Chapter XI: A Mistaken Reading

"HAS Jack been?" asked Polly.

"Jack—no. How should Jack be spared? He is wanted, of course. They'll all be wanted," moaned Mrs. Bryce. "And they'll all be killed. And we shall be taken prisoners, and be carried away to France, and put into dungeons, and never see England again."

"I shouldn't greatly mind going to France—if they would but let me be where—somebody is," murmured Polly. "But they won't—they'll never get here. Napoleon has no such easy task before him. They'll never get past our soldiers. Why, think—we've General Moore."

"Nay, but that's the worst! He's away at Dungeness Point. And the French will land before ever he can get back. The whole world is gone wrong."

"Where's Mr. Bryce?"

"Gone off to see what is being done. I could not keep him back. I protest, he'd no business to leave me. If the French arrive, I shall die of terror on the spot."

Polly executed another dainty pas on the bare boards.

"Hadn't we best make ready, ma'am, before they come?" she cheerfully asked.

"It's no manner of use, child. They may arrive any moment. Any moment, I tell you! and what on earth shall we do then?"

Polly suggested a preference for seeing the French in her frock rather than in a condition of undress; and with much coaxing she managed to get Mrs. Bryce back into the next room. Then, with all possible expedition, she made her morning toilette, flitting lightly about, and wondering what would happen next. After which, discovering that Mrs. Bryce's maid had fallen into a fit of hysterics over the prospect of "them Mounseers a-coming," she took the maid's place.

By the time that they both were dressed, Mr. Bryce returned with a good deal to tell. The whole place was in a grand commotion. An express had been despatched to General Moore at Dungeness Point, telling him of the news received from Folkestone, and informing him that the brigade was already under arms. The Volunteers had turned promptly out, also the Sea-Fencibles; and each man was prepared to do and dare his utmost in defence of home and country.

"Not a dull face to be seen, nor a frightened one—except—" declared Mr. Bryce, rubbing his hands, with a glance at the wan cheek of his usually lively wife. "All the world in high spirits—specially the soldiers! Jack only hopes that nothing may turn back the fleet. 'Tis time Napoleon should have a sharp lesson, he says. Heigho, Polly, you are fresh as a rose this morning. Come, we'll have our breakfast while we may. I see no need to starve out of compliment to the First Consul."

"And pray, sir, take me out after," implored Polly.

"Nay, child, you're safer in here. Perchance you'd be hurt in the bustle. Besides, it may be Jack will run in for a word, and he would be vexed to find you gone."

This was a cogent argument, and Polly submitted. She roved about the room, looking much out of the window, and singing under her breath scraps from ballads of the day. First came:

"Our bugles sang truce, for the night cloud had lowered,
And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky,
And thousands had sunk on the ground, overpowered,
The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die."

* * * * * * * *

"Stay, stay with us—rest—thou art weary and worn—
And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay—
But sorrow returned with the dawning of morn,
And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away."

Polly made a break here, before her sweet voice took up another strain, more softly uttered:

"When you're parted, Polly Oliver,
Parted from your own true love,
Will you be true, Polly Oliver,
True to your own true love?"

"Yes; though the waves divide us,—
Yes; wheresoever you rove,—
I'm ever your own little Polly,
Ever your true, true love!"

She had altered it slightly, half by instinct, dropping the surname in the last verse.

"In truth, Polly, you seem mighty indifferent to Napoleon's doings," objected Mrs. Bryce; after which she inquired of her husband how they were to escape inland.

"Why, that I do not precisely see," Mr. Bryce answered, with exasperating satisfaction. "Every man in the place will be wanted, and not a horse can be spared. Doubtless General Moore will arrange matters. I think 'tis needful that we should wait a while, and see what may happen. 'Tis a question in my mind whether the French can ever get so far as to the coast of England."

Mrs. Bryce recurred hysterically to her former assertion that they might arrive at any moment.

"Hardly that, since ships must take time. But 'tis true they've signalled from Folkestone that the enemy's boats had left Calais, and that the transports and ships at Ostend were also out and steering westerly. So, with this wind, they'll perchance be here in a few hours, if our fleet do not cut them out on their way. And I promise them they'll have a warm reception, if they come. Eh, Polly! We're making ready for 'em."

"I can't have you leave us again—not for no sort of consideration," urged Mrs. Bryce. "Your duty, my dear, is to protect us. If the French come, what may Polly and I do?"

"They've a few small difficulties to get over first," Mr. Bryce remarked drily. "'Tis no case of walking quietly on shore. I'll be back in time to protect you both—though indeed, should the French arrive, my place would be in the ranks with others."

Mr. Bryce had not been in such spirits for many a day. He was a quiet and meek-mannered man generally; but the prospect of a fight made him feel young again. When next he returned, he carried a musket with supreme satisfaction. Few middle-aged men have not some remnants of boyhood in them; and all the boyhood in Mr. Bryce came that day to the surface. He studied his new weapon with glee, talking much to Polly of "firelocks," fingering daintily the touch-hole, showing her how the spark from the flint would set the gunpowder on fire, and foretelling the certain death of some unfortunate French conscript, forced to fight for Boney against his will.

"Nay, sir, but you need not kill him," remonstrated Polly. "Only fire at his limbs, pray, and we will nurse him till he is well again."

"I have writ a letter to your grandmother, Polly," Mrs. Bryce said in quavering tones. "Where is the wax? I wish it fastened at once. I protest, I've scarce strength to lift a penholder. But I've informed her that we'll go to Bath so soon as ever we may. I trust only that we'll not be taken prisoners for life before ever we're away from this."

Somewhat later, no further news having reached them, Mr. Bryce again sallied forth, and this time he consented to take Polly, both of them promising to return to Mrs. Bryce on the very first intimation that the invading fleet had been sighted. They had not walked far when a man on horseback drew near at a quick trot.

"'Tis himself!" Polly exclaimed, with enthusiasm. Both she and Mr. Bryce knew well that soldierly figure, with its peerless grace of bearing.

"All now will go well," murmured Mr. Bryce. "Let Napoleon come, and welcome—so long only as Moore is at hand."

Polly did not catch his words.

"The General! 'Tis the General, sir."

They stood still, and Moore, drawing rein sharply, sprang to the ground. He was well bespattered with mud, and he had the look of having ridden hard and fast.

"So," he said, breaking into a smile which lighted up his whole face,—"so 'tis a false alarm this time."

Polly's exclamation contained a note of something like disappointment. Mr. Bryce seemed more gratified than astonished. The General's keen glance went from the one to the other.

"Due to a mistaken signal," he remarked briefly, "which the signal-officer at Folkestone understood to mean what it did not mean. The French transports have not left their stations, either at Calais or at Ostend."

"And you, sir, were at Dungeness Point," observed Mr. Bryce. "You must have ridden the twenty miles thence at a great speed."

"At full gallop, the entire distance. My horse, poor fellow, is I fear the worse. Not this one; I have mounted another. But the alarm is scarce a subject for regret. The spirit displayed on all sides has been of the best."

"Will Napoleon really come, think you, sir?" asked Polly, half shy, half brave.

"If his intention be to come before the winter, he has little time to lose," Moore answered courteously, and also with a touch of reserve; for privately he had not much faith in the threatened invasion.

"And you think he may do so, in very truth?"

"He may doubtless make the attempt—if he choose. The question is rather, what will he gain by it? It would seem, however, that Government is in greater apprehension of invasion now than a while since. Three more regiments join me here next Tuesday."

"'Tis better to be over-careful than under-careful," suggested Mr. Bryce.

"And the stronger the front that we present, the less likely are we to be attacked. But I must away. Sir David Dundas will be soon arriving. My compliments to Mrs. Bryce. She is not, I hope, the worse for this alarm."

"Somewhat shaken, sir; but we will return to cheer her spirits. She proposes flight to Bath for greater safety."

"She might perhaps go to a worse place," the General said, as he mounted and rode off, with a parting salute.

"Well, Polly?" They had watched him out of sight; and Mr. Bryce turned to his companion.

"Well, sir?" echoed Polly in arch tones.

"The false alarm at least has served to show of what metal some folks are made," remarked Mr. Bryce drily.