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—