Chapter VIII: The Threatened Invasion

THERE is a good deal of variety in the different accounts as to the number of British subjects who actually suffered arrest in French dominions on the breaking out of the war. Some estimates amount to as high a figure as ten thousand; but these seem to have made no allowance for the rapid homeward rush just at the last. Other estimates give only a few hundreds, belonging chiefly to the upper ranks of society.

But indeed all classes were included. Not only officers in the Army and Navy, but lawyers, doctors, clergymen, men of rank, men of business, artisans, English residents abroad, all alike had the notice of arrest served upon them. All alike were either thrown into prison, or, if gentlemen, were ordered immediately to constitute themselves prisoners of war upon parole, with the alternative of becoming prisoners of war in strict confinement.

The mass of those détenus who were allowed to be upon their parole had to go to Fontainebleau; and thither Colonel and Mrs. Baron betook themselves. On the score of danger to others from infection, a slight delay was permitted to Ivor, still in charge of Roy.

The question had at once arisen whether Mrs. Baron should not be sent to England with her boy as soon as he should be fit to travel. Women were, at least in theory, free to go where they would, provided only that they could obtain passports. But Mrs. Baron refused to consider any such proposal. She could not and would not be separated from her husband. "Of course I shall go with him to Fontainebleau," she said decisively. "It cannot be for long. Roy must come to us there. It only means leaving his schooling for a quarter of a year. He will not be strong enough for work at present; and something is sure to be arranged soon. Then we shall all go home together."

The general opinion among friends in England was that Roy would certainly be sent across the Channel so soon as possible. Yet there were some who doubted. Mrs. Baron was known to be a mother perhaps more fond than wise; and it seemed conceivable that she might decline to part with him.

This unlooked-for move of Napoleon's caused a burning outburst of indignation throughout the length and breadth of England; and newspapers vied one with another in wrathful condemnation of his "unmannerly violation of the laws of hospitality."

War once begun was carried on with energy by both the British and the French. As a first step, Napoleon did his best to damage English commerce by closing Continental markets against her—supremely careless of the suffering which he inflicted on his own friends and subjects. But at this particular game England was the better of the two.

Ironclads were then unknown; and though the great three-deckers, with their seventy or a hundred guns apiece, could not be built in a day, yet war-vessels were of every description, from three-deckers down to merchant-ships, hastily fitted with a few guns, and sent forth to do their best. In a short time Great Britain had about five hundred war-vessels, with which she swept the seas, recaptured such Colonies as had been yielded to France by the Treaty of Amiens, blockaded harbours in countries subject to the First Consul, and made descents upon their ports, carrying off prizes in the very teeth of French guns and fortifications.

Napoleon's next move was definitely to announce his intention of invading England, of conquering the country, and of making it into a Province of France.

This was a feat more easily talked of than accomplished. Preparations, however, were pushed forward on a great scale. Huge flotillas of flat-bottomed boats, to act as transport for the invading army, were collected at various places, more especially at Boulogne; and at the latter spot a camp was formed of between one and two hundred thousand soldiers, to be in readiness for the moment of action. Also a strong fleet of French men-of-war was being prepared, to convoy the transports across the Channel.

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.

An extraordinary burst of enthusiasm, throughout the whole country, was the immediate response to Napoleon's threat.

Large supplies of money were freely voted and 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 scattered all over the country, each place having its own corps. But the regular troops, drawn from various parts, were chiefly stationed where the danger seemed to be the more pressing, between London and the south coast—Sir David Dundas being in command.

Along the shores were erected batteries and martello towers—many of which remain 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 Moore 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. Among these were the regiments which, as "The Reserve," bore the brunt of the fighting in Moore's famous "Retreat," and which were known in Spain and at Waterloo as Wellington's invincible "Light Brigade." Wellington used those regiments for the saving of Europe; but Moore made and tempered the weapon which was to be wielded by Wellington.

To the delight of Jack Keene, an opportunity offered itself whereby he might effect an exchange into one of the Shorncliffe regiments.

His semi-worshipping admiration for Moore was a reflection, an echo, of Ivor's deeper devotion. As yet he had seen little of the General, having met him but a few times. But long before they came together he had cherished a warm interest in the man—an interest awakened first in boyish days by Ivor's vivid descriptions of campaigning in the West Indies; descriptions of which Moore was always the chief figure. Jack had seized with avidity upon all such details.

When at length the two met, he could feel no wonder at Ivor's intense and reverent love for Moore. He counted himself thenceforward ready to live or to die for him, 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. He could not forget a story told him long before by Ivor, of a certain heroic Guardsman in the West Indies—a man who had flung himself between Moore and the musket which was aimed pointblank at the latter, thus giving his life for that of his officer. But it was not needful for Jack to explain how readily he would do the same. He merely smiled, and remarked, "In all England there is no other his equal. Of that I am assured."

To Jack's disappointment General Moore had been summoned away from Bath 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 besides the General; but it was noticed that when she referred to him he was always distinctively—"My son," —not "My eldest son," nor "My son, John." This did not touch the close friendship between Moore and his brothers, one of whom was a Naval officer of mark.

Through these 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 in a foreign land. She knew too that any day Jack might be ordered off; and one day, as she had feared, he rushed in, to tell them that he would be leaving immediately for Shorncliffe Camp, there to await Napoleon's first attempt to land on English soil.

The news was less a matter for congratulation to them than to 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 the best and bravest man that ever lived. Cannot you understand that?"

Polly broke out before Molly could reply. "Yes, indeed, Molly and I understand. You would be no true soldier, did you not long to be in the forefront. Jack, she and I have but this morning learned by heart a verse of Mr. Walter Scott's which 'tis said he has but just writ. Molly, you shall say the verse to Jack, for they are brave words. Hold up your head, and speak out, dear, as an Englishwoman should."

Molly obeyed, and spouted with considerable effect:

"'If ever breath of British gale
Shall fan the tri-colour,
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. And you will both bid me God-speed. And when Napoleon is beaten, and old England is once again in safety,—why, then I will return, ma'am, to sit in the chimney-corner!"

"Yes, yes, Jack,—yes, my dear boy." Mrs. Fairbank, as always when agitated, knitted at railway speed. "You will do your duty in any case. Of that I am convinced. And General Moore will be a good friend to you."

Jack detected signs of a possible breakdown, and he stood up.

"Come, Polly,—come, Molly. There is time for a turn in the Pump Room. You do not dine till half-past three; and my grandmother will be none the worse for a quiet hour."

Molly looked anxiously for leave, and then flew to get ready. A walk with Jack was always a treat. They entered the old Pump Room together, finding there, as usual, a large assemblage of gaily-dressed ladies and fashionable gentlemen; some walking about, some lounging on seats.

The ladies wore short-waisted gowns 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. Many of the gentlemen were in tights and long flowered waistcoats and silver-buckled shoes, while others wore blue coats with brass buttons. Pigtails too might still be seen, though soon to be discontinued.

Jack and the two girls came all at once 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—as Jack hoped—to be called upon to bear the first brunt of Napoleon's expected invasion.

"Not you, my dear sir," objected the Admiral, with a beaming face. "Before ever Boney reaches British shores, depend on 't he'll have to render a good account of himself to our ships of war. 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 'twould 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 some one else of passable interest," she remarked. "Who think you that can be? Nay, I protest, you shall stay, and you shall guess. Who can it have been?" She flirted her fan at him.

Jack was quite unable to imagine. "Unless it might chance to be Miss Moore," he suggested as a happy thought.

"Miss Jane Moore—the General's sister? No, sir, no—no Moore at all. Yet a 'Jane' notwithstanding. Her name is Miss Jane Austen—a well-bred young woman, I do assure you, who lives with her parents and sister at 4 Sydney Place, in the Green Park Buildings. And only to think—the good lady has writ a book which may by chance one day be printed. Yes, indeed, and it is so, I do declare. To think of that, my dear Jack! A whole actual book, 'tis said, written and finished, and bought from Miss Jane Austen by one of our Bath booksellers, for the sum of ten pounds. I'm on no account to divulge the name of the bookseller; for now he's done his bargain, he's much in doubt if ever the tale will pay him for the expense of printing it. 'Tis a story of the name of some sort of Abbey. But if you come across the good lady, Miss Jane Austen herself, you may not tell her one word of what I have told to you, for 'tis a solemn secret from everybody. 'Twas told my husband in strictest confidence, and if I had not wormed it out of him—Ah! ha! Jack, wait till you get 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, in a manner which nowadays would be looked upon as grandiloquent, but which in those days was quite the right thing for an enthusiastic young man.

"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, maybe, and calls herself 'a dasher,' but uncommonly pretty, and prodigiously good spirits. And if you'd sooner have a bluestocking, why, I've but to introduce you to Miss Jane Austen herself."

"And if I have no sort of wish for none of these good people, madam?" demanded Jack, dropping involuntarily into the fashionable jargon of the day, so much affected by Mrs. Bryce.

"Why, then, Jack, I'll declare you are no true cavalier, nor worthy of your profession," smartly responded the good lady.