WILLIAM LE QUEUX: 15 Dystopian Novels & Espionage Thrillers (Illustrated Edition). William Le Queux
Many were the terrible scenes witnessed in the gardens of the quaint last-century houses on Denmark Hill. Around those old-world residences, standing along the road leading down to Half Moon Lane, time-mellowed relics of an age bygone, Indians fought with Zouaves, and British Volunteers struggled fiercely hand to hand with French infantrymen. The quiet old-fashioned quarter, that was an aristocratic retreat when Camberwell was but a sylvan village with an old toll gate, when cows chewed the cud upon Walworth Common, and when the Walworth Road had not a house in the whole of it, was now the scene of a frightful massacre. The deafening explosions of cordite from magazine rifles, the exultant shouts of the victors and the hoarse shrieks of the dying, awakened the echoes in those quaint old gardens, with their Dutch-cut zigzag walks, enclosed by ancient red brick walls, moss-grown, lichen covered, and half hidden by ivy, honeysuckle, and creepers. Those spacious grounds, where men were now being mercilessly slaughtered, had been the scene of many a brilliant fête champêtre, where splendid satin-coated beaux, all smiles and ailes de pigeon, whispered scandal behind the fans of dainty dames in high-dressed wigs and patches, or, clad as Watteau shepherds, had danced the al fresco minuet with similarly attired shepherdesses, and later on played piquet and drank champagne till dawn.
In the good old Georgian days, when Johnson walked daily under the trees in Gough Square, when Macklin was playing the "Man of the World," and when traitors' heads blackened on Temple Bar, this colony was one of the most rural, exclusive, and gay in the vicinity of London. Alas, how it has decayed! Cheap "desirable residences" have sprung up around it, the hand of the jerry-building Vandal has touched it, the sound of traffic roars about it; yet still there is a charm in those quaint old gardens of a forgotten era. From under the dark yew hedges the jonquils still peep out early — the flowers themselves are those old-fashioned sweet ones beloved of our grandmothers — and the tea roses still blossom on the crumbling walls and fill the air with their fragrance. But in this terrible struggle the walls were used as defences, the bushes were torn down and trampled under foot, and the flowers hung broken on their stalks, bespattered with men's blood!
Proceeding south again, the defenders successfully attacked the strong batteries on One Tree Hill at Honor Oak, and on Sydenham Hill and Forest Hill, and then extending across to the Crystal Palace, had joined hands with our Volunteers from Essex, where they were now wreaking vengeance for the ruthless destruction caused in London.
The bloodshed along the Crystal Palace Parade was fearful. The French infantry and artillery, overwhelmed by the onward rush of the defenders, and now under the British crossfire, fell in hundreds. Dark-faced Bengal Lancers and Goorkas, with British Hussars and Volunteers, descended upon them with appalling swiftness; and so complete was the slaughter, that of the whole force that had effected that terribly effectual bombardment from Sydenham, not more than a dozen survived.
By noon many of the shops on Westow Hill and private residences on College Hill and Sydenham Hill had been wantonly ignited by the enemy; but when the firing ceased some hours later, the roads were heaped with the corpses of those whose mission it had been to destroy London.
Of all those batteries which had caused such frightful desolation and loss of life during the night, not one now remained. The two French columns had been swiftly wiped out of existence; and although our forces had suffered very considerably, they nevertheless were able to go south to Croydon later that afternoon, in order to take part in resisting the vigorous and desperate attack which they knew would sooner or later be made by the whole French army massed beyond the Surrey Hills. The sun was on the horizon, and the shadows were already deepening.
Assistance had arrived tardily, for the damage to property in London during the night had been enormous; nevertheless at this the eleventh hour we had inflicted upon the French a crushing defeat, and now England waited, trembling and breathless, wondering what would be the final outcome of this fierce, bloody struggle for our national existence.
CHAPTER XXXVII
FIGHTING ON THE SURREY HILLS
Our valiant defenders were striking swift, decisive blows for England's honour. The French, demoralised by their severe defeat in the south of London, and suffering considerable loss in every other direction, fought desperately during the two days following the disastrous bombardment.
In darkness and sunlight fierce contests took place along the Surrey Hills, where our Volunteers, under Major-Gen. Lord Methuen, were still entrenched. Every copse bristled with rifles; red coats gleamed among the foliage, and winding highways were, alas! strewn with corpses. Guildford had again been reoccupied by our Regulars, who were reorganising; and Leatherhead, holding out for another day, was retaken, after a terribly hard-fought battle, by the Highland, South of Scotland, and Glasgow Brigades, with the 1st Ayrshire and Galloway Artillery, under Col. J. G. Sturrock, V.D.; 1st Lanarkshire, under Col. R. J. Bennett, V.D.; 1st Aberdeenshire, under Col. J. Ogston, V.D.; and 1st North Riding Yorkshire Volunteer Artillery, under Major C. L. Bell. In such a splendid and gallant manner had our comparatively small force manœuvred, that on the second night following the bombardment the whole of the invaders who had penetrated beyond our line of defence towards the metropolis had been completely wiped out, in addition to which the breach in our line had been filled up by strong reinforcements, and the enemy driven from the high ground between Box Hill and Guildford.
The invaders, finding how vigorously we repelled any attack, made terrific onslaughts on our position at various points they believed were vulnerable, but everywhere they were hurled back with appalling slaughter. Volunteers from Australia and the Cape, in addition to the other contingent of 10,000 Indian native troops, had been landed near Southampton, and had advanced to assist in this terrific struggle, upon the result of which the future of our Empire depended. Among these Colonials were 500 Victorian Rangers, 900 Victoria Mounted Rifles, and seven companies of Queensland Mounted Infantry, with two ambulance corps.
The Indians landed in splendid form, having brought their full war equipment with them without any contribution whatever from the Home Government, as it will be remembered they did when they landed at Malta during Lord Beaconsfield's administration. Having received intelligence of the movements of the two columns of the enemy that had gone to London after taking Leatherhead and Guildford, they pushed on to Petworth. By the time they arrived there, however, both towns had been recaptured by the British, who were then being severely harassed by the enemy massed along the south side of our defensive line. Although numerically inferior to the enemy occupying that part of the country, the Indians were already well accustomed to actual warfare, the majority having been engaged in operations against the hill tribes; therefore the commander decided to push on at once, and endeavour to outflank the large French force who with some Russian infantry had again attacked Guildford, and the manner in which this was accomplished was a single illustration of the valuable assistance the Indians rendered us in these days of bloodshed and despair.
One of the native officers of a Sikh regiment, the Subadar Banerji Singh, having served with Sir Peter Lumsden's expeditionary force some years before, had frequently come into contact with the Russians, and could speak Russian better than some of the soldiers of the Tsar's Asiatic corps. The commander of the Indian force, determined that his men should strike their blow and sustain their reputation, advanced with great caution from Petworth, and late in the afternoon of the second evening after the bombardment of London, two Sikhs scouting in front of the advance guard sighted a Russian bivouac on the road on the other side of the Wye Canal beyond Loxwood Bridge, which latter had been demolished. The Indians were thereupon halted on the road which runs through the wood near Plaistow, and the officers held council. Their information was unfortunately very meagre and their knowledge of the country necessarily vague; but the Subadar Banerji Singh, who was of unusually fair complexion, volunteered to don a Russian uniform, which had been taken with other property from a dead officer found upon the road, and endeavour in that disguise to penetrate the enemy's lines.