WILLIAM MIDDLEDITCH,
Late Serjeant-Major of the Grenadier Guards,
Died Nov. 13, 1834, aged 53 years.
A husband, father, comrade, friend sincere,
A British soldier brave lies buried here.
In Spain and Flushing, and at Waterloo,
He fought to guard our country from the foe;
His comrades, Britons, who survive him, say
He acted nobly on that glorious day.
Edward Parr died in 1811, at the age of 38 years, and was buried at North
Scarle churchyard. His epitaph states:--
A soldier once I was, as you may see,
My King and Country claim no more from me.
In battle I receiv'd a dreadful ball
Severe the blow, and yet I did not fall.
When God commands, we all must die it's true
Farewell, dear Wife, Relations all, adieu.
A British soldier lies buried under the shadow of the fine old Minster of
Beverley. He died in 1855, and his epitaph states:--
A soldier lieth beneath the sod,
Who many a field of battle trod:
When glory call'd, his breast he bar'd,
And toil and want, and danger shar'd.
Like him through all thy duties go;
Waste not thy strength in useless woe,
Heave thou no sigh and shed no tear,
A British soldier slumbers here.
The stirring lives of many female soldiers have furnished facts for
several important historical works, and rich materials for the writers of
romance. We give an illustration of the stone erected by public
subscription in Brighton churchyard over the remains of a notable female
warrior, named Phoebe Hessel. The inscription tells the story of her long
and eventful career. The closing years of her life were cheered by the
liberality of George IV. During a visit to Brighton, when he was Prince
Regent, he met old Phoebe, and was greatly interested in her history. He
ascertained that she was supported by a few benevolent townsmen, and the
kind-hearted Prince questioned her respecting the amount that would be
required to enable her to pass the remainder of her days in comfort.
"Half-a-guinea a week" said Phoebe Hessel, "will make me as happy as a
princess." That amount by order of her royal benefactor was paid to her
until the day of her death. She told capital stories, had an excellent
memory, and was in every respect most agreeable company. Her faculties
remained unimpared to within a few hours of her death. On September 22,
1821, she was visited by a person of some literary taste, and the
following particulars were obtained respecting her life. The writer
states:
"I have seen to-day an extraordinary character in the person of Phoebe
Hessel, a poor woman stated to be 106 years of age. It appears that she
was born in March 1715, and at fifteen formed a strong attachment to
Samuel Golding, a private in the regiment called Kirk's Lambs, which was
ordered to the West Indies. She determined to follow her lover, enlisted
into the 5th regiment of foot, commanded by General Pearce, and embarked
after him. She served there five years without discovering herself to
anyone. At length they were ordered to Gibraltar. She was likewise at
Montserrat, and would have been in action, but her regiment did not reach
the place till the battle was decided. Her lover was wounded at Gibraltar
and sent to Plymouth; she then waited on the General's lady at Gibraltar,
disclosed her sex, told her story, and was immediately sent home. On her
arrival, Phoebe went to Samuel Golding in the hospital, nursed him there,
and when he came out, married and lived with him for twenty years; he had
a pension from Chelsea. After Golding's death, she married Hessel, has had
many children, and has been many years a widow. Her eldest son was a
sailor with Admiral Norris: he afterwards went to the East Indies, and, if
he is now alive, must be nearly seventy years of age. The rest of the
family are dead. At an advanced age, she earned a scanty livelihood at
Brighton by selling apples and gingerbread on the Marine Parade.
[Illustration: A GRAVESTONE IN BRIGHTON CHURCHYARD.]
"I saw this woman to-day in her bed, to which she is confined from having
lost the use of her limbs. She has even now, old and withered as she is, a
characteristic countenance, and, I should judge from her present
appearance, must have had a fine, though perhaps a masculine style of head
when young. I have seen many a woman at the age of sixty or seventy look
older than she does under the load of 108 years of human life. Her cheeks
are round and seem firm, though ploughed with many a small wrinkle. Her
eyes, though their sight is gone, are large and well formed. As soon as it
was announced that somebody had come to see her, she broke the silence of
her solitary thoughts and spoke. She began in a complaining tone, as if
the remains of a strong and restless spirit were impatient of the prison
of a decaying and weak body. 'Other people die, and I cannot,' she said.
Upon exciting her recollection of former days, her energy seemed roused,
and she spoke with emphasis. Her voice was strong for an old person; and I
could easily believe her when, upon being asked if her sex was not in
danger of being detected by her voice, she replied that she always had a
strong and manly voice. She appeared to take a pride in having kept her
secret, declaring that she told it to no man, woman, or child, during the
time she was in the army; 'for you know, Sir, a drunken man and a child
always tell the truth. But,' said she, 'I told my secret to the ground. I
dug a hole that would hold a gallon, and whispered it there.' While I was
with her the flies annoyed her extremely: she drove them away with a fan,
and said they seemed to smell her out as one that was going to the grave.
She showed me a wound she had received in her elbow by a bayonet. She
lamented the error of her former ways, but excused it by saying, 'When you
are at Rome, you must do as Rome does.' When she could not distinctly hear
what was said, she raised herself in the bed and thrust her head forward
with impatient energy. She said when the king saw her, he called her 'a
jolly old fellow.' Though blind, she could discern a glimmering light, and
I was told would frequently state the time of day by the effect of light."
The next is copied from a time-worn stone in Weem churchyard, near
Aberfeldy, Perthshire:--
In memory of Captain James Carmichael, of Bockland's Regiment.--Died
25th Nov. 1758:
Where now, O Son of Mars, is Honour's aim?
What once thou wast or wished, no more's thy claim.
Thy tomb, Carmichael, tells thy Honour's Roll,
And man is born, as thee, to be forgot.
But virtue lives to glaze thy honours o'er,
And Heaven will smile when brittle stone's no more.