"Dead," he repeated, "the Commander-in-Chief dead? Good God, sir, what an utter damnable mess we're in!"
Macpherson made no answer, for of a truth there was none to be made. They were in a mess, such a one as probably no British army had been in before, save perhaps in the earlier days of the Peninsular War. Then, however, a great leader was there to guide them, one in whom all trusted, but now it seemed that there was no one, for he in whose hands their destiny had lain was dead. For the great war that had been prophesied for years past by countless Cassandras had come upon England at last, and as always, prophecies as to its course and method had been totally false. A guarding fleet, the Balaams had declared, lured away, then the horrors of invasion, the enemy successful at first, but in the end gloriously repulsed, the British lion having awakened from his slumbers. But here there had been no invasion—at least, not on the enemy's part—nor any thought of such yet, though a hundred thousand citizens, with guns and uniform, designated the Hearts of Oak—once known as the Territorials, before then as the Volunteers—were waiting on the coasts to receive them, patriotic rage inflaming their breasts. No, the fleet had not been decoyed away, or destroyed; on the contrary, it had done its work right well, and what remained of the enemy's fleet was now safely shut up in blockaded ports.
Then a strange thing happened, and yet perhaps not strange, but as certain to take place as the sun to shine in the heavens—England herself determined to invade.
What does our Army exist for? This is the question invariably propounded to a listening House by the merchant, lawyer, or doctor on appointment to the charge of Army fortunes, and equally invariably answered in accordance with party dictates, which demand at all costs retention in Office. Not for aggression, most emphatically not, he shouts, but for defence, and this being so, large numbers are but a useless expense and conscription an unnecessary hardship. Never can there be any question of England's invading a Continental or other power, he goes on to declare, and party dogs and Little Englanders bow-wow applause, and a slothful country smiles well pleased.
In this, as in many other political matters, he lies, for an army exists to fight whenever and wherever it is called upon so to do, and the military history of our own and other island nations is a story of successful invasion—from Crecy to South Africa it is one and the same story. For history, as the record of human nature, can never lie, and must always repeat itself, and a nation, unless degenerate, demands the striking of blows, not the mere waiting to receive them. And so England, flushed with success, began to seethe and clamour for more; but alas, of the Army there was only a handful, and the Hearts of Oak, by special decree, existed merely for defence against invasion.
A deadlock ensued, and Europe began to laugh. Under the sting of its laughter fury arose, and with it clamorous demands for an expedition, the greater now, because the balance was beginning to fall against England. The enemy had annexed countries she was bound by treaty to defend, and with a lengthy coastline thus secured, was hard at it building warships and repairing those disabled. It was but a question of months now, and England's fleet would be overwhelmed by numbers.
The fury increased, mass meetings were held, and the Government rocked where it sat. Expedition or resignation was demanded. Naturally the former won, and a special decree was passed by which the Hearts of Oak became liable for Service abroad. In vain they protested, deserted even; it was all no good, for public sympathy was against them, and in a few weeks a heterogeneous force of soldiers, sailors, and Hearts of Oak was packed on transports and sailed away to war.
In chief command was Lord Harford, a man of remarkable ability as an organiser, though notoriously deficient as a leader in the field, and assisting him as Chief of the Staff was Sir Thomas Moleyns, also a man of ability. His talents, however, were not those of a soldier, but rather of a political intriguer, his present eminence being mainly owing to the assistance given by him to the War Minister in a recent difficulty connected with the public discovery of a shortage of Government stores.
He was a strong, pushing person, however, and fully meant having the control of the present expedition, an aim which the age and infirmities of the Commander-in-Chief rendered comparatively easy of attainment. Contrary to expectation, the landing of the army was unopposed, and, that having been carried through without a hitch, the force marched on unmolested for three days, the few hostile cavalry scouts met with invariably retiring before its advance.
Almost it seemed as though the enemy invited invasion, which indeed was the case, it having exceeded their most sanguine expectations, and consequently the strictest orders had been issued to allow the British to come on unopposed till well out of reach of their ships.