Gibson, or one of them, suggested to him that a very simple way of finding out would be to telephone to the prison.

"Quite right," said he. "I had not thought of that."

He went out, was gone a few minutes and came back embarrassed, so they said, even a little bit ashamed, for he said:

[Sidenote: The sad news confirmed.]

"You are right, gentlemen; I have heard by telephone that Miss Cavell has been condemned and that she will be shot to-night."

Then de Leval drew out the letter that I had written to the Baron and gave it to him, and he read it in an undertone—with a little sardonic smile, de Leval said—and when he had finished he handed it back to de Leval and said:

[Sidenote: The plea for mercy.]

"But it is necessary to have a plea for mercy at the same time."

"Here it is," said de Leval, and gave him the document. Then they all sat down.

[Sidenote: Von der Lancken's attitude.]

[Sidenote: Miss Cavell not a spy.]

I could see the scene as it was described to me by Villalobar, by Gibson, by de Leval, in that pretty little Louis XVI. salon that I knew so well—Lancken giving way to an outburst of feeling against "that spy," as he called Miss Cavell, and Gibson and de Leval by turns pleading with him, the Marquis sitting by. It was not a question of spying as they pointed out; it was a question of the life of a woman, a life that had been devoted to charity, to helping others. She had nursed wounded soldiers, she had even nursed German wounded at the beginning of the war, and now she was accused of but one thing: having helped English soldiers make their way toward Holland. She may have been imprudent, she may have acted against the laws of the occupying power, but she was not a spy, she was not even accused of being a spy, she had not been convicted of spying, and she did not merit the death of a spy. They sat there pleading, Gibson and de Leval, bringing forth all the arguments that would occur to men of sense and sensibility. Gibson called Lancken's attention to their failure to inform the Legation of the sentence, of their failure to keep the word that Conrad had given. He argued that the offense charged against Miss Cavell had long since been accomplished, that as she had been for some weeks in prison a slight delay in carrying out the sentence could not endanger the German cause; he even pointed out the effect such a deed as the summary execution of the death sentence against a woman would have upon public opinion, not only in Belgium, but in America, and elsewhere; he even spoke of the possibility of reprisals.

[Sidenote: The military authority supreme.]

But it was all in vain. Baron von der Lancken explained to them that the Military Governor, that is, General von Saubersweig, was the supreme authority in matters of this sort, that an appeal from his decision lay only to the Emperor, that the Governor-General himself had no authority to intervene in such cases, and that under the provisions of German martial law it lay within the discretion of the Military Governor whether he would accept or refuse an appeal for clemency. And then Villalobar suddenly cried out:

"Oh, come now! It's a woman; you can't shoot a woman like that!"

The Baron paused, was evidently moved.

"Gentlemen," he said, "it is past eleven o'clock; what can be done?"

[Sidenote: Lancken goes to von Saubersweig.]

It was only von Saubersweig who could act, he had said, and they urged the Baron to go to see von Saubersweig. Finally he consented. While he was gone Villalobar, Gibson and de Leval repeated to Harrach and von Falkenhausen all the arguments that might move them. Von Falkenhausen was young, he had been to Cambridge in England, and he was touched, though of course he was powerless. And de Leval says that when he gave signs of showing pity, Harrach cast a glance at him, so that he said nothing more, and then Harrach said:

"The life of one German soldier seems to us much more important than that of all these old English nurses."

[Sidenote: Lancken's return.]

At last Lancken returned and, standing there, announced:

"I am exceedingly sorry, but the Governor tells me that only after due reflection was the execution decided upon, and that he will not change his decision. Under his prerogative he even refuses to receive the plea for mercy. Therefore, no one, not even the Emperor, can do anything for you."

[Sidenote: The plea for mercy handed back.]

With this he handed my letter and the requete en grace back to Gibson. There was a moment of silence in the yellow salon. Then Villalobar sprang up and seizing Lancken by the shoulder said to him in an energetic tone:

"Baron, I wish to speak to you."

"It is useless," began Lancken.

[Sidenote: The Marquis Villalobar pleads.]

But the old Spanish pride had been mounting in the Marquis, and he literally dragged the tall von der Lancken into a little room near by, and then voices were heard in sharp discussion, and even through the partition the voice of Villalobar:

"It is idiotic, this thing you are going to do; you will have another Louvain."

A few moments later they came back, Villalobar in silent rage, Lancken very red. And, as de Leval said, without another word, dumb, in consternation, filled with an immense despair, they came away.

[Sidenote: The messengers withdraw.]

I heard the report, and they withdrew. A little while and I heard the street door open. The women who had waited all that night went out into the rain.

The rain had ceased and the air was soft and warm the next morning; the sunlight shone through an autumn haze. But over the city the horror of the dreadful deed hung like a pall.

[Sidenote: Other prisoners condemned.]

Twenty-six others were condemned with Miss Cavell, four of whom were sentenced to death: Philippe Baucq, an architect of Brussels; Louise Thuiliez, a school-teacher at Lille; Louis Severin, a pharmacist of Brussels; and the Countess Jeanne de Belleville of Montignies-sur-Roc.

[Sidenote: Severe sentences.]

Harman Capian, a civil engineer of Wasmes; Mrs. Ada Bodart of Brussels; Albert Libiez, a lawyer of Wasmes; and Georges Derveau, a pharmacist of Paturages, were sentenced each to fifteen years' penal servitude at hard labor.

The Princess Maria de Croy was sentenced to ten years' penal servitude at hard labor.

Seventeen others were sentenced to hard labor or to terms of imprisonment of from two to five years. The eight remaining were acquitted.

[Sidenote: The people horrified at Miss Cavell's execution.]

All day long sad and solemn groups stood under the trees in the boulevards amid the falling leaves discussing the crime in horrified tones. The horror of it pervaded the house. I found my wife weeping at evening; no need to ask what was the matter; the wife of the chaplain had been there, with some detail of Miss Cavell's last hours: how she had arisen wearily from her cot at the coming of the clergyman, drawing her dressing-gown about her thin throat.

[Sidenote: The body not given to friends.]

I sent a note to Baron von der Lancken asking that the Governor-General permit the body of Miss Cavell to be buried by the American Legation and the friends of the dead girl. In reply he came himself to see me in the afternoon. He was very solemn, and said that he wished to express his regret in the circumstances, but that he had done all he could. The body, he said, had already been interred, with respect and with religious rites, in a quiet place, and under the law it could not be exhumed without an order from the Imperial Government. The Governor-General himself had gone to Berlin.

[Sidenote: Whitlock and Villalobar.]

And then came Villalobar, and I thanked him for what he had done. He told me much, and described the scene the night before in that anteroom with Lancken. The Marquis was much concerned about the Countess Jeanne de Belleville and Madame Thuiliez, both French, and hence protegees of his, condemned to die within eight days; but I told him not to be concerned; that the effect of Miss Cavell's martyrdom did not end with her death; it would procure other liberations, this among them; the thirst for blood had been slaked and there would be no more executions in that group; it was the way of the law of blood vengeance. We talked a long time about the tragedy and about the even larger tragedy of the war.

"We are getting old," he said. "Life is going; and after the war, if we live in that new world, we shall be of the old—the new generation will push us aside."

[Sidenote: Miss Cavell's death wins mercy for others.]

Gibson and de Leval prepared reports of the whole matter, and I sent them by the next courier to our Embassy at London. But somehow that very day the news got into Holland and shocked the world. Richards, of the C. R. B., just back from The Hague, said that they had already heard of it there and were filled with horror. And even the Germans, who seemed always to do a deed and to consider its effect afterward, knew that they had another Louvain, another Lusitania, for which to answer before the bar of civilization. The lives of the three others remaining, of the five condemned to death, were ultimately spared, as I had told Villalobar they would be. The King of Spain and the President of the United States made representations at Berlin in behalf of the Countess de Belleville and Madame Thuiliez, and their sentences were commuted to imprisonment, as was that of Louis Severin, the Brussels druggist. The storm of universal loathing and reprobation for the deed was too much even for the Germans.

* * * * *

In an earlier chapter we have read of the beginning of the attempt to cross the Dardanelles and to capture the Peninsula of Gallipoli. After great losses and terrible suffering had been endured in these attempts, it was decided in December, 1915, by the British war authorities that further sacrifices were not justified. Preparations were accordingly made to abandon the enterprise. How these plans were carried out is told in the chapter following.



GALLIPOLI ABANDONED

GENERAL SIR CHARLES C. MONRO

On October 20, 1915, in London, I received instructions to proceed as soon as possible to the Near East and take over the command of the Mediterranean Expeditionary Force.

[Sidenote: General Monro's orders on arrival.]

My duty on arrival was in broad outline:

(a) To report on the military situation on the Gallipoli Peninsula.

(b) To express an opinion whether on purely military grounds the Peninsula should be evacuated or another attempt made to carry it.

(c) The number of troops that would be required—

(1) To carry the Peninsula.

(2) To keep the strait open, and

(3) To take Constantinople.

[Sidenote: Military defects in positions occupied.]

The positions occupied by our troops presented a military situation unique in history. The mere fringe of the coast line had been secured. The beaches and piers upon which they depended for all requirements in personnel and material were exposed to registered and observed artillery fire. Our intrenchments were dominated almost throughout by the Turks. The possible artillery positions were insufficient and defective. The force, in short, held a line possessing every possible military defect. The position was without depth, the communications were insecure and dependent on the weather.

No means existed for the concealment and deployment of fresh troops destined for the offensive—while the Turks enjoyed full powers of observation, abundant artillery positions, and they had been given the time to supplement the natural advantages which the position presented by all the devices at the disposal of the field engineer.

[Sidenote: Disease, loss of competent officers, make-shift organization.]

Another material factor came prominently before me. The troops on the Peninsula had suffered much from various causes—exposure to shell fire, disease, the dearth of competent officers owing to earlier losses, and "make-shifts" due to the attachment of Yeomanry and Mounted Brigades to the Territorial Divisions. Other arguments, irrefutable in their conclusions, convinced me that a complete evacuation was the only wise course to pursue.

[Sidenote: Consequences of unusual storms.]

On November 21, 1915 the Peninsula was visited by a storm said to be nearly unprecedented for the time of the year. The storm was accompanied by torrential rain, which lasted for twenty-four hours. This was followed by hard frost and a heavy blizzard. In the areas of the Eighth Corps and the Anzac Corps the effects were not felt to a very marked degree owing to the protection offered by the surrounding hills. The Ninth Corps was less favorably situated, the water courses in this area became converted into surging rivers, which carried all before them. The water rose in many places to the height of the parapets and all means of communications were prevented.

The men, drenched as they were by the rain, suffered from the subsequent blizzard most severely. Large numbers collapsed from exposure and exhaustion, and in spite of untiring efforts that were made to mitigate the suffering I regret to announce that there were 200 deaths from exposure and over 10,000 sick evacuated during the first few days of December.

From reports given by deserters it is probable that the Turks suffered even to a greater degree.

[Sidenote: Difficulties pertaining to withdrawal.]

The problem with which we were confronted was the withdrawal of an army of a considerable size from positions in no cases more than 300 yards from the enemy's trenches, and its embarkation on open beaches, every part of which was within effective range of Turkish guns, and from which in winds from the south or southwest, the withdrawal of troops was not possible.

I came to the conclusion that our chances of success were infinitely more probable if we made no departure of any kind from the normal life which we were following both on sea and on land. A feint which did not fully fulfill its purpose would have been worse than useless, and there was the obvious danger that the suspicions of the Turks would be aroused by our adoption of a course the real purport of which could not have been long disguised.

[Sidenote: Unsettled weather a menace.]

Rapidity of action was imperative, having in view the unsettled weather which might be expected in the AEgean. The success of our operations was entirely dependent on weather conditions. Even a mild wind from the south or southwest was found to raise such a ground swell as to greatly impede communication with the beaches, while anything in the nature of a gale from this direction could not fail to break up the piers, wreck the small craft, and thus definitely prevent any steps being taken toward withdrawal.

[Sidenote: Evacuation of supplies continues satisfactorily.]

Throughout the period December 10 to 18, 1915 the withdrawal proceeded under the most auspicious conditions, and the morning of December 18, 1915, found the positions both at Anzac and Suvla reduced to the numbers determined, while the evacuation of guns, animals, stores, and supplies had continued most satisfactorily.

It was imperative, of course, that the front-line trenches should be held, however lightly, until the very last moment and that the withdrawal from these trenches should be simultaneous throughout the line.

The good fortune which had attended the evacuation continued during the night of the 19th-20th. The night was perfectly calm with a slight haze over the moon, an additional stroke of good luck, as there was a full moon on that night.

[Sidenote: Final withdrawals from Anzac and Suvla.]

Soon after dark the covering ships were all in position, and the final withdrawal began. At 1:30 A. M. the withdrawal of the rear parties commenced from the front trenches at Suvla and the left of Anzac. Those on the right of Anzac who were nearer the beach remained in position until 2 A. M. By 5:30 A. M. the last man had quit the trenches.

At Anzac, four 18-pounder guns, two 5-inch howitzers, one 4.7 naval gun, one anti-air craft, and two 3-pounder Hotchkiss guns were left, but they were destroyed before the troops finally embarked. In addition, fifty-six mules, a certain number of carts, mostly stripped of their wheels, and some supplies which were set on fire, were also abandoned.

[Sidenote: A few supplies destroyed.]

At Suvla every gun, vehicle and animal was embarked, and all that remained was a small stock of supplies, which were burned.

On December 28, 1915, your Lordship's telegram ordering the evacuation of Helles was received, whereupon, in view of the possibility of bad weather intervening, I instructed the General Officer Commanding Dardanelles Army to complete the operation as rapidly as possible. He was reminded that every effort conditional on not exposing the personnel to undue risk should be made to save all 60-pounder and 18-pounder guns, 6-inch and 4.5 howitzers, with their ammunition and other accessories, such as mules, and A. T. carts, limbered wagons, &c.

[Sidenote: Situation on Gallipoli Peninsula.]

[Sidenote: Increase in Turkish artillery.]

At a meeting which was attended by the Vice Admiral and the General Officer Commanding Dardanelles Army I explained the course which I thought we should adopt to again deceive the Turks as to our intentions. The situation on the Peninsula had not materially changed owing to our withdrawal from Suvla and Anzac, except that there was a marked increased activity in aerial reconnoissance over our positions, and the islands of Mudros and Imbros, and that hostile patrolling of our trenches was more frequent and daring. The most apparent factor was that the number of heavy guns on the European and Asiatic shores had been considerably augmented, and that these guns were more liberally supplied with German ammunition, the result of which was that our beaches were continuously shelled, especially from the Asiatic shore. I gave it as my opinion that in my judgment I did not regard a feint as an operation offering any prospect of success; and it was decided the navy should do their utmost to pursue a course of retaliation against the Turkish batteries, but to refrain from any unusually aggressive attitude should the Turkish guns remain quiescent.

[Sidenote: General Birdwood's comprehensive plans.]

General Sir W. Birdwood had, in anticipation of being ordered to evacuate Helles, made such complete and far-seeing arrangements that he was able to proceed without delay to the issue of the comprehensive orders which the consummation of such a delicate operation in war requires.

[Sidenote: French infantry embarked.]

The evacuation, following the same system as was practiced at Suvla and Anzac, proceeded without delay. The French infantry remaining on the Peninsula were relieved on the night of January 1-2, 1916, and were embarked by the French navy on the following nights. Progress, however, was slower than had been hoped, owing to delays caused by accident and the weather. One of our largest horse ships was sunk by a French battleship, whereby the withdrawal was considerably retarded, and at the same time strong winds sprang up which interfered materially with work on the beaches. The character of the weather now setting in offered so little hope of a calm period of any duration that General Sir W. Birdwood arranged with Admiral Sir J. de Robeck for the assistance of some destroyers in order to accelerate the progress of re-embarkation.

[Sidenote: Turks shell trenches and beaches.]

Meanwhile the Eighth Corps had maintained the offensive spirit in bombing and minor operations with which they had established the moral superiority they enjoyed over the enemy. On December 29, 1915 the Fifty-second Division completed the excellent work which they had been carrying out for so long by capturing a considerable portion of the Turkish trenches, and by successfully holding these in the face of repeated counter-attacks. The shelling of our trenches and beaches, however, increased in frequency and intensity, and the average daily casualties continued to increase.

On January 7, 1916, the enemy developed heavy artillery fire on the trenches held by the Thirteenth Division, while the Asiatic guns shelled those occupied by the Royal Naval Division. The bombardment, which was reported to be the heaviest experienced since we landed in April, lasted from noon until 5 P. M., and was intensive between 3 and 3:30 P. M.

January 8, 1916 was a bright, calm day, with a light breeze from the south. There was every indication of the continuance of favorable conditions, and, in the opinion of the meteorological officer, no important change was to be expected for at least twenty-four hours. The Turkish artillery was unusually inactive. All preparations for the execution of the final stage were complete.

[Sidenote: Unfavorable weather.]

[Sidenote: Hostile submarine near by.]

About 7 P. M. the breeze freshened considerably from the southwest, the most unfavorable quarter, but the first trip, timed for 8 P. M., was dispatched without difficulty. The wind, however, continued to rise until, by 11 P. M., the connecting pier between the hulks and the shore at "W" Beach was washed away by heavy seas, and further embarkation into destroyers from these hulks became impracticable. In spite of these difficulties the second trips, which commenced at 11:30 P. M., were carried out well up to time, and the embarkation of guns continued uninterruptedly. Early in the evening reports had been received from the right flank that a hostile submarine was believed to be moving down the strait, and about midnight H. M. S. Prince George, which had embarked 2,000 men, and was sailing for Mudros, reported she was struck by a torpedo which failed to explode. The indications of the presence of a submarine added considerably to the anxiety for the safety of the troop carriers, and made it necessary for the Vice Admiral to modify the arrangements made for the subsequent bombardment of the evacuated positions.

[Sidenote: Gully Beach embarkation completed.]

At 1:50 A. M., Gully Beach reported that the embarkation at that beach was complete, and that the lighters were about to push off, but at 2:10 A. M. a telephone message was received that one of the lighters was aground and could not be refloated. The N. T. O. at once took all possible steps to have another lighter sent in to Gully Beach, and this was, as a matter of fact, done within an hour, but in the meantime, at 2:30 A. M. it was decided to move the 160 men who had been relanded from the grounded lighter to "W" Beach and embark them there.

[Sidenote: Conflagrations show Turks the allies have withdrawn.]

At 3:30 A. M. the evacuation was complete, and abandoned heaps of stores and supplies were successfully set on fire by time fuses after the last man had embarked. Two magazines of ammunition and explosives were also successfully blown up at 4 A. M. These conflagrations were apparently the first intimation received by the Turks that we had withdrawn. Red lights were immediately discharged from the enemy's trenches, and heavy artillery fire opened on our trenches and beaches. This shelling was maintained until about 6:30 A. M.

[Sidenote: Good luck and skilled organization forthcoming.]

Apart from four unserviceable fifteen-pounders which had been destroyed earlier in the month, ten worn-out fifteen-pounders, one six-inch Mark VII gun, and six old heavy French guns, all of which were previously blown up, were left on the Peninsula. In addition to the above, 508 animals, most of which were destroyed, and a number of vehicles and considerable quantities of stores, material, and supplies, all of which were destroyed by burning, had to be abandoned.

[Sidenote: Competent officers in charge.]

The entire evacuation of the Peninsula had now been completed. It demanded for its successful realization two important military essentials, viz., good luck and skilled disciplined organization, and they were both forthcoming to a marked degree at the hour needed. Our luck was in the ascendant by the marvelous spell of calm weather which prevailed. But we were able to turn to the fullest advantage these accidents of fortune.

Lieutenant General Sir W. Birdwood and his corps commanders elaborated and prepared the orders in reference to the evacuation with a skill, competence, and courage which could not have been surpassed, and we had a further stroke of good fortune in being associated with Vice Admiral Sir J. de Robeck, K. C. B., Vice Admiral Wemyss, and a body of naval officers whose work remained throughout this anxious period at that standard of accuracy and professional ability which is beyond the power of criticism or cavil.

* * * * *

The form of "frightfulness" in which the Germans placed the greatest faith was the terrorizing of the inhabitants of unprotected enemy cities by bombs from Zeppelins and aeroplanes. While the objects for which these atrocities were perpetrated were not attained, hundreds of innocent men, women, and children were murdered. The following narrative describes one of these German air raids.



THE DEATH-SHIP IN THE SKY

PERRITON MAXWELL

Copyright Forum, August, 1916.

[Sidenote: The switchman at Walthamstow.]

For twenty-six years old Tom Cumbers had held his job as switchman at the Walthamstow railroad junction where the London-bound trains come up from Southend to the great city. It was an important post and old Tom filled it with stolid British efficiency. A kindly man who felt himself an integral part of the giant railroad system that employed him, old Tom had few interests beyond his work, his white-haired wife, his reeking pipe and the little four-room tenement in Walthamstow which he called home. The latter was one of the thousands of two-storied rabbit-hatches of sooty, yellow brick, all alike and all incredibly ugly, which stretch, mile upon mile, from Walthamstow toward London's tumultuous heart.

[Sidenote: The workshops near Epping Forest.]

[Sidenote: An appalling tragedy of the war.]

Within a radius of four dun miles, just on the nearer edge of Epping Forest—the scene in a forgotten day of Robin Hood's adventurings—a section of these huddling homes of the submerged, together with a street of trams and some pathetic shops, constitute this town of Walthamstow. It is a sordid, unlovely place, but for some ten thousand wage-strugglers it is all of England. There are workshops hereabout in which one may mingle one's copious sweat with the grime of machinery and have fourteen shillings a week into the bargain—if one is properly skilled and muscular and bovinely plodding. Walthamstow is not the place where one would deliberately choose to live if bread could be earned elsewhere with equal certainty. But for all its dirt and dullness it has a spot on the map and a meaning in the dull souls of its inhabitants, and here, within half an hour's train travel of the Lord Mayor's Mansion and the golden vaults of the Bank of England, transpired on the sweltering night of which I write, one of the most witless and appalling tragedies of the present war. Forever memorable in the hitherto colorless calendar of Walthamstow will be this tragedy in the second year of Armageddon.

[Sidenote: An ordinary hot night.]

[Sidenote: News of the war.]

Beyond the stenchful heat-stress of it, there was nothing up to half-past eleven to mark this night as different from its fellows of the past. From eight o'clock till ten the small activities of the town centered chiefly about its tramway terminus, its smudgy station, its three or four moving-picture theatres, and its fetid pubs. On the pavements, in the roadways and at every crossing, corduroyed men yawned and spat, and slatternly women, most of them with whimpering infants in their arms, talked of shop or household cares and the frailties of their neighbors. Some, more alive to the big events of a clashing world, repeated the meagre news of the ha'penny press and dwelt with prideful fervor on the latest bit of heroism reported from the front. Now and again an outburst of raucous humor echoed above the babble of cockney tongues. The maudlin clamor of "a pore lone lidy 'oos 'subing 'ad desarted 'er" failed to arouse anyone's curiosity. Ladies in their cups are not a rarity in Walthamstow. In side streets, lads in khaki, many of them fresh from fields of slaughter "somewhere in Flanders," sported boisterously with their factory-girl sweethearts or spooned in the shadows. Everywhere grubby children in scant clothing shrilled and scampered and got in the way. Humidity enveloped the town like a sodden cloak and its humanity stewed in moist and smelly discomfort.

[Sidenote: Street lamps out.]

But shortly after eleven o'clock the whole place became suddenly and majestically still and black. People who go to their work at sunrise cannot afford the extravagance of midnight revelry, and there are few street-lamps alight after ten o'clock in any London suburb in these times of martial law. Walthamstow slept in heated but profound oblivion of its mean existence. Beyond the town lay, like a prostrate giant camel, the heat-blurred silhouette of the classic forest. Low over Walthamstow hung the festoons of flat, humid clouds, menacing storm, but motionless.

[Sidenote: The rhythm of the Zeppelin.]

[Sidenote: The train to serve as pilot to London.]

[Sidenote: The Zeppelin forced to travel low.]

If there was no disturbance in the clouds themselves there was among them something very active, something that drilled its way through them with a muffled whirring, something that was oblong and lean and light of texture, that was ominous and menacing for all its buoyancy. The sound it made was too high up, too thickly shrouded by clouds, to determine its precise position. It gave forth a breathing of persistent, definite rhythm. This was plainly not the wing-stroke of a nocturnal bird; for no bird, big or little, could advertise its flight in such perfect pulsation. And yet it was a bird, a Gargantuan, man-made bird with murder in its talons and hatred in its heart. From its steel nest in Germanized Belgium this whirring monster had soared eight thousand feet and crossed the Channel with little fear of discovery. It had penetrated the English Coast somewhere down Sheerness way and over Southend and then, dropping lower, had sought and found through the haze the tiny train whose locomotive had just fluted its brief salutation to Walthamstow. To the close-cropped men on the Zeppelin, the string of cars far down under their feet, with its side-flare from lighted windows, its engine's headlamp and its sparks, had proved a providential pilotage. They knew that this train was on the main line, and that it would lead them straight to the great Liverpool Street Station, and that was London, and it was London wharfs and ammunition works along the Thames that they had planned to obliterate with their cylinders of mechanical doom. But the moist clouds which aided so materially in hiding the Zeppelin's presence from below also worked for its defeat, in so far as its ultimate objective was concerned, for to keep the guiding train in view it was compelled to travel lower and yet lower—so low, indeed, as to make it a target for Kitchener's sentinels.

[Sidenote: The switchman signals "danger."]

[Sidenote: The train stops at Walthamstow.]

Somehow, by sight or intuition or the instant commingling of the two, old Tom Cumbers became aware of the danger above him; for he sprang to his switch, shut off all the cheery blue and white lights along "the line" and swung on with a mighty jerk the ruby signal of danger. The engineer in the on-rushing train jammed down his brakes and brought up his locomotive with a complaining, grinding moan, a hundred yards beyond Walthamstow station. Tom Cumbers had done a greater thing than any other in all his existence.

[Sidenote: The German revenge.]

That by his act the Germans in their speeding sky-craft were baffled there is no doubt. They had lost their trail of fire; their involuntary guide had disappeared in the gloom. The airmen's long journey had suddenly become fruitless; their peril from hidden British guns and flying scouts was increased tenfold. The heat of the night was as nothing to the hot surge of disappointment that must have swept the brains of the Zeppelin crew. Their commander, too, must have lost his judgment utterly, forgotten his sense of military effectiveness. Whatever happened, he sacrificed his soul when he turned his cloud-ship aside from the railway line, steered over the shabby roofs of Walthamstow and, at less than two thousand feet, unloosed his iron dogs of destruction.

[Sidenote: Bombing tenements of a defenseless town.]

I have it on the authority of experienced aviators that it is not impossible on a dark night to distinguish buildings of importance like St. Paul's or the Houses of Parliament or a great gun factory or a river as broad as the Thames with its uprearing and frequent bridges. The crowding tenements of Walthamstow could have had no semblance to any of these, at any height. It would seem a cheap and worthless revenge, then, to wreck an unimportant and defenceless town, having failed to wreck the military nerve-center of the world's metropolis. But this is what one of Count Zeppelin's soaring dreadnoughts did in this night, in this blood-drenched year.

[Sidenote: When a bomb explodes.]

Like the mirage of a tropical island the dirigible hung motionless in space for a breathless minute. There was a wavering pin-prick of light in the carriage suspended from the leviathan's belly—a light that fluttered fore and aft as of a man with a fairy lantern running to and fro giving orders or taking them. Then faintly discernible against the sky, like a rope hung down for anchorage, came a thin, gray streak—the tail of a bomb with all hell in its wake. From somewhere near the town's centre the earth split and roared apart. The world reeled and a brain-shattering crash compounded of all the elements of pain and hurled from the shoulders of a thousand thunderclaps smote the senses. It was a blast of sickening and malignant fury. It did not so much stun as it stopped one—stopped the breath and the heart's beat, suspending thought, halting life itself for a fraction of time. One was, somehow, aware of existence but without sensation. And then came reaction and the realization of what was really taking place. The German's bomb landed fully ten blocks away, but you would have taken oath in court that it had fallen at your feet, behind you, above you and into your very brain.

[Sidenote: Terror of the people.]

[Sidenote: A broken gas main.]

An air raid on Walthamstow, which drab town can boast neither ammunition works nor the ownership of war material of any description, could not be at once realized. But here was the cyclonic fact, hideously real, appallingly actual; and there in the heavens was the buoyant Zeppelin maneuvering for further mischief. The reverberation of the first explosion was still grumbling back in Epping Forest when all Walthamstow, rubbing its eyes, tumbled out into the black streets. Men, women, children, all ludicrously clotheless, swarmed aimlessly like bees in an overturned hive. Stark terror gripped them. It distorted their faces and set their legs quivering. The dullest among these toil-dulled people knew what that explosion meant, knew that it was part of the punishment promised by the German foe. "Gott strafe England" had come to pass. But they could not understand why the enemy had singled them out for such drastic distinction. The more alert and cool-headed of the men battled with their fellows and shouted instructions to get the women folks and the kiddies back indoors and down into their cellars. The night-gowned and pajamaed throng could not be persuaded that safety lay not in sight of the Zeppelin but away from it. The hypnotism of horror lured them on to where twelve houses lay spread about in smoking chaos, a plateau of blazing and noisome havoc. Somewhere a gas-main burst with a roar and drove the crowd back with its choking fumes as no human hands could have done. Women frankly hysterical or swooning were roughly thrust aside. Children shrieking in uncomprehending panic were swept along with the crowd or trodden upon. Lumbering men ran and shouted and cursed and shook hairy fists at the long blot on the clouds. Some of the men leaped over iron palings like startled rabbits and flung themselves in the grass, face downward and quaking. And yet, I dare say that most of these would have walked straight into a familiar danger without the waver of an eyelash; it was the unknown peril, the doubt as to how and whence this hurtling death might spring upon them out of the night, that unhinged their manhood. And while Walthamstow's walls went down and great flame-tongues spouted where homes had stood, while the thick, hot air was tortured with agonized and inhuman cries, the enemy up above let loose another bolt.

[Sidenote: The second bomb as the town blazes.]

[Sidenote: Effects of the explosion.]

More terrible than the first explosion was, or seemed, this second one. It mowed down half a hundred shrieking souls. And it was curious to note the lateral action of the blast when it hit a resisting surface. Dynamite explodes with a downward or upward force, lyddite and nitro-glycerine and what not other devil's own powers act more or less in the same set manner. But the furious ingredients of these bombs hurled on Walthamstow contained stuff that released a discharge which swept all things from it horizontally, in a quarter-mile, lightning sweep, like a scythe of flame. A solid block of shabby villas was laid out as flat as your palm by the explosion of this second bomb. Scarcely a brick was left standing upright. What houses escaped demolition around the edge of the convulsion had their doors and windows splintered into rubbish. The concussion of this chemical frenzy was felt, like an earthquake, in a ten-mile circle. Wherever the scorching breath of the bombs breathed on stone or metal it left a sulphurous, yellow-white veneer, acrid in odor and smooth to the touch. Whole street-lengths of twisted iron railings were coated with this murderous white-wash.

[Sidenote: More bombs as the Zeppelin rises.]

[Sidenote: Freaks of the explosion.]

Having made sure of its mark, the ravaging Zeppelin rose higher on the discharge of its first bomb and still higher after firing the second. At the safe distance of four thousand feet it dropped three more shells recklessly, haphazard. One of these bored cleanly through a slate-tiled roof, through furniture and two floorings and burrowed ten feet into the ground without exploding. This intact shell has since been carefully analyzed by the experts of the Board of Explosions at the British War Office. Another bomb detonated on the steel rails of the Walthamstow tram-line and sent them curling skyward from their rivetted foundations like serpentine wisps of paper. Great cobblestones were heaved through shop windows and partitions and out into the flower-beds of rear gardens; some of the cobbles were flung through solid attic blinds and others were catapulted through brick walls a foot in thickness. A hole as big as a moving-van burned into the road at one place. In a side street an impromptu fountain squirted playfully into the dust-burdened air, the result of a central water-pipe punctured by a slug from one of the bomb's iron entrails. But these things were not noted until dawn and comparative peace had returned to Walthamstow and men could count with some degree the cost of the reckless invasion.

[Sidenote: British aeroplanes pursue.]

Before the clouds had swallowed up the hateful visitant the noise of its attack had aroused the military guards across Epping Forest, in Chingford village, and, aided by a search-light, the anti-aircraft-gun opened its unavailing fire on the Zeppelin—ineffective, except that its returning shrapnel smashed up several roofs and battered some innocent heads. The Germans had gauged their skyward path to London along which, apparently, they felt reasonably safe from gun-reach. But they had barely headed homeward before a flock of army aeroplanes, rising from all points of the compass, were in hot pursuit. One of the Britishers was shot down by the men aboard the Zeppelin. Neither speed nor daring counts for much in an encounter between flying-machines and swift dirigibles of the latest types. The advantage lies solely with the one that can overfly his adversary. This can be achieved by a biplane or monoplane pilot only if he has a long start from the ground and time enough to surmount his opponent. This is difficult even in daylight with a cloudless sky. Given darkness and clouds, the chances for success are tremendously against the smaller craft.

[Sidenote: The old switchman a victim.]

Eight bombs in all were launched on Walthamstow—two of them ineffectual. The sixth bomb fell into a field close beside the railway line and worked a hideous wonder. It blew into never-to-be-gathered fragments all that was mortal of old Tom Cumbers, the signalman. They found only his left hand plastered gruesomely against the grassy bank of the railway cut—not a hair nor button else.

* * * * *

The great series of attacks by the massed German Army against the mighty forces of Verdun began in February, 1917, and continued throughout the following months. Taken as a whole, it was the most dramatic effort in all its phases which took place between the German and French forces. The French showed during these terrible months, the spirit of devotion and sacrifice which was never excelled during the war.

* * * * *

Transcriber's Notes:

Obvious punctuation errors repaired.

Page 5, "Liege" changed to "Liege" (The Defense of Liege)

Page 11, "again" changed to "against" (against the anarchist)

Page 24, "Petersberg" changed to "Petersburg" (and St. Petersburg Cabinets)

Page 28, "thave" changed to "have" (must have rejoiced)

Page 35, "neighbor" changed to "neighbour" to match rest of text (her western neighbour)

Page 41, "Liege" changed to "Liege" (strong fortress of Liege)

Page 41, "LIEGE" changed to "LIEGE"

Page 57, Sidenote: "centimeter" changed to "centimetre" to match text (Forty-two centimetre)

Page 74, Sidenote: "Compiegne" changed to "Compiegne" (towards Compiegne-Soissons)

Page 77, "Ferte" changed to "Ferte" (Changis, La Ferte, Nogent)

Page 83, "betweeen" changed to "between" (right between the Vosges)

Page 85, "Liege" changed to "Liege" (weeks at Liege Namur)

Page 92, "Chateau" changed to "Chateau" (Marne below Chateau-Thierry)

Page 92, Sidenote: "center" changed to "centre" to match text (on the French centre)

Page 92, "Chateau" changed to "Chateau" (Humbauville-Chateau-Beauchamp-Bignicourt)

Page 93, "Fere" changed to "Fere" (east of Fere-Champenoise)

Page 93, Sidenote: "man[oe]uvers" changed to "man[oe]uvres" to match text (Foch out-man[oe]uvres Germans)

Page 93, "center" changed to "centre" to match text (Centre armies established)

Page 110, "statute" changed to "statue" (in front of the statue)

Page 119, Sidenote: "sand-dunes" changed to "sand dunes" (Battle of the sand dunes)

Page 124, "is" changed to "are" (Allies are explained)

Page 136, word "her" inserted into text (to her knees)

Page 137, "strongely" changed to "strongly" (not be so strongly)

Page 169, "most" changed to "must" (crew must have beheld)

Page 171, double word "the" deleted. Original text read: "overtaken the the transports".

Page 191, "ships" changed to "ship" (sails of the first ship)

Page 195, "intrument" changed to "instrument" (no probing instrument)

Page 221, "hocky" changed to "hockey" (and hockey teams)

Page 233, Sidenote: "Aeroplanes" changed to "Aeroplanes" (Aeroplanes attacked by artillery)

Page 236, "oof" changed to "of" (mere taking of the)

Page 251, "blow" changed to "blown" (been blown up)

Page 276, "asphxiating" changed to "asphyxiating" (No asphyxiating gases)

Page 280, "advoided" changed to "avoided" (always be avoided)

Page 288, "ships's" changed to "ship's" (ship's crew were confident)

Page 288, "volminous" changed to "voluminous" (voluminous to analyze)

Page 302, "that" changed to "than" (conclusion than in)

Page 307, "submarines" changed to "submarine" (submarine warfare in)

Page 314, word "a" inserted into text (vantage-point on a crag)

Page 310, "N." changed to "No." (Book No. 2, U. S.)

Page 333, "to" changed to "of" (advantage of this)

Page 336, "These" changed to "Those" (Those Germans who)

Page 338, "Trapeze" changed to "Trapeze" (of the Trapeze which)

Page 339, word "the" inserted into text (from the summit)

Page 343, "arrival" changed to "arrived" (224 arrived safe)

Page 356, Sidenote: "executive" changed to "execution" (delay of execution)

Page 359, Sidenote: "De-" changed to "Der" (Der Lancken believes)

Page 367, word "had" inserted into text (and they had been)

Both "Ypres-Poelcapelle" and "Ypres-Poelcappelle" appear in the text. Both spellings were retained.

Manoeuvre, man[oe]uvre and maneuvre were used and retained.

Both Ripon and Ripont appear in this text. Ripont seems more accurate.

THE END