THE CHILDREN'S STORY OF THE WAR

Once more we hear the word That sickened earth of old:— "No law except the sword Unsheathed and uncontrolled." Once more it knits mankind, Once more the nations go To meet and break and bind A crazed and driven foe. No easy hopes or lies Shall bring us to our goal, But iron sacrifice Of body, will, and soul. There is but one task for all— For each one life to give. Who stands if freedom fall? Who dies if England live?

Rudyard Kipling.

(By kind permission.)

How the Boy Scouts helped.

The war found the Boy Scouts true to their motto, "Be Prepared." In London alone 25,000 Scouts were organised to help the various Government departments by acting as messengers. Along the south and east coasts nearly 3,000 went on duty to guard culverts, telephone and telegraph lines, railway stations, reservoirs, etc. Numbers of Scouts also worked as harvesters in the place of men who had joined the Army. The boys above are "doing their little bit" by carrying soldiers' baggage to the railway station.

THE CHILDREN'S STORY OF THE WAR

BY

SIR EDWARD PARROTT, M.A., LL.D.

AUTHOR OF "BRITAIN OVERSEAS," "THE PAGEANT OF ENGLISH LITERATURE," ETC.

From the Beginning of the War to the Landing of the British Army in France

THOMAS NELSON AND SONS, Ltd.
LONDON, EDINBURGH, PARIS, AND NEW YORK

THIS STORY OF THE GREAT WAR

recounting for Children the Triumphs of
British Valour and Endurance by Land and Sea

is

DEDICATED

by special and gracious permission of
Her Majesty the QUEEN

to

H. R. H. PRINCE GEORGE.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I.

A BOLT FROM THE BLUE.

One Sunday afternoon, in the month of December 1908, the beautiful city of Messina[1] was all life and light and gaiety. The sky was blue and cloudless, and out in the Strait the little, crested waves leaped and sparkled in the sunshine. The squares and gardens were thronged with townsfolk in holiday attire; laughing groups of young men and maidens went to and fro or paused to listen to the band; fathers of families were romping with their children on the grass; mothers were quietly knitting hard by: all was merry as a marriage bell. Happy, careless ease reigned everywhere, and when night fell, the big, round moon shone upon a silent town in which thousands of people were wrapped in peaceful slumber.

But ere the dawn had begun to brighten the eastern sky an awful doom fell upon that city. The thunder roared, the lightning flashed, the earth heaved and cracked, houses and churches and public buildings came crashing to the ground, fires broke out, and a huge, angry wave from the sea swept over the land. The morning sun shone upon a terrible scene of destruction. The fair city was no more; thousands of the happy folks of yesterday had been hurried into eternity, and those who were spared found themselves homeless and ruined.

With almost the same startling suddenness the Great War broke upon Europe. The thunderbolt fell upon us from a sky of blue; the peace of the world was broken on a smiling day. Five of the Great Powers[2] of Europe blew their war trumpets, and millions of armed men stood ready to carry death and destruction into countless homes in many lands. The Great War had begun.

In the Summer Holidays.

A scene on the Thames at Henley Regatta, held every year in the month of July.
(From a photograph by the Sport and General Press Agency.)

Do you remember the 24th of July 1914? I think you do, for it was just about the beginning of that time which most boys and girls consider the very happiest of all the year. Your school had just broken up, the books were all put away, and you fondly hoped that you would see no more of them for a month or six weeks. You were all agog for the holidays. Your mind was full of that jolly seaside place to which you were going to-morrow or the next day. You were dreaming of boats and bathing, of games on the sands, of bicycle spins in the country lanes, and picnics in the woods. And in the midst of all these happy dreams, perhaps you heard your father say, as he turned his newspaper at breakfast time,—

"Yesterday Austria sent a very harsh Note[3] to Servia. Looks like more war in the East."

I daresay you paid no attention to this remark. To you it meant nothing at all. You would have been far more interested if your father had told you how Middlesex was getting on with Kent, and whether Woolley or Hearne or P. F. Warner had made another century or not. But your father's remark was really far more important than all the cricket matches that were ever played, or that ever will be played. It was the first appearance of the bolt from the blue. Few, even the wisest of us, realized that it was the beginning of the greatest war that the world has ever known; a war of such vastness and terror that men would speak of it as Armageddon[4]—that is, a war similar to that which is described in the Book of Revelation, when "the kings of the earth and of the whole world gather them to the battle of God Almighty."

War.

(From the picture by Sir Edwin Landseer, R.A., in the National Gallery of British Art.)

As your father's remark was so important, let us try to understand its meaning. He mentioned two countries, Austria and Servia, and you would easily guess that there was some quarrel between them. It is not easy to explain to you exactly what the quarrel was about, and perhaps you will find the explanation a little dull; but if you are really to understand how the war arose, you must not mind a little dulness. We shall come to the exciting events by-and-by.

Look at the map on the next page. It shows you the two countries which had fallen out—Austria and Servia. You see at a glance that the Austrian Empire, which consists of Austria and Hungary, is by far the larger country; in fact, Austria-Hungary is seven times as large as Servia, and has eleven times as many people. There is no country on earth which contains so many different races as Austria-Hungary. Within its bounds we find Germans, Italians, Magyars,[5] Jews, Armenians,[6] and Gypsies, as well as eight distinct Slav races.

You will come across the word Slav many times in these pages, so I must explain it to you at once. By the word Slav we mean a member of that branch of mankind known as the Slavonic race. The Slavs inhabit most of the east of Europe and a large part of Asia, and they are really more Asiatic than European. Most of the Russians and the Christian peoples of the Balkan Peninsula are Slavs, and so, too, are the Poles, who live partly in Austria, partly in Germany, and partly in Russia. In Austria, and especially in Hungary, there are many Slav races, but the ruling peoples in these countries are Germans in Austria and Magyars in Hungary.

The Servians are Slavs. They are a tall, handsome race, and are very warlike in character. During the recent war in the Balkans they fought very bravely and successfully against the Turks. At the end of the war the Powers of Europe gave them more than 15,000 square miles of fresh territory. The Servians have always been ambitious, and they wish their country to become great and powerful.

Now look at your map again, and find the river Save, which joins the Danube at Belgrade,[7] the capital of Servia. South of the Save you see a country marked Bosnia,[8] and, still farther south, another country marked Herzegovina.[9] You are sure to notice that these two countries stand between Servia and the Adriatic Sea, and that they belong to Austria. Both Bosnia and Herzegovina are inhabited by Slavs, who hate being under Austria, and are eager to join their kinsmen the Servians. You cannot blame them for this, because they naturally would like to form one kingdom with men of their own race, religion, and modes of life. Besides, they feel that they have been very badly treated. Let me explain.

In the year 1877, when Turkey was master of the Balkan Peninsula, Russia made up her mind to fight the Turks. The Austrians were afraid that the Russians would beat the Turks, and take from them the city of Constantinople. The Russians, as you know, have a very poor sea coast. Away fronting the Arctic Ocean they have a strip of coast, but it is of very little use to them, as it is frozen up for a large part of the year. So, too, is their coast on the Baltic Sea. In the south they have a good deal of coast on the Black Sea; but in order to get from the Black Sea to the Mediterranean Sea, and so to the oceans of the world, they have to pass through two narrow straits, known as the Bosporus[10] and the Dardanelles.[11] The Turks hold these straits, and they can shut them against ships at any time. So you see that the Russians can only carry on trade in the south by leave and licence of Turkey. If they could obtain possession of Constantinople all their difficulties would vanish. They would be masters of a port which would enable them to become a great sea power.

Servia is a land of peasant soldiers. Here you see some of them coming into Belgrade to join the colours. Photo, Topical.

Now, Austria is even worse off than Russia in the matter of sea coast. She has about a thousand miles of seaboard on the Adriatic Sea, and there are many excellent harbours and deep and sheltered bays on it; but, unfortunately, a long range of steep limestone mountains cuts them off from the interior, and makes communication very difficult. There is a mountain railway joining the port of Trieste[12] with the interior, but it is easier to send bulky produce down the Danube to the Black Sea than across the mountains. Austria has always longed for better access to the sea, and lately she has coveted the port of Salonica,[13] which you will find on the Ægean[14] Sea.

This map shows what Servia would become if Bosnia and Herzegovina were to be united with her.

When, therefore, Russia was about to fight Turkey, the Austrians feared that all the Balkans would come under Russian sway, and that their hopes of gaining power in the peninsula would be vain. So they prepared to fight Russia, but were bought off. Russia secretly promised Austria that if she would stand out of the fight she should receive as her reward the provinces of Bosnia and Herzegovina. Austria stood out, and when the war was over the Great Powers said that she might rule these two provinces, though they were not to become her actual property. You can easily imagine the anger of the people of Bosnia and Herzegovina when they found themselves handed over to Austria, just as though they were a flock of sheep to be bought and sold. Ever since 1878 the Austrians have ruled them; but they have always been discontented, and when, in 1908, they were told that they now belonged wholly and entirely to Austria, their anger knew no bounds. During the recent Balkan War they saw the peasant soldiers of Servia conquering on the battlefield, and they hoped that when the war was over they might be allowed to join Servia, and with her form one strong state. Servia would have welcomed them with open arms, but, as you know, they were doomed to disappointment. Both Servia and Russia were much annoyed when Austria annexed the two provinces. The anger of Russia and Servia nearly brought about another war.

Such was the state of things at the beginning of June in the year 1914.

Franz Josef, Emperor of Austria. Photo by C. Pietzner.

Here is a portrait of the Emperor of Austria and King of Hungary, Franz Josef. He is an old man, eighty-five years of age—the oldest monarch in Europe. It is impossible not to be sorry for him; his life has been full of trouble, and he has had to rule over the most divided kingdom on earth. There has never been any love lost between Austrians and Hungarians, and the only bond that unites them is the aged king-emperor. Probably there never was so unfortunate a royal family as that of which Franz Josef is the head. His younger brother, Maximilian, after being invited to become Emperor of Mexico, was shot by the Mexicans in 1867; his heir, Rudolf, was found dead in a hunting-lodge in 1889; and his wife, the Empress, was stabbed to death in the streets of Geneva nine years later. Nor was this the last of his sorrows, as you will presently hear.

The heir to the Austrian throne in June 1914 was the Archduke Francis Ferdinand, the aged Emperor's nephew. He was a man of strong will and great ambition, and he eagerly desired to win power for Austria in the Balkans, and so secure for his country the port of Salonica. This port would enable Austria to develop her foreign trade, and become an important sea power.

Now, before Austria could send her army into the Balkans and carve out a road to Salonica, she must be sure that the Slavs of Bosnia and Herzegovina would not rise in rebellion and make her task doubly difficult. So, on the 23rd of June last, the Archduke Francis Ferdinand and his wife, the Duchess of Hohenberg, a lady who had Slav blood in her veins, left the Austrian capital to pay a state visit to Bosnia, for the purpose of reviewing the troops in that province and trying to secure the favour of the Bosnian people.

The Archduke Francis Ferdinand, the Archduchess, and their family.

If you and I proposed to visit Bosnia, our best route would be to take ship, say, from Venice, and cross the Adriatic Sea to the beautiful town of Ragusa,[15] with its castled walls, its dizzy cliffs, its quaint old buildings, its palaces, churches, and monasteries, all shut in between the blue sea and the steep gray hills that rise up suddenly in the rear. At Ragusa we should take the train through the wild, rugged country of Herzegovina, which has been called the Turkish Switzerland. Our train would run through rocky defiles, up steep passes, by the side of yawning chasms, until we reached Mostar,[16] the chief city of the country. The Austrian part of Mostar, we should find, consists of two white streets, a modern hotel, a public garden with a bandstand, and barracks for soldiers. All the rest of it is Turkish. You see the same narrow streets, the same kind of bazaars, the same mosques, the same solemn, white-turbaned Turks and veiled women that you see in Constantinople; but you also see swarthy, stalwart men of Herzegovina and Albania,[17] every one of them carrying a sharp knife at his girdle and a gun in his hand.

We now leave Mostar for Sarajevo,[18] the capital of Bosnia, by a railway which is one of the wonders of the world. "In places whole cliffs have been blasted away to enable the metals to follow a narrow pathway with granite walls and a nasty precipice on either side. As the engine creeps carefully over the slender iron bridges towards the summit you may look down from your carriage window into a thousand feet of space, and feel thankful that cog-wheels are beneath you, for otherwise any hitch with the brakes might cause a frightful accident. At times the track twists and turns so much that an engine-driver may glance across a chasm, and without looking back see the rear van winding round a corner." Such is the railway by which we reach Sarajevo.

Let us suppose that we have arrived in Sarajevo on the morning of Sunday, June 28th of the year 1914. Upon the craggy heights above the town we see the citadel and fortifications, and here and there above the roofs of the houses the minarets and white domes of mosques; but we soon perceive that we are not in an Eastern but in a modern Western town. The Austrians have made wide streets, with fine shops, cafés, and beer-halls; they have erected handsome public buildings, theatres, and hotels; trams run along the streets, and taxis ply for hire; and on the outskirts of the town we find a racecourse and golf links. We must give the Austrians their due. They have done wonders in civilizing the country and in making it prosperous; but they have not won the hearts of the people, and that is the all-important business of rulers, after all.

To-day Sarajevo is in festive array. The yellow Austrian standard, with its black, double-headed eagle, flies above all the public buildings, and flutters from the upper windows of the shops along the Franz Josef Strasse; soldiers are marching through the streets; bugles are blowing, and bands are playing. On the pavements stand the townsfolk, and you notice that many of them are sullen and silent. They are waiting for the coming of their future king, but they show no signs of loyalty. When our beloved Prince of Wales visits one of our towns, we flock gladly to see him and greet him with the heartiest of cheers. Suppose, however, he was a man of another race, and that he was going some day to be our king against our will; how do you think we should receive him? Very much as the Bosnians are receiving their future king to-day.

View in the old part of Sarajevo, the capital of Bosnia.

Now the guns roar out from the citadel to announce the coming of the Archduke and his wife. The Archduke inspects the troops drawn up at the station, and then he and his wife enter a motor-car and drive towards the Town Hall, where the mayor is waiting to receive them. Suddenly, as they drive along one of the quays, you hear a loud report and see a cloud of smoke arise. What has happened? A young printer, twenty years of age, has hurled a bomb at the Archduke. He wards it off with his arm, but it has wounded an officer in the next car, and has inflicted injuries on several bystanders. Neither of the royal pair is hurt, though, as you may well imagine, they are much upset by this attempt on their lives.

The motor moves on, and arrives at the Town Hall, where the mayor, who knows nothing of what has happened, comes forward and begins to read an address of welcome. The Archduke, who is much annoyed at the treatment which he has received, cuts the mayor short angrily. "What," says he, "is the good of your speeches? I come to Sarajevo on a visit, and I get bombs thrown at me. It is outrageous!"

After a short stay at the Town Hall the Archduke and his wife re-enter their motor to return to the station. They have not gone far before a High School student hurls another bomb at them. It fails to explode, but the lad, who is armed with a pistol, fires three shots in quick succession. The first bullet strikes the Archduke in the throat. His wife, who loves him tenderly, throws herself in front of him, in order to shield him from further attack, and the second bullet enters her body. The third bullet completes the deadly work, and the dying pair are rapidly conveyed to the palace. The Archduke rouses himself. "Sophie," he says to his stricken wife, "live for our children." But she, too, is mortally wounded, and in a few minutes both are dead.

No possible excuse can be found for this foul deed. It was black murder—the worst of all possible crimes. The printer and the High School student were seized, and at first they denied that they knew each other. Bit by bit, however, it was discovered that not only were they working together, but that a great plot had been formed to kill the Archduke that day. Had they failed, there were others in the crowd ready and willing to take their places.

The date chosen for the Archduke's visit to Sarajevo was most unfortunate. On that day, in the year 1389, the Serbs[19] of Servia, which then included Bosnia, suffered the most terrible defeat in all their history. In the battle which was then fought, treachery was at work, and the best and bravest of their race perished on the battlefield. The Serbs have never forgotten the story of how their sires were slaughtered on the "Field of the Blackbirds." Even now their bards sing national songs which tell of the glorious deeds of those who fell at Kossovo,[20] and call upon the Serbs of to-day to spare neither "land, nor gold, nor son, nor wife, nor limb, nor life" in upholding the freedom of their race.

Amidst the high Alps a pistol shot may start an avalanche high on the snowy mountains. Slowly it moves at first; soon it gathers speed, and at last it comes crashing down with terrible force upon the quiet homesteads in the valley. So did the pistol-shot of a schoolboy in far-off Bosnia start an avalanche which has swept down upon Europe, leaving death and destruction and untold misery in its train.

Austrian soldiers on the bank of the Danube, opposite to Belgrade.
By permission of the Sphere.

CHAPTER II.

THE SEETHING WHIRLPOOL.

The scene shifts to Vienna,[21] the capital of Austria, the largest city of Austria-Hungary and the heart and centre of the Austrian Empire. It is one of the most attractive cities in all Europe, and has long been renowned as the favoured home of art, music, and gaiety. You will find the city by the side of the Danube, where the river leaves the Bavarian highlands and enters the great plain. Most of it is modern, and in the Ringstrasse you may see some of the finest buildings in the world, such as the Opera House, which seats 3,000 people; the University, which contains one of the most famous of medical schools; the Parliament House of Austria; and the chief law courts of the country.

Vienna, the capital of Austria, heart and centre of the Austro-Hungarian Empire.

The city is surrounded by the Danube and its canals, and has several parks and numerous shady avenues of trees, beneath which the gay Viennese love to stroll or sit at the tables of outdoor cafés listening to the bands. You can scarcely walk half a mile in Vienna without hearing music. The gipsy bands which are often heard in Vienna play their national airs with a dash and fire that sets even the most sluggish pulse dancing.

One of the finest of all the public buildings of Vienna is the Imperial Palace, or Hofburg, which contains a library of a million volumes. The great chamber in which the books are housed is said to be the most splendid library hall in the world. Its floor of red and white marble is adorned with noble statues, and its vaulted dome, which rises 193 feet above the pavement, is covered with beautiful paintings.

In the palace are preserved the crown, sword, and sceptre of Charlemagne,[22] the great Emperor of the West, who gave laws to nearly the whole of civilized Europe, and is renowned in song and story as a prince of knights, and the champion of the Christian religion. To this day he lives in the hearts of the German peoples both of Germany and Austria. They say that he still watches over them, and every autumn comes riding over the Rhine, across a bridge of gold, to bless their vineyards and cornfields with increase.

In the heart of the city stands the old cathedral of St. Stephen. For more than six hundred years this magnificent pile has lifted its towers to the sky. It has seen the Crusaders halt within its shadow on their way to free the Holy Land from the infidel, and it has looked down on great hordes of conquering Turks striving to capture the city. Vienna was the high-water mark at which the progress of the Turkish flood was stayed. The Turks beat upon its ramparts in vain; they were flung back from its walls like ocean waves from the cliffs of a rocky coast. In the old cathedral you may see a huge bell cast out of cannon captured from the Turks in the last of their sieges. For centuries Vienna has been the frontier city between the Eastern and Western peoples of Europe.

On the very day of the murders at Sarajevo the Emperor Franz Josef left Vienna for his summer holiday at the beautiful watering-place of Ischl,[23] in Upper Austria. What a difference between the reception of the old Emperor by the citizens of Vienna and that of his heir by the citizens of Sarajevo! At the station the mayor and members of the city council met the aged sovereign and told him how greatly they rejoiced at his recovery from a recent sickness. The Emperor was deeply touched by their words of affection and loyalty, and as his train steamed out of the station loud cheers were raised and the national anthem was sung.

A few hours later the terrible news from Sarajevo was flashed to him across the telegraph wires. You can imagine the anguish of the poor old man when he knew that fate had dealt him yet another crushing blow. When, sixteen years ago, he learned that his Empress had been murdered, he cried in his grief, "Then I am spared nothing." How true! Fate seemed again to have replied to his despairing cry, "Nothing." Long ago his mother said of him, "God has given him the qualities needed to meet all turns of fate." From every one of his former blows he had rallied, and prayed the Almighty for power to fulfil what he had been called upon to perform. Now he was fain to cry, with Elijah, "It is enough; now, O Lord, take away my life."

I have already told you that the peoples of Austria-Hungary are divided by wide and deep differences, and that they have little in common, but that they are all united in their reverence for their aged sovereign. They regard him with the same sort of affection which the people of this country used to feel for Queen Victoria. She was more than a queen; she was the mother of her people, high above all the quarrels of parties and sects. So it is with Franz Josef, and you can therefore imagine the bitter anger and the eager desire for revenge which took possession of the Austrian people when they learnt of the murder of his nephew. They showed their sympathy with the Emperor very clearly when he returned to Vienna to take part in the funeral ceremonies, and still more when thousands of them passed through the Hofburg Chapel, where the Archduke and his wife lay in state.

Every government in Europe sent messages of deep sympathy with the Emperor in his hour of sorrow, and that which was tendered by Mr. Asquith, our Prime Minister, was one of the most sincere of them all.

The children of the Archduke and Archduchess were living in a castle in Bohemia[24] when the sad news came to them that they were orphans—bereft of father and mother in one dread day. The German Emperor and his wife sent the following message to them: "We can scarcely find words to express to you children how our hearts bleed at the thought of you and your inexpressible grief. To have spent such happy hours with you and your parents only a fortnight ago, and now to think that you are plunged in this immeasurable sorrow! May God stand by you, and give you strength to bear this blow! The blessing of parents reaches beyond the grave."

Meanwhile the Austrian people had begun to fasten the blame for the murders on Servia. While the funeral procession was passing through the streets, crowds gathered in front of the Servian minister's residence with shouts of "Hurrah for Austria!" and "Down with Servia!" The sight of the Servian flag, to which a streamer of crape had been attached, only made them more angry still; the flag was burnt, and stones were thrown at the police. The newspapers now began to declare openly that the plot had been hatched in Servia, and that high officials in the Servian government had encouraged it. The Council of Ministers met and inquired into the question, and then came a lull of three weeks.

For a time the Austro-Servian question sank out of sight, and it was thought that at the worst there would only be another Balkan War. No one suspected for a moment that the other Powers of Europe would be dragged into the quarrel, and that the schoolboy's pistol-shot at Sarajevo would be the signal for Armageddon. Had any one suggested in the early days of July that in three weeks all the Great Powers would be at war, he would have been laughed at. But all the while a great whirlpool was seething, and slowly but surely Russia, Germany, France, and Great Britain were being drawn into the centre.

Before I tell you the further history of the quarrel between Austria and Servia, and show you how the chief Powers of Europe became mixed up with it, let me tell you of a very fortunate event which happened at home. On Saturday, the 18th of July, our King went down to Portsmouth to visit his Fleet, which had been assembled at Spithead. Every boy and girl knows that we live on an island home, and that the sea which surrounds us has been a great source of blessing to us.

"Thy story, thy glory, The very fame of thee, It rose not, it grows not, It comes not save by sea."

Shakespeare tells us that the encircling sea serves us

"In the office of a wall, Or as a moat defensive to a house Against the envy of less happier lands."

King George V. in the uniform of a British admiral.
Photo, W. and D. Downey.

This "defensive moat" has always proved a barrier against foreign attack, but it has not preserved our islands from invasion. Celts, Romans, English, Danes, and Normans have in turn conquered England; but never since it became the home of a united nation with a strong Navy has any foreign invader landed in strength on our shores. For more than eight hundred years no hostile army has dared to invade us, and our people have never been forced to lay down their tools and snatch up their weapons to drive away the invader. No other land in Europe can make this boast. We owe this long reign of security to our Navy.

Not only has our Navy kept us free from invasion, but by winning for us the mastery of the sea it has enabled us to build up a great foreign trade, by which we have grown rich and great, and to found colonies and hold possessions in every continent on the face of the globe. At the present time it does even more than this—it secures for us the means whereby we live and move and have our being. So many of our people are now engaged in mines and quarries and factories, on railways, and in offices, that we do not grow enough food for our needs. There is never enough food in this country to last our people for more than a couple of months or so. We draw our food supplies from all parts of the world, and were a foreign foe to destroy our Navy and cut off our food ships, the great bulk of us would soon perish of starvation. So you see that "Britannia must rule the waves," if we are to exist at all and remain the greatest trading and colonial nation of the world, as we are to-day. Every sensible man understands this, and all agree that our Navy must be very strong and very efficient. It must be able to command the seas, for, as Raleigh told us long ago, "Whosoever commands the sea commands the trade; whosoever commands the trade of the world commands the riches of the world, and, consequently, the world itself."

H.M.S. Colossus firing a salute. Photo, Cribb.

The sure shield of Britain—a scene at the Naval Review. Photo, Cribb.

Never has the British Navy been so powerful and so well equipped both in ships and guns and men as at present. The "wooden walls" in which Blake and Nelson fought have long since disappeared, and our bluejackets now fight behind bulwarks of steel. Steam has taken the place of sail; the old muzzle-loading guns have been superseded by huge weapons, the largest of which can hurl nearly a ton of metal for twelve miles with deadly aim. Our modern warships are filled with costly machinery quite unknown and even undreamt of in the days when Britain fought and won the greatest sea fights of her history. But though the ships have changed out of knowledge, the officers, bluejackets, and marines who man them possess all the old fighting spirit and all the courage and daring of their forefathers.

"Ye mariners of England, That guard our native seas; Whose flag has braved, a thousand years, The battle and the breeze! Your glorious standard launch again To match another foe! And sweep through the deep While the stormy winds do blow— While the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow."

When the King went down to Portsmouth on the 20th of July there appeared to be no foe to fight; there was no sign of any war in which we could possibly be engaged, yet in less than a fortnight the Navy had cleared for action, and our sailors were standing at the guns watching and waiting for the battleships of Germany to appear.

Gray skies were overhead, and a cold easterly wind was sweeping over the seas as His Majesty led out to sea the largest and most powerful fleet ever seen in British waters. When the royal yacht anchored, no less than twenty-two miles of warships passed in procession before it. First came four battle-cruisers, headed by the Lion, and followed by the Queen Mary, Princess Royal, and New Zealand. Then in stately order, two by two, came the latest of our battleships, led by the Iron Duke and the King George. Marines and bands were paraded on the sides of the ships nearest to the King's yacht, and their scarlet uniforms ran like a ribbon of bright colour along the edge of the great gray monsters. Just as each ship reached the stern of the royal yacht, the sailors, with the smartness of a machine, removed their hats, held them at arm's length, and waved them to the roar of British huzzas. At the same moment the bands struck up the National Anthem, and the marines presented arms. The King and the Prince of Wales stood on the bridge of the royal yacht, saluting the ships as they passed.

Behind Sir George Callaghan's flagship came the four First Fleet battle squadrons, including twenty-nine vessels of the vastest power in the whole world. In the first and second squadrons were eight Dreadnoughts, in the third squadron eight of the great ships that were built before the all-big-gun ships became the first line of our Navy, and in the fourth squadron were three more Dreadnoughts and the Agamemnon.[25] Following these were the smart cruisers of the First Fleet—swift, armed ships that act as the fighting scouts of the seas. In their wake passed fifty-six torpedo destroyers, moving in sections of fours. By the time the last of the First Fleet ships had passed the King's yacht, the leading vessels were far away on the horizon.

A slight pause, and then the Second and Third Fleets began to appear, led by the Lord Nelson and the Prince of Wales respectively. When these ships had saluted their sovereign there still remained the cruisers attached to these fleets. Never had such an array been seen before in the history of the world—twenty-two miles of warships in endless columns, gliding slowly through the water, every one of them a tower of strength and a mighty engine of destruction. Not only was every type of warship represented, but the new powers of the air were visible. Scores of seaplanes and aeroplanes flew over the King's yacht like huge birds of prey.

Such was Britain's display of naval strength at the moment when the issue of war or peace was hanging in the balance. It was a sign to the world that, whatever might befall, Britain was ready, aye ready, to guard her own with the strong arm of ancient renown:—

"Come the four quarters of the world in arms, And we shall shock them."

"It's a long, long way to Tipperary," sing our soldiers on the march, and it's a long, long way from Spithead to the Servian capital, Belgrade, whither we must now wend our way. On a bright, sunny morning, when the train has clattered across the iron bridge which spans the Danube, and the city comes into view, it looks very attractive. Belgrade in the distance well deserves its title of the "White City." A poetically minded person has described it as "shining like a pearl through the silvery mists of sunrise."

Prince Albert, the King's second son, as a midshipman. This photograph was taken during the King's inspection of the Fleet.
Photo, Ernest Brooks.

In the 'seventies Belgrade was a miserable, dirty, and comfortless town; its main thoroughfare was a sea of mud; its buildings were poor; and it was no better than a tumble-down Turkish fortress. But since those days Servia has become an independent kingdom, and she has made Belgrade a really fine city, with broad, tree-fringed streets, electric trams, and fine hotels. Only two of the ancient landmarks remain—the cathedral, and the citadel, over which flies the national flag. Through modern Belgrade runs a fine street more than a mile long, overtopped about the middle by the golden domes of the new palace. Here are the principal hotels, private houses, and shops, the latter of which blaze with electric light in the evenings. The people of Belgrade sometimes call their town "Little Paris," and they strive to make it as gay as the French capital itself.

The city of Belgrade. Photo, Exclusive News Agency.

While the British fleet was unfolding itself before our King, there was no gaiety amongst the high government officials in Belgrade. They were getting very anxious. The Council of Ministers in Vienna was inquiring closely into the part played by them in the Sarajevo murders. It was rumoured that the Austrians had traced the arms and explosives with which the murderers were provided to certain Servian officers and officials of the government who were members of a National Union for making Slav power supreme in the Balkan Peninsula. It was also said that these same officers and officials had secretly passed the murderers into Bosnia, and had helped them in various other ways to do their deadly work. If Austria could prove all this, she would be able to say that Servia had been playing the part of a secret enemy, and rightly deserved punishment of some sort.

The King and Crown Prince of Servia. Photo, Topical.

On the evening of the 23rd of July the Austro-Hungarian ministers in Belgrade handed the Note to which your father referred when he read his newspaper at the breakfast table. You know that every European country sends officials to live in the capitals of other countries, and that these officials represent the powers by which they are sent. They are always treated with the greatest possible respect, and their houses are supposed to be bits of their own land planted down in a foreign country. Sometimes these representatives are called ambassadors, sometimes simply ministers. When the government of one country wishes to communicate with the government of another country, it sends and receives messages through its ambassadors or ministers.

In Belgrade there was, of course, an Austrian minister, and it was he who handed the Note to the Servian Prime Minister. This Note was of such grave importance that I must tell you what was in it. First, it began by telling Servia that for a long time past she had been stirring up her people against Austria; that she had allowed men connected with the government to plot against her; and that she had taken no steps to punish those who had assisted the murderers at Sarajevo. The Servians were greatly to blame, and upon them must fall much of the responsibility for the wicked deeds that had been done in Bosnia.

Then followed a list of ten things which Servia was to do to make up for the mischief which she was said to have caused. She was to print on the front page of the government newspaper a statement that she would no longer permit her people to work against Austria, either by word or deed; she was to express regret that Servian officers and officials had spoken or acted in an unfriendly manner against Austria; and she was to remove from their posts all who had done so. The whole army was to be told that such conduct would no longer be permitted, and the National Union was to be broken up. Two officers, mentioned by name, were to be arrested, and all who had in any way helped the murderers of Sarajevo, either by giving them arms or helping them to get into Bosnia, were to be brought to trial. Austrian officials were to take part in the punishment of the wrongdoers, and in putting an end to the bad feeling between the two countries.

The Note ended as follows:—

"The Austro-Hungarian Government expects the reply of the Servian Government at the latest by six o'clock on Saturday evening, the 25th of July."

The Czar of Russia and President Poincaré.

This photograph was taken on board the Czar's yacht when President Poincaré visited Russia in the middle of July. (Photo, Record.)

This was very short notice indeed, and it clearly meant that if the Servian Government did not immediately agree to the Austrian demands war would be declared. In a few hours the full text of this letter was known to all the world. Your father read it, and called it "very harsh." Certainly it was very severe, and the Austrians meant it to be severe. They knew very well that they were asking for some things which no state could possibly yield and still call itself independent. For instance, if the Servians had agreed to remove officers and officials from their posts at the bidding of Austria, and had allowed Austrians to take part in the police work of the country, they would be confessing to all the world that they were no longer masters in their own house, and that they were nothing more than the tools of Austria. The Servians were prepared to punish any officers who were proved guilty, and were quite willing to give way on nearly all the points in the Note, because they wished to stave off war with their powerful neighbours; but they were not ready to acknowledge the Austrians as their overlords. Do you blame them? I don't.

So they handed in their reply to the Austrians, and in it they said that they would agree to all Austria's demands; but they asked for delay in order to make new laws by which they could carry out her wishes. They also asked for an explanation of the way in which Austrian officials were to take part in their police and law-court work. This ought to have been enough; but Austria had all along meant war, and she had drawn up the Note, with the knowledge, and perhaps the help, of the German Ambassador at Vienna, in such a way that the Servians were bound to refuse some of its terms. Immediately the reply was handed to the Austrian minister he rejected it, and asked for a safe conduct back to his own country. When a minister does this he clearly indicates that his country means to fight. The same evening the Austrian minister left Belgrade, and on the 28th Austria declared war. The next day fighting began, and the Austrians bombarded Belgrade.

Now we are to understand how Russia came into the quarrel. Russia has always regarded herself as the protector of the Slav races, and especially of the little Slav races. When, therefore, Russia saw that Austria was bent on conquering Servia, she began to call her troops together, and to prepare them for war. When a nation does this she is said to mobilize her forces. Russia is such a vast country and her troops are so widely dispersed that she cannot mobilize so quickly. She only partly mobilized, and by doing so meant to show Austria that she was not going to allow Servia to be swallowed up, or even to be badly beaten, especially after Servia had shown such willingness to meet Austria's demands.

For Fatherland.

This beautiful picture, which hangs in the Luxembourg Palace in Paris, illustrates the sacrifice which Frenchmen are always ready to make for their dearly loved native land.

Now I must break off my story for a few moments to explain to you that Germany and Austria, as far back as 1879, made a treaty by which they promised to stand by each other if either of them should go to war. Italy joined Germany and Austria three years later, but on the understanding that she would fight only if one or other of the three partners should be attacked. This agreement is called the Triple Alliance.

Ever since 1870, when the Germans invaded France, and in less than five months utterly overcame her, tore from her two provinces, and fined her two hundred million pounds, there has been ill-feeling between France and Germany. Frenchmen have longed for the day on which they might win back the lost provinces and pay off old scores. Germany is too rich and powerful and has too big an army for France to be able to meet her on equal terms, so she has formed an alliance with Russia. This is known as the Dual Alliance. France and Russia have agreed to help each other if either of them should be attacked.

During the lifetime of our late King Edward VII., who was very fond of France, we were brought nearer and nearer to our friends across the Channel. For centuries they have been our foes; we have fought them off and on since the days of William the Conqueror. Our great admiral, Lord Nelson, used to say to his midshipmen, "Your duty is to fear God, honour the King, and hate the Frenchman." King Edward was a man who loved peace, and he did much to bring the French and the British people together, and make it easier for our statesmen to come to an understanding with French statesmen. This understanding was that if the coasts of France should be attacked by the fleet of an enemy, our Navy would help the French Navy. Now, when we came to an understanding with France we also came to an understanding with the ally of France—that is, with Russia. For a long time we had only an understanding with these countries, but not long ago we turned this understanding into an alliance. So you see that in July last there were two triple alliances in Europe—Germany, Austria, and Italy on the one side, and Great Britain, France, and Russia on the other. Later on, when I tell you something about Germany, you will understand why this new triple alliance was formed.

CHAPTER III.

THE BEGINNINGS OF PRUSSIA.

About forty years ago a German boy, accompanied by his tutor and other attendants, was spending a holiday at a seaside resort in the south of England. One morning this boy went down to the beach and amused himself by throwing stones at the bathing machines. The son of the owner of the machines, a boy of about his own age, saw him so engaged, and, going up to him, told him to stop throwing. Now the German boy had been brought up to believe that he could do as he pleased, without anyone daring to take him to task. So he drew himself up proudly, and said, "Do you know who I am?" "No," replied the English boy, "and I don't care either. I only know that I'm not going to let you damage our machines."

Thereupon the German boy hit out and knocked the speaker down. In a moment the English boy was on his feet again. He pulled off his coat, put up his fists, and a fight began. Just when the German boy was getting the worst of it his tutor arrived, separated the fighters, and put an end to the combat.

That German boy is now the Kaiser[26] Wilhelm, the man who has plunged Europe into this terrible war. From the story which you have just read you may learn something of his character when he was a boy. Later on I shall tell you what sort of a man he became; but first you must learn something of the history of the land over which he rules.

The Kaiser Wilhelm and the Emperor Franz Josef.

Photo, Topical Press.

On a lofty, lonely crag, amidst the wilds of Swabia,[27] stands the picturesque castle of Hohenzollern, the cradle of the family from which the rulers of Prussia are descended. On this high rock the eagles formerly made their home, hence the crest of the Prussian royal family is the eagle—the boldest and fiercest of all the birds. About the middle of the twelfth century the lord of this castle, a man named Conrad, took service with the great Emperor of what was called the Holy Roman Empire—that is, with the overlord of nearly all Western Europe. Conrad served the Emperor so faithfully that as his reward he was made governor of the city of Nuremberg[28] in Bavaria. If you were to visit Nuremberg you would be charmed with the castle, now a royal palace, the ancient walls and towers, the grand old buildings, including churches which are full of priceless pictures and carvings, and the art galleries, which contain some of the best paintings of the great masters. The chief trade of Nuremberg to-day is the manufacture of toys, scientific instruments, motor cars, cycles, and beer.

About the beginning of the fifteenth century the Hohenzollern who was governor of Nuremberg was a man named Frederick. He had been very loyal to the Emperor, who rewarded him by making him ruler of the Mark of Brandenburg. The greatest day in the history of the Hohenzollerns was April 17, 1417, the day on which Frederick received from the hands of the Emperor the flag of Brandenburg, and swore to be faithful to him.

If you look at a map of Germany you will see in the middle of the North German plain the city of Berlin, the capital of the German Empire. Round about Berlin, in the valleys of the Middle Oder, and its tributary the Warthe, and in the valley of the Elbe, extends the province of Prussia, known as the Mark of Brandenburg. It was one of the first districts of Germany to be peopled by men of German race when they came advancing from the east in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, but it was by no means a land flowing with milk and honey. Parts of the country were marshy or heavily wooded, and in many places the land was so thickly covered with sand that it was known as the "sandbox of the Holy Roman Empire." Thin crops of rye and oats alone could be raised on this thankless soil; nevertheless the colony prospered greatly under Frederick and his successors.

Map of Modern Germany.

The Hohenzollern prince who really founded the greatness of his house was Frederick William, who began to reign in the year 1640. He is known as the "Great Elector."[29] If I were to show you a coloured map of Germany as it was when this prince began to reign, you would say that it looked like a patchwork quilt of many colours. From the Baltic Sea to the Alps there were no fewer than three hundred states of all sorts and sizes, the smallest of them consisting only of a single town or village.

Frederick William was a very able man, and so well did he fight, and so skilfully did he plot and plan during what is known as the Thirty Years' War, that he added several of these small states to his own, and thus became master of the largest state in all Germany. Brandenburg under his rule spread out a little to the west, but a great deal to the north-east, and included a stretch of coast-line on the Baltic Sea. The present Kaiser has always revered the memory of the Great Elector. He once said: "Of all my predecessors, he is the one for whom I feel the greatest enthusiasm, and who from of old has stood before me as the example of my youth."

When the Great Elector died he was succeeded by his son Frederick, who was very eager to be called king. He attained this great object of his life in the year 1700; but, because he was a spendthrift and a lover of empty display, he did nothing to advance the interests of his country. After him reigned another Frederick William, who had some talents and did the business of his state very well, but was a thoroughly wicked fellow, and was, indeed, next door to a madman. Nevertheless he was the first Prussian king to set himself the task of making his kingdom strong enough to take its place among the European Powers. Carlyle calls him the "drill-sergeant of the Prussian nation."

Statue of the Great Elector in Berlin.

The present Kaiser is devoted to the memory of his ancestors, and does everything in his power to make the Prussians believe that they owe everything to the Hohenzollern sovereigns. Berlin is full of statues to these princes. In one of the avenues of the chief park there is a row of statues to all the rulers of Prussia. Of the Great Elector, who was the real founder of Prussia, and whose statue is shown above, the Kaiser has said, "He has stood before me as the example of my youth." He is also a great admirer of Frederick the Great, and has imitated some of the worst features of that monarch.
Photo, Exclusive News Agency.

This Frederick William stinted himself and his family of food and clothing, in order to keep up an army of 60,000 men, and he drilled them so well that they were the best troops of the time. The great desire of his heart was to possess a brigade of giants, and his agents scoured all the countries of Europe to find big men. He would pay almost anything for men over six feet, and it is said that he gave £1,200 for an Irishman who was more than seven feet high. These Potsdam[30] Guards were his passion; he hoarded his money like a miser on most things, but he spent it lavishly on buying tall men for his army.

Some day he hoped to send these huge fellows into the field, and see them drive the whipper-snappers of other nations before them. But he was so proud of his giants that he hated the thought of risking their lives in battle, and while he lived they never saw any harder service than sham fights in the fields round Berlin.

When King Frederick was gathered to his fathers, his son, one of the most remarkable men who ever lived, came to the throne. When you are grown up you will, if you are wise, read his life as Thomas Carlyle[31] wrote it. Here I can only touch very lightly on his character and the work which he did for his country. He is known to history as Frederick the Great.

One of the Potsdam Guards.

Probably no boy had ever so hard an upbringing as Prince Frederick. Macaulay tells us that "Oliver Twist in the parish workhouse and Smike at Dotheboys Hall were petted children when compared with this wretched heir-apparent of a crown." This is, perhaps, an over-statement; but there is no doubt that the boy spent a very hard and loveless boyhood. His father was a rough, bluff man, who thought that the whole business of life was to drill and to be drilled. He loved to drink beer, smoke strong tobacco, play cards, hunt wild hogs, and shoot partridges by the thousand, and he despised all the arts and graces which make life sweet and beautiful. Carlyle tells us that the young prince was nourished on beer soup, and that every hour of his life he was taught to be thrifty, active, and exact in everything that he did. His very sleep was stingily meted out to him. "Too much sleep stupefies a fellow," his gruff old father used to say. So little sleep was the boy allowed to have that the doctors had to interfere for the sake of his health. He had no money of his own until he was seventeen, and then he was provided with eighteenpence a month, and made to keep an exact account of all that he spent.

His father was determined to make the boy a soldier from his youth up. He thought of nothing else but soldiering; to him it was the only work fit for a man. A hundred and ten lads about the age of the young prince, and all sons of noble families, were formed into a tiny regiment for little Fritz, and when he had learnt his drill he took command of them. "Which he did duly, in a year or two; a little soldier thenceforth; properly strict, though of small dimensions; in tight blue bit of coat and cocked hat; miniature image of Papa (it is fondly hoped and expected), resembling him as a sixpence does a half-crown." Later on a little arsenal was set up for him, and in it he learnt to mount batteries and fire small brass guns.

His governess was a very clever woman, and she had taught him to read and enjoy French, and had given him some instruction in music. In the brief intervals which he could snatch from his soldiering he loved to read French books and to play on the flute; but when his father discovered how he spent his leisure there were terrible scenes. The flute was broken, the French books were sent out of the palace, and the Prince was kicked and cudgelled and pulled by the hair. At dinner the plates were hurled at his head, and sometimes his only fare was bread and water. Once his father knocked him down, and would have strangled him if the Queen had not interfered. At last the unhappy boy was driven to despair, and he tried to run away to the court of his uncle, George II. of England. At this the old tyrant his father was roused to madness. The poor boy was an officer, and he had committed the basest crime that the King could imagine—he had deserted. A young lieutenant who was trying to help him to get out of the clutches of his father was seized, and the King forced his son to look on while this friend was hanged.

The boy himself would have been shot, had not the kings of Sweden and Poland and the Emperor of Germany pleaded for his life. As it was, he was sent to prison; but he found his cell happier than his home. His gaolers were kind to him; he had wholesome food and plenty of it; he could read his French books without being kicked, and play his flute without having it broken over his head. Nevertheless, in less than a fortnight after the death of his friend he was ready to promise the King that he would not misbehave in the future. He was released from prison, but for some time was not restored to his old position in the army.

At length he became a man, and was allowed to set up a home of his own. He married a wife, and amused himself in his country retreat by laying out gardens and growing rare fruits and flowers. The friends whom he gathered around him were all French, and amongst them he set up a brotherhood called the Order of Bayard, after the name of the great French knight who was "without fear and without reproach"—the noblest hero of the Middle Ages.

Early in the year 1740 "Old Fritz" lay on his death-bed, and was able to say, as he put his arms round the Prince's neck, that he was content to die, knowing that he was leaving behind him so worthy a son and successor. Thus Frederick became King of Prussia in his twenty-eighth year. His subjects thought that he would prove a gentle and easy-going king; but imagine their surprise when they found that, like Prince Hal, he bade farewell to his companions and completely turned over a new leaf. "No more of these fooleries," he said, and at once flung himself into the work of making his army as strong and efficient as possible. The men were drilled without mercy, and the officers frequently beat them with canes; but in spite of this treatment they were full of spirit, and in after years showed great valour on the battlefield. Frederick was soon looking about for an opportunity of testing them in war.

A few months after he came to the throne, Charles VI., the Holy Roman Emperor, died, and there was no son to succeed him. He left his great dominions—Austria, Hungary, Bohemia, parts of the Netherlands, and parts of North Italy—to his daughter, Maria Theresa,[32] and before his death he had persuaded the sovereigns of Europe to support her as Empress. Amongst those who faithfully promised to do so was Frederick; but I am sorry to say that, very shortly after Maria Theresa ascended her throne, he suddenly assembled his army and marched at its head into her country. He broke his plighted word; he fell upon a state which he thought was unable to defend itself; and he plunged Europe into a long and terrible war, simply because he was eager to increase his power and make people talk about him. You cannot think of a baser crime than this. Frederick used to say: "He is a fool, and that nation is a fool, which, having the power to strike his enemy unawares, does not strike and strike his deadliest."

It was the depth of winter when Frederick set his armies in motion. Poor Maria Theresa was taken unawares; town after town yielded, until, before the end of January 1741, Frederick was master of Silesia,[33] and was able to return to Berlin, where he was received with joy by his subjects. Then some of the other greedy sovereigns followed Frederick's bad example, and soon all Europe was in arms.

Maria Theresa and the Hungarian Nobles.

When Frederick the Great was about to invade Silesia, Maria Theresa, holding her young son in her arms, begged the Hungarian nobles to fight for her. With one accord they drew their swords and cried, "Let us die for our king, Maria Theresa!"

Frederick had been brought up as a soldier, but up to this time he had seen nothing of actual war, and had never commanded great bodies of men in the field. In his first battle his cavalry was put to flight, and he spurred his English grey out of the battle, and ran away! He took refuge in a mill, and late at night the news was brought to him that, thanks to an old field-marshal, his army had won a great victory. When he realized that he had been running away while his men had been winning a battle for him, he was filled with shame. This was the turning-point in his career. In the next battle he showed great courage, and so diligently did he study the art of war, that he soon became renowned as one of the greatest generals who ever lived.

Frederick the Great visiting his People.

(From the picture by von Menzel.)

I cannot tell you here of all the long and cruel warfare which Frederick the Great waged. He gained many victories, chiefly by making cat-like leaps before his enemy expected an attack; but he had many defeats too, for several nations joined together to fight him. He would have been hopelessly beaten but for the British king, George II., who was also Elector of Hanover,[34] one of the German states. George II. sent him men and money, and enabled him to meet his foes on the battlefield. For seven years Frederick held his ground against the three great military Powers of the time—France, Austria, and Russia. In the year 1761 the British refused to help him any further, and it seemed as if he must be forced to give up the struggle for want of means to carry it on. But fortune favoured him; the new Emperor of Russia wished to make peace, and thus Frederick was freed from one of his powerful enemies. One by one his other foes dropped off, and in 1763 peace was made.

In some of his battles so many of his men were killed, and so terrible was the condition of his country, that more than once he thought of committing suicide as the only escape from the evils which he had brought upon his kingdom. But when peace came Prussia was a great Power, respected for her military strength by the whole of Europe. Thereafter, Frederick devoted himself to building up his country anew. Before his death he had increased his territories to an area of 75,000 square miles, and his people numbered 5,500,000. He had made Prussia great, but he had done it by craft and cunning and violence, and at the cost of untold misery and suffering.

Before I conclude the story of Frederick the Great I must tell you of another piece of wickedness which he did in the latter years of his life. I have already mentioned the Poles as a Slav race, and have told you that they now live partly in Austria, partly in Germany, and partly in Russia. There is no country of Poland now, but there may be one again when this war is over. In the reign of the English king, Edward III., Poland was an important and flourishing kingdom. Its capital was the old city of Cracow,[35] now in the Austrian province of Galicia.[36] If you were to visit its cathedral church, which stands high on a rocky hill to the south-west of the town, you would see the tombs of many of the Polish kings, patriots, and poets who have made Poland so famous amongst the nations. Amongst them you would see the last resting-place of John Sobieski,[37] who was the noblest warrior of them all. He it was who drove back the Turks from the walls of Vienna and saved Europe from the infidel.

In the year 1772 Poland was too weak to defend herself. Her nobles quarrelled fiercely amongst themselves, and the land was torn with disunion and strife. Then the cruel, crafty King of Prussia made an agreement with Russia and Austria, whereby they were to seize part of Poland. This was done, and the three sovereigns, like robbers in a cave, divided the spoils between them. Frederick took a big slice, and so did Russia, while Austria was given Galicia. This was the first mouthful. Twenty-one years later the same three Powers gobbled up poor Poland completely; and now, like the Jews, the Poles have no land which they can call their own. But they still love Poland, and yearn for the day when it will be a kingdom once more. When the present great war broke out, the Czar of Russia sent a message to the Poles saying that if they would help him to win he would set up the old kingdom of Poland again, and let it have a king of its own, under his protection. This was great, glad news to the Poles, and they eagerly agreed to help him.

CHAPTER IV.

THE GREAT WAR LORD OF EUROPE.

The noblest street in all Berlin is called the Unter den Linden, which simply means "under the lime trees." In this fine, tree-shaded avenue stands a splendid monument to Frederick the Great, the man who laid the foundations of Prussia by means of force and fraud. His successor, Frederick William II., was a weak man, who squandered the public money on favourites. Under his rule Prussia grew poorer every day; instead of being the best governed state in Europe, it rapidly became one of the worst, and a clever Frenchman at his court declared that no country was nearer to ruin. The army, however, was still kept up in the old way, though it had lost much of its fiery spirit. Frederick William was just as eager for war as Frederick the Great; but he was no general, and when he did fight, was badly beaten. Then, as you will soon hear, he made peace with his victorious foe, and had to give up a part of his country. It was in his time, however, that further slices were taken from Poland and added to Prussia.

The Kaiser and his Troops in the Unter den Linden.

Photo, Exclusive News Agency.

Three years after Frederick William II. came to the throne, one of the greatest events in all history took place. For hundreds of years the kings and nobles of France had ground down the people in all sorts of harsh and cruel ways. At length the people rose in wrath and began to upturn the government and try to set up a new state of things. In July 1789 a Paris mob stormed the state prison and set free the prisoners; whereupon the peasants all over the country rose in rebellion, murdered the nobles, and burned their castles. The king dared not interfere; all power was taken from him, and a sort of Parliament began to pass laws sweeping away all the old abuses. The Revolution, or great upturning of the government, had begun.

The Attack on the Bastille. From a contemporary print.

The leaders of the people grew more and more violent, and thousands of nobles and gentry fled the country. The king and his family tried to escape, but were caught and brought back as prisoners. Those who had managed to get out of France went to the courts of the various kings, and begged them to declare war against the country which was so cruelly treating them and their king. At length the kings of the other European countries began to perceive that their own thrones were in danger, and that they must unite to protect themselves. Leopold II., Emperor of Austria, and Frederick William of Prussia prepared to fight. At the head of 50,000 of his own men and 30,000 Austrians, Frederick William crossed the eastern frontier of France. At this the Paris mob was filled with fury. They burst open the prisons in which their nobles and gentry were confined, and killed many of them. The same dreadful scenes took place in several other towns of France.

French nobles and gentry waiting the call to execution.

The French got together an army which was little better than a rabble, but was full of fiery zeal. It entered Belgium, and called on the people to rise against their government and set up a republic. Another French army advanced to the Rhine to meet Frederick. The anger of the French was now so great that they resolved to hurl at the kings of Europe the head of a king. On January 21, 1793, they cut off the head of their king, and a few months later that of the queen. A thrill of horror ran through the courts of Europe, and Great Britain, Holland, Spain, Austria, and Prussia united to make war on France. In the summer of 1793, during the six weeks of what was called the Reign of Terror, the French put to death more than 1,400 of their nobles and gentry, and some of the most bloodthirsty scenes in all history took place.

During this terrible time the French raised army after army, though they had scarcely the means of feeding and clothing and arming their men. These armies fought with wonderful spirit, and they attacked all the nations opposed to them. On the other hand, the Allies were jealous of each other, and were slow to mass their armies. The Prussians, with whom we are specially concerned, were beaten, and so were the Austrians. Then Frederick William II. deserted his fellow kings, and made peace with the French Republic,[38] giving up to it the whole of the left bank of the Rhine. He died two years later, and was succeeded by Frederick William III. At the end of the year 1795 France held the upper hand in Europe.

Every boy and every girl who reads these pages must have heard the Marseillaise,[39] the great French war song. Here are the words of it, and on the next page you will find the music:—

"Ye sons of France, awake to glory! Hark, hark! what myriads round you rise! Your children, wives, and grandsires hoary— Behold their tears and hear their cries!
Shall hateful tyrants, mischief breeding, With hireling hosts, a ruffian band, Affright and desolate the land, While peace and liberty lie bleeding? To arms! To arms! ye brave. The avenging sword unsheathe. March on! March on! All hearts resolved on victory or death!
"Now, now the dang'rous storm is rolling, Which treach'rous kings confed'rate raise; The dogs of war let loose are howling, And lo! our fields and cities blaze. And shall we basely view the ruin, While lawless Force, with guilty stride, Spreads desolation far and wide, With crime and blood his hands embruing? To arms! To arms! ye brave, etc.
"With luxury and pride surrounded, The vile insatiate despots dare, Their thirst for pow'r and gold unbounded To mete and vend the light and air. Like beasts of burden would they load us, Like gods would bid their slaves adore; But man is man, and who is more? Then shall they longer lash and goad us? To arms! To arms! ye brave, etc.
"O Liberty, can man resign thee, Once having felt thy gen'rous flame? Can dungeons, bolts, and bars confine thee, Or whips thy noble spirit tame? Too long the world has wept, bewailing That Falsehood's dagger tyrants wield; But Freedom is our sword and shield, And all their arts are unavailing. To arms! To arms! ye brave, etc."

THE MARSEILLAISE HYMN.

Ye Sons of France awake to glory! Hark, hark! what myriads round you rise! Your children, wives, and grandsires hoary; Behold their tears, and hear their cries! Behold their tears and hear their cries! Shall hateful Tyrants, mischief breeding, With hireling hosts, a ruffian band. Affright and desolate the land, While peace and liberty lie bleeding? To arms! to arms! ye brave! Th'avenging sword unsheath, March on! March on! all hearts resolv'd On victory or death! March on! March on! all hearts resolv'd On victory or death!

It will interest you to learn that this splendid marching song, which is the French national anthem, was composed during the years when France was fighting with almost all the other nations of Europe. In April 1792, when war was declared on Austria, a young captain of Engineers named Rouget de Lisle[40] was in Strassburg[41] with his company, waiting the order to advance. He was fond of writing verse and composing music, but up to this time he had written and composed nothing worthy of special mention. His heart and mind were fired with the thought of giving freedom to all the world; to him it seemed that the armies of France were engaged in a holy crusade.

Food was scarce in Strassburg at this time, and many of the officers and soldiers would have gone hungry but for the mayor, who did everything he possibly could to supply them with food. Every evening he asked a number of the officers to sup with him, and one evening Rouget de Lisle was invited. During the meal the mayor said that he wished some one would compose a new war song which would stir up the young soldiers about to march on Austria. A major who was one of the company turned to Rouget and said, "You are a poet and a musician; can't you compose something that will do?"

Rouget was a very modest young fellow, and at once he said that a war song was quite beyond his powers. Some of the other men seated at the table joined in the request, and Rouget at last began to think that he would try. He retired to his chamber, and as he thought of his beloved France and of the great battles which she had to fight, he became greatly excited. Then the words flowed from his pen, and as he wrote them a tune sprang into his mind which seemed to suit the words exactly. By seven o'clock in the morning he had composed both words and music. At once he hastened to his friend the major, and said, "Listen to this, and tell me what you think of it." The major listened and was delighted, and some hours later carried him off to the mayor's house. Here Rouget sang his song, while one of the mayor's nieces accompanied him on the piano. Every one who heard it was thrilled. It seemed to call forth all the fighting spirit in them.

Rouget de Lisle singing "The Marseillaise."

(From the painting by Pils, in the Louvre Gallery. Photo by Mansell.)

The same day the song was published, and next day one of the military bands played it. Immediately it became all the rage. Through Alsace to the south of France it spread like wildfire; but the people of Paris knew nothing of the song until they heard the volunteers from Marseilles[42] chanting it as they marched through the streets. They had sung it in every town and village through which they had passed, and everywhere it had been greeted with loud cries of delight. Because it was first sung in Paris by the men of Marseilles, it was called the Marseillaise.

Such is the story of the great French war song which all Europe learned to know and fear in what is known as the War of the Revolution. It worked like a charm: men marched and fought and suffered and died to its strains. At the present time French soldiers are singing it as they swing along the roads to engage the enemy, and you and I sing it in this country because the French are our friends and allies, and their cause is ours.

Napoleon at School.

When Napoleon was a boy at a French military school he was jeered at by his fellows, who called him a surly Corsican.

Out of the bloodshed and terror of this time arose the figure of Napoleon, the greatest war lord that the world has ever known. He was a Corsican,[43] who first proved his ability by forcing the British to give up Toulon.[44] Thereafter he rose rapidly in the service of the Republic, and in 1796 was placed in command of the army of Italy. In two campaigns he completely overthrew the Austrians, and was hailed by his countrymen as the greatest general of the age. As he rose in power and fame he began to dream of making himself the master of France, and then of all Europe. Before long Great Britain alone stood against him. On sea the British were then, as now, supreme, and our great Admiral Nelson, and others worthy to be mentioned with him, defeated his fleets again and again. Nevertheless he won so many great victories on land that in the year 1801 the continental nations were obliged to make peace with him. You already know that Prussia had done so six years before, and had been forced to give up the whole of the left bank of the Rhine. Next year Britain made peace with him too.

Napoleon at Austerlitz.

On May 18, 1804, Napoleon put an end to the French Republic, and made himself Emperor of the French. He now planned a great scheme for turning all Europe into one vast empire, with kings and princes over the various nations, but himself as the head of all. He sent an army into Hanover, and overran it; but Prussia did not interfere, because she hoped that Napoleon would hand over that state to her if she remained quiet. Great Britain now persuaded Austria, Russia, and Sweden to join together against France, but Frederick William III. would not unite with them. He allowed Napoleon to do as he pleased in Germany, because he thought that Austria would be beaten, and that the conqueror would reward him with some of the spoils. The Emperors of Austria and Russia begged him to desert Napoleon and join them, but he would not listen to them. When Napoleon won the famous battle of Austerlitz, at which the three great emperors of Christendom were present, Frederick William received his reward—Hanover was handed over to him.

Napoleon was now master of all Europe except Great Britain. In the next year sixteen of the German princes separated themselves from the German Empire and joined him, and he turned many of the provinces which he had won into kingdoms, and placed his relatives and his generals on their thrones. As for Prussia, Napoleon had no respect for her, and very soon showed that he was going to seize her too. Louisa, the beautiful Queen of Prussia, had alone seen what the end of her country would be, and had begged the king to draw the sword against the conqueror. When Napoleon took one of the Prussian fortresses she again besought her husband to fight. The Emperor of Russia visited him, and joined his entreaties to hers, and at last, in 1806, he took the field against the great war lord.

Napoleon with King Frederick William III. and Queen Louisa at Tilsit.

From the picture by von Gros.

Napoleon struck swiftly. At Jena[45] he held the Prussians in check till his cavalry came up, and when they dashed down on the foe all was over. The Prussian horse and foot fled in panic; 20,000 Prussians were killed or taken, as well as 300 guns and 60 standards. After the victory Napoleon treated the Prussians very harshly. He said many bitter things about the old Duke of Brunswick, who had fought so bravely against him, and he overran his states. He insulted the queen, and he told the nobles that he would make them so poor that they would be obliged to beg their bread. He quickly subdued the whole country, and made Prussia pay him some millions of money. Then the conquered states were divided into four parts, over which he set commanders.

Leaving 60,000 French to hold beaten Prussia, he now turned on Russia, and in February 1807 marched 100,000 men into Poland, where he met the Russian army and the remnants of the Prussian army. On a field covered with snow a battle was fought during the short hours of a winter day. The slaughter was horrible, and the battle was drawn. In the following May the armies met again, and this time Napoleon was victorious. A week later he and the Czar met on a raft moored on the river Niemen,[46] and made plans for the greatest scheme of robbery ever known to history: they agreed to divide Europe between them.

Great Britain still struggled against Napoleon, and her fleet was the only force which prevented him from becoming the unchecked master of the whole world. Napoleon now tried to bring Great Britain to her knees. Some years before he had gathered fleets of flat-bottomed boats at Boulogne,[47] and had prepared a huge army for the invasion of Britain, but could not obtain that twelve hours' mastery of the Channel which would enable him to cross the "silver streak." Now he tried another plan. He ordered the harbours of the Continent to be closed against the British, so that they could not carry on trade or sell their manufactures. In this way he hoped to make Great Britain so poor that she would be unable to hold out against him.

By this time the Czar was tired of being Napoleon's underling, and he now said that he would not close his ports against the British. Napoleon was furiously angry, and marched a great army towards the Russian frontier, which was crossed on June 23, 1812. The Russians did not attempt to fight; they fell back, and lured him on, meanwhile wasting the country over which he had to pass. Soon the French found themselves short of food, and thousands died of hunger. Napoleon's line of march was marked by the dead bodies of thousands of men and horses.

At last the Russians stood firm, and a great battle was fought some seventy miles from Moscow. One hundred thousand men lay dead or wounded on the field, but Napoleon was not checked. A week later his troops entered Moscow[48] with shouts of delight. To their dismay they found it as silent as a city of the dead. All the people had left it, but before doing so had set fire to the place. Soon after the French marched in, flames began to shoot up from a thousand different points. The fire burned for five days, and the city lay in ruins. Then want of food and shelter compelled Napoleon to retreat. When he left Moscow his army had dwindled to about 100,000 men. The Cossacks[49] hung upon their flanks and rear, and cut off all stragglers. Soon the snow began to fall, and the cruel Russian winter set in. Thousands perished daily of cold and hunger.

Napoleon's starving and frost-bitten army soon became a rabble. As he approached the river Beresina[50] he learned that the Russians were waiting to oppose the passage. A battery of guns commanded the bridge, and as the French tried to cross thousands of them were mowed down, and heaps of dead and wounded blocked the way. A miserable, crushed remnant of 20,000 men was all that struggled back to Germany. The downfall of Napoleon had begun.

The Retreat of Napoleon from Moscow.

(After the picture by Meissonier.)

CHAPTER V.

HOW THE GREAT WAR LORD FELL.

This unexpected blow seemed to the enslaved peoples of Europe a sign that their hour of deliverance had struck. Everywhere they began to take fresh courage, and ere long there was a general rising of the nations against Napoleon. Berlin was still in the hands of the French; but when the King of Prussia called upon his people to rise against the common enemy, every able-bodied man was ready to throw off the hated yoke. The news reached Napoleon's ears; but he only exclaimed, "Pah! Germans can't fight like Spaniards." However, he got together another French army, and many of the German princes were so terrified that they let their troops join him. Prussia stood almost alone.

Her people, however, were filled with new hope and energy. The whole country became an armed camp. Youths scarcely more than boys, old men with gray hair, fathers of families, doctors, lawyers, tradesmen, even women in men's clothing, snatched up guns and grasped swords. Never was a nation more united. A large army sprang into being, the Tsar sent help, and Napoleon was defied. But once more the great war lord conquered, and in two fierce battles Prussia was beaten to the ground.

The Emperor of Austria now tried to act as a peace-maker, and sent Metternich,[51] his chief minister, to talk the matter over with Napoleon. As soon as he arrived, the French emperor said, "Well, Count Metternich, how much money have you been bribed with by England to take this part?" So saying, he threw his hat down on the floor to see if Count Metternich would stoop to pick it up. The minister looked at the hat and then at Napoleon, but did not stoop. Seeing this, Napoleon turned his back on him, and Metternich knew that war would be declared on his country.

Napoleon had now to fight Prussia, Russia, Austria, and Sweden. It may perhaps surprise you to find Sweden amongst Napoleon's foes, especially when you learn that the Prince of Sweden had been a French general, and had fought for Napoleon. But he, too, was tired of Napoleon's yoke, and was ready to help in throwing it off. Three armies were gathered together—a northern army, a second in Bohemia, and a third in Silesia, the last being under the command of Marshal Blücher,[52] of whom we shall hear again.

On August 23, 1813, a battle took place between the French and the northern army at a place called Gross-Beeren.[53] The Swedish king was supposed to be in command of this army, but he and his Swedes looked on without fighting. It was a battle of untrained men against a trained army. The Prussian peasants rushed on the foe, beat down whole battalions of them with the butt-ends of their muskets, and captured 2,400 prisoners. Three days later Marshal Blücher also won a success in Silesia. Having lured the French across the river Neisse, he drove them back into the stream, which was then swollen by heavy rains. The muskets of his men were wetted, and so were of no use for firing; but Blücher drew his sabre and dashed forward, shouting, "Forward!" The Prussians clubbed their muskets and beat thousands of the French to death. Many others were drowned or bayoneted, and the victory was complete. The French general escaped almost alone, and galloped to Dresden,[54] where Napoleon then was. "Sire," he said, "your army no longer exists." Marshal Blücher was made a prince, and thenceforward was known as "Marshal Forward."

While his generals were thus suffering defeat, Napoleon himself gained a victory near Dresden. But when his army learned that elsewhere his forces had been beaten, the Germans under his command began to waver, and the outlook was black indeed. Napoleon knew that his end was drawing near, and for several days he could not make up his mind whether to fight or to return to France. At last he determined to fight, and then took place what is known as the "battle of the nations," because soldiers of so many different nations were engaged in it. This battle was one of the longest and fiercest that had ever been fought up to that time. It lasted four days, and at the end of it Napoleon was defeated. He lost no less than 78,000 men; but the Allies, though victorious, lost very heavily too.

Napoleon was beaten at last, and Germany was full of rejoicing. The yoke of French bondage was broken, and many nations were free once more.

The Prussians fighting their way through the village of Planchenoit to reach the field of Waterloo.

(From the picture by Von Udolf Northen.)

I can tell you the rest of Napoleon's story in a very few words. He struggled hard with the remnants of his army, but in vain, and on March 31, 1814, the Allies entered Paris, where the French people received them with shouts of joy. They had been devoted to Napoleon while he was victorious; now that he was defeated, they remembered all the sorrow and suffering that he had caused them, and cried, "Down with the tyrant!" The Allies forced Napoleon to give up his throne, and sent him to reign over the little island of Elba.[55] For eight or nine months he lived on this island, and Europe thought that the last had been seen of him. But he was biding his time, watching and waiting for the chance to become Emperor of France once more. The king to whom his throne had been given was a selfish, stupid man, and he soon disgusted the army and the people. At the moment when they were ready to rise, Napoleon suddenly appeared on the south coast of France, and as he travelled north to Paris his old soldiers flocked to him. The troops sent against him deserted and went over to his side. When he entered Paris, on the 20th of March, the king had fled.

The Allies now bound themselves to put more than a million men into the field against him, and never to rest until they had subdued him for ever. Napoleon, however, gathered an army, and marched into Belgium, where the Duke of Wellington had a mixed force of British and Belgians, and Prince Blücher an army of Prussians. I cannot now tell you fully the story of the great fight which followed. Napoleon's general, Ney, attacked the British at Quatre Bras,[56] but was beaten. On the same day, at Ligny,[57] Napoleon met Blücher, and defeated him, but not so badly that he was unable to fight again. The Prussians were obliged to retreat, and Wellington was forced to fall back to the field of Waterloo,[58] at which place Blücher promised to meet him next day.

On the 18th of June the great battle took place. All day the British held their ground, though they were fiercely assailed again and again. At eight o'clock in the evening, just when the last desperate charge had been driven back, Blücher and his Prussians appeared. Then the French army turned and fled. Napoleon put spurs to his horse and rode through the summer night to the coast, where he tried to escape to America. Failing to do this, he gave himself up to the captain of a British man-of-war. "Last scene of all to end this strange eventful history," Napoleon was banished to the lonely Atlantic island of St. Helena,[59] where he was kept prisoner like a caged tiger for nearly six years. He died on May 5, 1821. So much had he passed out of history that a great Frenchman said his death was not an event, only a piece of news.

Why did we fight so hard and so long against Napoleon? First, because he was a tyrant, bent on making himself master of Europe and ruling it as he pleased; secondly, because he wiped out or trod underfoot many of the smaller nations; and thirdly, because we were determined not to allow him to gain possession of the Netherlands. Look at a map of Europe, and you will see that the Netherlands, which now consist of Holland and Belgium, are opposite to our east and south-east coasts. These two countries are small, but they are very fertile, because they are mainly formed of the rich soil brought down by the Rhine, the Meuse, and the Scheldt.

Map of Northern Europe.

The thick lines show the chief trade routes.

Thanks to the rivers, the Netherlands have some of the best ports in the world, and through them passes much of the sea-borne trade of Northern Europe. Antwerp, on the Scheldt, is opposite to the mouth of the Thames, and is one of the great ports of the world. Rotterdam, at the mouth of the Rhine, and Amsterdam, near the Zuider Zee,[60] are also very important seaports. If an enemy held these ports, and was able to drive our navy from the North Sea, he might invade us very easily. Napoleon used to say that Antwerp was a pistol held at the heart of England. We should have been very blind and very foolish if we had allowed him to be master of the Netherlands, and permitted him to point the pistol at our heart. As master of the Netherlands he would not only have gained greatly in strength, but he would have been better able to carry out an invasion of our shores than he had ever been before. When we pressed him very hard to give up the Netherlands, he refused, and said that he would rather surrender the French colonies than Antwerp. His overthrow removed a great danger from our very doors.

The last days of the man who tried to make himself Master of the World.

This picture, which is by the famous French artist Paul Delaroche, shows Napoleon at St. Helena.

Before we part from Napoleon I want you to learn a lesson from his fate. He was one of the greatest soldiers who ever lived, and a man of wonderful powers of mind. His ambition was boundless, and he tried to make himself master of Europe, and therefore of the world. For many years he succeeded, but from the first his doom was sealed. The nations of Europe will never permit one man, however great, to be their master. While many of the nations of the Continent were forced to yield to him, we British never did. We fought him by sea and by land, and we were always ready to send men and money to those nations who stood up against him. The contest was very long; but the British people never wavered. They held on with the courage of a British bulldog, and in the end, by destroying his fleets at Trafalgar[61] and defeating his army at Waterloo, they brought the tyrant low.

Preparing the famous signal at Trafalgar. From the picture by Thomas Davidson.

Just before the battle began, Nelson ordered the famous signal to be made: "England expects every man to do his duty."

The story of how Britain saved Europe from the tyranny of Napoleon should steel our hearts and animate our minds at this time, when we are trying to lay a would-be tyrant low. The British people by their courage and doggedness overthrew the most powerful man and the most powerful nation in the world, and what they did then they can do now. Our forefathers struggled with wonderful patience and courage for long, weary years, but in the end they were victorious. We shall be victorious too if we are but worthy of our sires.

CHAPTER VI.

THE MAN OF BLOOD AND IRON.

When Napoleon was safely imprisoned on St. Helena the Powers met to make peace, and to rearrange the map of Europe. A large part of the left bank of the Rhine which Napoleon had reft from Prussia was given back to her. An arrangement was made that thirty-nine states of Germany should join together into a Bund,[62] or bond, and that each state should be represented in its ruling body. Saxony,[63] Wurtemberg,[64] and Bavaria,[65] which had been turned into kingdoms by Napoleon, were allowed to keep their kings, but the brothers and field-marshals whom he had placed on other thrones were dismissed. The only one of his marshals who retained his throne was the King of Sweden.

When peace reigned once more, a German prince said, "I have slept seven years; now we will forget the bad dream." But the "bad dream" was a good dream for the peoples of Europe. Though they had suffered so terribly in the wars, the French Revolution had made men very disinclined to allow kings to rule them as they pleased, and had encouraged them everywhere to ask for more freedom to govern themselves. In Germany the people had only two duties—to pay and to obey. Now they asked for many rights which they had never possessed before, and in some of the states they obtained them; but the King of Prussia held out to the last, and only gave his people a Parliament when he could resist the demand no longer.

During this time, when the people were crying out for more freedom, one very good arrangement was made. Germany, as you know, consisted of a large number of states, some small and some large, but all of them with their own rulers, and armies, and customs officials. It was possible to pass through several of these states in the course of a day's ride. All of them took toll of goods passing through them, and all of them had to have guards at their frontiers, to see that the goods did not pass through without paying toll.

You will get some idea of what this meant if you suppose the English counties to be separate states, and that a wagon-load of goods is being sent, say, from Birmingham to Carlisle. Suppose the wagon to reach the border of Staffordshire: it would be stopped there by customs officers, who would estimate the value of the goods in it, and make the owner pay a certain sum before he was allowed to proceed. When the wagon came to the Cheshire border, there would be another search and another payment; and the same business would be repeated on the borders of Lancashire, Westmorland, and Cumberland. I am sure you will say in a moment that this was not only a great nuisance, but it must have interfered with trade a great deal, and made goods very expensive to the purchaser. This is exactly what happened in Germany. Of course, men tried to get out of paying toll whenever they could, and smuggling goods from one state to another became a regular business.

If I were to ask you to suggest a way out of the difficulty, you would say: "Let all the states join together into a group, and take toll once and for all when the goods enter the group. The money so received can be divided up amongst the states afterwards." This is just what was done. A Customs Union, or Zollverein, was formed by Prussia and several of the neighbouring states, and each state sent a member to represent it in a sort of Parliament known as the Bund Diet.[66]

When the German people began to see the advantages of joining together in this way so as to make trade easier, they would soon come to perceive that a union for other purposes would be good too. In the year 1848, six hundred representatives from the German states met at Frankfort,[67] and did away with the old Bund. They said that they wished all the German states to be united into one empire, with one Parliament and one set of laws. They asked the King of Prussia, Frederick William IV.,[68] to be emperor; but he refused, because he was not going to be dictated to by the people. "They forget," he said, "that there are princes still in Germany, and that I am one of them." Then there were many risings, especially in the south of Germany; but they were all put down, and the kings and princes seemed to have gained the upper hand. As a matter of fact, the people had gained much; they had aimed at unity, and though many years were to pass before they obtained their desire, unity was bound to come. In May 1851 the old Bund was restored, and once more held its meetings at Frankfort.

Now let me introduce to you the man who brought about the union of the German states into an empire. His name was Otto von Bismarck, and he was born in the year of Waterloo. The title von shows you that he was of what is called gentle birth. His father was a Brandenburg squire, and young Bismarck spent his childhood on the flat stretches of his father's estates. As a boy he had a great reverence for kings, and thought that those who rose against them were wicked men. For example, he believed that William Tell,[69] whose story you are sure to remember, was a rebel and a murderer.

Otto von Bismarck.

(From the picture by Franz von Lenbach.)
This portrait shows Bismarck at a time when he was practically ruler of Prussia.

In 1832 he was sent to a university, where he was more renowned outside the classroom than in it. He was a big, burly man, of great strength, with a large, firm chin, and a look of confidence and self-control. It is the custom for German students to fight duels as a pastime. When they do so they protect their bodies and heads and eyes, and leave only the face exposed. The foolish young fellows slash at each other's faces, and are very proud of the scars which remain when their wounds have healed. Bismarck was a great duellist; he fought and won while he was in the university no fewer than twenty-seven duels.

He was the son of a soldier, and was very proud of the fact that his ancestors had fought in all the great Prussian wars. Rough and bluff in his manner, and homely in his speech, he greatly admired strong men who could force others to do their bidding. For people who were turned from their purpose by feelings of pity or kindness he had nothing but contempt. He had few friends outside his own family, but he was very fond of his dogs. Above all things he was a Prussian, and he was ready to do anything and everything to make Prussia not only the greatest state of Germany, but the leader of all the German states as well. By nature he was honest and straightforward; but he did not stick at deceit if he thought that thereby the interests of his country might be advanced.

In the year 1847 we find him attending the Bund Diet as the member for Prussia. He soon showed that he was a king's man, and that he had no belief in the rule of the people. Prussia, he knew, had been created by the power of the sword, under the sway of kings who did pretty much as they pleased, and allowed the people to have no part or lot in the government. No doubt his father had often told him of the black day when Napoleon beat the Prussians at Jena, and of the sad years when his beloved land was beneath the Corsican's yoke. It was in those days that the great Baron Stein[70] did his great work. At the peace of Tilsit Napoleon said that Prussia might have a standing army of 42,000 men. Stein set his wits to work to use this army as a means of training all the men of the nation. When 42,000 men were drilled they were dismissed, another 42,000 were called up, and so on. In three years Prussia had 180,000 well-drilled men and 120,000 reserves. With these troops Prussia played a large part in overthrowing Napoleon. Remembering all this, Bismarck felt that parliaments had done nothing; strong men and a strong army had done everything, and it was by similar means that Prussia might be made the great overlord of Germany. Such was Bismarck's fixed belief.

Though he had made no mark at college, he possessed the biggest brain of his time, and he now began to set it to work. Soon he was a marked man, and the king made him ambassador, first at St. Petersburg and then at Paris. In 1862 he was recalled to be the first minister of King William I., brother of Frederick William IV., who had died insane. From that day down to the year 1890 he was the foremost man, first of Prussia, then of Germany, and finally of Europe.

At that time Prussia's great rival for chief power amongst the German states was Austria. It was Austria who had forced the Prussian king to set up the old Bund again, because in it she had the chief power. When Bismarck went to the Bund in 1862, he plainly told Austria that Germany could never be united until she ceased to interfere with German affairs, and that she had plenty of work to do in looking after her own business. He also told the Bund that the unity of Germany could never be brought about by parliaments, but only by "blood and iron." By this he meant a European war. He firmly believed that the German states could only be welded together when their soldiers fought and died side by side on the battlefield.

But first of all he had to build up an army so strong that it could strike respect or fear into all the German peoples, and make them regard Prussia as their leader and chief. You already know that when the Prussians beat Napoleon in 1813, all the men of military age in the country had been passed through the army. Bismarck determined that the new army should be formed in the same way. Most of the people objected, but Bismarck still persisted, and his old college friend von Roon[71] began to plan an army on these lines. The Prussian Parliament would not agree to the new army law, and at last the king said he would resign his throne. Bismarck, however, would not give way, and one day, after he had made a bold speech in Parliament, the king said, "Over there, in front of the Opera House, under my windows, they will cut off your head, and mine a little while afterwards." Bismarck, however, was not frightened. He succeeded in getting the king to take no notice of Parliament, and the army was created.

The Coronation of William I. of Prussia in the Cathedral of Königsberg on October 18, 1861.