BRUSSELS.
I must not protract a tale already far too long, by the recital of my
acquaintance with the gallant Twenty-sixth. It is sufficient that I should
say that, having given Mike orders to follow me to Cove, I joined the
regiment on their march, and accompanied them to Cork. Every hour of
each day brought us in news of moment and importance; and amidst all the
stirring preparations for the war, the account of the splendid spectacle
of the _Champ de Mai_ burst upon astonished Europe, and the intelligence
spread far and near that the enthusiasm of France never rose higher in
favor of the Emperor. And while the whole world prepared for the deadly
combat, Napoleon surpassed even himself, by the magnificent conceptions for
the coming conflict, and the stupendous nature of those plans by which he
resolved on resisting combined and united Europe.
While our admiration and wonder of the mighty spirit that ruled the
destinies of the continent rose high, so did our own ardent and burning
desire for the day when the open field of fight should place us once more
in front of each other.
Every hard-fought engagement of the Spanish war was thought of and talked
over; from Talavera to Toulouse, all was remembered. And while among the
old Peninsulars the military ardor was so universally displayed, among the
regiments who had not shared the glories of Spain and Portugal, an equal,
perhaps a greater, impulse was created for the approaching campaign.
When we arrived at Cork, the scene of bustle and excitement exceeded
anything I ever witnessed. Troops were mustering in every quarter;
regiments arriving and embarking; fresh bodies of men pouring in; drills,
parades, and inspections going forward; arms, ammunition, and military
stores distributing; and amidst all, a spirit of burning enthusiasm
animated every rank for the approaching glory of the newly-arisen war.
While thus each was full of his own hopes and expectations, I alone felt
depressed and downhearted. My military caste was lost to me forever, my
regiment many, many a mile from the scene of the coming strife; though
young, I felt like one already old and bygone. The last-joined ensign
seemed, in his glowing aspiration, a better soldier than I, as, sad and
dispirited, I wandered through the busy crowds, surveying with curious eye
each gallant horseman as he rode proudly past. What was wealth and fortune
to me? What had they ever been, compared with all they cost me?--the
abandonment of the career I loved, the path in life I sought and panted
for. Day after day I lingered on, watching with beating heart each
detachment as they left the shore; and when their parting cheer rang high
above the breeze, turned sadly back to mourn over a life that had failed in
its promise, and an existence now shorn of its enjoyment.
It was on the evening of the 3d of June that I was slowly wending my way
back towards my hotel. Latterly I had refused all invitations to dine
at the mess. And by a strange spirit of contradiction, while I avoided
society, could yet not tear myself away from the spot where every
remembrance of my past life was daily embittered by the scenes around me.
But so it was; the movement of the troops, their reviews, their arrivals,
and departures, possessed the most thrilling interest for me. While I could
not endure to hear the mention of the high hopes and glorious vows each
brave fellow muttered.
It was, as I remember, on the evening of the 3d of June, I entered my hotel
lower in spirits even than usual. The bugles of the gallant Seventy-first,
as they dropped down with the tide, played a well-known march I had heard
the night before Talavera. All my bold and hardy days came rushing madly to
my mind; and my present life seemed no longer endurable. The last army
list and the newspaper lay on my table, and I turned to read the latest
promotions with that feeling of bitterness by which an unhappy man loves to
tamper with his misery.
Almost the first paragraph I threw my eyes upon ran thus:--
OSTEND, May 24.
The “Vixen” sloop-of-war, which arrived at our port this morning,
brought among several other officers of inferior note
Lieutenant-General Sir George Dashwood, appointed as
Assistant-Adjutant-General
on the staff of his Grace the Duke of Wellington. The gallant
general was accompanied by his lovely and accomplished daughter,
and his military secretary and aide-de-camp, Major Hammersley,
of the 2d Life Guards. They partook of a hurried _déjeuné_
with the Burgomaster, and left immediately after for Brussels.
Twice I read this over, while a burning, hot sensation settled upon my
throat and temples. “So Hammersley still persists; he still hopes. And
what then?--what can it be to me?--my prospects have long since faded and
vanished! Doubtless, ere this, I am as much forgotten as though we had
never met,--would that we never had!” I threw up the window-sash; a light
breeze was gently stirring, and as it fanned my hot and bursting head, I
felt cooled and relieved. Some soldiers were talking beneath the window and
among them I recognized Mike’s voice.
“And so you sail at daybreak, Sergeant?”
“Yes, Mister Free; we have our orders to be on board before the flood-tide.
The ‘Thunderer’ drops down the harbor to-night, and we are merely here to
collect our stragglers.”
“Faix, it’s little I thought I’d ever envy a sodger any more; but someway,
I wish I was going with you.”
“Nothing easier, Mike,” said another, laughing.
“Oh, true for you, but that’s not the way I’d like to do it. If my master,
now, would just get over his low spirits, and spake a word to the Duke of
York, devil a doubt but he’d give him his commission back again, and then
one might go in comfort.”
“Your master likes his feather pillow better than a mossy stone under his
head, I’m thinking; and he ain’t far wrong either.”
“You’re out there, Neighbor. It’s himself cares as little for hardship as
any one of you; and sure it’s not becoming me to say it, but the best blood
and the best bred was always the last to give in for either cold or hunger,
ay, or even complain of it.”
Mike’s few words shot upon me a new and a sudden conviction,--what was to
prevent my joining once more? Obvious as such a thought now was, yet never
until this moment did it present itself so palpably. So habituated does
the mind become to a certain train of reasoning, framing its convictions
according to one preconceived plan, and making every fact and
every circumstance concur in strengthening what often may be but a
prejudice,--that the absence of the old Fourteenth in India, the sale of
my commission, the want of rank in the service, all seemed to present an
insurmountable barrier to my re-entering the army. A few chance words now
changed all this, and I saw that as a volunteer at least, the path of glory
was still open, and the thought was no sooner conceived, than the resolve
to execute it. While, therefore, I walked hurriedly up and down, devising,
planning, plotting, and contriving, each instant I would stop to ask myself
how it happened I had not determined upon this before.
As I summoned Mike before me, I could not repress a feeling of false shame,
as I remembered how suddenly so natural a resolve must seem to have
been adopted; and it was with somewhat of hesitation that I opened the
conversation.
“And so, sir, you are going after all,--long life to you? But I never
doubted it. Sure, you wouldn’t be your father’s son, and not join divarsion
when there was any going on.”
The poor fellow’s eyes brightened up, his look gladdened, and before he
reached the foot of the stairs, I heard his loud cheer of delight that once
more we were off to the wars.
The packet sailed for Liverpool the next morning. By it we took our
passage, and on the third morning I found myself in the waiting-room at
the Horse Guards, expecting the moment of his Royal Highness’s arrival; my
determination being to serve as a volunteer in any regiment the duke might
suggest, until such time as a prospect presented itself of entering the
service as a subaltern.
The room was crowded by officers of every rank and arm in the service. The
old, gray-headed general of division; the tall, stout-looking captain of
infantry; the thin and boyish figure of the newly-gazetted cornet,--were
all there; every accent, every look that marked each trait of national
distinction in the empire, had its representative. The reserved and distant
Scotchman; the gay, laughing, exuberant Patlander; the dark-eyed, and
dark-browed North Briton,--collected in groups, talked eagerly together;
while every instant, as some new arrival would enter, all eyes would turn
to the spot, in eager expectation of the duke’s coming. At last the clash
of arms, as the guard turned out, apprised us of his approach, and we
had scarcely time to stand up and stop the buzz of voices, when the door
opened, and an aide-de-camp proclaimed in a full tone,--
“His Royal Highness the Commander-in-Chief!”
Bowing courteously on every side, he advanced through the crowd, turning
his rapid and piercing look here and there through the room, while with
that tact, the essential gift of his family, he recognized each person by
his name, directing from one to the other some passing observation.
“Ah, Sir George Cockburn, how d’ ye do?--your son’s appointment is made
out. Major Conyers, that application shall be looked to. Forbes, you must
explain that I cannot possibly put men in the regiment of their choice; the
service is the first thing. Lord L----, your memorial is before the Prince
Regent; the cavalry command will, I believe, however, include your name.”
While he spoke thus, he approached the place where I was standing, when,
suddenly checking himself, he looked at me for a moment somewhat sternly.
“Why not in uniform, sir?”
“Your Royal Highness, I am not in the army.”
“Not in the army--not in the army? And why, may I beg to know, have
you--But I’m speaking to _Captain_ O’Malley, if I mistake not?”
“I held that rank, sir, once; but family necessities compelled me to sell
out. I have now no commission in the service, but am come to beseech your
Royal Highness’s permission to serve as a volunteer.”
“As a volunteer, eh--a volunteer? Come, that’s right, I like that; but
still, we want such fellows as you,--the man of Ciudad Rodrigo. Yes, my
Lord L----, this is one of the stormers; fought his way through the trench
among the first; must not be neglected. Hold yourself in readiness,
Captain--hang it, I was forgetting; Mr. O’Malley, I mean--hold yourself
in readiness for a staff appointment. Smithson, take a note of this.”
So saying, he moved on; and I found myself in the street, with a heart
bounding with delight, and a step proud as an emperor’s.
With such rapidity the events of my life now followed one upon the other,
that I could take no note of time as it passed. On the fourth day after
my conversation with the duke I found myself in Brussels. As yet I heard
nothing of the appointment, nor was I gazetted to any regiment or any
situation on the staff. It was strange enough, too, I met but few of my old
associates, and not one of those with whom I had been most intimate in my
Peninsular career; but it so chanced that very many of the regiments who
most distinguished themselves in the Spanish campaigns, at the peace of
1814 were sent on foreign service. My old friend Power was, I learned,
quartered at Courtrai; and as I was perfectly at liberty to dispose of my
movements at present, I resolved to visit him there.
It was a beautiful evening on the 12th of June. I had been inquiring
concerning post-horses for my journey, and was returning slowly through
the park. The hour was late--near midnight--but a pale moonlight, a calm,
unruffled air, and stronger inducements still, the song of the nightingales
that abound in this place, prevailed on many of the loungers to prolong
their stay; and so from many a shady walk and tangled arbor, the clank of
a sabre would strike upon the ear, or the low, soft voice of woman would
mingle her dulcet sound with the deep tones of her companion. I wandered
on, thoughtful and alone; my mind pre-occupied so completely with the
mighty events passing before me, I totally forgot my own humble career, and
the circumstances of my fortune. As I turned into an alley which leads from
the Great Walk towards the Palace of the Prince of Orange, I found my path
obstructed by three persons who were walking slowly along in front of me.
I was, as I have mentioned, deeply absorbed in thought, so that I found
myself close behind them before I was aware of their presence. Two of the
party were in uniform, and by their plumes, upon which a passing ray of
moonlight flickered, I could detect they were general officers; the
third was a lady. Unable to pass them, and unwilling to turn back, I
was unavoidably compelled to follow, and however unwilling, to overhear
somewhat of their conversation.
“You mistake, George, you mistake! Depend upon it, this will be no
lengthened campaign; victory will soon decide for one side or the other.
If Napoleon beats the Prussians one day, and beat us the next, the German
States will rally to his standard, and the old confederation of the Rhine
will spring up once more in all the plenitude of its power. The _Champ de
Mai_ has shown the enthusiasm of France for their Emperor. Louis XVIII fled
from his capital, with few to follow, and none to say, ‘God bless him!’ The
warlike spirit of the nation is roused again; the interval of peace, too
short to teach habits of patient and enduring industry, is yet sufficient
to whet the appetite for carnage; and nothing was wanting, save the
presence of Napoleon alone, to restore all the brilliant delusions and
intoxicating splendors of the empire.”
“I confess,” said the other, “I take a very different view from yours in
this matter; to me, it seems that France is as tired of battles as of the
Bourbons--”
I heard no more; for though the speaker continued, a misty confusion passed
across my mind. The tones of his voice, well-remembered as they were by me,
left me unable to think; and as I stood motionless on the spot, I muttered
half aloud, “Sir George Dashwood.” It was he, indeed; and she who leaned
upon his arm could be no other than Lucy herself. I know not how it was;
for many a long month I had schooled my heart, and taught myself to believe
that time had dulled the deep impression she had made upon me, and that,
were we to meet again, it would be with more sorrow on my part for my
broken dream of happiness than of attachment and affection for her who
inspired it; but now, scarcely was I near her--I had not gazed upon her
looks, I had not even heard her voice--and yet, in all their ancient force,
came back the early passages of my love; and as her footfall sounded gently
upon the ground, my heart beat scarce less audibly. Alas, I could no
longer disguise from myself the avowal that she it was, and she only, who
implanted in my heart the thirst for distinction; and the moment was ever
present to my mind in which, as she threw her arms around her father’s
neck, she muttered, “Oh, why not a soldier!”
As I thus reflected, an officer in full dress passed me hurriedly,
and taking off his hat as he came up with the party before me, bowed
obsequiously.
“My Lord ----, I believe, and Sir George Dashwood?” They replied by a
bow. “Sir Thomas Picton wishes to speak with you both for a moment; he is
standing beside the ‘Basin.’ If you will permit--” said he, looking towards
Lucy.
“Thank you, sir,” said Sir George; “if you will have the goodness to
accompany us, my daughter will wait our coming here. Sit down, Lucy, we
shall not be long away.”
The next moment she was alone. The last echoes of their retiring footsteps
had died away in the grassy walk, and in the calm and death-like stillness
I could hear every rustle of her silk dress. The moonlight fell in
fitful, straggling gleams between the leafy branches, and showed me her
countenance, pale as marble. Her eyes were upturned slightly; her brown
hair, divided upon her fair forehead, sparkled with a wreath of brilliants,
which heightened the lustrous effect of her calm beauty; and now I could
perceive her dress bespoke that she had been at some of the splendid
entertainments which followed day after day in the busy capital.
Thus I stood within a few paces of _her_, to be near to whom, a few hours
before, I would willingly have given all I possessed in the world; and yet
now a barrier, far more insurmountable than time and space, intervened
between us; still it seemed as though fortune had presented this incident
as a last farewell between us. Why should I not take advantage of it? Why
should I not seize the only opportunity that might ever occur of rescuing
myself from the apparent load of ingratitude which weighed on my memory?
I felt in the cold despair of my heart that I could have no hold upon her
affection; but a pride, scarce less strong that the attachment that gave
rise to it, urged me to speak. By one violent effort I summoned up my
courage; and while I resolved to limit the few words I should say merely
to my vindication, I prepared to advance. Just at this instant, however, a
shadow crossed the path; a rustling sound was heard among the branches, and
the tall figure of a man in a dragoon cloak stood before me. Lucy turned
suddenly at the sound; but scarcely had her eyes been bent in the
direction, when, throwing off his cloak, he sprang forward and dropped at
her feet. All my feeling of shame at the part I was performing was now
succeeded by a sense of savage and revengeful hatred. It was enough that
I should be brought to look upon her whom I had lost forever without the
added bitterness of witnessing her preference for a rival. The whirlwind
passion of my brain stunned and stupefied me. Unconsciously I drew my sword
from my scabbard, and it was only as the pale light fell upon the keen
blade that the thought flashed across me, “What could I mean to do?”
“No, Hammersley,”--it was he indeed,--said she, “it is unkind, it is
unfair, nay, it is unmanly to press me thus; I would not pain you, were
it not that, in sparing you now, I should entail deeper injury upon you
hereafter. Ask me to be your sister, your friend; ask me to feel proudly
in your triumphs, to glory in your success; all this I do feel; but, oh! I
beseech you, as you value your happiness, as you prize mine, ask me no more
than this.”
There was a pause of some seconds; and at length, the low tones of a man’s
voice, broken and uncertain in their utterance, said,--
“I know it--I feel it--my heart never bade me hope--and now--‘tis over.”
He stood up as he spoke, and while he threw the light folds of his mantle
round him, a gleam of light fell upon his features. They were pale as
death; two dark circles surrounded his sunken eyes, and his bloodless lip
looked still more ghastly, from the dark mustache that drooped above it.
“Farewell!” said he, slowly, as he crossed his arms sadly upon his breast;
“I will not pain you more.”
“Oh, go not thus from me!” said she, as her voice became tremulous with
emotion; “do not add to the sorrow that weighs upon my heart! I cannot,
indeed I cannot, be other than I am; and I do but hate myself to think that
I cannot give my love where I have given all my esteem. If time--” But
before she could continue further, the noise of approaching footsteps was
heard, and the voice of Sir George, as he came near. Hammersley disappeared
at once, and Lucy, with rapid steps, advanced to meet her father, while I
remained riveted upon the spot. What a torrent of emotions then rushed upon
my heart! What hopes, long dead or dying, sprang up to life again! What
visions of long-abandoned happiness flitted before me! Could it be
then--dare I trust myself to think it--that Lucy cared for me? The thought
was maddening! With a bounding sense of ecstasy, I dashed across the park,
resolving, at all hazards, to risk everything upon the chance, and wait
the next morning upon Sir George Dashwood. As I thought thus, I reached my
hotel, where I found Mike in waiting with a letter. As I walked towards the
lamp in the _porte cochere_, my eyes fell upon the address. It was General
Dashwood’s hand; I tore it open, and read as follows:--
Dear Sir,--Circumstances into which you will excuse me entering,
having placed an insurmountable barrier to our former terms of
intimacy, you will, I trust, excuse me declining the honor of any
nearer acquaintance, and also forgive the liberty I take in informing
you of it, which step, however unpleasant to my feelings, will save
us both the great pain of meeting.
I have only this moment heard of your arrival in Brussels, and
take thus the earliest opportunity of communicating with you.
With every assurance of my respect for you personally, and an
earnest desire to serve you in your military career, I beg to remain,
Very faithfully yours,
GEORGE DASHWOOD
“Another note, sir,” said Mike, as he thrust into my unconscious hands a
letter he had just received from an orderly.
Stunned, half stupefied, I broke the seal. The contents were but three
lines:--
Sir,--I have the honor to inform you that Sir Thomas Picton has
appointed you an extra aide-de-camp on his personal staff. You will,
therefore, present yourself to-morrow morning at the Adjutant-General’s
office, to receive your appointment and instructions.
I have the honor to be, etc.,
G. FITZROY.
Crushing the two letters in my fevered hand, I retired to my room, and
threw myself, dressed as I was, upon my bed. Sleep, that seems to visit us
in the saddest as in the happiest times of our existence, came over me,
and I did not wake until the bugles of the Ninety-fifth were sounding the
reveille through the park, and the brightest beams of the morning sun were
peering through the window.