"At present the French keep us in a perpetual state of alarm. We turn out once, sometimes twice, every night. The officers and men are harassed to death, and if we are not relieved, I believe there will be very few of the latter remaining shortly. I have not had the clothes off my back for a long time, and generally spend the greatest part of the night upon the bank of the river, notwithstanding which I have entirely got rid of that disorder which was near killing me at the close of the summer campaign. Although the French annoy us much at night, they are very entertaining during the daytime. They are perpetually chattering with our officers and soldiers, and dance the carmagnol upon the opposite bank whenever we desire them. But occasionally the spectators on our side are interrupted in the middle of a dance by a cannon ball, from theirs."
In this somewhat humorous recital, Wellesley makes no mention of the sufferings which they must have undergone from lack of food and supplies of all kinds. He purposely puts the best face on it, and bears his troubles stoically. But young as he was, he marvelled at the inefficiency and lack of coordination of the high command. Once when a despatch was received by the General during dinner, from their ally, Austria, he tossed it aside unopened with the remark, "That will keep till morning."
During three months on the Waal, Wellesley declares that he was in direct touch with headquarters only once, and adds: "We had letters from England, and I declare that those letters told us more of what was passing at headquarters than we learnt from the headquarters ourselves. It has always been a marvel to me how any of us escaped."
One result, nevertheless, of this isolation was to throw the young colonel back upon his own resources. It was the finest possible training for his later career.
When Colonel Wellesley returned to England the next year, he thought for a time of resigning his command. One reason was undoubtedly the poor state of the army in equipment and discipline. Another was the fact that he owed his brother money on account of promotions in the service, and his officer's pay was not enough to repay it. He was always scrupulous in matters of debt.
His application for discharge, however, was not accepted. England had need of all her trained men at this time. In addition to the trouble in France, there were other affairs demanding attention in Spain and India. The whole world seemed to need readjusting at once.
Wellesley's next assignment was to accompany an expedition against the French settlement in the West Indies, which set sail in October, 1795. But when only two days out the ships encountered a terrible storm. One ship sank with all on board, others were badly crippled, and hundreds of sailors perished. The expedition put back to England.
Although Wellesley escaped the full effects of this storm, the exposure left his health undermined. His regiment was ordered abroad in the Spring, this time to the East Indies, and when they set sail, in April, he was too ill to accompany them. It was not until February, 1797, that he joined them in Calcutta.
Arthur Wellesley was now in his twenty-eighth year. All that had passed hitherto might be regarded as his schooling. He had been an obscure and "foolish" boy at school (to all appearance). He had failed to make his mark as a military student on the Maine. He had been a dilettante staff officer, and a reticent member of Parliament. Money and family had apparently made him what he was—neither better nor worse than many another young British officer. In his brief campaign in France, he had conducted himself creditably, but had come away with a distaste for the service, as it was then conducted.
To revert to our former parallel—Napoleon at twenty-eight was on the high road to world mastery. Wellington at twenty-eight had not yet found himself. But now on his trip to India he was on the threshold of his career. His deeds there and on other fields were to astonish the world. Did they also astonish the silent officer himself?