GLASGOW (1819-1825)—RADICAL DISTURBANCES—HARRY SMITH ONCE MORE
ON THE STAFF AS MAJOR OF BRIGADE—GEORGE IV.’s VISIT TO
EDINBURGH—HARRY SMITH REVISITS PARIS—HE REJOINS HIS REGIMENT
IN IRELAND.
Glasgow at this season of the year, October, is a most melancholy,
dirty, smoky city, particularly the end in which the barracks are
placed; and such was the state of the city, my wife had to live in
barracks and we were again shut up in one room, as during the war.
When matters approached the worst, I sent my wife to Edinburgh, where
she received every kindness and hospitality. There was living there
then Mrs. Beckwith, who had campaigned with her husband in Prince
Ferdinand of Brunswick’s time. She was then ninety-four, and lived
afterwards to upwards of a hundred, the mother of Sir George Beckwith,
my dear Sir Sydney, and several other sons. She was in full possession
of her intellect, and was delighted to talk of war with my wife.
The latter said one day, “I am afraid I do not speak English well
enough to explain myself.” “Not speak well enough! Why?” “Because I
am a Spaniard, and have only recently learned to speak English.” “A
Spaniard? Stand up, and let me look at your feet and ankles, for I have
always heard your countrywomen celebrated for their neatness.” My wife
was still in heart a Spaniard, and as particular as ever in shoes and
stockings, and the poor old lady was delighted. After talking for a
certain time, she used to say, “Now go; I am tired.”
Our duty in Glasgow was very laborious and irksome. We had neither
enemy nor friends: a sort of _Bellum in Pace_, which we old campaigners
did not understand. But, although constantly insulted by the mob in the
streets, either individually or in a body, our deportment was so mild
that we soon gained rather the respect than otherwise of the misguided
and half-starved weavers. They had many old soldiers amongst them, and
had organized themselves into sixteen Battalions. Many of these old
soldiers I knew; one was a Rifleman—an old comrade who had lost his arm
at New Orleans—and from him I ascertained their perfect organization.
They had a General, or Central, Committee of Delegates (“a House of
Lords”), and each district had a committee, who sent a delegate to the
Central Committee. The regiments were formed by streets, so that in
case of a turn-out they could parade—“Ah, just as we did in the towns
of Spain and France,”[82] my comrade said.
One day my Company was sent out with twenty of the 7th Hussars, just
before daylight, to arrest a party of delegates. We had magistrates,
etc. with us, and succeeded in arresting every man. I saw a violent
storm of mob assembling. I put the prisoners in the centre of my
Company, under the command of my subaltern, Henry Havelock,[83] now a
hero of Burma, Afghanistan, and Maharajpore celebrity, a clever, sharp
fellow, and said, “Move you on collected to the barracks, and I will
cover you with the Hussars.” On my word, they were violent, and the
Hussars, with the flat of their swords, as I particularly directed, did
make the heads of some ache, while brickbats, stones, etc. were flying
among us half as bad as grapeshot. The magistrates were horridly timid
and frightened lest I should order the troops to fire. I said, “You
command,” which in those days they did, nor could the officer fire,
according to law, without their order.
The Commander-in-Chief in Scotland, Major-General Sir T. Bradford, was
then in Glasgow, and also Sir W. Rae, the Lord-Advocate. Officers who
had been on duty were to report direct to the Commander-in-Chief. This
I did, and hardly was my report received, when I was sent for to the
Inn where these authorities were. Sir Thomas, ever a kind friend to me,
met me at the door of the room where they were, and said, “Smith, the
Lord-Advocate is most annoyed that you permitted His Majesty’s troops
to be insulted this morning with impunity, and desires to speak with
you.” Sir W. Rae, although afterwards I found him a capital fellow, was
dictatorial in his manner, and violent and pompous in his address. He
sat when I advanced towards him. I saw by his eye what was coming, and
my blood was as hot as his; and the thought rushed into my mind, “What!
to be rowed by this man, who have ever been approved of by _the Duke_!”
“Pray, sir, are you the officer who allowed His Majesty’s troops
to be insulted in such a manner, with arms in their hands? _I am
surprised, sir._ Why did you thus tamely act?” So I replied, quite
as dictatorially as my lord, “Because, my lord, I was acting under
the officers of the law, the magistrates, of whom you are the
Commander-in-Chief. They would not act, and I did not desire to bring
upon my head either the blood of my foolish and misguided countrymen,
or the odium of the Manchester magistrates.” (An affair of Yeomanry[84]
had lately occurred.) “I brought off every prisoner; but, my lord,
since that is your feeling, give me a written order to march through
Glasgow with the same party of soldiers and my prisoners. A mob will
soon attempt the rescue, and d—— me, my lord, but I will shoot all
Glasgow to please you.” I saw Sir Thomas Bradford biting his lips, and
looking at me as much as to say, “Gently, Smith.” I turned on my heel,
and said, “Good morning, my lord.”
From that day the Lord-Advocate took a great fancy to me, and gave me
some of the most laborious night-marches I ever made, especially one to
Galston New Mills and Kilmarnock. It was so dark (and an _ignis fatuus_
dancing before us to make it worse), I had a 6-pounder upset over a
bridge. Throughout my previous services I never had more arduous duties
than on this occasion.
A Battalion of Volunteer Riflemen were organized here,[85] all
young gentlemen, under the superintendence of my old Regiment, now
called the Rifle Brigade.[86] This corps more nearly deserved the
comprehensive appellation “soldiers” than any corps ever did, except
those of the line. Their Colonel, Sam Hunter, walked twenty-two
stone, an enormous man, with a capacity of mind fully proportioned
to his corporeal stature. Many are the arduous duties I exacted of
these Volunteers, and they were executed with cheerfulness and prompt
obedience.
Sir Hussey Vivian came down to command, bringing with him as his
Major-of-Brigade, my friend, (now Sir) De Lacy Evans. Evans did not
wish to serve, but to study in London to prepare himself to be a
senator, and he kindly went to the Horse Guards and said, “If my
appointment is filled up by Harry Smith of the Rifles, I will resign.”
This arrangement was readily assented to, and I was again on the Staff,
where I remained until 1825.
I had occasionally the most disagreeable duty, and always a difficulty
to resist the importunity of the kindest hospitality that ever I and
my wife received in this world. Immediately after I was appointed
Major-of-Brigade, Major-General (now Sir T.) Reynell was appointed to
command the district of Glasgow and the West of Scotland in place of
Sir Hussey Vivian. In a year, as affairs in Glasgow assumed a more
tranquil appearance, Queen Caroline’s trial being finished and Her
Majesty’s death having occurred, Major-General Reynell was removed from
the Staff of Glasgow, and went out in the _Glasgow_ frigate to the East
Indies to a command in Bengal, but I, the Major-of-Brigade, was kept
on. My orders were to report direct to the Commander-in-Chief, Sir
T. Bradford, in Edinburgh, and to receive no orders from any one but
himself; and I could give any orders in his name which the exigencies
of the moment required. Of course I was very cautious, fully aware
of the delicacy of my position as regarded my senior officers, some
of whom were very jealous of the authority vested in me, although
personally I had never had a controversial word with them.
A great part of my duty in the summer was to inspect the various Corps
of Yeomanry throughout the Western District, a most delightful duty.
I was treated _en prince_ by the Duke of Montrose, Lord Glasgow, Lord
Douglas, Lord-Lieutenants of counties, Lord Blantyre, etc. The officers
of the Corps of Yeomanry, too, all belonged to the aristocracy of the
country, and their houses were open as their hospitable hearts.
In 1820 I had with me Sir John Hope’s and Lord Elcho’s Troops of the
Edinburgh Light Horse, consisting entirely of gentlemen of the highest
class in Scotland, and we were employed upon some very arduous duty
together. I have seen these gentlemen after a long, heavy, and wet
night’s march, every one dressing his own horse, feeding him, etc.,
like a German Hussar, ere they thought of anything for themselves. One
of the Troop, Corporal Menzies, is now a Judge at the Cape, my most
intimate friend, and many is the laugh we have had at his military
experiences.
When we see the gentlemen of the country thus devoted to it, we need
have little fear of its continued prosperity. In my opinion there is no
system which can be adopted of such importance to our country as the
yearly calling-out of the Yeomanry for a few days’ exercise. It brings
the educated aristocracy in contact with the less favoured in life, the
cultivators of the soil,—landlords with tenants. It shows the latter in
their true character—honest, manly, and liberal fellows, and teaches
them to look up to their superiors, while it also shows the former what
a noble set of men their tenants are, obedient, but as proud as an
English yeoman ought to be, and that, thus engaged in the defence of
our country and in the maintenance of our rights as British subjects,
they are to be treated with the respect due to every individual of the
social compact.
When His Majesty George IV. paid a visit to Edinburgh [15-27 Aug.
1822], I was ordered thither, and sent to Dalkeith (where His Majesty
was to reside in the palace of the Duke of Buccleugh) to superintend
the guards and escorts, etc., for his Majesty’s state (his _protection_
was in the safe custody of the hearts of his loyal people); and when
Sir Walter Scott and the Commander-in-Chief, Sir Thomas Bradford, had
planned all the various processions, the organization and conduct of
them was given to me, and His Majesty was kind enough to say they were
conducted to his royal satisfaction. He never once was delayed in the
streets by a check, thanks to the lesson I learnt in the Light Division
how to regulate the march of a column.
Early every day I went, as I was ordered, to the palace to receive
orders through the Gold Stick. The morning His Majesty was to leave
Dalkeith, he sent for me to express his approbation of all I had done,
and as I left the apartment Sir William Knighton followed me, and
asked me, by the king’s command, if there was anything I desired. I
was so young a Lieutenant-Colonel, only of eight years’ standing, with
hundreds senior to me, that I neither desired to ask such an exorbitant
thing as to be Aide-de-Camp to His Majesty, nor felt any inclination,
on account of such pacific services, to be exalted above so many of my
more meritorious comrades. Knighthood I would not accept, so I very
quietly said, “I will ask a great favour of His Majesty—to give Sir
Thomas Bradford’s Aide-de-Camp the rank of Lieutenant-Colonel.” Sir
William said, “If the Commander-in-Chief will write me a note, it shall
be done,” and thus as good a fellow as ever lived got his rank. There
is much honour attached to the charge of royalty, and as many of my
old comrades were about the king, Barnard, Vivian, etc., I spent a most
agreeable time, but the expense for myself and my wife was enormous. It
cost me upwards of a year’s income in new uniforms, court dresses, etc.
His Majesty particularly admired my wife’s riding.
Never was the old adage of “like master, like man” more exemplified
than in the royal household. In the organization of the processions,
etc. I was frequently engaged with the servants, coachmen, footmen,
etc. I never saw such obedient, willing, and respectful fellows in my
life; and I never had to express more than a wish, to have any order
implicitly, readily, and agreeably obeyed. Accustomed to the obedience
of soldiers, I was particularly struck with equally obedient deportment
on the part of those whom imagination had led me to believe to be a set
of troublesome fellows. George IV. was a gentleman, and from His Noble
Majesty was derived a “_ton_” which spread throughout his court and his
household, an example and honour to the great nation he ruled.
In 1824 my gallant friend, Macdougall, requested me to accompany him to
Paris to arrange a little matter of delicacy with a gentleman who had
ill-used a lady, a great friend of Mac’s family. We soon arranged that
matter, the gentleman being one in fact, as well as in name, and acting
as well as any could under the circumstances. Ten years had now elapsed
since my first acquaintance with the south of France, and six since I
had quitted Cambray. We landed at Boulogne, and had a long journey to
Paris by _diligence_, that renowned and cumbrous and slow machine now
replaced by the flying steam-coaches. Our _diligence_ adventures were
numerous but not unusual. But my new visit to France, and entry into
Paris, forcibly brought to mind the immense Armies assembled around us
in 1815,—the streets filled with uniforms of every civilized nation,
the public resorts ornamented with the spoil of every nation in Europe
except Great Britain!
Paris was now a quiet city, much like any other, and the only thing
which attracted my attention was the number of drunken soldiers in the
streets. In London such a thing is of rare occurrence indeed. But it
appeared to me that the French Army had acquired some of those habits
of the English which we would willingly resign to them in perpetuity. I
visited my old quarters at Neuilly. My good old landlady was no more.
Imagination aroused a variety of feelings closely cemented with the
past, while the present showed Paris aiming at English habits, just as
London was rapidly acquiring French manners. In the streets of Paris
we saw young dandies driving tilburys in the last style, with grooms
in brown top-boots. To speak English was becoming fashionable, whereas
formerly any Frenchman attempting to speak English was regarded as a
Bourbonist, or an enemy to the blood-acquired liberties of his country.
We left France now certainly flourishing, and speedily returned to
our own land of fair and handsome faces, well-fed inhabitants, richly
cultivated and enclosed fields. And oh, my countrymen, had you seen as
many countries as I now have, and been banished so many years from your
own, then would you bless that land of happiness and liberty which gave
you birth, that land which was exempt from the horror of war through
the ability of your statesmen, the blood of your sailors and soldiers,
and the patriotism of the people!
During my residence in Glasgow, I twice went over to the Isle of Man,
in expectation of succeeding to the Government of the House of Keys.
The Governor was very ill, and desirous to retire. He got well, and
forgot his former inclinations.
In 1825, such was the tranquillity in this immense manufacturing
district, I was put off the Staff, and received from the Lord-Provost,
Town Councillors, and Municipality every demonstration of their
gratitude for the efficient aid I had afforded them to maintain
tranquillity and subdue riots, mobs, and popular ebullitions.[87] My
answer was, that the only merit I claimed was that in the service
of my country and in the execution of this duty on very trying and
most irritating occasions for five years, not a drop of my deluded
countrymen’s blood had been shed, though it was often indeed difficult
in the extreme to avoid it.
The parting of myself and wife from our numerous and most hospitable
and kind friends in Glasgow, and the whole of the West of Scotland, is
not to be described. My principal quarters I may say were Elderslie
House,[88] where the most amiable and numerous family were ever to us
a source of happiness, Harhead, Lord Glasgow’s, and Cumbernauld House,
Admiral Fleming’s, whose wife was a county-woman of mine; but to name
these houses in particular is hardly fair, for throughout the country
we received equal hospitality. Certainly the happiest five years of my
life were spent in Scotland, amidst the society of such people. Books
were to be had of every description, intellectual conversation was ever
enjoyed, and amidst the learned professors of the colleges I have spent
some of the most agreeable evenings.
I was to join my Corps in Belfast, and as we went down the Clyde in the
steamer, the inmates of every seat on its banks were assembled to wave
us, alas! a _last_ farewell, for many of those dear and valued friends
are now in the silent grave. Glasgow, with all your smoke, your riots,
mobs, and disaffections, I look back to you with perfect happiness,
and I love the Scotch nation with a similar degree of patriotism to
that with which I have fought for my native land, the words of my dear
mother ever ringing in my ears, “Remember, if ever you fight for your
country, you were born an Englishman.”
Belfast, although then a flourishing city, showed a great contrast
to Glasgow in regard to the appearance of its population, although
the gentlemen were as hospitable as possible, and most enthusiastic
sportsmen, and, as I could ride a bit, I was soon at home among them.
I was soon, however, ordered to Downpatrick, where my Company and two
others were quartered. I was received by my dear old Regiment with
every demonstration of affection, and spent a few months most happily
at this little town of Downpatrick, among very amiable and kind
people. The peasantry there were my delight, such light-hearted, kind
creatures I never saw, and as liberal as primitive Christians. Not a
day I had not sent me presents of eggs and butter, etc. It was painful
occasionally to accept them, but as I saw that refusal created pain, I
had no alternative. There were many of our old Light Division soldiers
discharged and living in this neighbourhood, and every market day
(Saturday) a re-enacting of old times was imposed on my patience. One,
a noble soldier of the 43rd, celebrated every anniversary of a battle
by getting gloriously drunk. On one occasion he was drunk without this
exciting cause. I said, “Come, come, Murphy, this is too bad; to-day is
no anniversary.” “Maybe not, your honour, but, by Jasus, there are so
many it is hard to remember them all, and the life’s blood of me would
dry up, if I missed the ‘cilibration’ of one of ’em—so it’s safest to
get drunk when you can.”