...At our Table d'hote, where we met nothing but English merchants, I heard the report of the day that Belgium was to be a sort of independent state, under the Prince of Orange's government, according to its old laws and customs, and that he was to hold a court at Bruxelles.... The Prince of Orange is now in fact gone to make his public entrance into Bruxelles....

There is a custom that the key of the town should be presented to the possessor or Governor of the Town on a magnificent silver-gilt plate. When the Cossack chief came, as usual, the key was offered, which the good, simple man quietly took, put into his pocket, and forgot to return. When I saw the dish, the man told me this anecdote, and lamented wofully the loss of his key, which may possibly in future turn the lock of some dirty cupboard or other on the banks of the Don. It seems these Cossacks were immensely rich. Latterly I have been assured they could not fight had they been inclined, from the excessive height of their saddles and weight of their clothes; on the one they could scarcely sit, and with the others they could scarcely walk. They had always 3 or 4 Coats or coverings, and in the folds of these were unkennelled 1,330 Napoleons on one of them who happened to die at Bruxelles.

We quitted Antwerp after dinner yesterday for Bergen op Zoom by a new sort of conveyance; by way of variety we "voitured" it, viz., hired a carriage, driver, and horses for Breda on our way to Amsterdam. It was a nice sort of Gig Phaeton, with comfortable seats for 4, the Driver on the front bench. I fear I must retract what I said in the beginning of this letter, as to the decided change in houses and people here. It was most conspicuous about Malines, but on this road there was nothing remarkable one way or the other.

Our road was, however, Dutch throughout. Upon a sort of raised dyke, between a monotonous avenue of stunted willows, did we jog gently on, with nothing to relieve the eye but here and there a windmill or a farm. On our left we saw, as far as eye could reach, the Swamp (or I scarcely know what to call it), which fills up the spaces between the Main and South Beveland, and it almost gave me the Walcheren fever to look at it. The Evening Gun of Flushing saluted the Sun as he sank to rest behind these muddy isles, and we begun to fear, as night drew on, that we should have to take up our night's lodging in the Gig, for though he knew that the gates of the Fortress were closed at 9, our sturdy Dutchman moved not a peg the faster. However, we escaped the evil, and 10 minutes before 9 we passed the drawbridge of the ditch leading to the Antwerp gate, which had been the grave of the 1st Column of Guards, led by General Cooke, on the 8th March....

NOTE.

Storming of Bergen op Zoom, March 8, 1814.—Sir Thomas Graham had landed 6,000 men on October 7, 1813, in S. Beveland, in order to combine with the Prussians to drive the French from Holland.

On March 8, 1814, he led 4,000 British troops against Bergen op Zoom. They were formed into four columns, of which two were to attack the fortifications at different points; the third to make a false attack; the fourth to attack the entrance of the harbour, which is fordable at low water.

The first, led by Major-General Cooke, incurred some delay in passing the ditch on the ice, but at length established itself on the rampart.

The right column, under Major-General Skerret and Brigadier-General Gore, had forced their way into the body of the place, but the fall of General Gore and the dangerous wounds of Skerret caused the column to fall into disorder and suffer great loss in killed, wounded, and prisoners. The centre column was driven back by the heavy fire of the place, but re-formed and marched round to join General Cooke. At daybreak the enemy turned the guns of the place on the unprotected rampart and much loss and confusion ensued. General Cooke, despairing of success, directed the retreat of the Guards, and, finding it impossible to withdraw his weak battalions, he saved the lives of his remaining men by surrender.

The Governor of Bergen op Zoom agreed to a suspension of hostilities for an exchange of prisoners. The killed were computed at 300, prisoners, 1,800.—ED.

LETTER XIII.

HAGUE, August 4, 1814.

Sterne pities the man who could go from Dan to Beersheba and say that all was barren, and I must pity the man who travels from Bergen op Zoom to Amsterdam and says that Holland, with all its flatness, is not worth visiting.

"Oh Willow, Willow, Willow, here Each stands bowing to another, And every Alley finds its brother."

Nature never abhorred a vacuum more than she herself is abhorred by these Dutchmen; here rivers run above their levels and cattle feed where fishes were by nature intended to swim. Hogarth's line of beauty is unknown in Holland. No line can be either beautiful or palatable except that which (defined mathematically) is the shortest that can be drawn between two given points. But I have yet a great deal to say before I come to these roads. I left you at Bergen op Zoom, just arrived. On Sunday morning, after a little enquiry, we were glad to find there was a Protestant French Church in the town, and thither we went. I cannot say much for the sermon; it was on I Cor. vii. 20, in which a great deal of French display of vehemence and action made up in some degree for a feeble prolixity of words; in one part, however, he made an appeal, which has at least had the effect of eloquence and certainly came home to the heart. He described the miseries the country had so long endured and the happy change which had now taken place. But while he blest the change he lamented the tears which must be shed from the fatal effects of the war which produced it; and then turning to us, whom he perceived to be Englishmen, he proceeded: "It is for us to lament the sad disaster which this town was doomed to witness in the loss of our friends (our Compatriots, I may say), who shed their blood for the restoration of our liberties." After church I went into the vestry to tell him who and what I was. As an Englishman he shook me by the hand, and when he understood I was a Protestant minister he shook it again. Had he asked me to dine I should have accepted his invitation, but unluckily he lost my company by paying what he conceived to be a greater compliment. Like an Indian warrior, he offered the calumet of peace and begged I would go home and smoke with him. Now, I would have gone through a good deal to have had some conversation with him, but really on one of the hottest days of July, when I was anxious, moreover, to inspect the fortification, smoking would not do, and taking our leave he sent his schoolmaster, an intelligent man who had a brother a Captain in one of our assaulting regiments, to be our guide and tell the melancholy tale.... And now let me see if I can make that clear to you which has never been made clear to anybody yet. "At 10 o'clock," said our guide, "I was at supper with a little party, some French officers being present; about half after 10 some musket shots were heard; this was no uncommon sound and we took no notice; however, it rather increased, and the French sent a sergeant to know the cause, and remained chatting quietly. In about ten minutes in burst the sergeant, 'Vite, vite, a vos portes! Les Anglais sont dans la ville.'" I need not add the party broke up in a hurry; our Guide sallied forth with the rest, and went on the Ramparts for curiosity, but whilst he was gratifying this passion, on a pitch dark night, down drops a man who stood near him, and whiz flew some bullets, upon which he took to his heels, got home, and saw no more; indeed, had he been inclined it would have been impossible, for Patrols paraded the streets and shot every one who was not a French soldier. Thus far our schoolmaster was an eye-witness; for the remainder you must trust to my account from as minute an enquiry as I could make upon the spot with Sir T. Graham's dispatches in my hand, which threw very little light upon the subject.

[Illustration: BERGEN OP ZOOM.

A. The Steenbergen Gate. B. Breda Gate. C. Antwerp Gate. D. Water Gate. E. Picket of veteran French Soldiers. F. River or creek running into the town. G. Side from whence the English approach. H. Bastion near Breda Gate.

Under the guidance of some inhabitants who had fled to the English, soon after 10 o'clock, March 8th, the ground covered with snow and ice, our troops marched in silence to their respective posts. The Guards, led by General Cooke, were to go round towards B and C, at A a false attack was to be made; another column was to force open the gates at B, and the 4th column, led by Generals Skerret and Gore, proceeded by the dotted line, crossed the river up to their middle, and skirting round between the works were the first to enter the town behind some houses which fronted the Quay. Hitherto all went on well, and the object of all the Columns was to concentrate at G, but no sooner had the 4th Column gained its point (from what cause nobody knows, for I cannot conceive that the immediate loss of its two Generals was the sole cause) than all subordination seems to have been at an end, and the men, instead of going on, occupied themselves with revelling and drinking and getting warm in the houses by the Quay, and though many prisoners were taken, they were imprudently left unguarded with arms in their hands, which they very soon turned against their captors with fatal success. The doors and windows in this part of the town bore evidence of the business which for a short time was carried on. The Guards gained their point, and so did the Column at B in part, for the French were killed in great numbers on Bastion H, in fact, eleven Bastions were taken, and all before midnight; but from this period till 7 in the morning, when the affair closed, I can give you no clear account. Nobody seemed to know what was doing, all appears to have been confusion—not a gun was spiked, none were turned towards the Town. In the meantime the French were no inactive observers of what was passing; they came forward most manfully, fighting hand to hand, and though I could not find out that there was the slightest reason for suspecting they were at all prepared beyond what was usual, or aware of the attack, they contrived to be instantly at the right point, and though with barely 3,000 men to defend works, the inner circle of which is at least 2 miles in circumference, and with 3,900 men attacking, they remained master of the field, killing near 400 and taking 1,500 prisoners. The French General was an elderly man who left all to his Aide de Camp. He was, in fact, the head, and has been rewarded most deservedly in the ribbon of the Legion of Honor. The French, it is supposed, lost 5 or 600 men. The number was certainly great, and they were aware of it, for they buried their dead directly, to prevent the possibility of counting. The Bergen op Zoom people say it is utterly impossible to account for the failure of the assault but on the supposition that the English were led to conclude that the French would make no resistance or that they were badly officered. I should be sorry to believe the latter, and yet I heard from good authority that many of these, instead of encouraging their men at the Water post gate, were actually busied in collecting braziers and fires to warm themselves and rest upon their arms.

It may be supposed that wading on such a night upwards of 50 yards in mud and water must have been dreadfully cold, but I can scarcely conceive that upon a service so important cold could have any influence; however, never having led an assault under such circumstances I can be no judge. Were I to give my own opinion, it would be this: That the affair was entrusted to certain General officers who were unfortunately killed in the beginning of the action; that no precautions appear to have been provided against such accidents, and no remedy applied to the confusion thereby created—the Columns knew not what to do, each on gaining its point possibly waiting for orders to proceed; that the darkness increased the confusion—in short, that "the right hand knew not what the left hand did," and that the French acted with incomparable bravery and skill. It should be added that most of their troops were conscripts. It is an ugly story altogether, and I shall say no more. A sketch of the works in and near the Antwerp gate will give you some idea of the spot which has proved the grave of so many fine officers and men. At 4 o'clock we quitted the town for Breda—the greatest part of the road inexorably flat and uninteresting; but what is lost in the country is gained in the Towns, villages, and people—they are sui generis. For 3 hours did we toil through a deep sand between parallel lines of willows of the same size, shape, and dimensions; then for 3 hours more did we proceed at a foot pace over a common; this brought us to Breda just in time for the gates, through which we trotted to the usual rattle of drawbridges, chains, &c. By the bright light of the moon at night and earliest dawn of the following morning we rambled through the streets. Breda was one of the last towns which got rid of its French garrison without a siege; it departed one night without beat of drum, and the Cossacks came in to breakfast, leaving the trembling inhabitants to doubt whether in escaping Scylla they were not approaching Charybdis. However, they behaved tolerably well. "Did they pillage?" said I to a Breda lady who travelled with us in the Diligence. "Oh non," she replied; "seulement quelque fois ils prenaient des choses sans payer." Thus a Cossack comes into a Shop, makes signs he wants some Cloth. The Dutchman, delighted with the idea of accommodating a new purchaser, takes down his best pieces. The Cossack looks them over, fixes on one, takes it up, pops it under his arm, and walks off, leaving the astonished vendor gaping behind his counter to meditate on the Profits of this new verbal ceremony.

After the Cossacks came the Prussians, who remained a long time and were little better than the French—they lodged in free quarters, domineered without mercy, and paid for nothing. All the Prussian officers I have seen appeared gentleman-like men, but they are nowhere popular. The English succeeded the Prussians, they were all "charmants"; then came the Dutch who were "comme ca," but then "n'importe" they were their own countrymen. I rather begin to like the Dutch women. The next day in the Diligence we had my present informant, a lively, talkative damsel of Breda, a very pretty girl of the same town who talked nothing but Dutch, and an old Lady who would have been perfect if everything had been as charming as her Dress.



The Ladies are elegant and apparently well-behaved, with all the liveliness of the French. We met with no adventures till we came to a river; here a regiment of Dutch cavalry impeded our progress and luckily gave us time to get our breakfast; the next river brought us in contact with a detachment of Artillery waggons. Our Diligence consisted of a Machine with 6 seats inside, a cabriolet in which sat Edward and myself, on a little seat before us the driver with his legs dangling for want of a footboard. His patience had been rather put to the test by the cavalry, but the Artillery quite upset him, and on getting entangled amongst their train, uttering two of the French words he had learnt from his servitude under the Emperor, viz., "sacre bleu," he popped his pipe into his pocket, threw the reins into my hands, and jumped down to request the Officer's permission to pass. Under existing circumstances I confess I did not much like the responsibility of the charge committed to me, but fortunately our conductor soon returned with permission to pass. We got out while he drove his 4 in hand quietly into the boat, every cranny of which was filled up by soldiers and artillery horses, which, as if to shew off the pomp of war, capered and reared before our sedate steeds, who only wanted pipes in their mouths to rival the impenetrable gravity of their driver. It is necessary to cross the Waal before you get to Gorum. When we got to the bank not a boat was to be had. With some difficulty at last our Coachman procured a miserable punt with a boy. What with our Trunks and passengers we were quite enough for it; indeed, the female part of our crew hesitated for some time; and well they might, for no sooner had we shoved from the shore than a leak was discovered which threatened serious consequences. It gained rapidly; the old Lady above mentioned was in despair, and sat with her thumb crammed over the spouting orifice the whole time, while a young man baled with his shoes as fast as possible. This was not all. The Stream carried us down, and our driver—no great sailor—caught crabs at every other pull; then we got upon a bank. Really I begun to think it would be quite as well to be safe now, but as for fear, it was out of the question, the lamentations of the women, and terrors of the old lady in particular, kept us quite in Spirits. The last event was the total overthrow of the driver by a sudden bump against the bank. Poor fellow! he was not only well drenched, but his head cut by falling against the seat of the boat in his overturn. Though every nerve vibrated with compassion, it was quite impossible to avoid laughing. Luckily a glass of vinegar well rubbed upon the wound soon set him to rights and good humor. Gorum and Naard were the last two towns which the French retained, and poor Gorum suffered sadly. The Suburbs, Tea gardens, avenues, walks, &c., were all destroyed by the French to prevent the Prussians coming in, and their houses and heads knocked about with shot and shells to drive the French out. Luckily the French listened to the entreaties of the people and capitulated.

I wish they would bombard Knutsford or Macclesfield or some of our Towns for an hour or two, just to shew them what war is. Bang, whiz, down comes a shell and away goes a house. War and slavery have quite reconciled the Dutch to the abdication of Napoleon. In answer to the question, "Etes vous content de ces changements?" you meet with no doubtful shrug of the shoulders, no ambiguous "mais que, oui"; an instantaneous extra whiff of satisfaction is puffed forth, accompanied with the synonimous terms, "Napoleon et Diable." On leaving Gorum we acquired an accession of passengers—a protestant clergyman and a fat man, who looked much like a conjurer or alchymist. A protestant clergyman in Holland may be known by his dress—a cocked hat of a peculiar model covers a lank head of unpowdered hair. Nothing white appears throughout but the pipe in his mouth and cravat round his neck, a long black coat down to his ancles, with black worsted stockings and gold-headed cane. I must say they do not look over and above agreeable, and as they hate all innovations few have learnt French, so that I have been foiled in most of my attempts at conversation.

From Gorum to Utrecht the country improves; we had hitherto travelled sometimes on Dyke tops, sometimes in Dyke bottoms which only required the efforts of a few able-bodied rats to let the water in upon us. It is quite surprising to see on what a precarious tenure Holland is held. Take but a Dyke away, overturn one dam, and see what discord follows—and this does sometimes happen. In 1809 the Ice broke through near Gorum and carried away countless houses, men, cattle, &c. I have said the country improved, i.e., we got into a land of villas and Trees, some of them beautifully laid out, and all, stable included, bright and clean as possible. Each, too, has its Summer house perched by the Canal side and (the Evening being fine) well filled with parties of ladies and gentlemen. The road for many miles was ornamented with wooden triumphal arches and hung with festoons of flowers, &c., as a compliment to the Emperor Alexander, who passed about a month ago....

...We arrived at Amsterdam on Monday night; here, again, all was new. Hitherto we had rode in Carriages of various descriptions with wheels, but in Amsterdam you have them without wheels, drawn by a fine horse and driven by a man who walks by the side with his long reins....



But what delighted me more than anything else was the prospect of suiting Owen and Mary exactly. What think you of a Goat Curricle? Goats are regularly trained for draught, and are the prettiest things in the world, trotting in neat harness with two or three children. I shall, if I have time at Rotterdam, see if I can get a pair. Buonaparte was so delighted with them that he ordered 4 for the King of Rome. Amsterdam is a very large, gloomy town, intersected in all directions by water, monotonous in the extreme. Had I not been convinced by the evidence of my senses in looking down from a house top on several objects I had visited in different parts of the town, I should have suspected that our Laquais de place had amused himself by walking up and down the same street where Canals with trees on each side do not keep the houses asunder; high buildings and narrow streets of dark, small brown brick constitute the character of the town, and, having seen one, you have seen the whole. In the course of my walk I heard that two or three Englishmen were settled in the town. I called on one, the Revd. Mr. Lowe, with little of the Englishman left but the language. He had been there 30 years and held a Presbyterian Church. I asked him if Napoleon troubled the English settlers during the war. He said that, provided they conformed quickly to the laws and regulations, they experienced no persecution. Upon my asking if it was at all necessary to conceal his extraction, he exclaimed, "What, conceal my extraction, deny my country? Not for all the Emperors in the world. No, I have too much conscience and independence. To be sure, I was obliged by law to pray for the health and prosperity of Buonaparte every Sunday. But what signified that? God Almighty understood very well what I meant, and that I heartily wished his death all the time." By long residence in Holland, he had adopted a good portion of Dutch impenetrability and slowness. He assured us nothing short of a week could give us the least chance of seeing the curiosities of Amsterdam, and when I told him that we were (according to our common custom of early rising) to be in North Holland by 6 o'clock in the morning, and had seen all by 11 o'clock which occupies a Dutchman's whole day, and gave him a few instances of our mode of operation, he threw himself back, raised his cocked hat to examine us more thoroughly, put his arms akimbo and exclaimed, "How do you support human nature. It must expire under such fatigue," and I found it quite impossible to convince him that my health for the last month had been infinitely better than usual. But, after all, I fear you will find me growing old. I had a compliment paid to my grey hairs, in coming from Utrecht, which must be mentioned. The fat Alchymist, above mentioned, squeezed himself into Edward's place in the Diligence; on remonstrating to a young Dutch gentleman who spoke French, he replied, "Que c'etait vraiment impoli mais que c'etait un viellard a qui on devait ceder quelque chose, et je vous assure, Monsieur, comme vous etes aussi un peu age si vous aviez pris ma place je vous l'aurais cede." In Amsterdam there is little to be seen but the Palais, in which there is a splendid collection of Flemish pictures—two or three of the finest of Rembrandt—and without exception the most splendid room I have seen in Europe. It is the great Hall of audience; King Louis[92] has fitted up everything in grand style. We went over what the Dutchmen cry up as an object which it would be unpardonable not to see—the Felix meritus, a sort of Lecture room with some wretched museums attached. I found nothing to interest me but a capital figure of a Dutchman, who came also to see the wonders. Nothing could exceed his attitudes as he looked with an eye of incredulity whilst they explained a planetarium, examined with an air of conscious safety a snake corked up in a bottle, and ogled with terror a skeleton which grinned at him out of his case. I walked round and tried his perspective in all directions, and rather blushed when, with treacherous condescension, I requested him to use my Glass that I might see how he looked peeping thro' a Telescope. This is such a Museum as will furnish me with samples of oddities for the rest of my life.

LETTER XIV.

August 6, 1814.

Luckily we have a commodious cabin in the Trechschuyt, and no smoke or other intruders, so where I finished my last I will begin another.



As to the country, a peep once an hour will be sufficient; I will look out of the window and give you the result—five plover, a few fat cows, a good many rushes, and a canal bridge. At Amsterdam we dined at a regular Dutch table d'hote; about 20 people, all of them eaters, few talkers; the quantity of vegetables consumed was quite surprising. With the last dish a boy came round with pipes and hot coals, which were soon followed by a tremendous explosion of Tobacco from a double line of smokers, and as if the simple operation of puffing in and puffing out was too much for these drowsy operators, many of them leaned back in their chairs, put their hands in their breeches pockets, shut their eyes, and carried on the war with one end of the pipe in their mouths and the other leaning on their plates. On Wednesday, Aug. 3rd, we crossed the Gulf by sun rise on a little tour into North Holland, to see the Village of Brock and Saardam, where the house in which the Czar Peter worked still exists. We landed at Buiksloot, from whence carriages are hired to different parts of the country. From Breda to Amsterdam they varied the Diligences according to the number of travellers; sometimes we had a coach and four, and then a machine and three, and as our number diminished we were forwarded the last stage or two in a vehicle perfectly nondescript with two horses; it was a sort of cart painted white, hung upon springs, with an awning, but it was reserved for this morning to see us in a carriage far beyond anything before seen or heard of. I am inclined to think it must have been the identical equipage (for it was a little the worse for wear) which the fairy produced from the gourd for the service of Cinderella—a sort of Phaeton lined with red flowered velvet, the whole moulding beautifully carved and gilt, the panels well painted with flowers, birds, urns, &c., the wheels red and gold. It contained two seats for four persons, and a coach box painted, carved, and gilt like the body of the carriage; the whole was in a Lilliput style drawn by two gigantic black horses, whose tails reached above the level of our heads. It was exactly suited to the place where we were going, the village of Brock, which, like our vehicle, was unlike anything I had seen before. I have, in former letters, talked of Dutch cleanliness and neatness, but what is all I have said compared with Brock? Even the people have their jokes upon its superiority in this particular, and assert that the inhabitants actually wash and scrub their wood before they put it on the fire. Lady Penrhyn's cottages must yield the palm, they are only internally washed and painted, but in Brock, Tops and bottoms, Outside and in, bricks and all, are constantly under the discipline of the paint brush, and as if Nature was not sufficiently clean in her operations, the stems of several of their trees were white washed too! In fact, nothing seemed to escape—the Milk pails were either burnished brass or painted buckets, and the little straw baskets the women carried in their hands came in for their share of blue, red, or green. They have such a dread of dirt, that entrance is limited to the back door only, the opening of the front door being reserved for grand occasions, such as weddings, funerals, &c. It is not accessible by carriages and horses, on account of several canals which intersect it; these sometimes widen, and in one part the houses stand round a pretty little lake. I can give you no better idea of the scene than a Chinese paper, whose neat summer houses and painted boats are all mixed together. Most houses have each a separate garden, kept in style equally clean. I really believe my own dusty shoes were the most impure things in the whole village.

We returned to Buiksloot and then proceeded to Saardam, on the top of a Dyke, which keeps the sea from inundating the vast levels of North Holland. Saardam might be held up as the pattern of neatness had I not visited Brock first; as it is, I can only say that, though four times as large, it seems to be its rival in cleanliness and paint. The number of windmills is quite astonishing; it would require an army of Don Quixotes. I counted myself upwards of 130 in and close to the town; they say there are 1,200. Windmills seem great favourites with the Dutch. In the Diligence near Utrecht my neighbour roused me by a sudden exclamation, "Oh la vue superbe!" I looked, and beheld 14 of them in a Dyke! and yesterday, on asking the Laquais de place if we should see anything curious at Saardam besides the Czar's house, he replied, "Oh que, oui—beaucoup de Moulins!" Peter the Great's house is a small wooden cottage close to the town, remarkable for nothing but having been his.



Alexander had put up two little marble Tablets over the fireplace, commemorating his visit to the Imperial residence, on which something good and pointed might have been inscribed; as they are, it is merely stated that Alexander placed them on, and that Mrs. Von Tets Von Groudam stood by, delighted to see him so employed. We returned to Amsterdam by 3 o'clock and left it at 4 for Haarlem. In Protestant countries Cathedrals are not always open; we found that at Haarlem open and a numerous congregation listening to a very respectable, venerable-looking preacher, whose voice and manner, style and action approached perfection. His eloquence, however, seemed to be in vain, for I observed many sleepers; and what had an odd effect, though customary in their country, the men with their hats on; they take them off, I believe, during prayers, but put them down during the sermon; we ascended the tower and enjoyed as extensive a view as heart could wish. The sea of Haarlem is an immense lake separated from the Gulf by a flood gate and narrow dam. The French had a block house and batteries here. In truth, Holland does not require above 20 guns to keep out all the enemies in the world. Different, indeed, are the Dutch from the French in the facility and liberality of access to their curiosities. It required some eloquence and more money to induce the key-keeper to let us go up; and on asking whether the Organ was to play, he assured us it was not, but that if we wished it, the performer would sound the notes for 16 shillings; this was a gross imposition to which we were little inclined to submit; but luckily, as we were coming down, we heard it opening its great bellows and re-echoing through the body of the church. We almost broke our necks in running downstairs, and leaving the Dutch guide to take care of himself, we found our way into the Organ loft, to the visible annoyance of the performer, who, seeing we were strangers, thought himself sure of his eight florins, but his duty and the Church service compelled him to go on, and he shook his head and growled in vain at our guide, who at this time appeared, intimating that he should take us away, as having no business there, but in vain. I heard the Organ, counted the 68 stops, examined at my leisure the stupendous instrument, while he was under the necessity of continuing his involuntary voluntary, till my curiosity was satisfied. We took up our residence at an Hotel in the Wood, so-called from being the place of promenade and site of the new palace, but ci-devant residence of Mrs. Hope, and, in fact, from being also a respectable wood of tolerably sized trees.



By the best chance in the world here, too, we fell in with a fete on the river. Some great Burgomaster had married himself, and all the world of Haarlem came forth in boats, decorated with colors, and bands of music in procession up the river to pass in review before the Princess of Orange, an elderly-looking woman. She sat in the window of a summer house overlooking the river, and the festive procession assembled before her. It was a lovely evening, and nothing could be more gay and animating than the scene. We this morning at 6 quitted Haarlem in the boat in which I am now writing as comfortably as in my own room, the motion scarcely perceptible, about 5 miles an hour; by good luck few passengers, and those above looking at a man who is at this incessant Dutch employment of painting. The boat is as clean as a china dish, but possibly it may not have been painted since last week. Edward has just daubed his hand by looking out of the window. I am rather puzzled in getting on here. Very little French is spoken; among the common people none, and we converse by signs.

...Their money, too, is puzzling beyond measure. My stock consists of 5 franc pieces (French), upon which, exclusive of their not always understanding what they are, there is a discount; this, of course, adds to the confusion, and now I despair of understanding the infinite variety of square, hexagon, round coins of copper and silver and base metal which pass through my hands.

We passed two hours at Leyden as actively employed as a Foxhunter. We found a man who spoke French, told him our wishes, gave him a list of what was to be seen in the town, and then desired him to start, following him on the full trot up and down churches, colleges, Townhalls, &c. These towns are so much alike, that having seen one the interest is considerably lessened. Leyden, however, has the honour of possessing one of the finest streets in Holland; though capable of accommodating 65,000 souls, there are not more than 20,000, which gives it a melancholy appearance. In one part there is an area of about 3 or 4 Cheshire acres planted with trees and divided with walls, which in 1807 was covered, like the rest of the town, with good houses, but it happened that a barge full of gunpowder passing through the canal, blew up, killed 200 people, including a very clever Professor Lugai, and destroyed all the houses. It was a sad catastrophe, to be sure; but now, as it is all over, and all the good people's mourning laid aside, I think the Town may be congratulated as a gainer. I could fill up my letter with the anatomical preparations of the celebrated Albinus; but though I am very partial to these sights, I doubt whether you would be amused by a description of dried men, with their hearts, lungs, and brains suspended in different bottles. The town is full of booksellers' shops, in which capital Classics might be procured and divers others old books. The windows were also well filled with new works translated into Dutch; few, I think, original; amongst others, I saw "Ida of Athens!"[93] ...



It is not easy to trace the sieges of Philip 2nd in these towns, as the fortifications are most of them extinct, fortresses of more modern construction being now the keys of the country. Neat villas and gardens by the canal side marked our approach to the seat of government—and a very first-rate Town the Hague is, though I cannot conceive how the people escape agues and colds in Autumn. Stagnant canals and pools, with all circulation of air checked by rows of trees, cannot be healthy. Unfortunately for us, Lord Clancarty is at Bruxelles with the Prince of Orange. The Hague appears, from what I have seen, to be a better town for permanent residence than Bruxelles or Antwerp. The houses are all good, which implies a superior quality of inhabitants. In the evening we took a drive to Scheveningen, a fishing village about 2 or 3 miles distant, through a delightful avenue. It is one of the fashionable resorts of the town, and is absolute perfection on a hot day, though pregnant with damp and dew in the evening. I told you of dog carts at Bruxelles, but here seems to be the region of despotic sway of the poor beasts. I believe that I am not wrong in stating that nearly all the fish is carried by them from Scheveningen to the Hague; and the weight they draw is surprising. We passed many canine equipages; in one sat a fisherman and his wife drawn by three dogs not much bigger than Pompey—he with his pipe in his mouth, she with an enormous Umbrella Hat, as grave as Pluto and Proserpine. I saw several nice goat gigs; moreover, I am determined to have one for Owen....

...It is quite extraordinary with what excessive silence and gravity these people carry on their affairs. On returning from Scheveningen at a good round trot, we came in contact with another carriage. Luckily no other accident happened than breaking their traces and grinding their wheels. But though disabled by our driver, not a syllable of complaint or commiseration was uttered by one party or the other. Our driver proceeded, leaving them to take care of themselves. I observed, too, that in manoeuvering the Vessel in passing the Gulf yesterday, where some tacks were necessary, all was performed in perfect silence; no halloo-ing—a nod or a puff was alone sufficient....

And so are we coming to the close of our Tour—our next stage will be Rotterdam, from whence I shall bear my own dispatches.... In the course of my life this last month will bear a conspicuous place from the interesting and delightful scenes it has afforded me. I must confess I left England with some waverings and misgivings; the accounts of others led me to expect that disappointments, difficulties, and great expense would be the inevitable accompaniments of my course. But in no instance have I been disappointed, the difficulties too trifling to deserve the name, the expense nothing compared with the profits derived, and I have seen enough of men and manners, of things animate and inanimate, to make me quite at home in some of the great scenes which have just been performed....



CHAPTER VI

THE WATERLOO YEAR

Lord Sheffield's forebodings—Talleyrand and the Senate—Vagabond Royalty—Mr. North and Napoleon—The rout of the Bourbon Government.

1814-1816.

The two years which intervened between Edward Stanley's second and third visits to France saw the Empire regained and lost by Napoleon, and the French Crown lost and regained by Louis XVIII.

In spite of the rose-coloured description of the comforts and pleasures of his journey with which the correspondence of 1814 closes, neither the Rector nor his brother found it possible to travel on the Continent in 1815, which Lady Maria had foretold would be "a much more favourable time."

Such hopes must soon have been dashed by the proceedings of the Congress of Vienna, which, as was said, "danse mais n'avance pas," and gloomy forebodings are shewn in two letters from Lord Sheffield to his son-in-law, which were received at Alderley in the autumn of 1814 and the spring of 1815.

The first gives Lord Sheffield's view of the situation, and the second describes Napoleon's own remarks upon it to Lord Sheffield's nephew, Mr. Frederick Douglas.

Lord Sheffield to Sir John Stanley.

SHEFFIELD PLACE, October 30, 1814.

It is time I should provoke some symptom of your existence. I have no letters from Frederick North,[94] but I can acquaint you that we had himself here, which is still better, and that he has been infinitely entertaining, after three or four months' tour on the Continent, from whence he arrived about three weeks ago, and where he proposes to return next week, to pass the winter at Nice with the Glenbervies and Lady Charlotte Lindsay, who are gone there, and, I might add, with many other English families. I begin to think I shall have more acquaintances on the Continent than in England; the migration there is beyond calculation.

The present is an anxious period. Perhaps there isn't in the History of the world a more complete instance of political imbecility than was exhibited in the late Peace at Paris, especially in the Allies not availing themselves of the very extraordinary opportunity of securing the tranquillity of Europe for a long time.

I conceive that the most selfish ambition will not have been more hurtful than liberality run mad. And as I am not without apprehension of that fanaticism, which for some time has interfered even with Parliament, and to which there has been too much concession, I incline to the opinion that enthusiasm, as fanaticism, is generally more hurtful to society than scepticism. The fanatic measures are evidently systematic and combined.

Everybody now looks eagerly towards the Congress of Vienna. Talleyrand displays the cloven foot, by refusing to recognise the junction of all the Netherlands. However, the Bourbons, France, and all Europe may be thankful to Talleyrand.

You have often heard of Barthelemy.[95] His brother, a banker at Paris, first moved in the Senate the decheance of the Buonaparte family. Alexander was treating respecting a Regency. The King of Prussia did not attempt to take a lead, but was well disposed to put down the dynasty. The Emperor of Austria had always declared that he would treat with Buonaparte for Peace, under restrictions, still co-operating with the Allies.

While matters were in this state Talleyrand took the opportunity of sending a message to the Senate, saying that the family was deposed, and by this step decided the business.

Buonaparte never showed a disposition to treat and to agree to terms; but when he had seemingly agreed, he denied or broke off the next day. The failure or desertion of the Marshals completed his overthrow.

It is surprising that he did not attempt to join Augereau's Army,[96] and retire into Italy, where he had forty thousand very good troops. At all events we must rest upon the pinnacle of glory and honour, although we have not secured a permanency of them. By premature concession we have yielded the means of securing the advantages we had gained.

The affair at Lake Champlain[97] has been most unlucky, as it will encourage the Yankies, under the present inveterate and execrable Government, to persevere in a ruinous warfare—ruinous to the American States, and galling to this country, liable to be distracted by the efforts of an interested and mischievous faction, which, through lack of firmness in Government, often paralyses measures of the utmost consequence.

I have seen several letters from Madrid, and I have one from thence now before me of the 3rd inst.

A degree of infatuation prevails there which you could hardly conceive possible. The account comes from a very respectable and rational quarter. The most respectable characters are most violently persecuted, and the persons arraigned are confined in dungeons, no communication permitted; and persons convicted of the most atrocious acts are not even in disgrace.

While officers and soldiers invalided by wounds are starving, the King[98] is profuse to persons of no merit, and has given a pension of 1,000 dollars to a young lady who sang before him, &c., &c.

The Spanish Funds, which on the King's arrival were at 85, are now at 50. The Revenue is less than 20 millions of Dollars, the expenditure nearly 50.

Spain is likely to be in as bad a state as ever, excepting the presence of a French Army; consequently I conceive their Transatlantic Dominions will be lost to them.

Nothing, however, could be more favourable to our Commerce than their emancipation. Such an event, and a proper Boundary between us and the American States, would be the most favourable result of the war to this country.

There is an uncommonly good Pamphlet published on this subject entitled "A completed View of the points to be discussed in treating with the American States." I cannot do less than admire it, because it seems taken from my shop, or at least it adopts all the principles, with a considerable amelioration, by taking the Line of Mountains into the Lakes, and all the Lakes within our Boundary.

I am very much entertained with an Anecdote in a letter of the 8th inst. now before me, from Switzerland, which states that the Princess of Wales dined a few days before with the Empress Maria Louisa and the Archduchess Constantine,[99] at Berne, and after dinner the Empress and Princess sang Duets, and the Archduchess accompanied them. Two years ago nobody would have believed such an event possible.

All this vagabond Royalty is found extremely troublesome by travellers, filling up all the beds, and carrying away all the horses. The above dinner party reminds me of Candide meeting at the Table d'Hote during the Carnival at Venice, with two ex-emperors, and a few ex-kings.

The Princess of Wales could not be prevailed on to remain more than ten days at Brunswick. She left Lady Charlotte Lindsay[100] and Serinyer behind her, and proceeded with Lady Elizabeth Forbes to Strasburg, where she found Talma, the renowned Actor, and halted there ten days.

Lord Sheffield to Sir John Stanley.

SHEFFIELD PLACE, February 1, 1815.

We are much entertained with Fred Douglas's[101] account of his visit of four days to the Isle of Elba.

On the third evening he had an interview with Buonaparte for an hour and a half—the conversation very curious. He says that Buonaparte is not at all like any of his Prints; that he is a stout, thick-set figure, which makes him look short; his features rather coarse and his eyes very light, and particularly dull; but his mouth, when he smiles, is full of a very sweet, good-humoured expression; that at first he strikes you as being a very common-looking man, but upon observing him and conversing with him, you perceive that his countenance is full of deep thought and decision.

He says he received him with much good humour, and talked to him of the English Constitution, with which he seemed well acquainted; said that France never could have the same, because it wanted one of the principal parts of it, "Les Nobles de Campagne." He talked also much about our church Laws, of which he appeared to be well informed, but said he heard there was much ill humour in Scotland on account of the Union! Frederick thought he meant Ireland, but found he really did mean Scotland, and had no idea that the Union had taken place above a hundred years ago.

He said he did not think the Peace would last; that the French Nation would never submit long to give up Belgium, and that he would have yielded all except that; that he would have given up the Slave Trade, as it was a Brigandage of very little use to France. He had a most extraordinary idea of how it should be abolished, viz., he said he would allow Polygamy among the Whites in the West Indies, that they might inter-marry with the Blacks, and all become Brothers and Sisters. He said that he had consulted a Bishop upon this, who had objected to it as contrary to the Christian Religion.

He seemed very anxious to know concerning the quarrels of the Regent and his wife, upon which subject F., of course, evaded giving him any answers. He said, "On dit qu'il aime la Mere de ce Yarmouth—mais vous Anglais, vous aimez les vielles Femmes," and he laughed very much. He avoided speaking of Maria Louisa, but spoke of Josephine with affection, saying, "Elle etoit une excellente Femme." He said that the motive of his expedition into Russia was, first, that it was necessary to lead the French Army somewhere, and then that he wished to establish Poland as an independent kingdom; for that he had always loved the Poles, and had many obligations to them. He talked of all his battles as you would of a show, saying "C'etoit un Spectacle magnifique."

* * * * *

When Napoleon had fulfilled his own prophecies of the prompt disturbance of the Peace of Europe by landing at Cannes, just six days from the date of this last letter, Lord Sheffield writes again, after war had been declared by the Allies.

Lord Sheffield to Sir John Stanley.

SHEFFIELD PLACE, March 24, 1815.

I was greatly oppressed by the first intelligence of Napoleon's Invasion. I was afterwards re-elevated, and now I am tumbled down again.

To be sure, there never was such an execrable nation as the French. The much more respectable Hindoos could not more meekly submit to any conqueror that chooses to run through their country at the head of a set of miscreant soldiers. The Pretorian band that in the time of Imperial Rome used to dispose of Empires is perfectly re-established. Immediate notice was sent me from Newhaven of the Duke of Feltre's[102] (Minister of War) arrival there, and of poor Louis's flight from Paris.

I immediately set out, with the intention of rendering service to the variety of wretches that were pouring in upon our coast, English and French, but on my way called at Stanmer, where I found that this famous Minister of War was gone forward to London, that the few ship-loads that had got over to Newhaven were disposed of, and an embargo having been laid on the Ports of France, of course there was nothing more to be done on our coast.

I returned home at night, and just as I was going out of Stanmer Park I met the Duke of Taranto[103] entering, for whom Lord Chichester had sent his carriage. The Duke of Feltre brought the intelligence that the King was at Abbeville.

I was considerably annoyed, because it seemed like inclining to England, and relinquishing all hopes of France. At Abbeville he certainly might turn off to Lisle, where I hope he is gone, and there, if there be any loyal Frenchmen, they may flock round his standard.

All accounts, and letters, that I have seen from France agree that the country is almost universally against Buonaparte, and it is very clear all the Army is for him, and that all the Marshals adhere to Louis, except two. If so, and Napoleon has not the aid of his old Generals, he may find it difficult to manage the many Armies that he must keep on foot to repel the attacks that will be made on him from all sides.

I cannot help thinking he is in a bad situation still. When all the Russians, Cossacks, Croats, Hungarians, Austrians, and all Germany clatter round him, and our very respectable army from the Netherlands advances, if he has nothing but the army in his favour, he will be considerably bothered, and I hope the sentimental, silly Alexander will never be suffered to interfere with his "beaux sentimens" in favour of the monster. If he should be taken and I had the command I should never trouble Alexander nor anybody else, but take him by the Drum head, giving something like the sort of trial the Duc d'Enghien had and immediately extinguish him by exactly the same process, ceremony, &c., as he practised on the Duc d'Enghien.

After all, and the worst of all, is that I apprehend we must pay the piper to enable the above-mentioned Hordes to take possession of France, and when there I flatter myself they will live upon the country. If we do not make some effort of the kind, all the money we have shed may be in a great degree thrown away. One great difficulty occurs to me, how will it be possible to dispose of the present French Army if it should be conquered, and how raise a French Army to maintain Louis's dominion?

If Napoleon should be utterly extinguished, it may be possible to do something, but if he escapes (yet I know not where he can go) a large foreign Army must remain a long time in France.

I must conclude by observing what a very extraordinary, strange creature a Frenchman is! Instead of attending the King, or suppressing Navy Depots where there are only fifty loyal men, the Minister of War flies to England, and, as he represented, in order to join the King in Flanders. At Paris he was certainly nearer Flanders than he was at Dieppe....

Yours ever,

SHEFFIELD.

The Victory of Waterloo ended all fears of a fresh Imperial Despotism, and also all the hopes of those who, like Lord Sheffield and the Stanley family, were no great admirers of the Bourbon Dynasty.

Edward Stanley's desire to revisit France was now coupled with a wish to realise the scene of the late Campaign, and he planned his journey so as to arrive there on the first anniversary of the battle, June 18, 1816.

He was accompanied by Mrs. Stanley, by his brother-in-law, Edward Leycester Penrhyn,[104] who had travelled with him in 1814, and by their mutual friend, Donald Crawford.

Mrs. Stanley's bright and graphic letters contribute to the story of their adventures, and are added to make it complete.



CHAPTER VII

AFTER WATERLOO

A long Channel passage—Bruges—The battlefield—A posting journey—Compiegne—Paris—Michael Bruce.

Mrs. E. Stanley to Lady Maria Stanley.

Spring, 1816.

...Edward has long talked of a week at Waterloo, and all the rest of the plan came tumbling after one day in talking it over with Edward Leycester, as naturally as possible, and I expect almost as much pleasure in seeing Cambridge and being introduced to the looks and manners at least of E. L.'s friends, and in seeing him there as in anything else. We are to pay a visit to Sir George and Lady Scovell at Cambray, and perhaps to Sheffield Place, on our return....

ST. JOHN'S COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE, June, 1816.

I am very glad to have this opportunity of seeing what a college life is, as well as seeing Cambridge itself and its contents animate and inanimate. I like both very much.

We had a very pleasant journey. The road is not only prettier by Ashbourne and Derby, but better, and, provided your nerves can stand cantering down hill sometimes, you get on faster than on the other road. We drank tea at Nottingham on Monday and went up to the Castle.

We arrived at Cambridge by 6 o'clock on Tuesday evening, and found Edward deep in his studies....

This morning we breakfasted with George,[105] and, after seeing libraries and people and buildings till I am tired, here I am, snug and comfortable, in Edward's room....

We are off to-morrow for London.

Mrs. E. Stanley to Lady Maria Josepha Stanley.

BLENHEIM HOTEL, LONDON, Saturday.

As we were coming yesterday Edward looked at the wind and decided that if Donald was not in the Thames then, he would have no chance of being here this week. We had not been here an hour when in he walked in high feather and gave me more reasons than I can remember for leaving his sisters and going with us....

I have been to Waterloo[106] and in Buonaparte's carriage. He has given an alarm by writing to France in spite of all their precautions.... We have got our passports and arranged our going. Edward came back from the city with three plans—the steamboat, the packet, or a coach to ourselves to Ramsgate. We debated the three some time, at last, on the strength of hearing that the steamboat had been out two nights on its passage once, we decided on the coach, and the places were just secured when Mr. Foljambe came in and told us he was going to Ramsgate on Tuesday with some other friends of Edward's, and that it was the nicest vessel ever seen and more punctual than any coach, which made us all very angry as you may guess.... We set out to-morrow morning and get into the packet at Ramsgate at 7 in the evening. Let me find a nice folio at Paris, care of Perrigaux, Banquier, and I shall not feel your handwriting the least interesting thing I have to see there.

Rev. E. Stanley to his niece, Louisa Dorothea Stanley.

RAMSGATE, June 11th.

Rapidly went the coach from Canterbury, 17 miles in an hour and a half. Fair blows the wind over the azure blue billow. "You will breakfast at Ostend," says the Captain, "to-morrow." "Oh, that Louisa were here!" says Donald. "She would die of delight," says Uncle, "and does not Uncle say true?" Conceive the view from Nottingham Castle on the evening we left Alderley ... a noble precipice, frowning over a magnificent plain, from the terraces of which we beheld immediately at our feet almost numberless—for I counted in a second 54—little pets of gardens, each adorned with a love of a summerhouse to suit; in the corners of the rocks many excavations and caverns fancifully cut out and carved, into which each of the proprietors of the above-mentioned gardens might at leisure retire and become his own hermit. Then how shall I touch upon the delights of Cambridge? How shall I speak of Edward's beauty in his cap, all covered with little bows, and a smart black gown? And how shall I speak of his dinner and his party? Such merriment! Such hospitality! Only think, Louisa, of dining, breakfasting and supping day after day with 14 or 15 most accomplished, beautiful, and entertaining young gentlemen! But no more, lest you expire at the thought! As for London, I cannot well tell you what I did or saw, such a confused multiplicity of sights and succession of business have seldom been experienced. At 6 this morning we started in the stage coach, the interior of which we took, excluding all intruders, and from hence at 3 o'clock on a lovely night, with an elegant moon, we embarked for Ostend.

(Continued by Mrs. Stanley.)

I have persuaded Uncle to carry his letter over the water that you may not have the anxiety of thinking for 2 days about the passage, which a gentleman who dined with us to-day informed us was the most precarious, dangerous, and uncertain known.

But I consoled myself with not believing the gentleman in the first place, and by thinking with Aunt Clinton that as Mrs. Carleton was drowned so lately at Ostend, it is not likely another accident should happen at present.

Here we are, waiting for the awful moment of embarkation, which I consider something like having a tooth out, but I live in hopes that, having been up early this morning and had 10 hours' jumbling, I may be sleepy enough to forget that I am on a shelf instead of a bed; so I have been just to admire the moon as we sail out of harbour, and then go to bed and find myself in sight of Ostend when I awake.

(E. Stanley resumes next day.)

A dead calm succeeded to a gentle breeze, and on the soft, sleepy billows we have reposed in the Downs, rolling ever since. To comfort us we have a beautiful Packet and a limited number of passengers.

The discomfort consists in a rapid diminution of all our provisions and the consequent prospect of no Tea, supper, or breakfast, or dinner to-morrow. One sailor said to another as he was skinning some miserable fish, "Aye, aye, they" (meaning the passengers) "will be glad enough of these in a day or two, and I was eleven days becalmed last year."

Kitty, to fill up an hour of vacuity, said she would draw, and to fill up my time this testifies that I have been thinking of you and wishing for your presence, for the Novelty alone would keep you in full effervesence and banish all Tediosity.

I have, moreover, been playing with a sweet little French dog brought by one of the sailors from Boulogne. The sailors have daily given him two glasses of gin to check his growth, and a marvellous dog of Lilliput he is! Pray, my dear Lou, drink no gin, for you see the consequences.

I had retired to bed, when Edward Leycester called me up to admire a beautiful display of Neptune's fireworks; wherever the surface of the waves was agitated, the circles of silver flashed and the drops were scattered far and wide.

The morning dawned upon us nearly in the same position, not a breath troubled the surface, smooth and still as Radnor Mere on the sweetest evening.

Famine began to stare us in the face; our provisions were nearly exhausted; two or more days might elapse before we reached Ostend.

We breakfasted on tea, fried skate and cheese. Breakfast at an end, it was proposed to board the nearest vessel and beg or borrow a dinner. In the tide course appeared a sail, about five miles distant.

The boat was lowered, volunteers stepped forward—Uncle, Edward, Donald, and a gentleman-like Belgian.

Away we went and by hard rowing we came alongside the strange sail in an hour. Three leaden figures, motionless as the unwieldly bark they manned, gazed curiously upon our approaching boat. Our Belgian friend hailed, but hailed in vain. They looked but spoke not. Again he spoke, and at length a monotonous "yaw" proclaimed that they were not dumb.

We went on board and found a perfect Dutch family on their way from Antwerp to Rouen. Out stepped from her cabin the Captain's wife in appropriate costume, her close little cap, large gold necklace and ear-rings; and behind the Captain's spouse stepped forth two genuine descendants of the nautical couple. Large round heads with large round (what shall I say?) Hottentots to match and keep up the due balance between head and tail.

Having explained our wants to the Captain, he produced as the chief restorative an incomparable bottle of Schiedam, i.e., gin. To each he offered a good large glass, and then in answer to our request for beef, four bottles of excellent claret, two square loaves. For this he asked a guinea, upon receiving which his features relaxed and he declared we should have two more bottles of claret. Upon hearing we had a lady in the packet he begged her acceptance of half a neat's tongue, some butter, and a bag of rusks. Loaded with them, we took a joyful leave of these sombre sailors and returned, with the orange cravat of our Belgian friend for a flag, in triumph to the packet.

But a truce to my pen. Ostend is in sight, and now we are all rubbing our hands and congratulating each other that wind and tide are in our favour and that we shall be in in a couple of hours.

Rev. E. Stanley to his niece, Isabella Stanley.[107]

BRUGES, June 14, 1816.

On our return from the Dutch vessel from which we recruited our exhausted store, we found our poor Captain in sad tribulation, his patience exhausted, but his temper luckily preserved. Having paced his deck with a fidgeting velocity a due number of times, peeped thro' his glass at every distant sail or cloud to observe whether they were in any degree movable, and invoked Boreas in the most pitiable terms such as "Oh Borus! Now do, good Borus just give us a blow," we had the satisfaction at length, the supreme satisfaction, of perceiving a gentle curl upon the water which soon settled into a steady breeze, before which we glided away, delightfully enjoying our dinner upon the deck, during which our party manifested their respective characters in most charming style. One Farmer Dinmont[108] and Dousterswivel, a Dutchman, were perfect specimens. A merry Belgian Equerry to the Prince of Orange, laughed, joked, and amused us with sleight-of-hand tricks. Our Dutch beef, tho' doubtless salt far beyond due proportion, was relished by all, Dinmont excepted, who pronounced it, together with the dark-coloured bread, unfit for English hogs, and shook his head with a most significant expression of doubt at my assertion that I never enjoyed a better dinner in my life. At five o'clock the low sand hills appeared to view in little nodules upon the horizon, and the Steeple of Ostend with its Lighthouse were visible from deck. At 6 we were close in upon land, and in half an hour were boarded by a Dutch boat, but alas! there was nothing in its appearance to excite curiosity, and with the exception of large earrings you might have fancied yourself in Holyhead Harbour. Four stout, tall fellows, hard and resolute in feature and decided in action, proclaimed their near alliance to British Jack Tars. They remained a little while and tried to cheat the passengers as much as possible, to take us on shore, but finding us determined to remain till the Captain could get his own boat ready, they shrugged their shoulders, abused us in Dutch, and sailed away. We were too many for one boat, so taking Kitty and the best of our English passengers and honest Farmer Dinmont, with all the luggage, we pushed off from the vessel. People of all descriptions, pilots, sailors, customs officers, soldiers, waiters soliciting customs for their respective turns. Porters regular and irregular, the latter consisting of a sort of light Infantry corps of ragged boys. All these people, I say, were crowded together on a little peninsular jetty against which our boat was shoved, and no sooner had the oars ceased to play and our keel cleared the sand than all these people set up their pipes in every dialect of every tongue, French and English both bad of their sort, Dutch high and low, Flemish and German. All burst upon us at one and the same moment, and the Cossack corps of ragged porters all stept forward, arm, leg and foot, to claim the honour of carrying up (most probably of carrying off) our baggage. By dint of words fair and foul, a shove here and a push there, I contrived to get Kitty under my arm and superintend, tho' with no small trouble and inconceivable watchfulness, the adjustment of our small portmanteaux, writing case, &c., in a wheelbarrow, which, from its formidable length of handle, bespoke its foreign manufacturer. On we jogged, but jogged not long; for before this accumulating procession could disperse we were arrested by a whiskered soldier, who in unintelligible terms announced himself a searcher of baggage. So to the custom house we went, when each trunk was opened and submitted to a slight inspection; the chief difficulty consisting in putting myself in 2 places at once—one close to the depot of our goods in the barrow, the other before the officer with the keys. Kitty was wedged in a corner with a writing case and, I think, Donald's sword. My English companion was equally on the alert, but Farmer Dinmont would have excited all your compassion, or rather admiration; for here amidst the din of tongues and arms, unable to move hand or foot, he stood with a smile of mingled resignation and wonder; at length, the search being concluded to the satisfaction of both parties, we re-commenced our course, and in a few minutes Kitty found herself in a new world. Women and children unlike any women and children you ever saw; close caps with butterfly wings for the former, little black skull bonnets for the latter, in shape both alike, much resembling those toys which, if placed on their heads, by their superior specific gravity and extensive sacrifice of their lower projections instantly revolve and settle upon their tails.

"Voici, Messieurs et Madame, entrons dans la Cour Imperiale," and another moment hoisted us within the covered gateway of this Hotel of Imperial appellation. Our arrangements for sleeping and eating being complete, we sat down on a bench before the door to gaze, but not to be gazed upon, for the good people never cast an eye upon us. On retiring to tea, good Farmer Dinmont's countenance relaxed as he flung himself into a chair; he put his hands upon the table and exclaimed, "Well, well, here I am sitting down for the first time out of Old England!" ... A cup of tea, or rather a kettle full, for our salt beef had kindled an insatiable thirst, put him in good humour again, and, but for a sort of sigh or a look or a jerk which proved Old England to be uppermost in his thoughts, he appeared quite satisfied. With some trouble Kitty secured the fly cap chambermaid and had taken possession of her room; having seen her safe, I descended to give orders for a warming-pan, leaving her (after having been 2 nights in her clothes) to the luxury of an entire change of linen and course of ablutions. On re-crossing the court 10 minutes afterwards I ran against a waiter running off with a warming-pan, glowing with red-hot embers. "Mais donc" said I, "Madame wants a warming-pan. Allons, where is the chambermaid to carry it?" "Oh, n'importe," replied this flying Mercury; "c'est moi qui fera cela pour la dame!" Only guess Kitty's escape! Another moment and he would have been in her presence, warming-pan and all. By dint of remonstrating I checked his course and prevailed upon the Maid to go herself with vast ill humour, innumerable shrugs, and some few "Mon Dieu's" and other suitable expressions. Kitty must herself be the interpreter of her own feelings in these lands of novelty. I am almost glad you were, none of you, here to witness what she will have such pleasure in describing. Our morning passed away in strolling over the town. Kitty and I dined at the table d'hote with about 20 people. Farmer Dinmont sent for a bottle of the best wine to try it and offered me a glass. I begged to propose a toast, "Prosperity to Old England." His features brightened up, he grasped the bottle, filled a bumper, and replied, "Aye, aye, with all my heart; that Toast I would drink in ditch water." We left Ostend at 3 o'clock to take passage in the Bruges canal, and I do assure you we all felt quite sorry to leave our dear, good, honest John Bull.

At Saas we fell in with a specimen of Lord Wellington's operations. There is a formidable battery erected last year by way of guarding Ostend from a "coup de main"; it is singular that the English have placed a Battery for the defence close to the celebrated sluice gates of this canal, which gates were blown up by Sir Evelyn Coote to prevent the French from inundating the country, when he invaded it some years before.

Behold us seated in a spacious room, for it does not deserve the diminutive name of "Cabin," decorated with hangings of green cloth and gold border, on board a most commodious barge. Behold us on a lovely evening starting from the Quay with full sail and 3 horses, a man mounted on one and cracking a great long whip to drive on the other two, which trotted away abreast at the rate of 4-1/2 miles an hour. Behold us seated on this easy chair of Neptune! our ears deafened and our spirits enlivened by a band of music—trumpet, violin, and bass—admirably playing Waltzes and other national tunes. When they had amused us on deck they went below to another class of auditors. Our fellow traveller, Mr. Trueman, followed them, and perceiving him to be English they struck up "God save the King." A Frenchman called out "Ba, ba," a very expressive mode of communicating disapprobation, but seeing Trueman was of a different opinion, he ceased from his "Ba, ba," and stepping towards him made him a low bow. About 6 o'clock we arrived at Bruges, or rather to the wharf from whence passengers betake themselves and portmanteaux to barrows and sledges. As we approached our Band resumed their musical exertions. A crowd assembled to welcome our arrival, Gigs, coaches (such coaches!!), Horsemen (such Horsemen!!), were parading. Such a light with such a rainbow shone upon such an avenue and such picturesque gate!! Our baggage filled a car drawn by 3 stout men; and we all followed in the rear.... Bruges is a town affording five or six volumes of sketches; towers, roofs, gable ends, bridges—all in succession called for exclusive admiration. It was decided that we should rise at 4, breakfast at 6, and see all that was possible before 9, when we were to continue our route to Ghent. At 3 o'clock I was prepared, but a steady rain forced me reluctantly to bed again, but we did breakfast at 6, and did pick up two or three sketches.

Mrs. E. Stanley to Lady Maria J. Stanley.

BRUSSELS, June 18, 1816.



On the 18th of June, how can I begin with any other subject than Waterloo?... At 8 this morning we mounted our Cabriolets for Waterloo. Donald put on his Waterloo medal for the first time, and a French shirt he got in the spoils, and a cravat of an officer who was killed, and I wrapped myself in his Waterloo cloak, and we all felt the additional sensation which the anniversary of the day produced on everybody. It brought the comparison of the past and present day more perfectly home. Donald was ready with his recollections every minute of the day, what had been his occupation or his feeling. The forest of Soignies is a fine approach to the field of battle—dark, damp, and melancholy. If you had heard nothing about it, you could hardly help feeling, in passing through it, that you would not like to cross it alone. There are no fine trees, but the extent and depth of wood gives it all the effect of a fine one, and an effect particularly suited to the associations connected with it. The road—a narrow pavement in the middle with black mud on each side—looks as if it had never felt a ray of sun, and from its state to-day gave me a good idea of what it must have been. Sometimes the road is raised thro' a deep hollow, and it was not possible to look down without shuddering at the idea of the horses and carriages and men which had been overturned one upon another; in some parts the trees are a la Ralph Leycester, and you see the dark black of shade of the distant wood through them; but in other parts it is so choked with brushwood and inequalities of ground, that you could not see two yards before you, and no gorge was ever so good a cover for foxes as this for all evil-disposed persons. At Waterloo we stopped to see the Church, or rather the monuments in it, put up by the different regiments over their fallen officers. They are all badly designed and executed but one Latin one—not half so good as the epitaph on Lord Anglesey's leg which the man had buried with the utmost veneration in his garden and planted a tree over it; and he shows as a relic almost as precious as a Catholic bit of bone or blood, the blood upon a chair in the room when the leg was cut off, which he had promised my lord "de ne jamais effacer".

At Mont St. Jean Donald began to know where he was. Here he found the well where he had got some water for his horse; here the green pond he had fixed upon as the last resource for his troop; here the cottage where he had slept on the 17th; here the breach he had made in the hedge for his horses to get into the field to bivouac; here the spot where he had fired the first gun; here the hole in which he sat for the surgeon to dress his wound. He had never been on the field since the day of the battle, and his interest in seeing it again and discovering every spot under its altered circumstances was fully as great as ours.

After all that John Scott[109] or Walter Scott or anybody can describe or even draw, how much more clear and satisfactory is the conception which one single glance over the reality gives you in an instant, than any you can form from the best and most elaborate description that can be given! To see it in perfection would be to have an officer of every regiment to give you an account just of everything he saw and did on the particular spot where he was stationed.

Donald scarcely knew as much as Edward did or as the people about of what passed anywhere but just at his own station. But at every place it was sufficient to ask the inhabitants where they were and what they saw, to obtain interesting information.



Every plan I have seen makes it much too irregular, rough ground; it is all undulating, smooth ups and downs, so gradual that you must look some time before you discover all the irregularity there is. Hougoumont[110] is the only interesting point, and that by having an air of peace and retirement about it most opposite to what took place in it.

It is a respectable, picturesque farmhouse, with pretty trees and sweet fields all around it; the ravages are not repaired and many of the trees cut down. We left our carriages in the road and walked all over the British position, and henceforward I shall have a clearer idea, not only of Waterloo, but of what a military position and military plan is like.

At La Belle Alliance we sat upon a bench where Lord Wellington and Bluecher perhaps met, and drank to their healths in Vin de Bordeaux. In spite of the corn, there are still bits of leather caps and bullets and bones scattered about in the fields, and you are pestered with children innumerable with relics of all sorts. We had heard magnificent accounts on our road here of all that was to be done on the field, balls, fetes, sham fights, processions, and I do not know what, but they have all dwindled to a dinner given here to the Belgian soldiers and a Mass to be said for the souls of the dead to-morrow. However, we saw what we wished as we wished, and the impression is perhaps clearer than if it had been disturbed and mixed with other sights.

And now, being near 12, and I having walked about 8 miles, and been up since 6, must go to bed, though I feel neither sleepy nor tired.

To Lucy Stanley.

June 24, 1816.

...Away with me to Waterloo!

We arrived at Brussels on the evening of the 17th, and at seven o'clock started for the scene of action. From Brussels a paved road, with a carriage track on each side, passes for nine miles to the village of Waterloo.

The Forest (of Soignies) is, without exception, one of the most cut-throat-looking spots I ever beheld, ... and for some days after the battle deserters and stragglers, chiefly Prussians, took up their abode in this appropriate place, and sallying forth, robbed, plundered, and often shot those who were unfortunate enough to travel alone or in small defenceless parties.

After traversing this gloomy avenue for about four miles, the first symptoms of war met our eyes in the shape of a dead horse, whose ribs glared like a cheval-de-frise from a tumulus of mud. If the ghosts of the dead haunt these sepulchral groves, we must have passed through an army of spirits, as our driver, who had visited the scene three days after the battle, described the last four miles as a continued pavement of men and horses dying and dead.



At length a dome appears at the termination of the avenue. It is the church of Waterloo. They were preparing for a mass and procession, and the houses were most of them adorned with festoons of flowers or branches of trees....

...We turned to the right down the Nivelle road, for it was there Donald's gun was placed, and some labourers who were ploughing on the spot brought us some iron shot and fragments of shell which they had just turned up. The hedges were still tolerably sprinkled with bits of cartridge-paper, and remnants of hats, caps, straps, and shoes were discernible all over the plains. Hougoumont was a heap of ruins, for it had taken fire during the action, and presented a very perfect idea of the fracas which had taken place that day year. How different now! A large flock of sheep, with their shepherd, were browsing at the gate, and the larks were singing over its ruins on one of the sweetest days we could have chosen for the visit. As I was taking a sketch in a quiet corner I heard a vociferation so loud, so vehement, and so varied, that I really thought two or three people were quarrelling close to me. In a moment the vociferator (for it was but one) appeared at my elbow with an explosion of French oaths and gesticulations equal to any discharge of grape-shot on the day of attack. "Comment, Monsieur," said I, "What is the matter?" "Oh, les coquins! les sacres coquins" and away he went, abusing the coquins in so ambiguous a style that I doubted whether his wrath was venting against Napoleon or against his opponents. "Oui," remarked I, "ils sont coquins; et Buonaparte, que pensez-vous de lui?" This was a sort of opening which I trusted would bring him to the point without a previous committal of myself. It certainly did bring him to the point, for he gave a bounce and a jump and his tongue came out, and his mouth foamed, and his eyes rolled, as with a jerk he ejaculated, "Napoleon! qu'est-ce que je pense de lui?" It was well for poor Napoleon that he was quiet and comfortable in St. Helena, for had he been at Hougoumont, I am perfectly convinced that my communicant would have sent him to moulder with his brethren in arms. Having vented his rage, I asked him if the French had ever got within the walls. "Yes," he said, "three times; but they were always repulsed"; he assured me he had been there during the attack and that he saw them within; but added, "How they came in at that door" (pointing to the gate by which we were standing and which was drilled with bullets), "or when they came in, or how or where they got out I cannot tell you, for what with the noise, and the fire, and the smoke, I scarcely knew where I was myself."



One of the farm servants begged me to observe the chapel, which he hinted had been indebted to a miracle for its safety, and certainly as a good Catholic he had a fair foundation for his belief, as the flames had merely burnt about a yard of the floor, having been checked, as he conceived, by the presence of the crucifix suspended over the door, which had received no other injury than the loss of part of its feet. He had remained there till morning, when, seeing the French advance and guessing their drift, he contrived to make good his escape, but returned the following day. What he then saw you may guess when I tell you that at the very door I stood upon a mound composed of earth and ashes upon which 800 bodies had been burnt. Every tree bore marks of death, and every ditch was one continued grave.

From Hougoumont we walked to La Belle Alliance,[111] crossing the neutral ground between the armies; a few days ago a couple of gold watches had been found, and I daresay many a similar treasure yet remains. At La Belle Alliance, a squalid farm house, we rested to take some refreshment. For a few biscuits and a bottle of common wine the woman asked us five francs, which being paid, I followed her into the house. Not perceiving me at the door, she met her husband, and bursting into a loud laugh, with a fly-up of arms and legs (for nothing in this country is done without gesticulation), she exclaimed, "Only think! ces gens-la m'ont donne cinq francs." In this miserable pot-house did the possessor find 280 wounded wretches jammed together and weltering in blood when he returned on Monday morning. If I proceed to more particulars I foresee I should fill folios.

I must carry you at once to La Haye Sainte.[112] It was along a hedge that the severest work took place; it made me shudder to think that upon a space of fifty square yards 4,000 bodies were found dead. The ditches and the field formed one great grave. The earth told in very visible terms what occasioned its elasticity; upon forcing a stick down and turning up a clod, human bodies in an offensive state of decay immediately presented themselves. I found four Belgian peasants commenting upon one figure which was scarcely interred, and on walking under the outer wall of La Haye Sainte a hole was tenanted by myriads of maggots feasting upon a corpse.

Here stands the Wellington tree,[113] peppered with shot and stripped as high as a man can jump of its twigs and leaves, for every passenger jumps up for a relic. We stood upon the road where Buonaparte (defended by high banks) sent on, but didn't lead, 6,000 of his old Imperial Guard. They charged along the road up to La Haye Sainte, dwindling as they went by the incessant fire of 80 pieces of Artillery, many of them within a few yards, till their number did not exceed 300. Then Napoleon turned round to Bertrand, lifted his hand, cried out, "C'est tout perdu, c'est tout fini," and galloped off with La Corte and Bertrand,[114] quitting most probably for ever a field of battle.

A continued sheet of corn or fallowed fields occupy the whole plain. The crops are indifferent and the reason assigned is curious. The whole being trampled down last year, became the food of mice, which in consequence repaired thither from all quarters and increased and multiplied to such a degree that the soil is quite infested by them.

Upon the heights where the British squares received the shock of the French Cavalry, we found an English officer's cocked hat, much injured apparently by a cannon shot, with its oilskin rotting away, and showing by its texture, shape, and quality that it had been manufactured by a fashionable hatter, and most probably graced the wearer's head in Bond Street and St. James's. Wherever we went we were surrounded by boys and beggars offering Eagles from Frenchmen's helmets, cockades, pistols, swords, cuirasses, and other fragments.