The road between St. Amand and Tournay was covered with baggage waggons and troops. In the dark, about 8 o’clock, I had an alarm that produced a sensation of terror far beyond any power of description to express. Just upon the plain where the battle of Fontenoy was fought, I saw about a quarter of a mile before me ten or twelve horsemen gallop across the road and range themselves under the trees of the avenue. They came from the French side of the road, and in the dusk and indistinct manner in which I saw them more than satisfied me that they were French hussars. I gave myself up for lost, and in an agony of silent despair hid my head. We approached, when, lo!—my hussars proved to be gleaners. The immense bulk of them on the horizon and their quiet motion, aided by imagination, made me see an enemy instead of a harmless band of suffering countrywomen. When we reached Tournay we found the inn full of English soldiers. Lord Huntley in the house very dangerously ill.
MOVEMENTS OF THE ALLIES
It is very true that the nearer one approaches the scene of action intelligence becomes more imperfect and contradictory. Every other man we met gave us a different account; some said the D. of York was at Ypres, others that he was at Furnes, and yet it is possible that he has been at neither place. We met the Dutch troops who ran away on the 18th; they are going to garrison towns, as they cannot be trusted in the lines. At Menin I saw Colonel Doyle walking upon the Grande Place. He has a deep wound in his arm and a contusion on his knee. An old Dutch acquaintance of Pierrôt’s[93] caressed him, the greffier Fagel’s son, a great friend of Ld. Henry’s. The officers advised us against going on to Ypres, as a severe cannonade had been heard that way the whole morning, but we must either have returned or gone on: I felt queer, not to say frightened. We passed within two miles of the French lines, and that is the distance for half a dozen desperate hussars to gallop to plunder. We met a Mr. Lodge, an Englishman; he has just left Furnes, near which the armies are encamped, but he reported that they were filing off to lay siege to Dunkirk. I hear the Cabinet of Vienna are displeased at the D. of York’s terms of capitulation for Valenciennes, especially as he gave up two of the deputies who had voted for the King’s death, and the troops, they say, so far from abiding by their engagement of not serving again, are hurrying down towards Dunkirk. At Ypres the Austrians brought in twelve French prisoners, chiefly lads from 14 to 20; one of them was quite a stripling, he had been a button-maker at Lyons, but was forced to serve as a Volunteer. It is astonishing when we see their troops how it is they contrive to fight so well, against the bravest and best disciplined armies in the world. From Ypres the road to Furnes is within 100 yards of the French territory. We went close to the advanced Dutch pickets; their disposition to run away did not allow me to rely much upon their protection. At Rousbrugge, a small village, whilst we were in it, the drum beat to arms for an outpost being driven in, and the alarm spread of the enemy. In an instant all the soldiers turned out; a fine regiment called Loudohn Verts [sic].
At Furnes the town was so full that I was obliged to sit in the carriage in the middle of the Grande Place, and had no prospect of other shelter for the night. Fortunately, however, a charitable old woman who kept a little tallow-chandler’s shop agreed to let me pass the night in a little sandy parlour, that literally had no other furniture than a walnut great chair and a cupboard decorated with Delft cups. There was a bedroom, but to keep my companion from becoming outrageously discontented I yielded it to him, and lay upon blankets, etc. upon the floor. The room was really so small that when I was extended my maid could not sit in the great chair; she therefore passed the night in the carriage.
The evening was very agitating: we heard very plainly the roaring of the cannon at Dunkirk; couriers were perpetually arriving with some intelligence. The whole day had been passed in attempting to dislodge the French from a wood just before the town. The news came of the death of General Dalton and Col. Elde. At night I mounted the belfry of the church; the light from the cannon at Dunkirk was very strong, no less than five villages near it were in a blaze, the horizon was deeply dyed with a mixture of deep red flames and smoke. I never passed a more wretched night; the idea of the bloody tragedy near, the recollection of the haggard countenances of the dying soldiers, and the possibility, even probability, that many of my friends were expiring, made me so nervous that I could not obtain a wink of sleep. I got up unrefreshed and weary both in mind and body.
THE BRITISH CAMP
Major Doyle and all the officers I have seen express themselves with discontent at the prospect of the campaign; they think the measure of acting without the Austrians very injudicious.[94] They much doubt the practicability of the capture of Dunkirk. With the utmost difficulty we procured a vehicle, and with as much we waded through the deep black sand to the British camp. The distance was about six miles in all. The road is a high, narrow chaussée with the dunes between it and the sea. The first encampment is that of the artillery, prettily placed on each side of the canal. Thirteen dead horses lay stretched upon the road, victims of the engagement of the day before; we were obliged to stop till they were dragged away, to let the carriage pass. It was just thereabouts where Dalton fell; he was endeavouring to take a well-defended redoubt. The English camp is making; they only took the ground yesterday. I slept in the tent of Capt. Cerjat, of the Blues. I went to see the corpse of Dalton: he was lying on his side with one pale hand upon his head and the other upon his bosom, great expression of placid benignity on his countenance.
The Duke of York, on hearing of my arrival, sent to beg me to go to his tent and dine with him at headquarters. I saw poor Malbrouk, who was looking mighty well. I dined with the Duke; I felt odd being the only female among such a party of men. All the staff dined with him. The place we dined in was a large grange; his own tent he kept for his private use. He is highly incensed against the D. of Richmond[95] for not sending the ordnance, and to complete his vexation the artillery officers at Ostend have sent down the canals the carriages in one vessel, and the cannons in another, so that they do not arrive together. His language of censure is unqualified, and he is never much disposed to praise the D. of Richmond. After dinner I attended with H.R.H. the funeral of Col. Elde: it is an affecting sight. I was at first startled at the firing in platoons over the grave, but after the first discharge I did not mind it. There was another English officer buried, but I was low-spirited and would not go.
The Duke bid St. Leger show me the different camps, and sent me in one of his light cabriolets. In the course of the drive we were overtaken by the chaplain, who galloped and called as fast and as loud as he could. It was to make us return, for we had passed by several hundred yards the spot where a Hanoverian vedette had been killed by a shell, a proof that we were within reach of danger. We returned as fast as we could, and were grateful to him for his friendly interposition. We got out and walked upon the dunes, but were speedily recalled, as the vedette advised me not to venture, the French riflemen being such excellent shots that I might be aimed at. I should not have dreaded French cruelty to a woman, had I not the melancholy instance of the poor Queen.
DUKE OF YORK’S KINDNESS