The most important military funeral of late years, and one which everybody went to see who could do so, was that of the Duke of Wellington. Famed throughout the world for his brilliant military and civil career, as well as for the genius which characterized all his acts, the nation with one voice called for a public and gorgeous funeral, as a last tribute of its estimation of so far-famed a chieftain.
It was on a dark November morning that hundreds and thousands of persons, long before dawn, wended their way through the streets of London, intent on obtaining a good position on the pavement or to be sure of reaching the house and thence the window, which had been previously secured and from which the procession could be best seen.
Even as early as six o’clock in the morning, large bodies of cavalry and infantry are marching through the streets, whilst officers in uniforms ride up and down, giving orders and arranging the positions for various bodies of men who are yet to make their appearance. In all the principal open spaces troops are mustering; behind the Horse Guards and in St. James’s Park, all branches of the service being represented, from the little known uniforms of Indian soldiers to that of our own guards; for the Great Duke had culled his first laurels on the fields of India, and soldiers from the then East India Company’s service attended as representatives of that branch of our army.
The course taken by the procession was from the Horse Guards to St. Paul’s, and an enormous number of troops were required to keep the ground along the course, this crowd being immense. Not only were the streets crowded, walking being almost impossible, but it was estimated that upwards of two hundred thousand seats were sold to sight-seers.
In the actual procession were six battalions of infantry, nine guns from the field batteries, five squadrons of cavalry, and eight guns from the horse artillery.
The Duke’s regiments were of course represented on the occasion, and gave an additional interest to the scene. There was the “Brigade,” of which Arthur Duke of Wellington was Colonel-in-Chief, and also the regiment in which young Arthur Wellesley learned the goose step and how to “shoulder arms.”
The military, however, formed only a portion of the procession, for the Great Duke was a man of many honours; for Russia, Prussia, Spain, Portugal, Hanover, and the Netherlands had conferred upon him the marshal’s bâton, and these nations were each represented on the occasion. Besides these foreigners, many of whom had served with the Duke, there were men of our own country, whose names were well known, and whose reputation would have shone brighter had they not been dimmed by comparison with that of the Duke. In the procession and around the grave there might be seen one of our most far-seeing and able Generals, Sir Charles Napier, the man whom the Duke had selected to go to India at a period of emergency, and to whom he looked as one alone capable of playing the requisite part at that time. Near him was the dashing gallant Lord Gough, who loved to fight side by side with his men; Lord Seaton, Viscount Combermere, Sir W. Cotton, Sir A. Woodford, &c., names familiar as household words, were grouped around the grave of their loved chief.
The contrast on this day was marked indeed between the grandeur and brilliancy that appeared in St. Paul’s, and the silent deserted appearance of Apsley House, where every blind was down and every shutter closed.
It was remarked that as the procession wended its way through the streets, and as the somewhat gorgeous-looking vehicle that contained the coffin passed, every person from the highest to the most humble, bared his head and seemed to be awe-struck, and reminded that fame, rank, and genius are no more free from the call of death than are poverty, misery, and insignificance.
The Duke’s titles having been repeated by Garter, King of Arms, the ceremony was concluded, but will long be remembered by those who were witnesses to the imposing scene.