Weird and striking were the scenes within those hallowed places, as, in the half darkness with the long, deep shadows, men struggled for life or gave to the women kneeling at their side their name, their address, or a last dying message to one they loved. London that night was a city of shattered homes, of shattered hopes, of shattered lives. The silence of death had fallen everywhere. The only sounds that broke the quiet within those churches were the sighs, the groans, and the faint murmurings of the dying. CHAPTER VII TWO PERSONAL NARRATIVES Some adequate idea of the individual efforts made by the citizens of London to defend their homes against the invader may be gathered from various personal narratives afterwards printed in certain newspapers. All of them were tragic, thrilling, and struck that strong note of patriotism which is ever latent in the breast of every Englishman, and more especially the Londoner. The story told to a reporter of the _Observer_ by a young man named Charles Dale, who in ordinary life was a clerk in the employ of the Royal Mail Steam Packet Company, in Moorgate Street, depicted, in graphic details, the frightful conflict. He said: “When the Hendon and Cricklewood Rifle Club was formed in 1906 I joined it, and in a month we had over 500 members. From that time the club--whose practices were held at the Normal Powder Company’s range, in Reuter’s Lane, Hendon--increased until it became one of the largest rifle clubs in the kingdom. As soon as news of the sudden invasion reached us, we all reported ourselves at headquarters, and out of four thousand of us there were only thirty-three absentees, all the latter being too far from London to return. We were formed into small parties, and, taking our rifles and ammunition, we donned our distinctive khaki tunics and peaked caps, and each company made its way into Essex independently, in order to assist the Legion of Frontiersmen and the Free-shooters to harass the Germans.