The Invasion of 1910

the Castle the German flag was now flying, the Britannia Barracks were being used by the enemy, food had all been seized, the streets were in a state of chaos, and a complete reign of terror had been created when a company of British infantry, having fired at some Uhlans, were ruthlessly shot down in the street close by the Maid’s Head Hotel.

An attempt at a barricade had been erected at the top of Prince of Wales’s Road, but the enemy, who came down the Aylsham Road, had soon cleared it. Many motor cars were seized from Howe’s garage, and the Norfolk Imperial Yeomanry, who were assembled at their headquarters in Tombland, were quickly discovered, disarmed, and dispersed. Green & Wright’s wholesale provision stores in Upper King Street, as well as Chandler’s in Prince of Wales’s Road, Wood’s in London Street, and many other grocers and provision-dealers were seized, the telegraph lines at the post-office were taken over by Germans, while, by reason of a shot fired from a window upon a German soldier who was passing, the whole block of buildings from the East Anglia Daily Press office, with Singer’s and the railway receiving office, was deliberately set on fire, and produced an alarming state of things.

In addition to this, the Mayor of Norwich was taken prisoner, lodged in the Castle, and held as surety for the well-behaviour of the town.

Everywhere Von Kronhelm’s famous proclamation was posted, and as the invaders poured into the city the inhabitants looked on in sullen silence, knowing that they were now under German military discipline, the most rigorous and drastic in the whole world.

The nation had, unfortunately, passed by unheeded the serious warnings of 1905-6. The authorities had remained impotent, and Mr. Haldane’s Army Scheme had proved useless. The War Office had only one power within it, that of the man who represented the Cabinet. The rest were mere instruments.

There were many reports of sharp brushes between our cavalry vedettes and those of the enemy. The latter belonged to the corps who had established their headquarters in Maldon, and among those killed was an officer named Von Pabst, who was a prisoner, and who was shot while escaping, and in whose pocket was found a letter addressed to a friend, a certain Captain Neuhaus, of Lothringen Pioneer Battalion, stationed at Darmstadt.

It was interesting, for it threw some light upon the manner that particular corps of the invaders had embarked at Antwerp, and had apparently been hurriedly written in the intervals of the writer’s duties with Prince Henry of Würtemburg’s staff. Having been secured, it was sent to London, and was as follows: —

    “Maldon, England,
    “Wednesday, September 5.

“My dear Neuhaus, – Behold me, here at last in the ‘tight little island,’ by the English so greatly boasted! So far, we have had absolutely our own way, and have hardly seen an enemy. But you will be glad to have some account of my experience in this never-to-be-forgotten expedition. I was, of course, overjoyed to find myself appointed to the staff of His Highness Prince Henry of Würtemburg, and having obtained leave to quit my garrison, started for Treves without a moment’s delay. Our troops were to enter Belgium ostensibly to quell the riots in Brussels. But the line was so continually blocked by troop-trains going west, that on arrival I found that he had gone with his army corps to Antwerp. There at last I was able to report myself – only just in time. My train got in at noon, and we sailed the same night.

“Antwerp might have been a German city. It was simply crammed with our troops. The Parc, the Pépinière, the Jardin Zoologique, the Parc du Palais de l’Industrie, the Boulevards, and every open space, was utilised as a bivouac. Prince Henry had his quarters in a very nice house on the Place Vert, opposite the Cathedral, and in the Place itself were picketed the horses belonging to the squadron of Jäegers zu Pferde, attached to the XIIth Corps. I rode round with the Prince in the afternoon, and saw the various regiments in the bivouacs, and the green-coated artillery, and the train in their sky-blue tunics hard at work all along the quays, getting their guns and waggons on board. The larger steamers lay two and three moored abreast alongside the quays, and astern of each a dozen flats or barges in two lots of six, each lashed together with a planked gangway leading to the outer ones. More barges, and the Rhine and other river steamers, and tugs to tow the lighters, lay outside in midstream. How all this had been arranged in the short time that had elapsed is more than I can imagine. Of course, our people had taken good care that no news should reach England by any of the many telegraph routes; the arrangements for that were most elaborate. There was no appearance of enthusiasm among the men. The gunners were too busy, and the infantry and cavalry destined for the expedition were not allowed to leave their bivouacs, and did not know that they were in for a sea voyage. The Belgian troops have all been disarmed and encamped on the other side of the river, between the older fortifications known as the Tête de Flandre and the outer lines. The populace for the most part have a sulky appearance, but as there is a very large German colony we found plenty of friends. The Burgomaster himself is a Bavarian, and most of the Councillors are also Germans, so that in the evening Prince Henry and his staff were entertained right royally at the Hôtel de Ville. I assure you, my friend, that I did justice to the civic hospitality. But the banquet was all too short.

“At eight o’clock we had to be on board. The steamer told off for us was the Dresden, which, with many other British vessels, had been commandeered that day. She lay alongside the pontoon, near the Steen Museum. As soon as she cast off, a gun was fired from the Citadel, followed by three rockets, which shot up into the darkness from the Tête de Flandre. This was the signal for the flotilla to start, and in succession one steamer after another slid out into the stream from the shadows of the quays, and, followed by her train of tugs and barges, began to glide down the Scheldt. Our arrangements had been perfected, and everything went without a hitch.

“The Dresden went dead slow along under the farther bank for a time, and we watched the head of the procession of transports pass down the river. It was an inspiring sight to see the densely-packed steamers and barges carrying their thousands of stout German hearts on their way to humble the pride of overbearing and threatening Albion. It brought to mind the highly prophetic utterance of our Emperor: ‘Our Future lies on the Water.’ The whole flotilla was off Flushing shortly before midnight, and after forming in four parallel columns, stood away to the north-west. It was a quiet night, not very dark, and the surface of the water, a shining, grey sheet, was visible for a considerable distance from the ship. The steamers carried the usual steaming lights, and the barges and lighters white lights at bow and stern. The scuttles were all screened, so that no other lights might confuse those who were responsible for the safe conduct of the armada. I had no inclination to turn in.

“The general excitement of the occasion, the fascination I found in watching the dim shades of the swarm of craft on all sides, the lines of red, white, and green lights slowly moving side by side with their flickering reflections in the gently-heaving waters, held me spellbound and wakeful as I leaned over the taffrail. Most of my comrades on the staff remained on deck, also muffled in their long cloaks, and talking for the most part in undertones. Prince Henry paced the bridge with the officer in command of the vessel. All of us, I think, were impressed with the magnitude of the venture on which our Fatherland had embarked,

GOD SAVE THE KING

PROCLAMATION

TO ALL WHOM IT MAY CONCERN

In regard to the Decree of September 3rd of the present year, declaring a state of siege in the Counties of Norfolk and Suffolk.

In regard to the Decree of August 10th, 1906, regulating the public administration of all theatres of war and military servitude;

Upon the proposition of the Commander-in-Chief

IT IS DECREED AS FOLLOWS:

(1) There are in a state of war:

1st. In the Eastern Command, the counties of Northamptonshire, Rutlandshire, Cambridgeshire, Norfolk, Suffolk, Essex, Huntingdonshire, Bedfordshire, Hertfordshire, and Middlesex (except that portion included in the London Military District).

2nd. In the Northern Command, the counties of Northumberland, Durham, Cumberland, and Yorkshire, with the southern shore of the estuary of the Humber.

(2) I, Charles Leonard Spencer Cotterell, his Majesty’s Principal Secretary of State for War, am charged with the execution of this Decree.

War Office, Whitehall, September the Fourth, 1910.

This proclamation was posted outside the War Office in London at noon on Wednesday, and was read by thousands. It was also posted upon the Town Hall of every city and town throughout the country.

and although we felt that things had been so carefully thought out and so splendidly arranged that the chances were almost all in our favour, yet we could not but wonder what would be the end of it all. As Von der Bendt – whom you will doubtless remember when he was in the 3rd Horse Grenadiers at Bromberg, and who is also on the Prince’s staff – said that night as he walked the deck, ‘Where would we be if, despite our precautions, the English had contrived to get wind of our intentions, and half a dozen destroyers came tearing up out of the darkness, and in among our flotilla? Our own particular future would then probably lie under the water instead of on it.’ I laughed at his croakings, but I confess I looked rather more intently at our somewhat limited horizon.

“About two in the morning the moon rose. Her light was but fitful and partial on account of a very cloudy sky, but I received rather a shock when her first rays revealed a long grey line of warships with all lights out, and with the darker forms of their attendant destroyers moving on their flanks, slowly crossing our course at right angles. As it turned out, they were only our own escorts, ordered to meet us at this point, and to convoy us and the other portions of the XIIth Corps, which were coming out from Rotterdam and other Dutch ports to join us. In a few minutes after meeting the ironclads, a galaxy of sparkling points of light approaching from the northward heralded their arrival, and by three o’clock the whole fleet was steaming due west in many parallel lines. Four battleships moved in line ahead on each flank, the destroyers seemed to be constantly coming and going in all directions, like dogs shepherding a flock of sheep, and I fancy there were several other men-o’-war ahead of us. The crossing proved entirely uneventful. We saw nothing of the much-to-be-dreaded British warships, nor indeed of any ships at all, with the exception of a few fishing-boats and the Harwich-Antwerp boat, which, ablaze with lights, ran through the rear portion of our flotilla, luckily without colliding with any of our flats or lighters. What her crew and passengers must have thought of meeting such an array of shipping in mid-Channel can only be surmised. In any case, it was of no consequence, for by the time they arrived in Antwerp all our cards would be on the table.

“Towards morning I got very drowsy, and eventually fell asleep on a bench behind the after deck-house. I seemed hardly to have closed my eyes when Von der Bendt woke me up to inform me that land was in sight. It was just dawn. A wan light was creeping up out of the east, bringing with it a cold air that made one shiver. There was but little light in the west, but there right ahead a long black line was just discernible on the horizon. It was England!

“Our half of the fleet now altered course a few points to the southward, the remainder taking a more northerly course, and by five o’clock we were passing the Swin Lightship, and stood in the mouth of the river Crouch, doubtless to the amazement of a few fishermen who gazed open-mouthed from their boats at the apparition of our grey warships, with their bristle of guns and the vast concourse of shipping that followed them. By six we were at Burnham-on-Crouch, a quaint little town, evidently a yachting centre, for the river was absolutely covered with craft – small cutters, yawls, and the like, and hundreds upon hundreds of boats of all sizes. Many large, flat-bottomed barges, with tanned sails, lay alongside the almost continuous wooden quay that bordered the river. The boats of the squadron carrying a number of sailors and detachments from the 2nd Marine Battalion that formed part of the expedition had evidently preceded us, as the German ensign was hoisted over the coastguard station, which was occupied by our men. Several of our steam pinnaces were busily engaged in collecting the boats and small craft that were scattered all over the estuary, while others were hauling and towing some of the barges into position beside the quays to serve as landing-places. The method employed was to lash one outside the other till the uttermost one was outside the position of low-water mark. Our lighter craft, at any rate, could then go alongside and disembark their men and stores at any time.

“The first men I saw land were the residue of the Marine Battalion, who were in the next transport to us. As soon as they were ashore, Prince Henry and his staff followed. We landed at a little iron pier, the planking of which was so rotten that it had given way in many places, and as the remainder of the flooring threatened to follow suit if one placed one’s weight on it, we all marched gingerly along the edge, clutching tight hold of the railings. The carpenter’s crew from one of the warships was, however, already at work on its repair. As we landed, I saw the Odin, followed by a steamer, towing several flats containing the 1st Battalion of the 177th Infantry, and a battery of artillery landing farther up the river. She did not go far, but anchored stem and stern. The steamer cast off her lighters close to the southern bank, and they ran themselves ashore, some on the river bank, and others in a little creek that here ran into the main stream. This detachment, I was informed, was to entrench itself in the little village of Canewdon, supposed to have been the site of Canute’s camp, and situated on an eminence about three miles west of us, and about a mile south of the river. As it is the only high ground on that side the river within a radius of several miles of Burnham, its importance to us will be evident.

“While we were waiting for our horses to be landed, I took a turn through the village. It consists of one street, fairly wide in the central portion, with a curious red tower on arches belonging to the local Rath-haus on one side of it. At the western exit of the town is a red-brick drill hall for the Volunteers. Our Marines were in possession, and I noticed several of them studying with much amusement a gaudily-coloured recruiting poster on the post-office opposite, headed: ‘Wanted, recruits for His Majesty’s Army.’ One of their number, who apparently understood English, was translating the letterpress, setting forth the joys and emoluments which awaited the difficult-to-find Englishman patriotic enough to become a soldier. As if such a system of raising an army could ever produce an efficient machine! Was it not the famous Admiral Coligny who perished in the massacre of St. Bartholomew who said, ‘Rather than lead again an army of voluntaries, I would die a thousand times.’

“By this time our horses, and those of a couple of troops of the Jäegers zu Pferde had been put on shore. Then having seen that all the exits of the village were occupied, the Mayor secured, and the usual notices posted threatening death to any civilian who obstructed our operations, directly or indirectly, we started off for the high ground to the northward, where we hoped to get into touch with the Division which should now be landing at Bradwell, on the Blackwater. With us went as escort a troop of the Jäegers in their soft grey-green uniforms – for the descent being a surprise one we were in our ordinary uniforms – and a number of mounted signallers.

“The villagers were beginning to congregate as we left Burnham. They scowled at us, but said nothing. For the most part they appeared to be completely dumbfounded. Such an event as a real invasion by a real army of foreigners had never found any place in their limited outlook on life and the world in general. There were some good-looking girls here and there, with fresh, apple-red cheeks, who did not look altogether askance at our prancing horses and our gay uniforms. It was now about half-past eight, and the morning mists, which had been somewhat prevalent down by the river and the low-lying land on either bank, had thinned and drifted away under the watery beams of a feeble sun that hardly pierced the cloudy canopy above us. This, I suppose, is the English summer day of which we hear so much! It is not hot, certainly. The horses were fresh, delighted to escape from their cramped quarters on shipboard, and, trotting and cantering through the many turns of the muddy lanes, we soon skirted the village of Southminster, and began to mount the high ground between it and a little place called Steeple.

“Here, just north of a steading known as Batt’s Farm, is the highest point on the peninsula formed by the Blackwater and Crouch Rivers. Though it is only 132 ft. above sea-level, the surrounding ground is so flat that a perfect panorama was spread before us. We could not distinguish Burnham, which was six miles or more to the southward, and hidden by slight folds of the ground and the many trees which topped the hedgerows, but the Blackwater and its creeks were in full view, and about seven miles to the north-west the towers and spires of Maldon, our principal objective in the first instance, stood up like grey pencillings on the sky-line. Our signallers soon got to work, and in a very few minutes picked up those of the Northern Division, who had established a station on a church tower about two miles to our north-east, at St. Lawrence. They reported a successful landing at Bradwell, and that the Ægir had gone up in the direction of Maldon with the 3rd Marine Battalion, who were being towed up in their flats by steam pinnaces.

“I think, my dear Neuhaus, that it would be as well if I now gave you some general idea of our scheme of operations, so far as it is known to me, in order that you may be the better able to follow my further experiences by the aid of the one-inch English ordnance map which you will have no difficulty in procuring from Berlin.

“As I have already said, Maldon is our first objective. It is situated at the head of the navigable portion of the Blackwater, and in itself – situated as it is on rising grounds suitable for defence, and surrounded to the north and north-west with a network of river and canal – offers a suitable position to check the preliminary attack that we may surely expect from the Colchester garrison. It is intended, then, to occupy this as quickly as possible, and place it in a state of defence. Our next move will be to entrench ourselves along a line extending southward from Maldon to the river Crouch, which has already been reconnoitred by our Intelligence Department, and the general positions selected and planned. Prince Henry will, of course, be able to make any modifications in the original design that he may consider called for by circumstances. The total length of our front will be nearly seven miles, rather long for the number of troops we have at our disposal, but as the English reckon that to attack troops in position a six-to-one force is required, and as they will be fully occupied elsewhere, I expect we shall be amply sufficient to deal with any attack they can make on us. The right half of the line – with the exception of Maldon itself – is very flat, and offers no very advantageous positions for defence, especially as the ground slopes upwards in the direction of the enemy’s attack. It is, however, but a gradual slope. Towards the left, though, there is higher ground, affording fairly good gun positions, and this we must hold on to at all hazards. This, in fact, will be the real key of the position. Holding this, even if we are beaten out of Maldon and forced to abandon our defences in the flat ground to the south of the town, we can use it as a pivot, and fall back on a second position along a line of low hills that run in a north-east direction across the peninsula to St. Lawrence, which will quite well cover our landing-places. In order to further protect us from surprise, the three battalions of the 108th Sharpshooter Regiment belonging to the 32nd Division left Flushing somewhat in advance of us under convoy of some of the older battleships in three or four average-sized steamers that could get alongside the long pier at Southend, and have been ordered to occupy Hockley, Rayleigh, and Wickford, forming as it were a chain of outposts covering us from any early interruption by troops sent over from Chatham, or coming from London

by either the southern branch of the Great Eastern Railway or the London, Tilbury, and Southend line. They took nothing with them but their iron ration, the ammunition in their pouches, and that usually carried in the company ammunition waggons (57.6 rounds per man). For the transport of this they were to impress carts and horses at Southend, and to move by a forced march to their positions. As soon as we are able, we also shall push forward advanced troops to South Hanningfield, East Hanningfield, Danebury, and Wickham Bishops, covering us in a similar manner to the west and north. Our flanks are well protected by the two rivers, which are tidal, very wide in parts, and difficult to cross, except at one or two places on the Crouch, which we shall make special arrangements to defend. Moreover – with the exception of Canewdon, which we have already occupied – there is no elevated ground within miles of them which would offer good positions from which the enemy might fire into the ground we occupy between them.

“So much for the military portion of our programme. Now for the part allotted to the Navy. As I have told you, we had eight warships as our convoy, not counting destroyers, etc. These were the eight little armour-clads of the “Ægir” class, drawing only 18 ft. of water and carrying three 9.4 guns apiece, besides smaller ones. The Ægir and Odin are operating in the rivers on our flanks as far as they are able. The remaining six are busy, three at the entrance of each river, laying down mine-fields and other obstacles to protect us from any inroad on the part of the British Navy, and arranging for passing through the store-ships, which we expect to-night or to-morrow morning from various German and Dutch ports, with the provisions, stores, and ammunition for the use of the Northern Army Corps, when they have penetrated sufficiently far to the south to get into touch with us. Except by these rivers, I do not think that the English naval commanders can get at us.

“What are known as the Dengie Flats extend for three miles seaward, all along the coast between the mouths of the two rivers, and broken marshy land extends for three miles more inland. Their big ships would have to lie at least seven or eight miles distant from our headquarters and store depôt, which we intend to establish at Southminster, and even if they were so foolish as to waste their ammunition in trying to damage us with their big guns firing at high elevations, they would never succeed in doing us any harm. I believe that the squadron of older battleships that escorted the 108th to Southend have orders to mine the mouth of the Thames, cover the mine-field with their guns as long as they can before being overpowered, and incidentally to try and capture Shoeburyness and destroy or bring off what guns they may find there. But this is not really in our particular section of the operations.

“But to return to my own experiences. I told you that Prince Henry and his staff had arrived at Steeple Hill, and that the signallers had got through to the other division that had landed at Bradwell. This was soon after nine o’clock. Not long afterwards the advanced guard of one of the Jäeger battalions, with their smart glazed shakoes, having the black plumes tied back over the left ear, and looking very workmanlike in their green red-piped tunics, came swinging along the road between St. Lawrence and the village of Steeple. They had some of their war-dogs with them in leashes. They were on their way to reinforce the 3rd Marine Battalion, which by this time we trusted had occupied Maldon and cut off all communication with the interior. They had a good nine miles before them. The Prince looked at his watch. ‘If they’re there before noon it’s as much as we can expect,’ he said. ‘Go and see if they are coming up from Burnham now,’ he added, turning sharply to me. Away I went at a gallop till I struck the main road out of Southminster. Here I just headed off the 1st Battalion of the 101st Grenadiers. Its Colonel informed me that the whole regiment was ashore and that the other two battalions were following close behind. When they left Burnham the three battalions of the 100th Body Grenadiers had nearly completed their disembarkation, and the horses of the Garde Reiter Regiment and the 17th Uhlans were being hoisted out by means of the big spritsail yards of the barges lying alongside the quays. The landing pontoons had been greatly augmented and improved during the last hour or two, and the disembarkation was proceeding more and more quickly. They had got two of the batteries of the 1st Brigade Division landed as well as the guns belonging to the Horse Artillery, but they were waiting for the horses. The Prince signalled to the officer superintending the disembarkation at Burnham to send forward the cavalry and horse artillery by batteries and squadrons as soon as they could be mounted.

“Nothing could be done in the meantime but trust that the marines had been successful in occupying Maldon and in stopping any news of our presence from leaking out to Colchester. Presently, however, the signallers reported communication with a new signal station established by the Jäegers zu Pferde on Kit’s Hill, an eminence about six miles to the south-west. The officer in command of the troop reported: ‘Have cut line at Wickham Ferrers. Captured train of eight coaches coming from Maldon, and have shunted it on to line to Burnham.’ Prince Henry signalled back: ‘Despatch train to Burnham’; and then also signalled to O.C. 23 Division at Burnham: ‘Expect train of eight coaches at once. Entrain as many infantry as it will hold, and send them to Maldon with the utmost despatch.’

“While these signals were passing, I was employed in taking a careful survey with my glasses. This is what I saw, looking from right to left. The green and white lance pennons of a detachment of the hussars belonging to the 32nd Division came fluttering round the shoulder of the hill topped by the grey tower of St. Lawrence. Immediately below us a Jäeger battalion was winding through Steeple Village like a dark green snake. Away to my left front the helmets of the 101st Grenadier Regiment twinkled over the black masses of its three battalions as they wound downhill towards the village of Latchingdon, lying in a tree-shrouded hollow. Maldon was more distinct now, but there was nothing to indicate the presence of our men, though not so very far down the river the lofty mast of the Ægir, with its three military tops, was distinguishable over a line of willows. As I lowered my field-glasses the Prince beckoned me. ‘Von Pabst,’ ordered he, as I raised my hand to the salute, ‘take half a dozen troopers, ride to Maldon, and report to me the situation there. I shall be at Latchingdon,’ added he, indicating its position on the map, ‘or possibly on the road between that and Maldon.’

“Followed by my six Jäegers in their big copper helmets, I dashed away on my mission, and before long was nearing my destination. Maldon perched on its knoll, with its three church towers and gabled houses, brought to my mind one of the old engravings of sixteenth-century cities by Merian. Nothing indicated the approach of war till we were challenged by a sentry, who stepped from behind a house at the entrance to a straggling street. We trotted on till just about to turn in the main street, when ‘bang’ went a straggling volley from the right. Shot after shot replied, and this told me that our marines had arrived. Then a score of khaki-clad men ran across the entrance of the side street up which we were approaching. ‘The English at last!’ thought I. It was too late to turn back. One or two of the enemy had caught sight of us as they rushed by, though most of them were too busily engaged in front to observe us. So with a shout of ‘Vorwarts!’ I stuck in my spurs, and with my six troopers charged into the middle of them, though I had no idea of how many there might be up the street. There was a tremendous clatter and banging of rifles. I cut down one fellow who ran his bayonet into my wallet. At the same time I heard a loud German ‘Hoch!’ from our right, and caught sight of a body of marines coming up the street at the double. It was all over in a moment. There were not more than thirty ‘khakis’ all told. Half a dozen lay dead or wounded on the ground, some disappeared up side alleys, and others were made prisoners by the marines. It appeared afterwards that on the first boat-load landing, about an hour previously, the alarm had reached a local Volunteer officer, who had managed to collect some of his men and get them into uniform. He then made the foolish attack on our troops which had ended in so unsatisfactory a manner for him. He, poor fellow, lay spitting blood on the kerbstone. The colonel of marines appeared a moment later, and at once gave orders for the Mayor of Maldon to be brought before him.”

The letter ended abruptly, the German officer’s intention being no doubt to give some further details of the operations before despatching it to his friend in Darmstadt. But it remained unfinished, for its writer lay already in his grave.

CHAPTER XI

GERMANS LANDING AT HULL AND GOOLE

A special issue of the Times in the evening of 3rd September contained the following vivid account – the first published – of the happenings in the town of Goole, in Yorkshire: —

    “Goole, September 3.

“Shortly before five o’clock on Sunday morning the night operator of the telephone call-office here discovered an interruption on the trunk-line, and on trying the telegraphs was surprised to find that there was no communication in any direction. The railway station, being rung up, replied that their wires were also down.