During the winter of 1813, the Guards were stationed with head-quarters
at St Jean de Luz, and most comfortable we managed to make them. For
some short time previously we had been on scanty commons, and had
undergone considerable privation: indeed we might have said, like the
Colonel to Johnny Newcome on his arrival to join his regiment, "We sons
of Mars have long been fed on brandy and cigars." I had no cause to
complain personally; for my servant, a Sicilian, was one of the most
accomplished foragers (ill-natured persons might give him a worse name)
in the whole army; and when others were nearly starving, he always
managed to provide meat or poultry. He rode on his mule sometimes from
twenty to thirty miles, often running the greatest dangers, to procure
me a good meal; of which he took care to have, very justly, a large
share for himself.
At St Jean de Luz, we were more attentive to our devotions than we had
been for some time. Divine service was performed punctually every
Sunday on the sand-hills near the town; Lord Wellington and his
numerous Staff placed themselves in the midst of our square, and his
lordship's chaplain read the service, to which Lord Wellington always
appeared to listen with great attention.
The mayor of the town, thinking to please "the great English lord,"
gave a ball at the Hotel de Ville: our Commander-in-Chief did not go
but was represented by Waters. I was there, and expected to see some
of the young ladies of the country so famed for their beauty; they
were, however, far too patriotic to appear, and the only lady present
was Lady Waldegrave, then living with her husband at head-quarters.
What was one partner among so many? The ball was a dead failure, in
spite of the efforts of the mayor, who danced, to our intense
amusement, an English hornpipe, which he had learnt in not a very
agreeable manner, viz. when a prisoner of war in the hulks at Plymouth.
There were two packs of hounds at St Jean de Luz; one kept by Lord
Wellington, the other by Marsden, of the Commissariat: our officers
went uncommonly straight. Perhaps our best man across country (though
sometimes somewhat against his will) was the late Colonel Lascelles of
my regiment, then, like myself, a mere lad. He rode a horse seventeen
hands high, called Bucephalus, which invariably ran away with him, and
more than once had nearly capsized Lord Wellington. The good living at
St Jean de Luz agreed so well with my friend that he waxed fat, and
from that period to his death was known to the world by the jovial
appellation of Bacchus Lascelles.
Shortly before we left St Jean de Luz, we took our turn of outposts in
the neighbourhood of Bidart, a large village, about ten miles from
Bayonne. Early one frosty morning in December, an order came, that if
we saw the enemy advancing, we were not to fire or give the alarm.
About five, we perceived two battalions wearing grenadier caps coming
on. They turned out to belong to a Nassau regiment which had occupied
the advanced post of the enemy, and, hearing that Napoleon had met with
great reverses in Germany, signified to us their intention to desert.
They were a fine-looking body of men, and appeared, I thought, rather
ashamed of the step they had taken. On the same day, we were relieved,
and on our way back met Lord Wellington with his hounds. He was
dressed in a light blue frock coat (the colour of the Hatfield hunt)
which had been sent out to him as a present from Lady Salisbury, then
one of the leaders of the fashionable world, and an enthusiastic
admirer of his lordship.
Here, I remember seeing for the first time a very remarkable character,
the Hon. W. Dawson, of my regiment. He was surrounded by muleteers,
with whom he was bargaining to provide carriage for innumerable hampers
of wine, liqueurs, hams, potted meat, and other good things, which he
had brought from England. He was a particularly gentlemanly and
amiable man, much beloved by the regiment: no one was so hospitable or
lived so magnificently. His cooks were the best in the army, and he,
besides, had a host of servants of all nations--Spaniards, French,
Portuguese, Italians--who were employed in scouring the country for
provisions. Lord Wellington once honoured him with his company; and on
entering the ensign's tent, found him alone at table, with a dinner fit
for a king, his plate and linen in good keeping, and his wines perfect.
Lord Wellington was accompanied on this occasion by Sir Edward Pakenham
and Colonel du Burgh, afterwards Lord Downes. It fell to my lot to
partake of his princely hospitality and dine with him at his quarters,
a farmhouse in a village on the Bidassoa, and I never saw a better
dinner put upon table. The career of this amiable Amphitryon, to our
great regret, was cut short, after exercising for about a year a
splendid but not very wise hospitality. He had only a younger
brother's fortune; his debts became very considerable, and he was
obliged to quit the Guards. He and his friends had literally eaten up
his little fortune.