WILLIAM LE QUEUX: 15 Dystopian Novels & Espionage Thrillers (Illustrated Edition). William Le Queux

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СКАЧАТЬ 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, the first naval battle in the defence of our Empire, had been desperate, and the loss of life appalling.

      The First Act of the most sanguinary drama of modern nations had closed.

      What would be its dénouement?

      BOOK II

       THE STRUGGLE

       Table of Contents

      CHAPTER XV

       THE DOOM OF HULL

       Table of Contents

      In Hull forty-eight long weary hours of anxious suspense and breathless excitement had passed. The night was dark, the sky overcast, and there was in the air that oppressive sultry stillness precursory of a storm.

      Church clocks had chimed ten, yet most of the shops were still open, and the well-lighted streets of the drab old Yorkshire town were filled by a pale-faced, terror-stricken crowd surging down the thoroughfares towards the Victoria Pier. A panic had suddenly been created an hour before by the issue of an extra-special edition of the Hull evening paper, the Daily News, containing a brief telegram in large type, as follows: —

      The Coastguard at Donna Nook report that a strong force of Russian war vessels, including the turret-ship Sevastopol and the barbette-ships Sinope and Cizoi Veliky, have just hove in sight and are making for the Humber. Lloyd's signal station on Spurn Point has also intimated that hostile ships coming from the south are lying-to just beyond the Lightship.

      The papers sold more quickly than they could be printed, a shilling each being given for copies by the excited townspeople, who now, for the first time, suddenly realised that the enemy was upon them. Men and boys with bundles of limp papers, damp from the press, rushed along Whitefriargate, away in every direction into the suburbs, shouting the appalling intelligence in hoarse, strident tones that awoke the echoes of the quieter thoroughfares.

      Now, even as purchasers of papers read the few lines of print under the dim uncertain light of street lamps, the dull booming of distant guns fell upon their ears, and the populace, wildly excited, made their way with one accord towards the Victoria Pier, to glean the latest news, and ascertain the true significance of the repeated firing.

      Was Hull in danger? Would the enemy advance up the river and bombard the town? These all-important questions were on every one's tongue, and as the thousands of all classes rushed hither and thither, wild rumours of the enemy's intentions spread and increased the horror.

      Within an hour of the publication of the first intimation of the presence of the invaders the excitement had become intense, and the narrow streets and narrower bridges had become congested by a terror-stricken multitude. Time after time the thunder of heavy guns shook the town, causing windows to clatter, and the people standing on the pier and along the riverside strained their eyes into the cavernous darkness towards the sea. But they could discern nothing. Across at New Holland, СКАЧАТЬ