H.R.H. THE DUKE OF YORK MAKES A NOTE.
In the early part of the year 1820 a partial brevet took place to reward meritorious officers, whose names through oversight had been passed over. I presented myself to H.R.H. the Duke of York, and asked to be included. His Royal Highness replied that the partial promotion contemplated was intended as a reward for services performed in the field. I took the liberty of remarking that it was for services performed in the field I applied for promotion, adding that I should not value promotion otherwise obtained. The duke then said that in mentioning services overlooked, allusion was made to those officers whose names were mentioned in despatches. In reply I felt emboldened to remark that, although my name was not mentioned in despatches, yet, besides other strong testimonials, I was strongly recommended for distinguished conduct in two different actions by the generals who respectively commanded in each, than whom the British Army cannot boast more brilliant military characters—Lords Hill and Lynedoch. His Royal Highness was pleased to make a pencil note, and bowed. I retired; and of the import of that note I remain to this day ignorant, as I never had further communication on the subject.
During my interview with the Commander-in-chief I presented the Duke of Kent’s letter, which was returned next day without comment. Against the presentation of this letter I was strongly advised; but guided by my own sentiments and feelings, I would not be dissuaded. I considered that whatever difference of opinion might have subsisted between the illustrious personages, all unfriendly feelings would cease in the breast of the survivor. Yet, though I felt chagrin at the little notice taken of His Royal Highness’s letter, I consoled myself a little with the thought that the infant Princess Victoria, coming in nature’s course to the throne, might perhaps be pleased to take into consideration that which her royal sire had expressed so much anxiety to promote. But the royal brothers now lie side by side in peace, and so close that
“The vet’ran’s sigh, to gallant York that’s sent,
Glides trembling o’er the breast of virtuous Kent”;
and the time has gone by for vexing either with my claims.
CHAPTER XXXI.
I MAKE MY BOW.
Disappointed in all my well-founded hopes, for such I thought them, I departed to rejoin my regiment at Malta. Landing at Calais, I proceeded to Paris and thence continued my route to Marseilles. On the day we arrived at Avignon, where a large garrison was stationed, it happened that the commandant dined at the table d’hôte. I sat opposite to him, conversing with a young Spanish nobleman attached to the Spanish Embassy at the British Court, who took this route to return to Spain. Having met him in the diligence, I had soon discovered him to be a Spaniard, and in his language our discourse was maintained. During dinner the Peninsular campaigns became the topic of general conversation, in which I joined with the commandant, whom I soon recognised as an old opponent. He did not recognise me. Nine years had elapsed since our last meeting; he saw me walking lame into the room; and I was in mailcoach trim. Having with apparent carelessness asked him if he knew the Prince Prosper d’Arenberg, he answered in the affirmative, and that they were particular friends. He added that they were both taken prisoners in the same action. He then asked if I had been in Spain during the period of the campaigns. I said yes, when he remarked that perhaps I was in the Spanish Service. I told him that then, as well as now, I served in the British army. He asked if I were an Englishman; and when I said yes, he remarked in that complimentary strain peculiar to well-bred Frenchmen, that one rarely meets an individual speaking the languages of three different nations and with such exactness as to pass for a native of each. The Spanish attaché, not to be second in courtesy, attested the justice of the assertion so far as it related to Spanish, declaring that until that moment he took me for his countryman. The commandant then broke into the Spanish language, which, to say the truth, he spoke far from well; nor did I ever meet a Frenchman who could speak it without causing a smile from his auditors. Continuing his broken and ill-pronounced Spanish, at which the attaché smiled and looked at me, the commandant said that he spoke in that language because he had taken me for a Spaniard, on which I replied that for a similar reason I spoke to him in French. He instantly fixed his eye on my countenance; he was beginning to recognise me. He then quickly asked me if I knew Lord Hill; and where I first became acquainted with Prince Prosper. I told him that I had the honour of knowing his lordship, and that my first acquaintance with the prince was at Arroyo Molinos in Spain. His eyes now opened wide and with apparent emotion he asked if he might take the liberty of asking my name, which I had no sooner mentioned than, starting from his chair and striding round to where I sat, to the no small astonishment of all present, he embraced me warmly, saying that he would not kiss me, for he had not forgotten Lisbon. He now presented me to the whole company, which was numerous, as the British officer who made him prisoner, and whom he had so often mentioned as a “grand petit diable.” He went on to tell how he was made prisoner; but this I decline to repeat, as it was rather too florid in description and too flattering to me. I will put it briefly and in plainer words.
MY FORMER PRISONER.
It may be remembered that in the action of Arroyo Molinos, on October 28th, 1811, I jumped over the wall, through a breach in which the head of the French column had passed and the rest were following. Before my leap I had noticed a martial figure nobly mounted, evidently the chief of a corps, leading on the French 40th Regiment of the line. He was not more than five or six paces from the breach, while I was from ten to twelve yards from it. Perceiving that he must pass through before I could come up, wild with excitement and conscious also that the commanding general was looking on, I rode at the wall, and having cleared it instantly turned round to the breach into which Colonel Voirol had just entered and was passing through. We met face to face and instantly commenced a martial duet. We were both superbly mounted, but the rocky nature of the ground was such that our horses were totally unmanageable. We soon fell, or rather dragged each other to the ground, when, true to the immutable laws of nature, I as the lighter and more trivial remained uppermost. On falling, I must instantly have been forked to death by the many Frenchmen around me; but all were too intent on flight to look to others, and immediately after Voirol and I came to the ground the most advanced soldiers of the 28th and 34th Light Companies charged through the opening in the wall, as I have before described. General Howard (now Lord Howard of Effingham) coming up, I said, “General, here is a colonel for you; take him in charge. I cannot stop; I must go on with the light bobs.” In the encounter I had received a blow on the head, which knocked off my cap and set it rolling down the rocks. I pushed on bareheaded till I picked up a French foraging cap. After we returned in the evening from the pursuit of the fugitives, I found both my horse and cap. This was the scuffle which I mentioned in describing the battle; and I now detail the circumstances, because my captive now supported my story, which critics might pronounce absurd, of an individual scuffling with a whole column.