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.