CHAPTER VIII.
THE THREATENED INVASION.
Though no true-hearted Englishman believed for a moment in the possibility of his country becoming a French province, all knew that the threatened invasion might take place.
Many indeed regarded the attempt as almost certain, feeling sure that Napoleon would never be convinced of his own inability to conquer England, until he had tried and failed. And while the final result of such an attempt might be looked upon as a foregone conclusion, yet no doubt much personal loss and distress would be caused by even the most unsuccessful invasion of our shores.
On one point all were agreed—that safety lay and could only lie in getting ready beforehand.
At that date steamboats and railways were unknown, and telegraphs did not exist. There was happily time, through the slowness with which affairs moved, after the note of alarm had been sounded, to make preparations.
An extraordinary burst of enthusiasm throughout the whole country was the response to Napoleon's threat. Large supplies of money were freely voted and eagerly given. The regular army was increased, and the militia was called out; while a volunteer force sprang into being, with such rapidity that it soon numbered about four hundred thousand men.
These "citizen-soldiers," as it was the fashion to call them, were all over the country, each place having its own corps. But the regular troops, drawn from all parts, were stationed chiefly where the danger seemed to be greatest, between London and the south coast, Sir David Dundas being in command.
Along the shore were erected batteries and martello towers—the latter remaining to this day. And since Boulogne was the headquarters of the French army of invasion, an advanced corps was placed on the opposite coast, near Sandgate, under General Moore, in readiness to repel the first onslaught. There the General occupied his time in such splendid training of the regiments under his control that throughout the long years of the Peninsular War, after he himself had passed away, the stamp of his spirit rested upon them, the impress of his enthusiasm and of his magnificent discipline made them the foremost soldiers in the British Army. These were the regiments who, as the "Reserve," bore the brunt of the fighting in Moore's famous "Retreat," and who were known in Spain and at Waterloo as Wellington's unequalled and invincible "Light Brigade." Wellington used those regiments for the saving of Europe; but Moore made them what they were.
To the delight of Jack an opportunity offered itself whereby he might exchange into one of the Shornecliffe regiments, and he grasped at it eagerly.
He had for Moore the half-worshipping admiration which is sometimes seen in a young man towards an older man. Jack would be none the worse for his hero-worship, since happily he had fixed upon a worthy object. As yet he had seen little personally of the General, having met him but two or three times. But long before they came together, he had cherished an intense interest in the man, an interest awakened first in more boyish days by Ivor's vivid descriptions of campaigns in the West Indies and in Egypt, descriptions of which Moore was always the central figure. Jack had seized with avidity upon all such details.
When at length the two met he could feel no surprise at Ivor's intense and reverent love for his chief. The soldierly bearing of Moore, his grace of manner, the power of his unique personality, together with his chivalrous devotion to his mother and his courteous kindness towards all with whom he came in contact—these things from the first made a profound impression upon Jack; and the more he learnt to know of Moore, the more that impression was deepened. He counted himself thenceforward ready to live or to die for the General; and one day in a fit of confidence he said so to Polly.
"Nay, Jack; live for him; do not wish to die for him," pleaded Polly. "That will be the best."
Jack was not so sure. His imagination had been fired long before by the story, told to him by Ivor, of a certain heroic Guardsman—a man who, in the West Indies, had flung himself between Moore and the musket aimed at him, thus giving his life for that of his officer. But it was not needful for Jack to explain how much he longed to do the same. He merely smiled, and remarked, "In all England there is no other his equal. Of that I am convinced."
To the great disappointment of Jack, the General had been quickly summoned away on important duty; and intercourse between them came for the moment to a close. The young subaltern, however, found it possible to pursue acquaintance with the General's mother and sister; and gentle old Mrs. Moore had a great deal to say about this most idolised son of hers, where she found a sympathetic listener. Few listeners could have been more sympathetic than Jack Keene, who never grew tired of the subject. Mrs. Moore had other sons beside the General, but it was noticed that when she referred to him he was always distinctively, "My son!" not "My eldest son," or "My son John!" This did not touch the close friendship between Moore and his brothers, one of whom was a Naval officer of note.
Through those summer weeks of 1803 Polly was longing for Captain Ivor to come home. It was sad to think of him as a prisoner, forced to stay against his will in a foreign land. She knew, too, that any day Jack might be ordered off elsewhere; and one day, as she had feared, he rushed in, to tell them that he would be leaving immediately for Shornecliffe Camp, there to await Napoleon's first attempt to land on English soil.
The news was less a matter of congratulation for them than for Jack himself. At Sandgate he would be in the very forefront of the peril which threatened the land. Mrs. Fairbank had to rub her large horn spectacles more than once; and she was disposed to blame Jack for not referring the question to herself, before he accepted the offer of an exchange. Molly looked curiously at Jack, and asked—
"Are you glad to say good-bye to us all?"
"Not glad to say good-bye, but glad to be going. People must say good-bye sometimes, Molly. And I shall be fighting under one of the best and bravest men that ever lived. Would not you like that?"
Molly shook her head. "If Roy was here, I should never want to go away," she said decisively. "But if you care more for General Moore than for us——"
"Pooh! What nonsense!" retorted Jack; and Polly exclaimed—
"Molly, how can you say such a thing? Jack wants to be one of the first to fight in defence of England. Do you not see? It is but right. He would be no true soldier, otherwise. If Captain Ivor were but free to do the same! Yes, indeed, I do wish it! It is terrible for him to be cut off from action—but not for Jack to wish to be foremost. O fie, Molly dear, you must have more sense."
"Polly always understands," murmured Jack; and Molly would have given much at the moment to have had those words spoken of herself. She hung her head and was mute. Tender-hearted Polly could never endure to see anyone sad or abashed, and her hand stole into Molly's as she went on—
"But Molly will understand now. Jack, she and I have this morning learnt by heart a verse of Mr. Walter Scott's, which 'tis said he has but just writ. Molly, you shall say the words to Jack, for they are brave words. Hold up your head, dear, and speak out, as an Englishwoman should."
Molly obeyed, not sorry for the chance to redeem her previous error, and to re-establish herself in Jack's good graces, for which she cared more than she quite allowed to herself. She held her head well up, therefore, and spouted with considerable effect—
"'If ever breath of British gale
Shall fan the tricolour,
Or footstep of invader rude,
With rapine foul and red with blood,
Pollute our happy shore,
Then farewell, home! and farewell, friends!
Adieu, each tender tie!
Resolved, we mingle in the tide,
Where charging squadrons furious ride,
To conquer or to die.'"
"Come, that is good. That was well said. You understand too, I see, Molly. I e'en thought it must be so—you, a British Colonel's daughter! And you'll both bid me God-speed. And when Napoleon is beaten, and old England is again in safety, I'll come back, and be grannie's home-boy once more. Eh, ma'am?"
"Yes, yes, Jack; yes, my dear boy." Mrs. Fairbank did her best to control her voice, and as usual when agitated she knitted at railway speed. "You will do your duty, Jack. I am sure of it. And General Moore will be a good friend to you."
"But now I have somewhat else to show you all, in return for Molly's poetry," observed Jack in cheerful tones, anxious to prevent a breakdown on the part of his grandmother. "What do you think it may be, Molly? Guess, all of you. Must I tell? Well, 'tis nought less than two letters about our Hero, which his mother let me see. They are writ some four years since to the General's father, Dr. Moore; the one from Sir Ralph Abercrombie, and the other from Sir Robert Brownrigg, who was secretary to the Duke of York, and Adjutant-General. Nay, these are not the originals, for I can assure you 'twould be no easy task to get them out of Mrs. Moore's keeping. But she permitted me to take copies of the same, and they are here. The engagement spoken of was that on the second of October, in 1799, between the English and the French in Holland; and General Moore was wounded early in the action, but nevertheless he fought on until wounded a second time. These, to his father afterwards, both make mention of his wounds. Shall I read?"
"Pray do so, my dear Jack," said Mrs. Fairbank; and, "O do, Jack!" entreated Polly.
Jack obeyed.
"'Headquarters. Zuper Sluys, Holland. October 4th, 1799.
"'My dear Sir—I cannot suffer the accompanying letter from my dear friend, your son, to go to you, without assuring you that the wounds he has received are attended with no danger. Mr. Knight, the Duke's surgeon, attends him, and gives hope of his speedy recovery. The wound in his thigh he received early in the action, but it did not prevent him from continuing his exertions for two hours afterwards, when a wound in his face obliged him to leave the field. It is through the cheek, and I understand has not wounded the bone. His conduct in the serious action of the 2nd, which perhaps may be ranked among the most obstinately contested battles that have been fought this war, has raised him, if possible, higher than he before stood in the estimation of this army. Everyone admires and loves him; and you may boast of having as your son the most amiable man and the best General in the British service; this is a universal opinion, and does not proceed from my partiality alone.
"'God bless you, my dear Sir. I hope in a few days to have it in my power to tell you that considerable progress is made in Moore's cure; and believe me, with great respect and regard,
"'Very faithfully yours,
"'Robert Brownrigg.'"
Jack paused, and repeated thoughtfully, "'Everyone admires and loves him—the most amiable man and the best General in the British service!' Yet by nature his is no easy temper, ma'am; of that his mother could assure me. She said that her son—ever the best of sons to her—gave her in his boyhood many an anxious hour, by reason of his hot and impulsive moods, and his readiness to fight. But listen now to the letter of Sir Ralph himself—
"'Egmond-on-the-Sea, Oct. 4th.
"'My dear Sir—Although your son is wounded in the thigh and in the cheek, I can assure you he is in no sort of danger; both wounds are slight. The public and myself are the greatest sufferers by these accidents.
"'The General is a hero, with more sense than many others of that description, in that he is an ornament to his family and to his profession. I hope Mrs. Moore and his sister will be easy on his account, and that you are proud of such a son.
"'Yours,
"'Ralph Abercrombie.'"
This time it was Mrs. Fairbank who quoted words from the letter. She said, "'With more sense than many others of that description.' Pray, my dear Jack, what think you Sir Ralph might have meant to signify?"
"Why, ma'am, I take it thus. Many a man is brave and fights well, who in fact is nought else beside. Whereas General Moore is a man of extraordinary genius and great nobility of character, one who shines in whatever society he may find himself, and above all, who is ardently beloved by everybody that knows him. What else might Sir Ralph signify?"
"To my mind, 'tis a somewhat droll mode of expressing himself, though, none the less, 'tis clear what he thinks of the General. Were he my son, I could fain be proud of him. Not that pride is so suitable a feeling as thankfulness."
"In truth, ma'am, his mother is proud and thankful too. She thinks that all the whole world holds no man equal to her brave son. And I—I am disposed to think the same."
Then Jack carefully folded his precious letters, stowed them in his pocket, and stood up. "Come, Polly and Molly," he said. "There is time yet for a turn before dinner? We will go to the Pump Room."
Molly looked anxiously for leave, and flew to obey. A walk with Jack was always delightful. They entered the old Pump Room together, finding there, as usual, a large assemblage of gaily-dressed ladies and fashionably-attired gentlemen, some walking about, some lounging on seats. The ladies wore short-waisted gowns, chiefly of white or figured muslin, with short cloaks or mantles of bright hues, or short spencers of silk or coloured crape, and great feathered hats or bonnets, and plenty of large gilt and silver buttons; and many of the gentlemen were in tights and long flowered waistcoats and silver-buckled shoes, while others wore blue coats with brass buttons. Pig-tails too might still be seen, though soon to be discontinued.
Jack gazed about for several minutes in vain; and then they came face to face with Mrs. Bryce, Admiral Peirce being her attendant cavalier.
Both were immensely interested to hear Jack's news—how, in less than a week, he would be off to Sandgate, there to be under the command of General Moore; and there also, as Jack hoped, to be called upon to bear the first brunt of Napoleon's invasion.
"Not you, my dear sir," objected the Admiral, with beaming face. "Before ever Boney reaches English shores, depend on't, he'll render a good account of himself to our ships of war. Trust gallant Nelson for that, since he's on the look-out. I doubt me, Boney won't contrive to give our Navy the slip."
Jack had no wish to get into a discussion. "Well, sir, well, our Navy and our Army too will both of them do their best," he said. "But he would be a foolish fellow who should trust all his eggs in one basket, as the saying is. And should by any chance the slip be given, and Boney arrive on our shores, why, then the Army will make him render his account, fairly! Has anybody seen Mrs. Moore, ma'am?" and he turned to Mrs. Bryce.
Mrs. Bryce had not the least intention of parting hastily with her second cavalier. To walk about the Pump Room, in view of all her Bath acquaintances, with a gentleman on either side, was highly desirable. So Polly and Molly were adroitly dropped behind, and she set off.
"If not Mrs. Moore, Jack, I have seen someone else of passable interest," she remarked. "Her name is Miss Jane Austen—a well-bred young woman, I do assure you. And only to think—the good lady has writ a book, which may by chance be one day printed. 'Twas told my husband in strictest confidence; and if I had not wormed it out of him——Ah, ha! Jack—wait till you get you a wife, and then you'll not smile on that side of your mouth."
"I have found my bride, ma'am. 'Tis my profession," declared Jack.
"Nay, nay, nothing of the sort, my dear sir. Wait a while, and you'll find your affections engaged in another fashion. Can you be so hard-hearted as to hold out even now, in the face of all this youth and elegance? See—there goes a bewitching young woman, though 'tis true she wears a shocking unbecoming gown! But she's a prodigious favourite, and she can dance as tolerable a minuet as any young female present. Then there's young Susie, yonder—something of a hoyden, may be, and calls herself 'a dasher,' but uncommonly pretty, and prodigiously good spirits. And if you'd sooner have a blue-stocking—why, I've but to introduce you to Miss Jane Austen herself."
(To be continued.)
[METHODS OF MOUNTING FOR GIRL CYCLISTS.]
By Mrs. EGBERT A. NORTON.
Nothing else, I think, affords one such a good opportunity of judging of a girl's general capabilities or style in riding as the way in which she mounts her machine.
In this matter as in so many others a "good start is most important."
Having already mastered the principle of steering, the mystery of the mount is a matter of balance only.
There are several points which, if borne in mind, will considerably help the beginner in first attempts, namely—
1. To select a road inclining slightly down-hill.
2. Stand on rather higher ground than the bicycle.
3. Incline the front wheel slightly to the right.
4. Be careful not to check the motion of the machine by too much pressure on the pedal after it passes its lowest point.
5. Do not catch the left pedal too quickly, or apply pressure before it passes the top centre.
There are five distinct methods of mounting for skirted riders, two of which are suitable for beginners only, the other three for more advanced riders.