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Is it not recorded in English history that the time of the Spanish invasion—when they actually hove in sight—Drake, Hawkins and Raleigh were playing bowls? In the chambers of memory there lurks some indistinct picture of England's heroes thus merrily engaged in a most healthy and engrossing pastime, scarcely exceeded save by the more exhilarating, kingly game of golf; for to hole a ball in 2 is more thrillingly exciting than to knock your keenest opponent's ball out of place, and find your ball lying comfortably nearest to the jack.

When the worst comes—and Heaven forfend the worst in this most stupendous struggle in which we are how commencing in deadly earnest to uphold the honor, credit and stability of Great Britain as one of the great world Powers, and the first sea Power—when the worst comes there will surely still be Drakes, Hawkins and Raleighs who will loiter a little in proud disregard of those who would dare to emulate the "invincible Armada" of ever-memorable derision.

The cry of the noble Roberts. "Make ready," uttered with such vehemence from the hour almost of Edward VII.'s accession to the end of 1909, as in the stress of his soul, and with the war-like seer's vision, he saw that England was keeping pace with the leading nations of Europe—one or other of which would sooner or later find cause of action against his country—came now to mind. "England the Unready!" Yet, in its very unreadiness, striking the world again with its Leonine characteristic: The Lion of Judah is not readily scared. The giant may have slumbered when lesser mortals would have remained awake, and spent their strength in watching and waiting. Look, he rouses him now. He is rampant, for an unprovoked assault is made upon him. A thousand mighty Eagles seek the Lion's lair, who had not hurt them, nor sought them harm, though his roar had been heard when sundry of these same eagles had made excursion into the nests of doves and pigeons, and would have torn them had no power stayed.

It took a second, a third, nay a fourth, cable before the Commonwealth would believe the dread thing had come to pass. "Germany had declared war against England. The ultimatum was that England must, within 48 hours, signify her willingness to surrender the whole of her interests in New Guinea to the German Government; and, further, that the Imperial Government should name a day and date when she would put a period to her occupation of Egypt, and entirely withdraw her troops, her civil and military authorities, from that country, or other of the Sultan's dominions."

New Guinea might be a small thing, Imperially considered; to Australians it loomed as large as life—the life of the Commonwealth. In the world's eye the possession of the near neighbour to the Commonwealth, was neither here nor there; but that England, which had remade Egypt, which had brought up out of the ashes, the mire and the clay, a new and re-invigorated haven of the Pharaohs; that England should be ordered to pack up and clear, at a moment's notice, at the behest of Germany, who had no hand or part in the re-making of the worse than desert of the stricken Egypt—the world stood still and wondered at the incredible thing that was proposed.

The world knew that England would fight to the last man, and the last dollar, rather than submit to the extreme demands of Germany.

About the time of the beginning of the trouble, some publicist of note had written his hope that England would never place herself "in the wrong" in regard to any difficulty with Germany. By common consent now, it was admitted that England had not placed herself in the wrong, and "thrice is he armed who hath his quarrel just."

* * * *

The cable messages? They came tumbling over each other in mad confusion!

The hour of the ultimatum had passed.

All Britain was astir and aflame.

The Mediterranean Squadron had been recalled, and was full steam for the Channel.

Every officer of the British Navy was summoned to his post, ready for immediate action—aye, ready.

Lord Charles Beresford, who had retired for the second time, had been given another command, and he and Admiral Fisher had made it up, for England now needed all her strong sons of the sea—her bull-dogs of true British breed.

Contrary to expectations, there was no immediate evidence of invasion of England at the expiration of the short mandatory ultimatum.

But that Germany was ready and determined to "smash the British Navy," and invade England with an immense army, was made clear on every hand.

Twenty great battleships of the Dreadnought, and better than the Dreadnought class were ready for action, and these were supported by a huge flotilla of destroyers and not less than 100 torpedo boats. True, all these combined would not make up a combination equal to Britain's fighting strength, inasmuch as the latter's lines of cruisers and second and third rate ships were far more numerous than Germany (400 in all). Of Dreadnoughts England now had 19, and experts held that, other things being equal, England's Navy must conquer within a week if the whole forces could be brought face to face, and have it out in a business-like way.

But there was one terrible and unknown factor that no naval, or other authority, could pretend to reckon with, seeing it was practically a new and unknown quantity in naval warfare. This was the "Demons de l'Aviation."

Was it not Napoleon who once said, in discussing the possibility of an attack on England, that he saw more than one way of getting an army of invasion into England, but he saw no way of getting them out again. If it was not Napoleon it was Bismarck; if it was not Bismarck it was the great German General, Moltke. But that was before the 20th century brought the crowning horror of war,—the possibility to drop fire, shot and shell and destruction from the very clouds of heaven, and add new terrors to the dark night of barbarous war. For be it understood always the difficulty presented itself that supposing 200,000 foreign troops could be landed on one of the unprotected, or insufficiently protected, shores of England, the imperishable British Navy, outwitted possibly in the first or main advance, would be on hand to cut off retreat, and prevent reinforcements. But, with a cloud of air-ships, matters might be very different.

That is what Germany has carefully prepared for; she does not mean to take any chances of the Napoleonic kind. Since three to five years ago the progress of æronautical science in Germany has been marvellous. Well it is remembered how the Emperor greeted Count von Zeppelin as the greatest hero of his country in 1908; and also it may be remembered how the nation loaded him with compliments and capital when his first and second great air-ships were destroyed.

While at first it seemed that France would lead the way in designing and successfully floating air-warships, it has been proved that France's efforts and accomplishments in this direction have been as playthings compared to Germany's airships. The stories of what has been done by German dirigibles have been read as colored by fear or inflated by too ready imagination; but as early as 1909 Paris correspondents saw with their own eyes—notwithstanding organised and official efforts to keep successful flights as secret as possible—enough to impress them with the gravest cause for uneasiness in this direction.

While marked attention began to be paid to Germany's war expenditure and battleship-building by the eyes and ears of Britain (meaning in particular her Press and public men), comparatively little attention was paid to her developments in other directions. Yet, in April of 1909, it had leaked out that Germany had started systematic airship building.

"Mr. Haldane, Secretary of State for War, stated that Germany had constructed six dirigible air-ships, and is constructing six more." Incidentally it was worthy of note that in the same day's cables "Germans declare that what the British Overseas Dominions are doing for the British Empire Austria-Hungary is doing for Germany," (so strong did they then count the triple-alliance; but they reckoned without their hosts in regard to Italy).

At that same time the proposal was made by a responsible British officer that England should commence the construction of air-ships on the two-to-one basis, but it was not adopted. Many writers, like M. Larrison, were inclined to scoff at the idea of invasion by air-ships, and more especially by Zeppelin balloons. But Larrison was a Frenchman, and believed no good thing could come out of any German Nazareth. True, it is not the primitive and cumbersome Zeppelin that is now ready to fill the air in support of the German Emperor's "imperishable navy"—it is rather a compromise between it and the French dirigible—but there they are, waiting on the German coasts, in every fortified town, a thousand air-ships, built as we now know at a cost of £3,000,000, worked on day and night, secretly and insidiously, in preparation for this long-premeditated invasion of the impregnable island home of John Bull. . . . What the nations from time immemorial had regarded as impossible of accomplishment, Emperor William has essayed to do, and is determined to do. . . . The madness and lust of conquest—to do the impossible—to become the New Lord of the Seas—to wear in his Imperial diadem the exalted legend, "Conqueror of Britannia"—"the monarch who humbled England!"

That is the brave, proud, bloody task the German Emperor, and presumably the German people, have set themselves to accomplish, and the wide world at this moment stands gaping and appalled, listening, trembling for the first shock and counter-shock, for the blast and counter-blast of the two mightiest navies which the earth has ever produced. The sublime summit of mechanical, engineering skill, scientific appliances, and rare ingenuity are summed up in the word "Dreadnought." . . . Perchance, that was an unhappy name to choose. Who knows but the very name inflamed the warlike passion of "England's nephew," who could shake the "mailed fist" in every face but that of England, because of that same navy; who could summon the Government of a people, in numbers twice his own, to "volte face" on a great European question in which they had ventured to take the side of the weak against the strong, and, on threat of mobilization, make them bond to Emperor William's will,—"because this is Our wish for our dear friend and Brother Austria." . . . Despotic power is indeed a fearful thing in the hands of an ambitious man. . . . England had not thought it possible—especially the Quakers of England, and there are more Quakers than wear broad grey cloth—had not believed that the sane German nation would ever catch the madness of its "mailed fist." . . . Yet, we might have known when left and right and centre of the Reichstag voted the unprecedented millions, "all of a sudden," as it were, that some new and enlarged ambition had seized the nation. . . We now know beyond question, or doubt, that that new and enlarged ambition was nothing less than to wrest from England the supremacy of the seas.