(Vol. viii., p. 199.)
The book for which G. D. inquires is, _A Descriptive Poem of the Battle of
Waterloo, and Two previous Days_, dedicated to the Earl of Carlisle, by
Captain Hardman, London, 1827, 8vo., pp. 28. It appears from the dedication
that he was adjutant to the 10th Royal Hussars, of which the Hon. F. Howard
was major. He says:
"We breakfasted together in the hovel on the 18th, in the morning, as
stated in the poem; and during that dreadful bloody day, he and I were
frequently discoursing about our situation; the good position occupied
by us; the humane feeling of our brave Duke for choosing that situation
to save men's lives; and once during the day our regiment was
completely sheltered; all the balls from the enemy flying over our
heads, except one that dropped about six yards from the major and me.
We were at that time dismounted about twenty minutes, to rest the
horses. I took the ball up; we looked at it, and had a good hearty
laugh over it."
Here is the description referred to:
"At three in the morning I went to Major Howard,--
'This morning, Major, is enough to make us all cowards;
Such a night of heavy rain I never before saw,
It has fell hard on my shoulders and made them raw;
But still I am hearty, can I do anything for you?
For on the face of this province I never will rue.'
'No, thank you, Hardman, not now, come by-and-by;
I have lain in this place till my neck's all awry.
My servant is getting a light, then a letter I write;
But I am so excessively cold I cannot one indite.
He shall then make a fire, and set water over,
Come in an hour and live with me in clover;
We will have some coffee and some fat fowl too,
Then we can face the French well at Waterloo!'
'Thank you, Major, I will do myself the honour,
That will be better than being sat on by the coroner."
P. 12.
The prose description of the charge is clear and vivid:
"When we advanced to decide the destiny of the day, our right squadron
was in front, led on by the brave Major-General Sir. H. Vivian,
commanding our brigade; Lord Robert Manners commanding our regiment;
Major Howard commanding the right squadron; and I, the adjutant, in
front with those officers. Just as we began to advance, I said, 'Major,
what a grand sight we have before us!' 'Yes, it is,' said the major.
These were the last words he spoke, for in half a minute afterwards we
were right amongst them, slashing away; then there was no time to talk.
We quickly made them turn their backs towards us; but there was one
square of infantry that stood firm. That square made sad havoc among
us. The major was killed by that square. He was not six yards from the
muzzles of the French firelocks when he was shot. He fell off his
horse, and, I believe, never moved a finger; but I had not a moment's
time to stop, for we had not then cleared the field. This, my lord, is
a true account of the last moments of your lordship's late son, and one
of the best friends I ever had."--P. iv.
"We then drove their cavalry past a solid square mass;
This mass stood firm against us, like solid brass.
{177}
This is the place where Hon. Major F. Howard was killed,
That grieved my mind sorely and my poor heart thrilled."--P. 19.
Then follow some reflections which I abstain from quoting, as the way in
which they are expressed would produce an effect quite contrary to the
author's intentions. The burial is thus described:
"I ordered the party to mount their horses,
And proceed to carry off and bury all our losses.
The party assemble here, now instantly move forward:
Serjeant, take care where you bury Major Howard.
Take two objects in view, or three if you can,
Then you will be sure to find him again!
He lies in the hollow, not far from the French guns.
Bury him by their side, but not where water runs."
P. 21.
The criticism of the note quoted by G. D. is sound: "Hardman was no poet,
but he could describe graphically what he saw and did." The poem seems to
have been the result of a sudden thought. In the dedication he says it was
not begun till May 18, and "A Letter to the Right Hon. George Canning,"
appended to it, is dated June 4. In the letter he says, that if he "can get
into the printing-house again without loss," he will answer Mr. Canning
effectually on the Catholic question. He also hopes "to get before the
public every week," and "to show that all gentlemen professing the law are
the most abused, and at the same time more honest than any other class in
this kingdom." Had the last-mentioned hope been fulfilled, I think I should
have heard of it. I have not met with any other work bearing Captain
Hardman's name; and probably his printer's bill (he was his own publisher)
put an end to his literary career.
I subjoin two specimens of the poem which, though not relating to the
subject of G. D.'s Query, may be interesting if you have room for them, as
such poetry is not published every day. An exhortation to good conduct ends
thus:
'Therefore let us prepare, the call may be very soon;
Then we shall not despair, if the call be made before noon:
But if our sins weigh us down, what misery and woe!
Ah! devils all slily squinting, and to them we must go.
Their eyes are flames of fire, their tongues are frightful darts,
Their looks a venomous ire, ready to pierce our feeble hearts,
Their cloven feet of enmity, their taily stings so long,
Their poisonous hearts of calomel, daily forming vicious songs."--P. 12.
The other describes his own narrow escape, and the death of an
artilleryman:
"A ball from their infantry went through my jacket,
Took the skin off my side, and made me racket.
My sword-belt turned it, otherwise through it must have gone.
The stroke was very severe, compare it to a sharp gore.
Captain Fitzroy said, 'Harding is severely wounded;
A ball has gone through his side: here it comes, rounded!'
'Stop,' said I, 'a minute; I shall be ready for another shot,
I have now gotten my breath again, I will make them rot.'
I then said to a gunner who was alleviating a gun,
'Which of those columns do you mean to make run?'
'That,' said he, pointing with his finger to a very large mass.
A ball came that instant and turned him into brass.
It cut him in two; he then turned as yellow as that metal.
He was a strange sight to see, and appeared quite brittle."--P. 16.