very pleasant society to keep us gay and merry, and the rest of the
day was spent in peaceful happiness.
Fortunately my husband had scarcely any business to do, and he only
went to the office for about an hour every day. I then used to sit and
think with astonishment of my being transported into such a scene of
happiness, so perfect, so unalloyed!--feeling that I was entirely
enjoying life--not a moment wasted. How active and how well I was! I
scarcely knew what to do with all my health and spirits. Now and then
a pang would cross my mind at the prospect of the approaching
campaign, but I chased away the thought, resolved not to lose the
present bliss by dwelling on the chance of future pain. Sir William
promised to let me know as soon as he knew himself, everything
concerning the movement of the army; and accordingly he gave me every
paper to read, to keep my mind easy. After some consideration, he
decided that upon the commencement of hostilities I should go to
Antwerp, and there remain till the end of the campaign, which might
last months. He wished me not to think of going along with him,
because the rear of a great army was always dangerous, and an unfit
situation for a woman; and he wished not to draw me into any scenes,
or near any danger, more than if I had remained in England. He little
thought I should be in the midst of horrors I would not pass again for
any being _now_ living; and alas, the cautious anxiety he expressed
that I should avoid being shocked, only made me feel more desolate and
miserable when I found myself in the midst of most terrible scenes.
Several other officers, on hearing that he designed to send me to
Antwerp, fixed that their wives should go there too. It is a very
strongly fortified town, and likewise having the sea to escape by, if
necessary, it was by far the safest place; and being only twenty-five
miles from Brussels, it added so little to the time of hearing from
him, if separated, that I acquiesced cheerfully. After this was
arranged, we never thought more about it, and enjoyed each hour as it
passed with no more anxiety than was sufficient to render time
precious.
On Wednesday the 14th, I had a little alarm in the evening with some
public papers, and Sir William went out with them, but returned in a
short time; and it passed by so completely, that Thursday(1) forenoon
was the happiest day of my life; but I cannot recollect a day of my
short married life that was not perfect. I shall never get on if I
begin to talk of what my happiness was; but I dread to enter on the
gloomy past, which I shudder to look back upon, and I often wonder I
survived it. We little dreamt that Thursday was the last we were to
pass together, and that the storm would burst so soon. Sir William had
to dine at the Spanish Ambassador's,(2) the first invitation he had
accepted from the time I went; he was unwilling to go, and delayed and
still delayed, till at last when near six, I fastened all his medals
and crosses on his coat, helped him to put it on, and he went.(3) I
watched at the window till he was out of sight, and then I continued
musing on my happy fate; I thought over all that had passed, and how
grateful I felt! I had no wish but that this might continue; I saw my
husband loved and respected by everyone, my life gliding on, like a
gay dream, in his care.
When I had remained at the window nearly an hour, I saw an
aide-de-camp ride under the gateway of our house. He sent to enquire
where Sir William was dining. I wrote down the name; and soon after I
saw him gallop off in that direction. I did not like this appearance,
but I tried not to be afraid. A few minutes after, I saw Sir William
on the same horse gallop past to the Duke's,(4) which was a few doors
beyond ours. He dismounted and ran into the house--left the horse in
the middle of the street. I must confess my courage failed me now, and
the succeeding two hours formed a contrast to the happy forenoon.
About nine,(5) Sir William came in; seeing my wretched face, he bade
me not be foolish, for it would soon be all over now; they expected a
great battle on the morrow; he would send me to Antwerp in the
morning, and desired me to be ready at six. He said that though he
expected it would be a decisive battle, and a conclusion of the whole
business, he thought it best I should keep the plan of going to
Antwerp, to avoid the alarms that he knew would seize everyone the
moment the troops were gone; and he said he would probably join me
there, or send for me to return the same evening. He said he should be
writing all night, perhaps: he desired me to prepare some strong green
tea in case he came in, as the violent exertion requisite to setting
the whole army in motion quite stupefied him sometimes. He used
sometimes to tell me that whenever the operations began, if he thought
for five minutes on any other subject, he was neglecting his duty. I
therefore scrupulously avoided asking him any questions, or indeed
speaking at all.(6) I moved up and down like one stupefied myself.
He went to the office, and returned near twelve,(7) much fatigued, but
he did not attempt to sleep; he went twice to the Duke's; the first
time he found him standing looking over a map with a Prussian
general,(8) who was in full-dress uniform--with orders and crosses,
etc.--the Duke was in his chemise and slippers, preparing to dress for
the Duchess of Richmond's ball; the two figures were quite admirable.
The ball took place notwithstanding the reveille played through the
streets the whole night. Many of the officers danced, and then
marched(9) in the morning.
About two, Sir William went again to the Duke, and he was sleeping
sound! At three the troops were all assembled in the Park, and Sir
William and I leant over the window, seeing them march off--so few to
return. It was a clear refreshing morning, and the scene was very
solemn and melancholy.(10) The fifes played alone, and the regiments
one after another marched past, and I saw(11) them melt away through
the great gate at the end of the Square. Shall I ever forget the tunes
played by the shrill fifes and the buglehorns which disturbed that
night!
At six in the morning, Friday the 16th, I went to Antwerp: Sir William
gave me a letter to Captain Mitchell, in the Q.M.-General's
department, requesting him to take charge of me. Accordingly, soon
after we arrived I was settled in very comfortable apartments. I was
at first for an hour in the inn,(12) and I lay down in a small back
room. In the evening I sent my maid from the lodgings to get some wine
at the inn; when wandering in the passage to find some English person,
she opened the door of the room I had been in, and saw the body(13) of
the Duke of Brunswick on the very bed.
I was fortunate enough to have a room at the back, so shut in with
buildings that I could not hear any noise in the streets. Sir William
had made me promise to believe no reports, and not upon any account to
move without his written order for it. I thought it was best not to
listen to any stories, so I told my maid Emma not to tell me any, and
to do her best to get no alarms herself. Captain Mitchell I found of
great service; he is a very sensible and seemingly good-hearted man.
There was a calmness in his manner which was of infinite use to me
when I could not entirely get the better of fears but too well
founded. Though he was afterwards oppressed with business, night and
day, he never failed to come to me when he had heard any accounts he
could depend upon. But I may say I never saw so much kindness, and
softness indeed, as during that miserable time.
The general and individual distress that rapidly followed the battles
then fought, seemed quite to unman them; and one grew accustomed to
see men weep, without their attempting to conceal it. The same evening
the Town Major, Machel, called. He knew Sir William, and he brought a
Mrs ---- to call. She very kindly asked me to go and visit her in the
country about a mile. I was much obliged to her, but said I hoped to
return to Brussels so soon that I should not have time. She apologised
for Mr ----; he would have called on me, but the report I had brought
of the marching of the troops had given him a great deal of business.
The town was now very bustling, though when I arrived there was
nothing but quiet. Captain Mitchell told me in the evening that the
battle had taken place; that the English had gained a victory, but he
believed there was to be more fighting. He promised to send me any
letter, or if he heard of Sir William. I sat up late, but none came.
On Saturday the 17th, Antwerp was truly a scene of confusion--by the
servant's account, for I would not stir out of my room. Not one of the
ladies who had intended to come to Antwerp at first, kept their
resolution; and in consequence they got a great alarm, which was what
my husband wished me to escape. There was a battle fought on Friday
the 16th, near Brussels, and I was told the noise of the cannon was
tremendous--the houses shook with it. It was distinctly heard at
Antwerp; but I kept the windows shut, and tried not to hear. I only
heard a rolling like the sea at a distance.(14) Poor Emma, urged by
curiosity, stood in the street listening to terrible stories, seeing
wounded men brought in, carriages full of women and children flying
from Brussels, till she was completely frightened. She came and told
me that all the ladies were hastening to England by sea, for the
French had taken Brussels. I saw I must take my time to alarm her, and
I said, "Well, Emma, you know that if the French were firing at this
house, I would not move till I was ordered; but you have no such duty,
therefore go if you like. I dare say any of the families will let you
join them."
Emma was shocked at my supposing she would be so base as to desert me,
and declared that if she was sure she had to remain in a French prison
for five years, she would not leave me. My reproof had all the effect
I intended; for she brought me no more stories, and I am certain she
never was frightened after, even when we were in far greater danger.
Though I had little reason to expect a letter from my husband, I sat
up late in hopes. At midnight, what was my joy to get a little note
from him, written at Genappe,(15) after the battle of the 16th. He
said he was safe, and in great spirits; they had given the French a
tremendous beating. I wrote to him every day, and Captain Mitchell
sent my letters, but they never reached him.
On Sunday, Captain Mitchell told me he had heard the last effort was
to be made. I cannot attempt to describe the restless unhappy state I
was in; for it had continued so much longer than I had expected
already, that I began to find it difficult to keep up my spirits,
though I was infatuated enough to think it quite impossible that he
could be hurt. I believe mine was not an uncommon case, but so it was.
I might be uneasy at the length of the separation, or anxious to hear
from him; but the possibility of his being wounded never glanced into
my mind, till I was told he was killed.
On Sunday the 18th June, there was to be a great battle. It began
about eleven;(16) near three,(17) when Sir William was riding beside
the Duke, a cannon ball struck him on the back, at the right shoulder,
and knocked him off his horse to several yards distance. The Duke at
first imagined he was killed; for he said afterwards, he had never in
all the fighting he had ever been in seen a man rise again after such
a wound. Seeing he was alive (for he bounded up again and then sank
down), he ran to him, and stooping down, took him by the hand.(18)
Sir William begged the Duke, as the last favour he could have it in
his power to do him, to exert his authority to take away the crowd
that gathered round him, and to let him have his last moments in peace
to himself. The Duke bade him farewell, and endeavoured to draw away
the Staff, who oppressed him; they wanted to take leave of him, and
wondered at his calmness. He was left, as they imagined, to die; but
his cousin, Delancey Barclay,(19) who had seen him fall, went to him
instantly, and tried to prevail upon him to be removed to the rear, as
he was in imminent danger of being crushed by the artillery, which was
fast approaching the spot; and also there was danger of his falling
into the hands of the enemy. He entreated to be left on the ground,
and said it was impossible he could live; that they might be of more
use to others, and he only begged to remain on the field. But as he
spoke with ease, and Colonel Barclay saw that the ball had not
entered, he insisted on moving him, and he took the opinion of a
surgeon, who thought he might live, and got some soldiers to carry him
in a blanket to a barn(20) at the side of the road, a little to the
rear. The wound was dressed, and then Colonel Barclay had to return
to the Division; but first he gave orders to have Sir William moved to
the village;(21) for that barn was in danger of being taken possession
of by the enemy. Before Colonel Barclay went, Sir William begged him
to come quite close to him, and continued to give him messages for me.
Nothing else seemed to occupy his mind. He desired him to write to me
at Antwerp; to say everything kind, and to endeavour to soften this
business, and to break it to me as gently as he could. He then said he
might move him, as if he fancied it was to be his last effort. He was
carried to the village of Waterloo, and left in a cottage, where he
lay unheeded all night, and part of next day. Many of his friends were
in the village, and no one knew where he was, or that he was alive
even. It was by chance that an officer of the Staff Corps found him
next morning, and sent to inform Sir George Scovell.(22) The evening
before,(23) the Duke had written the despatches, and had inserted De
Lancey as killed. Interest was made that he should alter them, when he
was told that he had been carried off the field alive. Some kindly
thought this might benefit me; but I was not so fortunate. Sad scenes
were passing at Antwerp in the meantime.
On Monday morning, Captain Mitchell, at nine o'clock, came to tell me
that the last battle was over, and the French entirely defeated, and
that Sir William was safe. I asked him repeatedly if he was sure, and
if he had seen any of his writing, or if he had heard from him. He had
not; but had read a list of the killed and wounded, and could assure
me his name was not in it. Captain Mitchell was quite sincere; and was
afterwards much grieved that he had added to the accumulation of
misery, for this only made the dash down more severe. I now found how
much I had really feared by the wild spirits I got into. I walked up
and down, for I could not rest, and was almost in a fever with
happiness, and for two hours this went on.
At eleven a message came that Lady Hamilton wished to see me. I went
down to the parlour, and found her and Mr James. I did not remark
anything in her countenance, but I think I never saw feeling and
compassion more strongly marked than in his expression. I then said I
hoped Lady Emily was well. He answered that she was so, with a tone of
such misery that I was afraid something had happened, I knew not what,
to somebody. I looked at Lady Hamilton for an explanation. She seemed
a little agitated too, and I said, "One is so selfish: I can attend to
nothing, I am so rejoiced Sir William is safe."
Mr James walked to the other end of the room. I did not know what to
do. I feared that my gay voice grieved them, for I saw something had
made them unhappy. Little did I think the blow was falling on my own
unfortunate head.
Lady Hamilton said, "Poor Mr James! He has lost a brother and I a
nephew. It was a dreadful battle!--so many killed."
I thought it cruel of them to come to me to tell all this to, when I
was so merry; but I tried to be polite, and again apologised for
appearing glad, on account of my own good fortune.
Lady Hamilton said, "Did you hear from him?"
"No, but Captain Mitchell saw the list, and his name was not in it."
Mr James went out of the room. Lady Hamilton said, "He is gone to see
it, I suppose," and then began to talk about the list, and what were
the first names, and a great deal about whether I had any friends in
that country, etc. She then asked what I intended to do if the
fighting continued, and if I should go to England? I was a little
surprised at these enquiries, but assured her I would not move until
Sir William came or sent for me. She found me so obstinately confident
that she began[32]...--and after a short time a suspicion darted into
my mind. What a death-like feeling was that!
[Footnote 32: Here there is a hiatus in the MS.]
Lady Hamilton confessed she had written the list, and with a most
mistaken kindness had omitted several of the names, Sir William's
among the rest. A general had come from the field and named them; and
she, knowing I was in the country, had left his out, fearing that I
should be suddenly informed. But such information would not be
otherwise than a shock whatever way it was told, and the previous
account of his safety only tortured me the more. But it is needless to
dwell upon it now; and though I believe she thinks I never forgave
her, I now recollect only the motive, which was kind.
My difficulty then was to find out, or rather to believe the truth.
She assured me he was only wounded. I looked at her keenly, and said,
"Lady Hamilton, I can bear anything but suspense. Let me know the very
worst. Tell me, is he killed?"
She then solemnly assured me he was only desperately wounded.
I shook my head and said, "Ah, it is very well to say so. Yes, he must
be wounded first, you know." And I walked round the room fast. "Yes,
yes, you say so, but I cannot believe what you say now."
She was terrified, for I could not shed a tear. She declared upon her
word of honour that when General Alava left the field he was alive,
but was not expected to live.
This I felt sounded like truth, and I stood before her and said,
"Well, Lady Hamilton, if it is so, and you really wish to serve me,
help me to go to him instantly. I am sure Mr James will be so good as
to hurry the servant. Oh, how much time has been lost already! If
Captain Mitchell had but known, I should have gone at nine. Every
moment may make me too late to see him alive."
She was glad to try to do anything for me, and was going. I stopped
her at the door, and said, "Now, if you are deceiving me, you may
perhaps have my senses to answer for."
She repeated her assurances, and I said I would send my servant for
the carriage, which was at the Town Major's, if she would see anybody
to get horses, and I was ready. She said she would offer to go with
me, but she knew it would oppress me.
I said, "Oh no, let me be alone," and I ran upstairs.
No power can describe my sufferings for two hours before I could set
out. Captain Mitchell requested a friend of his to ride forward to
Brussels, and to gallop back with information of where Sir William
was, and whether it was still of any avail for me to proceed: he was
expected to meet us at Malines, half-way. We at last left Antwerp; but
bribing the driver was in vain. It was not in his power to proceed;
for the moment we passed the gates, we were entangled in a crowd of
waggons, carts, horses, wounded men, deserters or runaways, and all
the rabble and confusion, the consequence of several battles.(24)
Every now and then we went several miles at a walk; and the temper of
the people was so irritable that we feared to speak to them; and I had
to caution my servant to be very guarded, because they were ready to
draw their swords in a moment. Two men got on the back of the
carriage, and we dared not desire them to get off; and this was no
imaginary terror, as I afterwards experienced.
When we were within a mile or two of Malines, the carriage stopped,
and the servant said, "It is the Captain." I had drawn the blinds to
avoid seeing the wretched objects we were passing. I hastily looked
out, and saw Mr Hay.(25) When he saw me he turned his head away.
I called out, "Mr Hay, do you know anything?"
He hesitated, and then said, "I fear I have very bad news for you."
I said, "Tell me at once. Is he dead?"
"It is all over."
I sank into the carriage again, and they took me back to Antwerp. When
I had been a short time there, Mr Hay sent to know if I had any
commands to Brussels, as he was going to return, and would do anything
for me there. At first I said I had none, and then I sent for him, and
asked repeatedly if he were sure of what he said; if he had seen him
fall. He had not been in the action,(26) and of course was not near
Sir William, "who was surrounded by Lord Wellington's Staff; but in
the middle of the action he was struck in the breast by a cannon ball,
and instantly fell. The Duke went and leant over him, and he died like
a soldier."
I then begged Mr Hay to make a point of seeing someone who had been
near him; and if possible to learn if he had spoken, and if he had
named me. Mr Hay promised this, and then asked if I would choose to go
to England. I said: "Instantly." He then said if he had twelve hours
to search the field once more--for his brother was missing--he would
be ready to take a passage for me, and to accompany me if I chose. He
said Lady Hamilton and Mrs B. were below, anxious to be of use.
I said I greatly preferred being alone, and was always much better
alone. About half an hour after, Mrs B. contrived to get into the
room. I was terrified, and called out, "Go away, go away, leave me to
myself." She prayed and entreated me to hear her, and then said if I
was ill would I send for her. I said, "Oh, yes, yes; but the only
thing anybody can do for me is to leave me alone." She was alarmed at
my violent agitation and went away. I locked the outer door, and shut
the inner one, so that no one could again intrude. They sent Emma to
entreat I would be bled; but I was not reasonable enough for that, and
would not comply. I wandered about the room incessantly, beseeching
for mercy, though I felt that now, even Heaven could not be merciful.
One is apt to fix on a situation just a little less wretched than
one's own, and to dwell upon the idea that one could bear that better.
I repeated over and over that if I had seen him alive for five
minutes, I would not repine. At night Emma brought her bed into my
room, as she feared I should be ill. Towards morning I fancied I heard
a sound of someone trying to get into the room. I heard it a long
while, but thinking it was somebody coming to visit me, I made no
answer.
About two hours after, the attempt was repeated. I said to Emma,
"There is a noise at the door. Don't let Mrs B. in, or Lady Hamilton."
She went, and returning in a few minutes said, "I am desired to tell
you cautiously"--
I said, "O Emma! go away. Don't tell me anything, any more."
"Nay, but I must tell you. I have good news for you."
"How can you be so inhuman! What is good news for me now?"
"But--Sir William is not dead."
I started up, and asked what she was saying, for she would make me
mad. She told me that General M'Kenzie(27) was below, and had a
message from Brussels, requesting him to inform me that Sir William
was alive, and that there were even hopes of his recovery.
I ran down to General M'Kenzie, and began earnestly to persuade him it
must be impossible. I had suffered so much the day before, I durst not
hope for anything now. His voice faltered, and his eyes filled with
tears.
He said, "Can you believe any man would bring such intelligence unless
it were well-founded?" He then gave me a letter from Sir G. Scovell,
who had seen an officer of the Staff Corps who had seen Sir William
alive that morning, who was anxious to see me. He was attended by a
skilful surgeon, and had been twice bled. This was dated Monday, seven
o'clock, evening.