The Coming Conquest of England

A >> August Niemann >> The Coming Conquest of England


About eleven o'clock Heideck returned to the hotel, where he found the
Kennedys and Edith still conversing eagerly on the terrace.

"Of course we shall not leave now," he declared. "As soon as the
Russians have evacuated the north, we shall return to Simla."

Heideck made no remark, and since the openly expressed and heartfelt joy
of the English affected him painfully, he soon took leave of them, and
went up to his room, which, like Edith's, was on the second storey.

According to the custom of the country, all the rooms opened on to the
broad balcony which ran round the whole floor like an outer corridor.
As a look from Edith had repeated her wish that he should wait for her
there, he stepped out on to the balcony. His patience was not put to
a severe trial. She must have quickly found an opportunity of escaping
from the Kennedys' society, for he saw her coming towards him even
sooner than he had expected.

"I thank you for waiting for me," she said, "but we cannot stay here,
for we should not be safe from surprise for a moment. Let us go into my
room."

Heideck followed her with hesitation. But he knew that Edith would
feel insulted if he expressed any scruples at her request, for her firm
confidence in his chivalrous honour relieved her of all apprehension.
Only the moon, shining faintly, shed a dim light over the room. The
clock on the tower of the neighbouring university struck twelve.

"Destiny is playing a strange game with us," said Edith, who had seated
herself in one of the little basket chairs, while Heideck remained
standing near the door. "I confess that since the arrival of the news of
the victory I have spent some terrible hours, for the Kennedys have, in
consequence, abandoned their idea of leaving, and seem to take it for
granted that I shall remain with them in India."

"And would you not, in fact, be forced to do so, my dearest Edith?"

"So then you have already reckoned with this contingency? You would not,
surely, think of travelling without me? But perhaps you would even feel
relieved at being freed from me?"

"How can you say such things, Edith, which, I am sure, you do not
believe?"

"Who knows? You are ambitious, and we poor women are never worse off
than when we have to do with ambitious men."

"But there is probably no necessity for us to torment ourselves with the
discussion of such contingencies. I have never for a moment believed in
any alteration of our arrangements for the journey."

"That is to say you doubt the trustworthiness of the report of the
victory?"

"To speak frankly, I do. I did not wish to mortify the old gentleman and
spoil his shortlived joy. That is the reason why I did not express my
distrust in his presence. But the despatch does not really convey
the impression of being true. It does not even contain a more exact
statement of the place where the battle is said to have taken place.
It must, at least, strike the unprejudiced observer as being very
suspicious."

"But who would take the trouble to obtain the melancholy satisfaction of
deceiving the world in such a manner for a short time?"

"Oh, there are many who would be interested in doing so. In the course
of every war such false reports are always floating about, in most cases
without their origin being known. It may be a money-market manoeuvre."

"So you think it quite impossible that we can beat the Russians?"

"Not exactly impossible, but extremely improbable--at least while the
military situation remains what it is. Again, it is the absence of
definite information that surprises me. A victorious general always
finds time to communicate details, which the vanquished is only too glad
to defer. I am convinced that the bad news will soon follow, and that,
as far as our plans for the journey are concerned, everything will
remain as before."

Edith was silent. Her belief in Heideck was so unbounded that his
words had completely convinced her. But they did not restore the joyful
confidence of the last few days.

"Everything will remain as before?" she said at length. "That means you
will leave us at Brindisi."

"Certainly. There is no other way for me to reach the army."

"And suppose you abandon the idea of returning to the army altogether?
Have you never thought that we might find another foundation on which to
build our future happiness?"

Heideck looked at her in amazement.

"No, dearest Edith, I have not thought of it. It would have been a
useless and foolish idea, so long as my duty and honour prescribe most
definitely what I have to do."

"Duty and honour! Of course, I ought to have known that you would at
once be ready again with fine words. It is so convenient to be able to
take shelter behind so unassailable a rampart, if at the same time it
falls in with one's own wishes."

"Edith! How unjust the melancholy events of the last few weeks have made
you! If you think it over quietly, you will see that my personal wishes
and my heart's desires are not in question at all. And really I do not
understand what you think I could possibly do."

"Oh, there would be more than one way of sparing us the pain of a
separation, but I will only mention the first that occurs to me.
Couldn't we very well remain together in India? If it is the question
of money that makes you hesitate, I can soon make your mind easy on that
point. I have enough money for both of us, and what is mine is yours.
If we retire to a part of the country which the war cannot reach, a hill
station such as Poona or Mahabeleshwar, no one will trouble you with
questions or think of following you. And if you live there and devote
yourself to your love instead of slaying your fellow-men, it will be
more acceptable to God."

In spite of the seriousness with which she spoke, Heideck could not help
smiling as he answered: "What a wonderful picture of the world and its
affairs is sometimes drawn in a pretty woman's little head! It is really
fortunate that we sober-minded men do not allow our heart to run away
with our head so easily. Otherwise we should come badly off, for you
yourselves would certainly be the first to turn away from us with
contempt, if we tried to purchase the happiness of your love at any
price--even at the price of your respect."

Edith Irwin did not contradict him. Silent and sorrowful, for a long
time she looked out upon the bright moonlight Indian night. Then, when
Heideck approached her, to take leave of her with tender words, she said
in a voice which cut him to the heart: "Whether we understand each other
or not, in one thing at least you shall be under no delusion. Whereever
you may go--into a paradise of peace or the hell of war--I will not
forsake you."

With passionate impetuosity she flung herself into his arms and pressed
her burning lips upon his. Then, as if afraid of her own heart's
passion, she gently pushed him towards the door.




XXIII

HOMEWARD BOUND


As Heideck had foreseen, the announcement of the victory was followed
by disastrous tidings for the English. Up to noon on the following day
Bombay had waited in vain for confirmation of the despatch and fuller
particulars. Very late in the evening, amidst a general feeling of
depression, the Governor published the following despatch from the
Commander-in-Chief:--

"The enemy having been reported in great force yesterday to the north
of Delhi, our army took up a favourable defensive position, and a battle
was fought with great honour to the British arms. The Russians suffered
enormous losses. The approach of darkness preventing us from following
up the advantages we had gained, I ordered the main body of the army
to carry out a strategic retreat on Lucknow, chiefly along the railway.
Simpson's brigade remained behind to defend Delhi. The heavy guns of
the Sha, Calcutta gate, and north gate bastions were very effective.
All arms distinguished themselves, and deserve the highest praise. The
bridge over the Jumna is intact and affords direct communication with
General Simpson."

While Mr. Kennedy was sitting pondering over this despatch, Heideck came
up to him.

"A decisive defeat, isn't it, Mr. Heideck?" said he. "As a military man,
you can read between the line, better than I can. But I know Delhi. If
the Jumna bridge batteries have been firing, the Russians must be on the
point of capturing this passage. The north gate bastion is the head of
the bridge."

Heideck was obliged to agree; but he had read more in the despatch, and
drew the worst conclusions from the general's retreat on Lucknow.

No more despatches from the theatre of war were published during the
day, since the Governor was desirous of concealing the melancholy state
of affairs from the people. But Mr. Kennedy, who had been in Government
House, knew more. He told Heideck that the English army had fled in
complete disorder, having lost 8,000 killed and wounded, twenty guns,
and a number of colours and standards. The Government had already
abandoned all hope of saving Delhi, for General Simpson could not
possibly hold it. "We have lost India," sorrowfully concluded Mr.
Kennedy. "It is the grave of my last hopes."

. . . . . . .

The Caledonia was moored in Victoria Dock, which formed part of the
magnificent harbour on the east coast of the peninsula. In the midst
of a seething crowd the passengers were making their way on board.
Many wounded and sick officers and soldiers were returning on the fast
steamer to England, and filled the places intended for passengers. No
travellers to Europe on business or pleasure were to be seen. All the
women on board belonged to the families of the military. The general
feeling was one of extreme melancholy.

Before embarking Heideck had discharged his faithful servant. Morar
Gopal, with tears in his eyes, had begged him to take him with him, but
Heideck was afraid that the European climate would be the death of the
poor fellow. Besides, he would have been obliged to part with him on
active service. So he gave him a hundred rupees--a fortune for Morar
Gopal.

The great steamer moved slowly out of the basin of the harbour, past
English merchantmen and the white ships of war, which had brought troops
and war material.

As the Caledonia, continually increasing her speed, made her way through
the outer harbour, Heideck saw some twenty men-of-war in the roadstead,
including several large ironclads. English troops from Malta were being
landed in boats from two transports, the decks of which glistened with
arms.

The Caledonia proceeded with increasing rapidity into the open sea. The
city and its lighthouses disappeared in the distance, the blue mountains
of the mainland and of the island were lost in a floating mist. A long,
glittering, white furrow followed in the wake of the steamer.

It was a wonderful journey for all whom a load of anxiety had not
rendered insensible to the grandeur of Nature. Heideck, happy at being
at last on the way home, enjoyed the beauty of sea and sky to the full.
The uneasy doubts which sometimes assailed him as to his own and Edith's
future were suppressed by the charm of her presence. Her impetuosity
caused him perpetual anxiety, but he loved her. Ever since she had
declared that she would never leave him she had been all devotion
and tenderness, as if tormented by a constant fear that he might
nevertheless one day cast her off.

So they sat once again, side by side, on the promenade deck. The
azure billows of the sea splashed round the planks of the vessel. The
boundless surface of ocean glittered with a marvellous brilliancy, and
everything seemed bathed in a flood of light. The double awning over the
heads of the young couple kept off the burning heat of the sun, and a
refreshing breeze swept across the deck beneath it.

"Then you would land with me at Brindisi?" asked Heideck.

"At Brindisi, or Aden, or Port Said--where you like."

"I think Brindisi will be the most suitable place. Then we can travel
together to Berlin."

Edith nodded assent.

"But I don't know how long I shall stay in Berlin," continued Heideck.
"I hope I shan't be sent to join my regiment at once."

"If you are I shall go with you, wherever it may be," she said as
quietly as if it were a matter of course.

"That would hardly be possible," he rejoined, with a smile. "We Germans
make war without women."

"And yet I shall go with you."

Heideck looked at her in amazement. "But don't you understand, dear,
that it would be something entirely novel, and bound to create a
sensation, for a German officer to take the field with his betrothed?"

"I am not afraid of what people think. I don't care what the Kennedys
may say if I leave the ship at Brindisi and go with you. Of course it
will be a sad downfall for me. They would look on me as a lost woman
from that moment. But I care nothing about that. I have long been cured
of the foolish idea that we must sacrifice our happiness to what the
world may say."

Of course Heideck refused to take her words seriously. He did not
believe she meant to accompany him to the field, and seized the
opportunity of making a proposal which he had already carefully
considered.

"I should think the best thing for you to do, my dear Edith, would be to
go to my uncle at Hamburg and stay there till the war is over. Then--if
Heaven spare my life--there will be nothing to prevent our union."

As she made no answer Heideck, who wanted to give her time to think,
hastened to turn the conversation.

"Look how beautiful it is!" he said, pointing to the water.

A long succession of white, foaming waves kept pace with the vessel on
either side. The keel seemed to be cutting its way through a number
of tiny cliffs, over which the sea was breaking. But closer inspection
showed that they were no cliffs, but countless shoals of large fish,
swimming alongside the ship, as if in order of battle. From time to time
they leaped high out of the water, their bright, scaly bodies glistening
in the sun.

"I should like to be one of those dolphins," said Edith. "Look, how free
they are! how they enjoy life!"

"You believe in the transmigration of souls?" said Heideck jestingly;
"perhaps you have once been such a dolphin yourself."

"Then certainly I have made no change for the better. There is no doubt
that our higher intellectual development prevents us from properly
enjoying our natural existence. But it teaches us to feel more deeply
the sorrows, which are far more numerous than the joys of human life."

. . . . . . .

The journey through the Indian Ocean took six days, and Heideck
frequently had an opportunity of hearing the views of English officers
and officials on the political situation. All blamed the incapacity of
the Government, which had brought England into so perilous a situation.

"The good old principles of English policy have been abandoned," said a
Colonel, who had been severely wounded and was returning home invalided.
"In former times England made her conquests when the continental Powers
were involved in war, or she carried on war with allies, to enlarge her
possessions. But she has never allowed herself to be so disgracefully
surprised before. Of course we shall beat France and Germany, for it is
a question of sea power. But even when they are beaten, we shall still
have the worst of it; the loss of India is as bad for England's health
and efficiency as the amputation of my left leg for me. I am returning
to England a cripple, and my poor country will only be a cripple after
she has lost India."

"Quite true," said Mr. Kennedy; "I am afraid it will be
difficult--impossible, to recover India. We were able to rob the French,
the Dutch, and the Portuguese of their Indian possessions, since their
only connexion with India was by sea; but the Russians will annex the
peninsula to their Empire and, even in case of a defeat, will be able
to send fresh troops without number overland. I can already see them
attacking Calcutta, Bombay, and Madras, occupying the harbours built
with our money, and building a fleet in our docks with the resources of
India."

"We have no right to blame the continental Powers," continued the
Colonel, "for using our defeats for their own aggrandisement. There
is no Power at whose expense we have not grown great. We took all
our possessions by force of arms from the Spaniards, the Dutch, the
Portuguese, and the French; we have always opposed Russia, since she
began to develop her power. We supported Turkey, we invaded the Crimea
and destroyed Sebastopol, we suffocated her fleet in the Black Sea. But
this time we are out of our reckoning. We have allowed the Japanese to
attack Russia; but if our ministers believed that Japan would fight for
any one but herself, they have made a great mistake. Russia is making us
pay for her losses in the Far East."

"It is not Russia, but Germany, that is our worst enemy," contradicted
Mr. Kennedy. "Russia has only been our enemy since we let Germany grow
so powerful. I remember how our ministers exulted when Prussia was
at war with France and Austria. The continent of Europe again seemed
paralysed for a long time by internal disruption. But our triumph was
short-lived! No one had suspected that Prussia would prove so strong.
Then the first defects in our policy became apparent. After the first
German victories on the Rhine, England ought to have concluded an
alliance with France and declared war against Prussia. Great political
revolutions require considerable time, and a clever government should
always look ahead. Bismarck slowly prepared England's defeat. Thirty
years ago we had a presentiment of this; it threatened us like a
storm-cloud, but our Government had not the courage to look things in
the face and lacked the energy."

A general, who had hitherto said nothing, took up the conversation. He
belonged to the engineers, and was on his way to take over the command
of Gibraltar.

"We talk about the loss of India," said he; "but who knows whether we
have not to fear an invasion of England herself?"

"Impossible!" exclaimed all the gentlemen present; "England will never
allow her men-of-war to be driven out of the Channel."

"I hope so too, but I don't know whether you gentlemen remember how
close the danger of Napoleon landing an army on English soil once was."

"And if it had made its appearance, it would have been smashed to pieces
by British fists!" cried Mr. Kennedy.

"Perhaps. But why have we never consented to the Channel Tunnel being
made? All military authorities, especially Wolseley, are absolutely
opposed to opening a road so convenient for traffic and trade. They have
always declared that England must remain an island, only accessible
by sea. This is certainly the first and most essential condition of
England's power."

"Well, then," said Mr. Kennedy, "as England is still an island, and we
have always adhered to the principle of keeping a fleet superior to that
of the two strongest naval powers, where is the danger?"

"Danger? There is always a danger, when one has enemies," replied the
General. "I maintain that at the beginning of the nineteenth century, it
was a toss up whether Napoleon crossed or not; and I don't believe that
we should have been a match for our great opponent, if he had once got a
firm footing on our coast."

"His plan was a visionary one and therefore impracticable."

"His plan only failed because it was too complicated. If he had had
modern telegraphic communication at his disposal, this would not have
been the case. He could have directed the operations of his fleet by
cable. If Admiral Villeneuve had sailed to Brest (instead of Cadiz) as
he was ordered and joined Admiral Gantaume, he would have had fifty-six
ships of the line to cover Napoleon's passage from Boulogne to the
English coast. No, gentlemen, you must not think England's strategical
position unassailable. I am as confident of the superiority of our naval
forces as you are, but in these days of steam and electricity England is
no longer as safe as she was when the movement of ships depended on the
wind and orders had to be given by mounted messengers and signals."

"So you really think, General, that Napoleon's plan would have been
practicable?"

"Most certainly. Napoleon had no luck in this enterprise. In the
first place, his greatest misfortune was the death of Admiral
Latouche-Treville. If he had been in Villeneuve's place, he would most
likely have proved a competent commander. He was the only French naval
officer who could have opposed Nelson. But he died too soon for France,
and his successor, Villeneuve, was his inferior in ability. But there
are other special circumstances, more favourable to a landing in England
than in Napoleon's day. For instance--to say nothing of cable and
steam--the fact that modern transports can carry an enormously larger
number of troops. Napoleon had to fit out 2,293 vessels to transport his
army of 150,000 men and to protect the transports, had 1,204 gunboats
and 135 other armed vessels at his disposal, in addition to the
transports proper. As nearly all his ships were constructed to land
men, horses, and guns on the level beach without the aid of boats, they
wanted calm weather for crossing the Channel. They would have taken
about ten hours, with a calm sea, to reach a point between Dover and
Hastings. It is different now. The large French and German companies'
steamers are at the disposal of their Admiralties."

"And yet things are just the same as before," said Mr. Kennedy. "Victory
on the open sea turns the scale. No hostile fleet will be able to show
itself in the Channel without being destroyed by ours."

"Let us hope so!" said the General.

On the way to Aden the Caledonia only met a few ships--all English.
Several transports with troops on board and a few men-of-war passed
her; as she travelled on the average twenty-two knots an hour, no vessel
overtook her. On the morning of the sixth day the reddish brown rocks of
Aden appeared, and the Caledonia cast anchor in the roadstead. A number
of small vessels darted towards her. Naked, black Arab boys cried for
money and showed their skill in diving, fishing up pieces of silver
thrown from the ship. As the Caledonia had to coal, those passengers who
were able to move went ashore in boats rowed by Arabs.

Heideck joined the Kennedy family.

When the boat reached the deeply indented harbour, which with its
numerous bends between fortified heights afforded a safe shelter for a
whole fleet, Heideck saw some twenty English men-of-war, and at
least three times that number of French and German and a few Russian
merchantmen, which had been captured by the English. Several cruisers of
the three Powers at war with England also lay in the harbour. They had
been captured in the Indian Ocean at the outbreak of war by superior
English naval forces.

As the party had the whole day at their disposal, Mr. Kennedy took
a conveyance, and Heideck drove with the family to the town, which,
invisible from the roadstead, lay embedded between high, peaked
mountains. The road went past a large, open space, on which thousands
of camels and donkeys were exposed for sale. Here Heideck had the
opportunity of admiring, close at hand, the mighty fortifications which
the English had constructed on the important corner of the mountain
commanding the sea since the capture of Aden by them from the Turks
on the 9th of January, 1839. They also inspected the remarkable tanks,
those famous cisterns which supply Aden with water, some fifty basins
said to hold 30,000,000 gallons of water, whose origin is lost in the
hoary mist of antiquity. They are said to have been constructed by the
Persians.

About seven o'clock in the evening the passengers were again on board.
While the Caledonia continued her journey, they were absorbed in the
perusal of the English, French, and German newspapers which they had
bought at Aden. The papers were ten days old, certainly, but contained
much that was new to the travellers.

It was very hot in the Red Sea, and most of the first-class passengers
slept on deck, as they had done just before they reached Aden. Part of
the deck, over which a sail had been stretched, was specially reserved
for ladies.

The Caledonia, having again coaled at Port Said, where a number of
English men-of-war were lying, resumed her journey, with unfavourable
weather and a rather rough sea, into the Mediterranean. Passing along
the south of Crete, the steamer turned northwest in the direction of
Brindisi, where she was due on the eighth day after leaving Aden. On the
morning of the seventh day a ship was seen coming from the north side
of Crete, whose appearance caused the captain of the Caledonia the
liveliest anxiety, which soon communicated itself to the passengers. All
the telescopes and field-glasses were directed towards the vessel, whose
course was bound to cut across that of the Caledonia. She soon came near
enough to be recognised. She was the small French cruiser Forbin, and
was bound to meet the Caledonia if the latter continued her course.

The Forbin was a third-class cruiser, not so fast as the Caledonia (the
officers estimated her speed at twenty-one knots), which could have
beaten her in a race; but if the Caledonia made for Brindisi, she was
bound to meet the Frenchman, and could only expect to be captured.
Accordingly, the captain altered his course and turned westwards towards
Malta, without heeding the signal to stop or the shots that were fired,
one of which only went through the rigging, without doing any damage
worth mentioning.