The Girl's Own Paper, Vol. XX, No. 988, December 3, 1898

Little rest could be allowed in those days to England's most gallant sons. Moore had a short time with those whom he loved best--with the mother especially, who was more to him than all the world beside--and again he was called away. In this year, 1797, a French invasion was already looked for, and he had to go, with an engineer officer, to survey the eastern coast, and to decide on preparations for such an invasion. After which he was despatched against Irish rebels in our unquiet sister-isle, there to be once more laid low with a severe illness.

Despite this attack he made himself so invaluable to the Lord-Lieutenant, Earl Cornwallis, one of his many personal friends, that when needed on the Continent by Sir Ralph Abercrombie, he could not at once be ordered thither. However, the need for his services became urgent, and English ministers appealed to Cornwallis, whose reply was:--

"I am sure you know me too well to suspect that any selfish consideration can weigh a moment with me against the general interests of the country. You shall have all the troops you ask, and General Moore, who is a greater loss to me than the troops. But he will be of infinite service to Abercrombie; and I likewise think it an object of the state that an officer of his talents and character should have every opportunity of acquiring knowledge and experience in his profession."

This was 1799, and ten thousand British troops were sent to Holland under Abercrombie. On October 2nd that engagement took place, to which the letters copied by Jack Keene bore reference. Moore received two wounds in the course of five hours' determined fighting. The first, in his leg, he quietly ignored; the second, in his face, felled him to the ground in a stunned condition. He and his men were then nearly surrounded by a strong body of the enemy, and Moore would have been made prisoner but that his men carried him off. He was assisted to the rear, and when his wounds had been dressed he rode ten miles back to his quarters, so faint with loss of blood that his horse had to be led, and he could barely keep his seat.

A few days later he very nearly put an end to his own life by accidentally drinking a strong sugar-of-lead lotion, used to bathe his cheek. Happily he kept his self-command, and the measures instantly taken prevented any ill result.

The letter from Sir Ralph Abercrombie to Dr. Moore had been written on the field of battle, which the commanding officer never left that night.

In the year 1800 Moore was again in the Mediterranean, and then came the memorable "Expedition to Egypt" under Abercrombie, Moore being once more under his old commander; and this time Ivor was again under Moore.

In a desperate action, which took place on March 20th, 1801, Moore was a second time wounded in the leg, and, as before, he fought resolutely on, disregarding it. Abercrombie, too, was shot in the thigh, but paid no heed, not even mentioning the fact until, the battle ended, he turned faint, and fell from his horse. The two friends never met again, for Abercrombie died of his wound before Moore was able to go to him. Moore's especial companion, Anderson, was also severely wounded, nearly losing his arm in consequence. Moore, writing home afterwards, said, "I never saw a field so covered with dead." But victory was with the English.

Then came the Peace of Amiens, and Moore returned to England in time to see once more his father, who was dying of old age and heart-disease. The Doctor's property was left between his wife and his six children, and Moore, not satisfied with his mother's jointure, insisted on giving her an additional annuity.

Thus for years the name of John Moore had been incessantly before the English public as the bravest of the brave, having become by this time the name beyond any other to which his countrymen would instinctively turn in any hour of national peril.

What was it about this remarkable man which so riveted the hearts of others to him? Not the hearts of women only, though his mother and sister idolised him, but vigorous men, stern soldiers, poured upon him a passion of devotion.

Buonaparte was adored and followed unto death by his soldiers, as a great Captain. Moore, in addition to this, was loved intensely as a man, with that love which strong men only give to strong men, and not to many of them. Wherever Moore turned he found this love. His own brothers lavished it upon him. The Duke of Hamilton was his ardent friend for life. Anderson was to him as Jonathan to David. The three gallant Napiers, Charles, George, and William, absolutely worshipped him. His French servant, François, forgot home and country for his sake. Private soldiers were ready to rush upon certain death if so they might save his life. Officers of rank, working with him, became almost inevitably his personal friends. The younger officers, under his command and training, so caught the infection of his high spirit, so responded to the influence of "their Hero," that by scores in after years they became prominent characters in the Army and leaders in the nation. He has been truly called "a king among men."

No doubt his striking personal appearance, his indescribable charm of manner--perhaps too his brilliant and witty conversational powers--had something to do with the matter. At the date when war again broke out, Moore, already a General, was only in his forty-third year--a man of commanding presence, tall and graceful, with a countenance of rare beauty. But those things which really lay at the foundation of this extraordinary control over others were,--the force of his character, the vivid enthusiasm of his purpose, the loftiness of his ideals, the simple grandeur of his life.

He had no doubt his enemies. What truly great man, who does not pander to the littlenesses of truly little men, ever fails to make some enemies? It could not be otherwise. His inviolable integrity, his blameless name, the splendid disdain with which he spurned everything false and mean--such qualities as these in Moore made some of a baser type turn from and even turn against one so infinitely more noble than themselves. But to men of a higher and purer stamp Moore was as the Bayard of the Middle Ages had been to a former generation, a knight sans peur et sans reproche, a model upon which they might seek to shape themselves.

With Ivor, as with many another, to have known Moore was to have been imbued for life with new aims, new ideals, new views of duty, new thoughts of self-abnegation. Not so much from what Moore might here or there have said, as from what he always was. To be under the man was in itself an inspiration.

Soon after Jack's departure for Sandgate, Admiral Peirce was called away on duty, and then the Bryces decided to flit eastward. Mrs. Bryce, who loved sensation, talked of a visit to Folkestone, a very tiny watering-place in those days, but within easy reach of Sandgate, and of Moore's Camp at Shorncliffe.

As a next move she offered to take Polly with her. Mrs. Fairbank demurred, and Mrs. Bryce insisted. Polly had kept up bravely under her separation from Ivor, but her pretty face had lost some of its colour, and no one could deny that the change might do her good. Mrs. Fairbank, thus advised, yielded, and Polly of course was charmed. Who would not have been so in her place? She would see Jack again, also Jack's Commander and England's Hero, General Moore. She would be distinctly nearer to France, and therefore to Denham. She would be in the thick of all that was going on, and would hear the news of the hour at first hand. Moreover, Polly was young and loved variety. But what about Molly?

"Molly has her lessons to learn. She and I will be companions each to the other," Mrs. Fairbank decided.

Nobody saw aught to find fault with in the plan except Molly herself, and Molly said nothing. Under the circumstances no other seemed open, unless Polly were made to give up the change which she much needed.

But in later years Molly often looked back with a shudder to those lonely autumn weeks.

Those were days of far severer imprisonment than are these, dungeons and chains being everyday matters. Molly had heard enough, even in her short life, of fettered and half-starved prisoners to cause her to be haunted by doleful visions.

In the daytime, when, by Mrs. Fairbank's desire, she was always fully occupied, it was easier to take a cheerful view of life; but Molly's time of misery began with nightfall. Often she would start out of a restless sleep, fancying that she saw Roy deep in some noisome underground cavern, with chains clanking on his wrists, while his big grey eyes appealed pitifully to her for help. Then she would hide her face, and would sob for an hour, and in the midst of her woe would come the sound of the old watchman shaking his rattle as he passed down the street, and calling out monotonously in sing-song tones, "Past one o'clock, and a fine starlight night." Or it might be, "Past three o'clock, and a rainy morning." Those old watchmen--"Charleys," as they were called--were the forerunners of our present police.

But of all this Molly said not a word to any human being. The only person whom she could have told was Polly.

In time a delightful letter arrived from Polly, written to Molly, telling how she and Mrs. Bryce had driven over from Folkestone to Sandgate, and had seen General Moore and Jack, and had inspected the preparations there made for a due welcome to Napoleon, when he should choose to make his appearance on British shores.

"And do but think, Molly," wrote Polly, "General Moore's dear old mother is down now at Sandgate, where she and her daughter have come to see again the General. For if Napoleon comes--and some say he will, and some say he will not--there must surely be hard fighting, and what that may mean none can tell beforehand. For sure it is, whatever happens, that General Moore will be in the thickest of the fight. And Jack tells me that when first Mrs. Moore arriv'd 'twas a touching sight indeed. She took her son into her arms, before all the Officers who were gather'd together, and burst into tears, doubtless thinking of the danger he must soon be in, and the many times he has been wounded. And not one present, Jack says, who did not testify his respect for her, nor his sympathy in her love for her heroic son.

"She has been at Sandgate for many weeks, and the General now urges her return home. For any day the French may make a move, and he wou'd fain have her away in a place of safety. But Mrs. Bryce and I have no fear, though all the world is in a great stir, waiting for the invaders to come. Jack wou'd love nothing better than to see the fleet of flat-bottomed boats approaching, that he might have a chance of fighting them and driving them back.

"I must tell you a story of Mr. William Pitt, who, being Warden of the Cinque Ports, has lately raised two regiments in this district, consisting of a thousand men each. He has often ridden over to General Moore's camp at Shorncliffe, and the two have talked together, General Moore telling his plans to Mr. Pitt. And one day Mr. Pitt said to General Moore, 'Well, Moore, but on the very first alarm of the enemy's coming, I shall march to aid you with my Cinque Port regiments, and you have not told me where you will place us.' Whereupon General Moore answered, 'Do you see that hill? You and yours shall be drawn up upon it, where you will make a most formidable appearance to the enemy, while I, with the soldiers, shall be fighting on the beach.' Mr. Pitt was excessively entertained with this reply, and laughed heartily.