THE INVASION OF 1910 & THE GREAT WAR IN ENGLAND IN 1897. William Le Queux

upon a sight that appalled him.

      It was a critical moment.

      A small French vessel, the unarmoured cruiser Faucon, had crept up unnoticed. The attention of the British officers had been, until that moment, concentrated upon the three powerful battleships, the Requin, the Dévastation, and the Jemappes, which kept up their hot fire upon the flagship, causing terrible destruction. Now, however, the British Admiral saw himself surrounded by the enemy, and the sight which caused his heart to beat quickly was a distinct line of bubbles upon the water, advancing with terrific speed, showing that a torpedo had been ejected from the Faucon directly at his ship!

      In the conning-tower all knew their danger, but not a man spoke. Both the Admiral and the captain at the same instant saw the death-dealing projectile advancing, and both retained their coolness and presence of mind. The captain, shouting an order, sprang back and touched one of the electric signals, which was instantly responded to.

      It was the work of a second. The great engines roared and throbbed, and the huge vessel, propelled backwards by its 13,000 horse-power, swung steadily round just as the torpedo glanced off her bow obliquely. The crew of the Royal Sovereign had never been nearer death than at that instant. Had the ironclad not halted in her course, the striker of the torpedo would have come square upon her bows, and one of the finest vessels of the British Navy would have probably gone to the bottom.

      The Faucon was not given an opportunity to make a second attempt. The captain of the Anson had witnessed how narrowly the British flagship had escaped, and immediately turned his great guns upon the little vessel, with the result that her quick-firing guns were quickly rendered useless, her hull was torn up like paper, and she slowly sank without offering resistance.

      Shots came from the frowning barbettes of the Camperdown, Benbow, and the turrets of the Monarch rapidly, the damage and loss of life suffered by the enemy now being enormous. The three French battleships engaging the Royal Sovereign at close quarters received terrible punishment. One of the 75-ton guns of the Requin had been rendered useless, her deck had been torn up, and her bulwarks had been carried away, together with her funnel and forward mast. The rear barbette gun of the Jemappes had been thrown off its mounting, and a shell striking the port side battery, had burst against the forward bulkhead, and wrought horrible destruction among the guns' crews.

      The three powerful French vessels pouring their fire upon the British flagship, and finding themselves being raked by the heavy fire of their adversary, signalled the Tonnerre and Furieux to assist them. Both vessels drew nearer, and soon afterwards commenced pounding at the Royal Sovereign.

      The Anson, however, noticed the dangerous position of the British flagship, and, having manoeuvred adroitly, succeeded in getting under way, and with her great forward guns thundering, she crashed her ram into the Furieux, and sank her, while almost at the same moment a torpedo, discharged from one of the British boats, struck the Tonnerre right amidships, dealing her a blow from which she could never recover. Five minutes later, the Gangut, fighting desperately at close quarters with the Camperdown, had part of her armoured casemate blown away, and the British battleship followed up this success by directing a torpedo at her in such a manner that, although she drew back quickly to avoid it, she nevertheless received it right under her stern. Some ammunition on board that vessel also exploded, and the effect was frightful, for fragments of wood, iron, and human bodies were precipitated in all directions.

      The loss of life, although heavy on the British side, was nevertheless far greater on board the enemy's ships. The continuity and precision of the British fire wrought awful destruction. Between the decks of many of the French and Russian ships the carnage was frightful. Among wrecked guns and mountings lay headless and armless bodies; human limbs shattered by shells were strewn in all directions upon decks slippery with blood. The shrieks of the dying were drowned by the roar and crash of the guns, the deafening explosion of shells, and the rending of iron and steel as the projectiles pierced armourplates, destroying everything with which they came in contact.

      The noon had passed, and as the day wore on other catastrophes occurred involving further loss of life. One of these was the accidental ramming of the Sfax by the French battleship Redoubtable, which managed, however, to save the greater portion of the crew, although her engines broke down.

      During the afternoon the fire from the British ships seemed to increase rather than diminish, notwithstanding each vessel flying the White Ensign fought more than one of the enemy's ships, and in doing so constantly received shots that spread death and destruction between the decks. Still, amid the blinding smoke, the din of battle, and the constant roaring of the guns, British bluejackets with smoke-begrimed faces worked enthusiastically for the defence of Old England. Many heroic deeds were performed that memorable afternoon, and many a gallant hero was sent to an untimely grave.

      On board the Royal Sovereign the destruction was frightful. By four o'clock many of the guns had been disabled, half the crew had perished, and the decks ran with the life-blood of Britain's gallant defenders. The captain had been struck upon the forehead by a flying fragment of shell, causing a fearful wound; yet, with his head enveloped in a hastily improvised bandage, he stuck to his post. He was engaging the Redoubtable and getting the worst of it, when suddenly, having manœuvred once or twice, he turned to his lieutenant, saying, "Lay guns, ahead full speed, and prepare to ram." The officer addressed transmitted the order, and a few moments later, as her guns thundered forth, the bows of the Royal Sovereign entered the broadside of the French ship with a loud crash, ripping her almost in half.

      Backing again quickly as the Redoubtable sank, she suddenly received a shock which made her reel and shiver. A shell from the Russian flagship had struck under her stern barbette, but, failing to penetrate the armour, glanced off into the sea.

      Fiercer and more fierce became the fight. A well-directed shot from one of the 67-ton guns on the Anson's rear barbette struck the conning-tower of the Magenta, blowing it away, killing the captain and those who were directing the vessel.

      The sun was sinking, but the battle still raged with unabated fury. Each side struggled desperately for the mastery. The British, fighting nobly against what had all along been overwhelming odds, had succeeded in sinking some of the enemy's finest ships, and inflicting terrible loss upon the crews of the others; yet the British Admiral, on viewing the situation, was compelled to admit that he was outnumbered, and that a continuance of the struggle would inevitably result in the loss of other of his ships. There still remained three of the enemy's vessels to each one of the British. His ships were all more or less crippled, therefore a successful stand against the still overwhelming force would be sheer madness. He was not the sort of man to show the white feather; nevertheless a retreat upon Portsmouth had now become a matter of policy, and the Royal Sovereign a few minutes later ran up signals intimating to the other vessels her intention.

      As the British Squadron moved away down Channel the hoarse exultant shouts of the enemy filled the air. But the fighting became even more desperate, and for over an hour there was a most exciting chase. The running fire did little harm to the retreating ships, but their stern guns played terrible havoc with the French and Russian torpedo boats, which were picked off one after another with remarkable rapidity.

      Off Littlehampton one of the Russian ships ran up signals, and immediately the enemy's ships slackened. Apparently they had no desire to follow further west, for after a few parting shots they turned and stood away up Channel again, while the surviving ships of the British Squadron steamed onward in the blood-red track of the dying day.

      At their head was the Royal Sovereign, battered, and bearing marks of the deadly strife; but bright against the clear, calm evening sky, the British flag, half of which had been shot away, still fluttered out in the cool breeze of sunset.

      The British Lion had shown his teeth. Alas, that our Navy should have been so weak! Several of the ships had had their engines severely damaged or broken, but our margin of additional strength was so small that we had no vessels wherewith to replace those compelled to return to port.

      The struggle in this,