before Somerset House were struggling to get upon the bridge; but news having been brought of bodies of the enemy moving along the Strand from Trafalgar Square, the narrow entrance was quickly blocked up by paving-stones and iron railings, torn up from before some houses in the vicinity.
“We had not long to wait. The people left in Wellington Street, finding their retreat cut off, turned back into the Strand or descended the steps to the Embankment, and so had nearly all dispersed, when, of a sudden, a large body of the enemy’s infantry swept round from the Strand, and came full upon the barricade. Next second our Maxims spat their deadly fire with a loud rattle and din, and about me on every hand men were shooting. I waited to see the awful effect of our rain of lead upon the Germans. Hundreds dropped, but hundreds still seemed to take their place. I saw them place a field-gun in position at the corner of the Strand, and then I recognised their intention to shell us. So, being unarmed and a non-combatant, I fled with my son towards my own home in the Kennington Park Road. I had not, however, got across the bridge before shells began to explode against the barricade, blowing it and several of our gallant men to atoms. Once behind I glanced, and saw too plainly that the attempt to hold the bridge was utterly hopeless. There were not sufficient riflemen. Then we both ran on — to save our lives. And you know the rest — ruin, disaster, and death reigned in London that night. Our men fought for their lives and homes, but the Germans, angered at our resistance, gave no quarter to those not in uniform. Ah! the slaughter was awful.”
CHAPTER VIII
GERMANS SACKING THE BANKS
Day dawned dismally and wet on September the 21st.
Over London the sky was still obscured by the smoke-pall, though as the night passed many of the raging fires had spent themselves.
Trafalgar Square was filled with troops, who had piled arms and were standing at their ease. The men were laughing and smoking, enjoying a rest after the last forward movement and the street fighting of that night of horrors.
The losses on both sides during the past three days had been enormous; of the number of London citizens killed and wounded it was impossible to calculate. There had, in the northern suburbs, been wholesale butchery everywhere, so gallantly had the barricades been defended.
Great camps had now been formed in Hyde Park, in the Green Park between Constitution Hill and Piccadilly, and in St. James’s Park. The Magdeburg Fusiliers were being formed up on the Horse Guards Parade, and from the flagstaff there now fluttered the ensign of the commander of an army corps in place of the British flag. A large number of Uhlans and Cuirassiers were encamped at the west end of the Park, opposite Buckingham Palace, and both the Wellington Barracks and the Cavalry Barracks at Knightsbridge were occupied by Germans.
Many officers were already billeted in the Savoy, the Cecil, the Carlton, the Grand, and Victoria hotels, while the British Museum, the National Gallery, the South Kensington Museum, the Tower, and a number of other collections of pictures and antiques were all guarded strongly by German sentries. The enemy had thus seized our national treasures.
London awoke to find herself a German city.
In the streets lounging groups of travel-worn sons of the Fatherland were everywhere, and German was heard on every hand. Every ounce of foodstuff was being rapidly commandeered by hundreds of foraging parties, who went to each grocer’s, baker’s, or provision shop in the various districts, seized all they could find, valued it, and gave official receipts for it.
The price of food in London that morning was absolutely prohibitive, as much as two shillings being asked for a twopenny loaf. The Germans had, it was afterwards discovered, been all the time, since the Sunday when they landed, running over large cargoes of supplies of all sorts to the Essex, Lincolnshire, and Norfolk coasts, where they had established huge supply bases, well knowing that there was not sufficient food in the