Category: Duke of Wellington

The Brothers Moore

You may recall that we were first introduced to the Moore brothers in a post called Early Rumblings of a Regency that ran on March 7.

General Sir John Moore
(1761-1809)
After reading the pithy letters of General Sir John Moore and his brother, Captain Graham Moore, I was prompted to do more research into the lives of these men and, perhaps unsurprisingly, things were once again brought round to the Duke of Wellington, to whom all roads seem to inevitably lead.
Commissioned at the age of 15, Sir John Moore served in the American War of Independence and within eight years was a member of parliament. In 1794 he was involved with the British backing of Paoli’s conquest of Corsica and then served in West Indies. He became a major general in 1798 and took part in operations in Holland and Egypt, where he was a leading player in defeating the French at the second battle of Aboukir.
Perhaps his most important military role came when he assumed command of the British forces in the Iberian peninsula following the recall of Harry Burrard of Lymington, Hew Dalrymple and Arthur Wellesley, who were all at that time facing an inquiry over the Convention of Cintra on the French troops’ evacuation from Portugal.
Wellington returned to London and met with Castlereagh, informing him both as to the feelings of Sir John Moore and the estimation in which that officer was held by the army in Portugal. The following letter from Wellington to Sir John sufficiently explains the result of the interview:—
To Lieut.-General Sir John Moore, E.B.
 London, 8th Oct., 1808.
 My Dear General,
” I arrived in London on Thursday, and I yesterday took an opportunity of mentioning to Lord Castlereagh what I told you I should, notwithstanding that I found, upon my arrival in England, that the object I had in view in conversing with you upon this subject at all had been accomplished by your appointment to command the army. I told Lord Castlereagh that you thought that Government had not treated you well, and that you had considered it incumbent upon you to express your sentiments upon that treatment; but that after you had done so, you had thought no more of the matter, and that it would be found that you would serve as cordially and as zealously in any situation in which you might be employed as if nothing of the kind had ever passed.
” Lord Castlereagh said that he had never entertained any doubt upon this subject; and that after he had communicated to you the sentiments of the King’s Government upon what had passed, his only wish respecting you had been to employ you in the manner in which you were most likely to be useful to the country.
” I find that by the distribution I am placed under your command, than which nothing can be more satisfactory to me. I will go to Coruna immediately, where I hope to find you.
” You’ll have seen by the newspapers that the late transactions in Portugal have made a stronger sensation here than it was imagined they would, and I have had what I think more than my share of the blame. I suppose that there must be an inquiry into the transactions; and till that takes place, I shall leave the public to find out the truth in the best way they can, and shall not adopt any illegitimate mode of setting them right. In the mean time the abuse of the news-writers of London will not deprive me of my temper or my spirits, or of the zeal with which I will forward every wish of yours.
Ever, etc.,
Arthur Wellesley
” Since writing the above I find that it will be necessary that I should wait in England till Sir Hugh Dalrymple will return, and it will be known at what time the inquiry will be made into the late transactions in Portugal on which I am to be examined. I will join you, however, the moment I am set at liberty, for which I long most anxiously.  I send a duplicate of this letter to Coruna.”

Wellington’s hoped for reunion with Moore was not to be. Sir Arthur departed for Ireland, where, indifferent to the wrong which was done him by the English people, he resumed the course of his civil duties. There he remained till the beginning of November, when the assembling at Chelsea Hospital of the Court to inquire into the circumstances of the late campaign, and of the convention in which it resulted, recalled him to London. In common with Sir Hugh Dalrymple and Sir Harry Burrard, he appeared before the Court, where each gave his own statement, and supported it by his own line of argument. There is no reason now to conceal or disguise the fact, that the conclusions at which the Court arrived were all pretty well arranged beforehand. Sir Arthur, still treating with the utmost possible delicacy officers who were not by any means so delicate towards him, proved his own case. The Court listened with partial ears to the statements of Sir Hugh and Sir Harry; and the final issue was a declaration, that nobody was to blame; that all which could have been reasonably expected under the circumstances, had been done, so that further proceedings in the case were not necessary. Absurd as the decision was, Sir Arthur made no protest against it; but returned to Ireland and busied himself as before in such affairs as came usually under the cognizance of chief secretaries.
Time passed, and early in January, 1809, Parliament met. One of the first acts of both Houses was to pass a vote of thanks to Sir Arthur Wellesley and the army which had served under him; a measure which pleased him, not alone because his own good name was thereby vindicated, but because the impediments were removed which had heretofore stood between his friend General Spencer and the honours for which he had recommended him.
It was natural enough that the British Government should make Spain, rather than Portugal, the first object of their care. Spain was the larger and more populous country of the two, and it had been impressed upon their minds by Sir John Moore, and indeed by all whom they had heret
ofore consulted, that to defend Portugal after Spain should have been overrun was impossible. Lord Castlereagh therefore proposed to the Junta of Seville, which had by this time assumed the functions of Supreme Government, that Cadiz should become the base of operations for a British army; and then, and not till then, he bethought him of consulting Sir Arthur Wellesley. On the 7th of March he received in reply a memorandum, which not only answered every question proposed, but took a view of the case so masterly and comprehensive as to leave no single point connected with it untouched.
Sir Arthur begins that remarkable paper in these words – ” I have always been of opinion that Portugal might be defended, whatever might have been the result of the contest in Spain, and that in the mean time the measures adopted for the defence of Portugal would lie highly useful to the Spaniards in their contest with the French.” He then goes on to justify this assertion, and to explain that in Portugal, with its feeble Government and docile population, a native army could be officered by Englishmen, which being intermixed with English troops, would soon be rendered capable of facing the best of the Continental armies. It was thus that at every new stage in his career the Great Duke was accustomed to turn to account the experience which the past had given him.
Wellington described Napoleon’s political system as one of terror, which must crumble to pieces if once effectually checked; and he expressed a belief that in Portugal, if wisely dealt with, the first decided check would be given to that system. Sir Arthur’s minute was read in Cabinet, and produced a strong effect, and the refusal of the Spaniards to receive a British garrison into Cadiz arriving not long afterwards, Sir Arthur’s views were unanimously adopted. There remained then but one course for the Government to follow. Sir Arthur was requested to assume the command of the army, which it was determined to employ in the Peninsula, and he did so without a moment’s hesitation.

When Napoleon arrived in Spain with 200,000 men, Moore drew the French northwards while retreating to his embarkation ports of A Coruña and Vigo. Moore established a defensive position on hills outside the town, while being guarded by the 15th Hussars, and was fatally wounded at the Battle of Corunna, being “struck in his left breast and shoulder by a cannon shot, which broke his ribs, his arm, lacerated his shoulder and the whole of his left side and lungs.” He remained conscious, and composed, throughout the several hours of his dying, amongst his final words being “Remember me to your sister, Stanhope,” referring to his friend, the intrepid Near East Asia traveler Lady Hester Stanhope, to whom it was rumoured he hoped to be wed. Moore lived long enough to learn of his victory. He said to his old friend Colonel Anderson “You know I always wished to die this way.”  His last words were “I hope the people of England will be satisfied! I hope my country will do me justice!” He was buried wrapped in a military cloak in the ramparts of the town.
Moore’s military tactics were so brilliant that Moore’s French rival, Marshall Soult, erected a memorial in his honour at Corunna. The Duke of Wellington declared that his victory at Waterloo would have been impossible without his predecessor, who had ensured the survival of a credible British fighting force. Moore’s memory was honoured by Charles Wolfe’s poem, The Burial of Sir John Moore after Corunna, which ensured that generations of schoolchildren would learn of his heroism.
The commemorative plaque on Moore’s stone tomb in the
Jardin de San Carlos, in the old town of A Coruna

Moore had died on  16th January 1809 and Wellington did not reach Lisbon until April 1809, only to find that the French had again pressed south into Portugal, against dwindling Portuguese and Spanish opposition, and captured Oporto. Whilst he and Moore had not met again, Wellington did not forget his fallen commrade in arms, as the following letter shows.
To F. Moore, Esq.
Vera, 24th October, 1813.
Sir,
‘I have received your letter of the 30th September, and you do me justice in believing that I feel every inclination to forward, as far as may be in my power, the views of your son * in the service, on account of his late uncle, and, what perhaps may be more satisfactory to you, on account of his own merits.
‘He is now attached to the staff of Sir J. Hope, but as soon as he is sufficiently high in rank to be employed on the General Staff of the army, you may depend on my taking the earliest opportunity which may offer of so employing him if he should prefer it to being attached as aide de camp to any General officer.
I have the honor to be, etc.
Wellington
*Lieut. Colonel W. Moore, nephew to the late Lieut. General Sir John Moore, K.B.
You can read the Diary of Sir John Moore here.
Captain Graham Moore
The younger Moore brother, Graham, joined the navy, rather than the army, and was made Post-Captain soon after the start of the Revolutionary War, commanding the 36 gun frigate HMS Melampus from 1800, before being appointed to HMS Indefatigable in 1803. Moore later commanded the squadron of four Royal Nav
y frigates – Indefatigable, Medusa, Lively and Amphion – that captured a Spanish treasure fleet of four frigates carrying bullion from the Caribbean back to Spain off Cadiz in the Action of 5 October 1804.
Moore was then attached to Sir Robert Calder’s squadron blockading Ferrol. In 1808, he served as Commodore, flying his broad pendant in the new ship HMS Marlborough assisting Admiral Sir Sidney Smith with the Portuguese royal family’s escape to Brazil. He later served as part of the North Sea fleet for several years. He was promoted to Rear-Admiral in 1812, and became Second-in-Command, Mediterranean Fleet in 1815 and served on the Board of Admiralty between 1816 and 1820, being promoted to Vice-Admiral in 1819. He was Commander-in-Chief, Mediterranean Fleet between 1820 and 1823. He was Commander-in-Chief, Plymouth from 1839 to 1842 and flew his flag in HMS Impregnable.
Moore kept a detailed diary from 1784 until 1806, later published in thirty-seven volumes, which provides a unique account of his service as Lieutenant, Commander and Captain. Canada’s Sir Graham Moore Islands, Cape Graham Moore, and Graham Moore Bay are named in his honor.
Though Graham’s life reads rather like the Wikipedia entry from which it was shamelessly lifted, I’m happy to report that he retained the sense of humour we first met in the letters included in a previous post. Of Lord Nelson Graham wrote that Nelson’s be-medalled and be-ribboned dress at the Sicilian Court made a ‘pitiful impression … more like a Prince of an Opera than the Conqueror of the Nile.’
Four frigates capturing Spanish treasure ships, 5 October 1804
 copyright The National Maritime Museum

From The National Maritime Museum Website: Four Spanish frigates with a rich shipment from Montevideo headed for Cadiz. The cargo was ultimately destined for France and therefore potentially for use against the British. Four British frigates lay in wait to capture them and the two squadrons met on 5 October. The senior British commander Captain Graham Moore asked the Spanish Admiral to surrender. When he refused, action commenced, and within ten minutes the Spanish ‘Mercedes’ had blown up with the loss of all but one officer and 45 men. Half an hour later the Spanish ships ‘Medea’ and ‘Clara’ both surrendered. The Spanish ‘Fama’ tried to escape but also surrendered after she was chased by the British ‘Lively’. Sartorius has arranged the eight ships of the two opposing squadrons across the canvas in pairs. In the right foreground the ‘Lively fires into the ‘Clara’. Ahead of them is the exploding ‘Mercedes’ with the stern of the British ‘Amphion’ beyond her. To the left and ahead the British ‘Indefatigable’ and Spanish ‘Medea’ on the right are in close action. Beyond them the British ‘Medusa’ and Spanish ‘Fama’ are also firing at each other. The painting is signed and dated ‘F. Sartorius 1807.’

The Wellington Connection: Traffic Court

From The Life of the Duke of Wellington by Joachim Hayward Stocqueler, Volume 2 1853
The Duke of Wellington attended on Saturday (4th May, 1845) at the Marlborough Street Police Court, for the purpose of preferring a charge of furious driving, whereby his life was endangered, against Henry Woods, driver of one of the carriers’ carts. To prevent inconvenience to his Grace from the crowd which his appearance would attract to this court, the summons was so arranged as to take precedence of the night charges. At half-past eleven o’clock his Grace, accompanied by Lord Charles Fitzroy Somerset and Mr. Mayne, entered the court. His Grace having been sworn, said—I was walking, on Tuesday last, between two and three o’clock, in Park Lane, on the left-hand side, going out of Piccadilly, and when near the Duchess of Gloucester’s house, a very heavy four-wheeled cart passed me. I endeavoured to cross the lane, to get to the pavement on the other side, under the protection of this heavy cart; I got as far as the right-hand wheel of the cart, keeping the cart at my left hand, when I found myself struck on the shoulder, and knocked forward. It was a severe blow, and I found it had been given by another cart, the driver of which did not attempt to give me warning by calling out, until he had struck me. I did not fall; if I had, I must have been under the wheels of both carts. Now, I have no further complaint to make against the man at the bar who drove the cart, than that he was going at such a monstrous pace that he had no control over his horse; indeed, he came along so fast, that he got the whole length of Park Lane without my having perceived him; and the pace he was going at was such, that it was impossible he could stop his horse. This is my complaint; and I bring it forward on public grounds, because I think it is not right that carriages should go along in the public streets at this great rate. The cart by which I was struck was a heavy, tilted cart; the driver was under the tilt. My groom was behind with my horses, and I called him and desired him to follow the cart. My groom trotted as hard as he could, but was unable to overtake the cart until he got as far as South Strand. This will prove the rapid pace at which the driver of the cart was going.




copyright The Canal Museum
The defendant said he was truly sorry at what had occurred, but he declared the whole circumstance was accidental. He saw a gentleman about to cross the road, and he called out to warn him; but be was not aware that he had touched any one. He was not going at very great speed, for his horse was an old one, and could not accomplish more than seven miles an hour; and at the time when he passed his Grace, he was going up hill. His attention was directed to the vehicles in the carriage-road, and this prevented his noticing what was doing on the foot-path.
Mr. Hardwick: Had you kept your eyes directed as you ought, not only to avoid carriages but foot passengers, the circumstance would not have occurred. The reason you have given for not seeing his Grace is no excuse for your conduct.
The Duke of Wellington: There was plenty of room to have passed, without running against me.
Mr. Hall, No. 12, Park Lane, said he saw his Grace attempting to cross the lane at the time that a carrier’s cart, which was going at the rate of seven or eight miles an hour, was coming down the lane. Thinking, from the way the man was driving, that his Grace would be knocked down, he ran to the door, and saw the cart strike his Grace on the shoulder. Had his Grace but turned round sharply, the cart must have been over his feet. The pace the man was driving at was not more than seven miles an hour. He was driving negligently rather than furiously.
Mr. Hardwick: Had he kept a proper look-out, he must have seen his Grace?
Witness: Certainly. He was going up hill, and could have stopped the horse easier than if he was going down hill.
Mr. Hardwick: Did you hear the man call out? Witness: No, I did not.

In defence, the man repeated that he was exceedingly sorry for what had occurred.




Conducting the Night Charges to the Marlborough Street Police Court
copyright wikigallery

 

Mr. Hardwick: It appears from the evidence that you were driving, if not at a furious, still at a rapid rate; but as you were going up hill at the time, had you used the ordinary precautions in driving along the public street, and if you had proper command over your horse, this accident could not have occurred. A witness has described your careless mode of driving at the time, by saying you were neither looking to the right hand nor to the left; and the whole evidence goes to prove that your mode of driving was reckless and careless, exhibiting a perfect indifference to the life and limbs of foot-passengers. This case I shall deal with as a case of assault. You have committed several serious offences: first, furious driving; next, endangering life and limb; and, lastly, committing an assault, for running against the person and striking that person with the cart, is as much an assault as if the blow were given by hand. For the assault, which is clearly proved, you will pay a fine
of 4l. or one month’s imprisonment.
The defendant was then locked up.

Madame Tussaud – The Novel

Kristine’s post about the Duke of Wellington visiting the wax museum has inspired me (Victoria) to write about a book I recently enjoyed: Madame Tussaud by Michelle Moran.  It is a fictional biography, well-researched but using the kind of emotional depth and intimacy of fiction.  I found the book fascinating and very well-written.  I admit I have never been to one of Madame Tussaud’s institutions;  I would love to see the historical personages, but I have always assumed there was a lot more attention to current rock and film stars — and I wouldn’t recognize them much less care about them.  I guess I have always  classified  wax museums as tourist traps. I know lots of people love them — but I’m not a  fan of the institution.

However, reading the story of Marie Grosholtz and her family gave me a true appreciation of what they were trying to accomplish with their salon, including making a lot of money, and the lengths to which they went to conform to popular trends in a time of incredible turmoil.

Michelle Moran is the author of  several historical novels. Click here for her website.  The picture left shows Ms. Moran (r) with the figure of her subject, Madame Tussaud, at the Hollywood Museum. I have read reports of a film of the book in the works.  And why not? Madame lived a long, event-filled life. Marie Grosholtz was born in 1761 in Strasbourg. Her widowed mother took her to Bern, Switzerland, where they lived in the household of Dr. Curtius, a physician who specialized in creating wax models, first for teaching purposes, eventually for exhibition. They moved to Paris in 1765 and Dr. Curtius began to exhibit his figures in lifelike settings. Marie was an eager student and by the time she was a teen, she began to mold and scuplt the heads of famous persons for their exhibit. She also spent time with the royal family at Versailles, teaching the king’s sister to scuplt saints.  While she split her time between the sumptuous royal palace and Dr. Curtius’s house, associates of her family were involved in the tumult leading up to the Revolution.

 The events of these days are well chronicled by Moran as seeen through the eyes of Marie, a young woman in her late twenties, searching for love, yet obsessed with perfecting her art and making money.  During the Reign of Terror, she accommodated the mob by creating death masks from heads fresh from the guillotine. At right, one of the displays from the wax museum.  Ugh. However, she felt some loyalty to King Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette, deploring the chaos when they fell.

Marie spent time in the prison that held the future Empress Josephine and Grace Elliot, mistress of the Duc d’Orleans. Though both Josephine’s first husband and the Duc lost their heads, the three women were among the survivors.  While in prison, Marie met Francois Tussaud, and they married after the Terror came to an end. It was not a  happy marriage; he succumbed to drink and gambling, and was a constant drag on her accomlishments.  In 1802, Madame Tussaud and her elder son took some of their figures on tour to England, where they stayed and established the wax museum that still bears her name.

At left, wax figures of Marie Antoinette and Louis XVI. Eventually, after her husband’s death, she was reunited with her mother and her second son.  She ran her business with her sons until her death in 1850.


Going back to the proposed movie of Madame Tussaud, the costumes are already available, and they even won an oscar for the designers who worked on Sofia Coppola’s 2006 film Marie Antoinette. I remember my very ambiguous reaction to this movie. The youthful queen was such a Valley Girl, so frivolous and, frankly, stupid, I could hardly bear it. Yet I realize she might very well have been such a little fool. Certainly as portrayed by Michelle Moran, she made some very poor decisions.  But the costumes and settings and the composition of the shots — all were brilliant.

I think I will get the DVD and watch it with the sound off.  I not only
despised the dialogue and how it was delivered, but I seem to recall a quite jarring musical track.  Please send in your views of this movie.

Anyway, I’d love to see those brilliant costumes again. Haven’t we learned that in all the Jane Austen films and tv series, the British reuse the costumes over and over? I seem to recall a fun blog post by someone listing which dress was worn where. Did I mention the sets? And the gardens.  Much of the movie was actually filmed in Versailles and in its gardens.

One of the books Michelle Moran used as a resource for her novel
Madame Tussaud  is Antonia Fraser’s Marie Antoinette.  As a long-time admirer of Fraser’s books, both her historical works and the detective series, I think I will briefly turn my back on British bios and try this one.

And just to prove that everything on this blog really can be traced back to the Duke of Welllington, Lady Antonia was born into the family Pakenham, one and the same with the 1st Duchess of Wellington. Fraser is the daughter of Elizabeth Longford, biographer of the Duke, whose two-volume work has never been surpassed for insight into the life of the great man.

The Ill Fated Marriage of George IV

On 8 April 1795 at the Chapel Royal, St James’s Palace took place the marriage of The Prince of Wales to his cousin, Princess Caroline of Brunswick. No love match, the Prince was marrying Caroline in exchange for Parliament’s agreement to pay off his astronomical debts. In fact, the Prince had previously, and quasi-secretly, married Maria Fitzherbert on 15 December 1785, in the drawing room of her house in Park Street, London. Whilst the marriage wasn’t announced with a public hue and cry, it was still public knowledge.

From Mrs. Fitzherbert and George IV by William Henry Wilkins (1905):

The denials of the Prince’s friends counted for little, for people remembered how emphatically the rumour of the marriage between the Duke of Gloucester and Lady Waldegrave had been denied, and yet it proved to be true after all. The accounts of Mrs. Fitzherbert’s marriage were categorical, and the fact that she was supported and visited by many ladies of the first fashion lent the weight of corroborative evidence. With the public the opinion gained ground that a marriage had taken place. The Marquis of Lothian wrote to the Duke of Rutland, March 4, 1786, “You ask me my opinion respecting the Prince’s marriage. I think it has all the appearance of being true. I believe, when he has been spoken to about it, he has been violent, but I cannot find out that he has denied it peremptorily. He has said to one of the most intimate in his family [household], when asked on the subject, that he might answer, if asked the question, in the negative. But surely a report of this sort, were it not true, should be publicly contradicted, and I am amazed that some member of Parliament has not mentioned it in the House. Most people believe it, and I confess I am one of the number. Though I dined alone with him, and you know the general topic of his conversation about women, he never mentioned her to me amongst others. I am very sorry for it, for it does him infinite mischief, particularly amongst the trading and lower sort of people, and if true must ruin him in every light.”


Maria Fitzherbert


It may be supposed that the topic was not confined to private letters. The press, then far less restrained than now, continued to teem with scarcely veiled innuendoes and scandalous rumours. Some journals maintained that “some sort of marriage” had taken place, others stoutly denied it. Nor did the caricaturists, those inevitable satirists on the follies of the day, linger behind. Prints and cartoons on the subject of the marriage were published in great number and variety; they were exposed in the shop windows, and even sold in the streets, to the great delight of the vulgar. All, or nearly all, of them were wide of the facts, and many were exceedingly scurrilous. It was an age of coarseness, and the licence permitted to the caricaturists was great.

Rumour and innuendo aside, the marriage was illegal, as under the Royal Marriage Act, the Prince of Wales, being below the age of 25, could not marry without the Kng’s permission. He most especially could not marry a Roman Catholic. Now, there’s alot more to the story – much more than we have room for in this post – but suffice to say that George, Prince of Wales was fairly forced by his father, King George III, to settle down, to marry and to beget himself an heir. Unfortunately, George loathed Princess Caroline on sight, taking offence at her looks, her voice, her personality, her manner and, it seems fair to say, her very existence.

Nevertheless, the marriage ceremony which took place on April 8th, at which the Prince of Wales was attended by three unmarried groomsmen including: the 30-year-old friend the 5th Duke of Bedford and the 3rd Duke of Roxburghe, a 54-year-old favorite of George III. The Prince was also attended by his friend, the 17-year-old Coronet George “Beau” Brummell. And whilst he was not attended by her, also present was the Prince’s current mistress, Frances, Lady Jersey.



Caroline, 1804 by Sir Thomas Lawrence


The Prince of Wales arrived for the wedding very drunk and was obviously reluctant to proceed with the ceremony, hesitated frequently in his responses and cried openly in front of the company. In fact, at one point in the ceremony, his father actually had to urge him to say his lines and get the business concluded. The Prince looked not at all at his bride but frequently at his mistress, the 42-year-old Lady Jersey, the wife of the 60-year-old fourth Earl of Jersey, George Bussy Villiers.

After the ceremony, the King and Queen held a drawing-room for the couple in the Queen’s apartment in St. James Palace. Caroline seemed pleased and chatty. The Prince was silent and morose until near the end of the evening when he recovered his composure enough to become “very civil and gracious.” This upturn did not last long, as soon the Prince of Wales became so drunk that he spent his wedding night passed out on the floor in front of the bedroom fireplace. He finally awakened early in the morning and performed his conjugal duties, which resulted in a daughter, Princess Charlotte, nine months later when, coincidentally, the couple split up, never again to live as man and wife.

The Wellington Connection – Duels – Part Two

“Gentlemen, are you ready? fire!” The Duke raised his pistol and presented it instantly on the word fire being given; but, as I suppose, observing that Lord Winchilsea did not immediately present at him, he seemed to hesitate for a moment, and then fired without effect.
I think Lord Winchilsea did not present his pistol at the Duke at all, but I cannot be quite positive, as I was wholly intent on observing the Duke, lest anything should happen to him; but when I turned my eyes towards Lord Winchilsea, after the Duke had fired, his arm was still down by his side, from whence he raised it deliberately, and, holding his pistol perpendicularly over his head, he fired it off into the air.
The Duke remained still on his place, but Lord Falmouth and Lord Winchilsea came immediately forward towards Sir Henry Hardinge, and Lord Falmouth, addressing him, said, “Lord Winchilsea, having received the Duke’s fire, is placed under different circumstances from those in which he stood before, and therefore now feels himself at liberty to give the Duke of Wellington the reparation he requires.” He seemed to pause for an answer, and Sir Henry replied, “The Duke expects an ample apology, and a complete and full acknowledgment from Lord Winchilsea of his error in having published the accusation against him which he has done.” To which Lord Falmouth answered, “I mean an apology in the most extensive or in every sense of the word;” and he then took from his pocket a written paper, containing what he called an admission from Lord Winchilsea that he was in the wrong, and which he said was drawn up in the terms of the Duke’s last Memorandum.
Upon reading it, it appeared that the word apology was in no place inserted, although the paper expressed that Lord Winchilsea did not hesitate to declare of his own accord that he regretted having unadvisedly published an opinion which had given offence to the Duke of Wellington, and offered to cause this expression of regret to be published in the ‘Standard’ newspaper, as the same channel through which his former letter had been given to the public.
The Duke, who had come nearer, and was listening attentively, said in a low voice, “This won’t do; it is no apology.” On which Sir Henry took the paper to the Duke, and walked two or three paces on one side with him, but immediately came back, saying, ” I cannot accept of this paper unless the word apology be inserted.” He then took a paper from his pocket, and was proceeding]to read, saying, “This is what we expect;” when Lord Falmouth, interrupting him, said, ” I assure you what I have written was meant as an apology;” and he entered into a discussion, asserting that the admissions contained in his paper were the same as those, or were quoted from those, in the Duke of Wellington’s own Memorandum. Sir Henry said, “My Lord Falmouth, it is needless to prolong this discussion. Unless the word apology be inserted, we must resume our ground.” And, turning to Lord Winchilsea, whom Lord Falmouth had taken aside to converse with, he said, “My Lord Winchilsea, this is an affair between the seconds;” on which Lord Winchilsea retired.
After some little hesitation, Lord Falmouth said he did not well see how he could put the paper into any other form; and, referring to me, he said, half aside, “Do you not think it sufficient?” I said, “Yes, if you insert apology in the body of your paper.” To which he replied, “Well, Sir Henry, I will do it in this way, and I trust that will answer every purpose. I will insert apology here in this manner “—writing with his pencil after the words ” hesitate to declare of my own accord that (in apology) I regret,” etc. Sir Henry then went to the Duke and spoke a few words, but came back almost instantly, and said to Lord Falmouth he was satisfied, or that the paper would do.
He then added, “And now, gentlemen, without making any invidious reflections, I cannot help remarking that—whether wisely or unwisely, the world will judge—you have been the cause of bringing this man (pointing to the Duke) into the field, where, during the whole course of a long military life, he never was before on an occasion of this nature.” The Duke came forward, bowing coldly to Lord Falmouth and Lord Winchilsea, the former of whom seemed greatly affected, and stated he had always thought and told Lord Winchilsea that he was completely in the wrong; on which Sir Henry remarked that, if he did so, and came with the writer of the letter to the ground, his Lordship had done that which he (Sir Henry) would not do for the dearest friend he had in the world. Lord Falmouth then addressed himself to the Duke in vindication of his conduct, and was beginning to express the pain and anxiety he had experienced during the whole of these proceedings; but the Duke interrupted him, lifting up his hands and saying, “My Lord Falmouth, I have nothing to do with these matters.” He then touched the brim of his hat with two fingers, saying, “Good morning, my Lord Winchilsea; good morning, my Lord Falmouth,” and mounted his horse, and Sir Henry having also got on horseback and said, “I wish you good morning, my Lords,” they both rode quickly off the field.
I took up the pistols, gave them to the Duke’s groom to put into the carriage, and was walking away, when Lord Falmouth called to me to say that Sir Henry Hardinge had not verified the paper, and requested me to do so; which I did by putting my initials under the word apology, which was interlined, and signing my name at the top and bottom. Lord Falmouth repeated again and again how painful it had been to his feelings to be engaged in a business of this kind with a person for whom all the world, and he and Lord Winchilsea in particular, had so much respect and esteem as the Duke of Wellington; and on my remarking, “Then, why did you push it so far?” he replied, “It was impossible to avoid it. The fact is, Lord Winchilsea had been very wrong; so much so that he could not have made any apology sufficiently adequate to the offence consistently with his character as a man of honour without first receiving the Duke’s fire. Had he done what he did in the heat of debate, or in the excitement of the moment, he might have easily retracted his expressions; but he had sat down deliberately and written and published a letter in the ‘Standard,’ containing accusations and insinuations which were highly improper. He certainly had discovered soon after that he had no right to attribute to the Duke’s conduct the motives he had done; but this only rendered an ordinary apology the more inadequate; and he had, therefore, determined first to give the Duke satisfaction, that his expression of regret might have more effect.” I said I could not agree with him in the view he took of the matter. That what might be justifiable, or even praiseworthy, towards an ordinary a
dversary, was very different towards a man like the Duke of Wellington; “for, indeed, my Lords,” said I, “I never even contemplated the possibility of his being engaged in an affair of this kind, and I am filled with something approaching to horror, when, after exposing himself for so many years in fighting the battles of his country, after triumphing over all her enemies by a series of victories the most glorious and complete that ever adorned the page of history, I see he may still be forced to put himself on a level with other men, and expose to impertinence that life which he has so often risked for the benefit of us all.” Lord Falmouth said, “On this occasion, at least, he did not risk his life. I assure you most solemnly, Sir, that on no other condition would I have accompanied Lord Winchilsea except on that of his acting in the manner he has done, and his declaring to me upon his honour that he would not return the Duke’s fire.” I said, “Indeed, gentlemen, I was never so agreeably relieved from the most painful suspense and anxiety I ever experienced as when I saw Lord Winchilsea fire his pistol in the air. I had before felt towards you both something like what I could suppose myself capable of feeling towards parricides; but I immediately saw that, although I might consider you wrong, you had erred perhaps through an excess of mistaken generosity; or, at all events, this is the construction you must desire to be put upon your conduct. Yet still I cannot help regretting you should have considered all this necessary, and forgotten the circumstances of your antagonist. But it is all owing to that cursed spirit of party, which now, as in all times, obscures the judgment and destroys the better sympathies of your hearts.” Lord Winchilsea then replied, as if speaking to himself, “God forbid that I should ever lift my hand against him!” We had by this time reached the carriage, where, bowing, I took my leave, and drove directly home.
Having related these circumstances as minutely as my recollection enables me, I must now be permitted to mention the impression the distinguished actors in this affair made upon my mind throughout the whole of it.
In meetings of this nature the principals are supposed to commit themselves entirely to the guidance of the seconds, and thus become in their hands almost passive agents. On this occasion the Duke conformed himself strictly to this rule; and I could not help admiring how meekly and submissively he conducted himself through the whole of this affair.
To those who, unacquainted with the Duke, have only looked at his greatness, and recollect him at the head of his army, driving his enemies before him in all the triumph of victory from the Tagus to the Garonne in one tide of uninterrupted success, or who, after he had vanquished his great rival on the plain of Waterloo, and arrived at one bound under the walls of Paris, have beheld him in that capital in all the splendour of conquest, surrounded by emperors and kings, himself the most distinguished of all the members of that brilliant assemblage, fixing the boundaries of kingdoms, and controlling by his single word the destinies of the world, this may appear scarcely credible. To others who know the Duke well, it will excite neither wonder nor astonishment, for, whilst he is perfectly confident in himself, and well aware of the respect due to his great actions, no man assumes less. With the most perfect knowledge of human nature, he has always set a just value on popular applause, and has never for a moment allowed himself to be blinded by fortune, or intoxicated with praise. In his honest pride there is no arrogance, in his dignity no haughtiness, in his superiority no vainglorious display; but simple, plain, and natural in his manner, he is, without exception, the most unaffected of men. In all situations and on all important occasions he presents the same person. Calm, modest, unassuming, yet dignified, resolute, and firm, easy, unembarrassed; never losing for a moment his self-possession, never impatient or hurried.
Sir Henry Hardinge, the straightforward, frank, honest, warm-hearted soldier, full of zeal for his old Commander, full of indignation at seeing him obliged to seek reparation of this kind for an unprovoked and unmerited insult, but never allowing either to carry him to any improper warmth; clear, distinct, acute, decided, he went through the whole of this affair—to him most painful—with a degree of judgment, temper, discretion, and good feeling, which quite charmed me.
From Sir Henry’s hint I kept as near the opposite parties as I well could without being remarked, and I have much pleasure in bearing testimony to the gentlemanlike behaviour of Lord Winchilsea. His manner throughout was exceedingly becoming; no haste, no forwardness, no presuming. His demeanour was gentle, calm, and unobtrusive. His countenance, which is pleasing, wore a certain expression of pensiveness, and, as I thought, of regret, as if dissatisfied with himself; and as he seemed to have put himself entirely into the hands of his friend, I confess I felt, in spite of me, a degree of interest and concern for him. He showed no levity, no indifference, but steady and fearless he received the Duke’s fire, without making the slightest movement or betraying any emotion, except that when he raised his arm and discharged his pistol in the air, I thought he smiled, as if to say, “Now, you see, I am not quite so bad as you thought me.”
I was sorry for Lord Falmouth, who was much affected, and seemed to feel deeply all the responsibility of the task he had to perform.
J. R. Hume.