The Childrens' Story of the War, Volume 1 (of 10)

ittle, 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 a

fell, the big, round moon shone upon a silent town in wh

rches 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

; the peace of the world was broken on a smiling day. Five of the Great Powers[2] of Europe blew their war trumpets, and m

Summer

enley Regatta, held every

by the Sport and Ge

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

y harsh Note[3] to Servia. Lo

r 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 th

a

n Landseer, R.A., in the Nati

s 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 explanatio

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 c

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 p

ey fought very bravely and successfully against the Turks. At the end of the war the Powers of Europe gave them more than 15,000 s

ou 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 ki

tle 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 Dardane

re you see some of them coming into Belg

ely, 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

d become if Bosnia and Herzegov

e 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

hings at the beginning

or of Austria. Pho

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 invi

f strong will and great ambition, and he eagerly desired to win power for Austria in the Balkans, and so secure for his co

on 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 v

erdinand, the Archduch

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 b

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

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 ou

wing, 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

rt of Sarajevo, th

ayor 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

to read an address of welcome. The Archduke, who is much annoyed at the treatment which he has received, cuts the mayor short angr

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

e 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 th

as 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 bar

, and at last it comes crashing down with terrible force upon the quiet homesteads in the valley. So did the pistol-shot of a schoolbo

he bank of the Danube,

sion of t