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

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      Enthusiasm was displayed by even the latter, when an infuriated mob one night surrounded Albert Gate House, the French Embassy, and, breaking open the door, entered it, and flung the handsome furniture from the windows.

      Those below made a huge pile in the street, and when the whole of the movable effects had been got out, the crowd set fire to them, and also to the great mansion, at the same time cheering lustily, and singing "Rule, Britannia," as they watched the flames leap up and consume both house and furniture.

      The servants of the Embassy had fortunately escaped, otherwise they would no doubt have fared badly at the hands of the lawless assembly.

      When the fire had burned itself out, however, a suggestion was spread, and the mob with one accord rushed to the Russian Embassy in Chesham Place.

      This house was also entered, and the furniture flung pell-mell from the windows, that too large to pass through being broken up in the rooms, and the fragments thrown to the shouting crowd below.

      Chairs, tables, ornaments, mirrors, bedding, kitchen utensils, and crockery were thrown out, carpets were taken up, and curtains and cornices torn down by ruthless denizens of Whitechapel and Shoreditch, who, maddened by drink, were determined to destroy everything belonging to the countries which had brought disaster upon them.

      Presently, when nearly all the furniture had been removed, some man, wild-haired and excited, emerged into the street, with a great flag he had discovered in one of the attics. With a shout of delight he unfurled it. It was a large yellow one, upon which was depicted a huge black double eagle; the flag that had been hoisted at the Embassy on various State occasions.

      Its appearance was greeted by a fearful howl of rage, and the infuriated people, falling upon the man who waved it, tore it into shreds, which they afterwards cast into the bonfire they had made for the Ambassador's furniture.

      From the archives the secret papers and reports of spies were taken, and, being torn into fragments, were scattered from an upper window to the winds, until at last, men, snatching up flaring brands from the huge bonfire, rushed into the dismantled mansion, and, having poured petroleum in many of the apartments, ignited them.

      Flames quickly spread through the house, belching forth from the windows, and, ascending, had soon burst through the roof, illuminating the neighbourhood with a bright, fitful glare. The mob, as the flames leaped up and crackled, screamed with fiendish delight. From thousands of hoarse throats there went up loud cries of "Down with the Tsar! Down with Russia!" And as the great bonfire died down, and the roof of the Embassy collapsed with a crash, causing the flames to shoot higher and roar more vigorously, they sang with one accord, led by a man who had mounted some railings, the stirring British song, "The Union Jack of Old England."

      Although the colonies had shown how zealously they were prepared to guard the interests of the Mother Country, their public spirit was eclipsed by the spontaneous outburst of patriotism which occurred in Ireland. Mass meetings were being held in Belfast, Dublin, Cork, Waterford, Limerick, Londonderry, Sligo, Armagh, Dundalk, Newry, and dozens of other places, at which men of all grades of society unanimously decided by resolution to raise Volunteer regiments to take arms against the foe.

      The knowledge of Britain's danger had aroused the patriotic feelings of the people, and they were determined to give their sovereign a proof of their allegiance, cost what it might.

      The movement was a general one. Nationalists and Unionists vied in their eagerness to demonstrate their love for the Empire, and that part of it which was now in danger.

      Already the Irish Reserve forces had been mobilised and sent to their allotted stations. The 3rd Irish Rifles from Newtownards, the 5th Battalion from Downpatrick, and the 6th from Dundalk, were at Belfast under arms; the Donegal Artillery from Letterkenny had already gone to Harwich to assist in the defence of the east coast; and both the Londonderry and Sligo Artillery had gone to Portsmouth; while the 3rd Irish Fusiliers from Armagh were at Plymouth, and the 4th Battalion from Cavan had left to assist in the defence of the Severn.

      Whatever differences of political opinion had previously existed between them on the question of Home Rule, were forgotten by the people in the face of the great danger which threatened the Empire to which they belonged. The national peril welded the people together, and shoulder to shoulder they marched to lay down their lives, if necessary, in the work of driving back the invader.

      Within six days of this spontaneous outburst of patriotism, 25,000 Irishmen of all creeds and political opinions were on their way to assist their English comrades. As might have been expected, the greater number of these Volunteers came from the North of Ireland, but every district sent its sons, eager to take part in the great struggle. At the great meetings held at Dublin, Belfast, Cork, Limerick, Wexford, Waterford, Strabane, Newtown-Stewart, Downpatrick, Ballymena, and dozens of other places all over the country, from the Giant's Causeway to Cape Clear, and from Dublin to Galway Bay, the most intense enthusiasm was shown, and men signed their names to the roll in hundreds, many subscribing large sums to defray the cost of equipment and other expenses. Each passenger or mail boat from Larne to Stranraer, from Dublin to Holyhead, every steamer from Belfast to Whitehaven and Liverpool, brought over well-armed contingents of stalwart men, who, after receiving hearty receptions of the most enthusiastic and flattering description, were moved south to Stamford in Lincolnshire as quickly as the disorganised railway service would allow.

      The object of the military authorities in concentrating them at this point was to strengthen the great force of defenders now marching south. Detraining at Stamford, the commanding officer had orders to march to Oundle, by way of King's Cliffe and Fotheringhay, and there remain until joined by a brigade of infantry with the Canadians coming from Leicestershire. The great body of men at length mustered, answered the roll, and marched through the quiet old-world streets of Stamford, and out upon the broad highway to King's Cliffe on the first stage of their journey.

      It was early morning. In the sunlight the dew still glistened like diamonds on the wayside, as regiment after regiment, with firm, steady step, and shouldering their rifles, bravely passed away through the fields of ripe uncut corn, eager to unite with a force of Regulars, and strike their first blow for their country's liberty.

      Sturdy fishermen from the rough shores of Donegal marched side by side with townsmen and artisans from Dublin, Belfast, and Limerick; sons of wealthy manufacturers in Antrim and Down bore arms with stalwart peasantry from Kerry and Tipperary; while men whose poor but cherished cabins overlooked Carlingford Lough, united with fearless patriots from Carlow, Wexford, and Waterford.

      Since they landed on English soil, they had met with a boundless welcome.

      In the rural districts the distress was not yet so great as in the larger towns; consequently at King's Cliffe, when the first detachment halted for rest in the long straggling street of the typical English village, the bells of the quaint old church were rung, and villagers gave their defenders bread, cheese, and draughts of ale. While the men were standing at ease and eating heartily, two officers entered Bailey's, the village grocery store, which served as post office, and received a cipher telegraphic despatch. They emerged into the roadway immediately, and their faces showed that some unforeseen event had occurred. A third officer was summoned, and a hurried and secret consultation took place as they stood together opposite the Cross Keys Inn.

      "But can we do it?" queried the youngest of the trio, aloud, pulling on his gloves, and settling the hang of his sword.

      The grave elder man, commander of the brigade, glanced quickly at his watch, with knit brows.

      "Do it?" he replied, with a marked Irish accent. "We must. It'll be a dash for life; but the boys are СКАЧАТЬ