“Foremost captain of his time,
Rich in saving common sense,
And, as the greatest only are,
In his simplicity sublime.”
He was no callous victor, regarding his men merely as pawns in the great game. When he learnt the death-roll of the battle he burst into tears. Scarcely one of those who had fought side by side with him in the Peninsula remained to share the joy of victory. To the end of his days he was an ardent advocate of peace. “Only those who have seen it,” he said, “can possibly know how terrible war is.” The nation’s gratitude flowed out to him as a river; the meanest intelligence could appreciate the overwhelming importance of the victory which he had won. Never did such vast issues rest on a single battle; never did Britain stand so high among the nations as after Waterloo. All possible honours were heaped upon him. He received the thanks of both Houses of Parliament and a vote of £200,000 wherewith to purchase the estate of Strathfieldsaye; while foreign nations vied with each other in awarding him gifts and titles.
He was but forty-six years of age when the crowning victory of his life was accomplished, and for the next quarter of a century he was rightly regarded as one of the pillars of the State. In 1828 he became Prime Minister; but though wise, moderate, and inspired by a high sense of duty, he did not prove himself a great statesman. At one time he was actually the subject of the nation’s wrath; but as the years went by he recovered all his old popularity, and that without striving in the least to regain it.
He died in his eighty-third year, and you already know how this “last great Englishman” was borne to his grave amidst sorrowing crowds. And here, side by side with Nelson, we leave him—the two great captains of the British race, who teach to all future times that the “path of duty” is “the way to glory.”
The Meeting of Wellington and Blücher after the Battle of Waterloo.
(From the fresco by Daniel Maclise, R.A., in the Houses of Parliament.)