Part 34 (1/2)
When Moyne and I got back to our hotel we found two long telegrams and one short one waiting for us. The first we opened was from Lady Moyne.
She had, it appeared, spent a very strenuous day. She caught the Prime Minister at breakfast in his own house, and probably spoiled his appet.i.te. She ran other members of the Cabinet to earth at various times during the day. One unfortunate man she found playing a mixed foursome on a suburban golf links. She impressed upon him, as she had upon all his colleagues the appalling wickedness of shooting the citizens of Belfast. Every one, it appeared, agreed with her on this point. The Government's policy, so they told her and she told us, was to cow, not to kill, the misguided people who were rioting in Belfast. She besought Moyne to use all his influence to moderate the anti-Home Rule enthusiasm of Malcolmson and the Dean.
Moyne smiled in a sickly way when we came to this advice.
The other long telegram was from Babberly. I must say that Babberly at this crisis displayed immense energy and something like political genius. Having been all his life a strong Conservative, and a supporter of force as a remedy for every kind of social unpleasantness, he turned a most effective somersault and appealed suddenly to the anti-militarist feelings of the Labour Party. He succeeded--I cannot even imagine how--in organizing a ma.s.s meeting in Trafalgar Square to protest against the murder of the working-men of Belfast in the streets of their own city, by the hired mercenaries of the capitalist cla.s.ses. The meeting was actually engaged in making its protest while Moyne and I were reading the telegrams. Babberly's case was really extraordinarily strong. Soldiers were shooting off guns in Belfast, and the people they fired at--or as we knew, fired over--were working-men. There was occasion for a strong and eloquent appeal to the sentiment of the solidarity of labour. Babberly was just the man to make it with the utmost possible effectiveness. I pictured him perched on the head of one of the British lions which give its quite peculiar dignity to Trafalgar Square, beseeching a crowd of confused but very angry men not to allow the beast to open its mouth or show its teeth. I could easily imagine that the news of Babberly's exertions, dribbling in during the day to the offices of hara.s.sed Ministers, might have reinforced with grave political considerations the hysterical humanitarian telegrams which c.l.i.thering was shooting off from the seat of war. A Tory Government might survive a little bloodshed. A Liberal Government convicted of having incited a soldier to shoot a working-man would be in a perilous position.
”I must say,” I said, ”that Babberly is infernally clever. I don't quite know where he'll find himself afterwards, but--”
”What does it matter about afterwards?” said Moyne, ”if only we get out of the mess we're in, nothing that happens afterwards need trouble us in the least.”
”If this meeting of his is really a success,” I said, ”we may feel pretty confident that there'll be no more shooting anyhow.”
The next telegram, the short one, rather dashed our hopes of immediate peace. It was from Lady Moyne.
”The Channel Fleet,” she said, ”has been ordered to Belfast Lough.
Expected to arrive to-morrow morning. Advise unconditional surrender.”
Moyne is very fond of his wife, and has a sincere admiration for her abilities; but on the receipt of this telegram he lost his temper.
”What on earth,” he said, ”is the use of advising unconditional surrender when Conroy and Malcolmson are engaged at this moment in making plans for sinking the Fleet with rifles?”
”I quite agree with you,” I said. ”There's no kind of use our going to them again. But I don't expect they're relying entirely on rifles.
Malcolmson always said he understood explosives. He may be laying submarine mines opposite Carrickfergus.”
Lady Moyne's telegram was not the only warning we received of the approaching visit of the Channel Fleet. Our system of leaving the telegraph wires intact proved to be an excellent one. Everybody in Belfast learnt that the Fleet was coming. Everybody, so far as I could learn, received the news with joy. Bland was tremendously excited. He called on me next morning, and invited me to go with him to see the British Fleet in action. He had been up very early and found a place, so he said, from which we could have a capital view of the bombardment of the town.
”I've got two pairs of field-gla.s.ses,” he said, ”Zeiss prism binoculars. We'll see the whole show capitally.”
”Was there much other looting last night?” I asked.
”There was none,” said Bland. ”I hired the gla.s.ses. I got them for five s.h.i.+llings. Cheap, I call it; but the optician who owned them seemed to think they'd be safer if I had them than they would be in his shop. More out of the way of sh.e.l.ls, I expect.”
Moyne refused to come with us. He still cherished the hope of being able to surrender himself during the day to some one in recognizable authority. Bland and I set out together.
We hurried along High Street, past the Albert Memorial and crossed the bridge to the south side of the river. The streets were full of volunteers, marching about, all in the highest spirits. The prospect of being sh.e.l.led by the Fleet did not frighten them in the least.
Having, as they believed, defeated the Army the day before, it seemed quite a simple matter to deal with the battles.h.i.+ps.
We made our way along the quays, pa.s.sed through a s.h.i.+pbuilding yard, deserted by its workers, and came to a long muddy embankment which stretched out on the south side of the channel leading into the harbour. On the end of this embankment was a small wooden lighthouse.
”That's our spot,” said Bland. ”I've got the key of the door.”
I will always say for Bland that he has the true instinct of a war correspondent. From the top of our tower we saw the Fleet far out in the offing. There were not nearly so many s.h.i.+ps as I expected. I counted seven; disagreeable looking monsters with smoke pouring out of their funnels. They were too far off for us to see much of them even with the aid of our excellent gla.s.ses; but what I did see I did not like. Fighting against men requires courage, no doubt, especially when they have magazine rifles. But men are after all flesh and blood.
Fighting against vast iron machines seems to me a much more terrifying thing. I wondered whether Malcolmson were also watching the s.h.i.+ps and whether he were any more inclined than he had been the night before to unconditional surrender.
While I was gazing out to sea, Bland tapped me on the arm and drew my attention to the fact that a company of volunteers was marching out along our muddy causeway. They were Bob Power's men and they came along whistling ”The Protestant Boys,” a tune which makes an excellent quick-step march. They had spades with them as well as rifles, and they set to work at once to entrench themselves.
”They're going to dispute a landing,” said Bland, ”but I don't see what use that is. The Fleet can sh.e.l.l the whole place into ruins in two hours without coming within range of their rifles--and--however we'll see. The fellow who's running this revolution--Conroy, isn't it?--may have something up his sleeve.”
One of the battles.h.i.+ps detached herself from her fellows and steamed rapidly into the Lough. Opposite Carrickfergus her engines were stopped, and she turned slowly in a half circle till she lay broadside on to us. I could see her distinctly, and I confess that the look of her terrified me.