CHAPTER X.

_May 29th._--Grand cavalry review near Grammont, in the fine meadows on the banks of the Dender, for the use of which, it is said, as much as £400 or £500 were paid.

The day was lovely, and we marched from Strytem in the cool of the morning. The roads, although pretty good, were in places so cut up by the passage of other troops before us, that it became necessary at times to halt until our men filled up the holes with brushwood and earth. About noon we arrived on the ground, than which nothing could be more favourable for the purpose.

The Dender, flowing through a broad tract of rich meadow-land perfectly flat, makes a bend from Grammont to the village of Jedeghem, the ground on its left bank rising in a gentle slope, whilst on the right the meadows extend back for about half a mile, and then terminate at the foot of an abrupt wooded height, which forms, as it were, a chord of the arc described by the river. This was the arena chosen for the review, and a more favourable one could scarcely have been chosen. We were formed in three lines. The first, near the banks of the river, was composed of hussars in squadrons, with wide intervals between them, and a battery of horse-artillery (6-pounders) on either flank. Opposite the centre of this line was a bridge (temporary, I believe) by which the cortège was to arrive on the ground, descending from the village of Schendelbeke. The second line--compact, or with only the usual squadron intervals--was composed entirely of heavy dragoons, having two batteries--the one of 24-pounder howitzers, the other of 9-pounders--in front of the centre, and a battery of 9-pounders on either flank. The third was a compact line like the second, but entirely of light dragoons, supported also on either flank by a battery of 9-pounders.

It was a splendid spectacle. The scattered line of hussars in their fanciful yet picturesque costume; the more sober, but far more imposing, line of heavy dragoons, like a wall of red brick; and again the serviceable and active appearance of the third line in their blue uniforms, with broad lappels of white, buff, red, yellow, and orange--the whole backed by the dark wood of the declivity already mentioned--formed, indeed, a fine picture. There were, I understood, about 6000 men on the field; and as I looked and admired their fine appearance, complete equipment, and excellent horses, I wondered how any troops could withstand their attacks, and wished Napoleon and his chiefs could but see them as they stood. My wish was in part gratified, for we afterwards learned beyond all question that numbers of French officers had not only been present, but actually were so in full uniform (many of them of high rank), and had mingled in the cortège of the Duke, and so rode through the ranks--the safest plan they could have pursued, it being impossible to say whether they did or did not belong to the corps of the Duc de Berri, who, as I said, still wore the imperial uniforms in which they had come over to the royal party; and this was still more favoured by a ridiculous scene which occasioned the absence of the French party from the review. It was as follows: Arriving on the ground covered with dust, the different corps had no sooner formed in their position, and dismounted, than off went belts, canteens, and havresacks, and a general brushing and scrubbing commenced; for the Duke, making no allowance for dusty or muddy roads, expected to see all as clean as if just turned out: accordingly, we had not only brought brushes, &c., but even straw to wisp over the horses. The whole line was in the midst of this business, many of the men even with jackets off, when suddenly a forest of plumes and a galaxy of brilliant uniforms came galloping down the slope from Schendelbeke towards the temporary bridge. “The Duke!” “the Duke!” “the Duke’s coming!” ran along the lines, and for a moment caused considerable bustle amongst the people; but almost immediately this was discovered to be a mistake, and the brushing and cleaning recommenced with more devotion than ever; whilst the cavalcade, after slowly descending to the bridge and debouching on the meadows, started at full gallop toward the saluting point already marked out, the Duc de Berri, whom we now recognised, keeping several yards ahead, no doubt that he might clearly be seen. At this point he reined up and looked haughtily and impatiently about him; and as we were now pretty intimate with his manner, it was easy to see, even from our distant position, that he was in a passion. The brushing, however, suffered no interruption, and no notice was taken of his presence. One of his suite was now called up and despatched to the front. What further took place I know not, but, certes! the messenger no sooner returned than his Highness was off like a comet, his tail streaming after him all the way up the slope, unable to keep pace with him, for he rode like a madman, whilst a general titter pervaded our lines as the report flew from one to the other that Mounseer was off in a huff because we did not give him a general salute. Many were the coarse jokes at his expense; and I was amused at one of my drivers, who, holding up the collar from his horses chest with one hand, whilst with the other he brushed away under it, exclaimed, laughing aloud, “I wouldn’t be one of them ’ere French fellows at drill upon the common to-morrow for a penny; if they’re not properly bullyragged, I’m d----.” It turned out afterwards that he had sent his aide-de-camp to claim the reception due to a prince of the blood-royal, but Lord Uxbridge excused himself by saying he had no instructions on that head, &c. &c. About two o’clock the Duke of Wellington and Prince Blucher, followed by an immense cortège, in which were to be seen many of the most distinguished officers and almost every uniform in Europe, arrived on the ground. Need I say that the foreigners were loud in praise of the martial air, fine persons, and complete equipment of the men and horses, and of the strength and beauty of the latter? and my vanity on that occasion was most fully gratified, for on arriving where we stood, the Duke not only called old Blucher’s attention to “the beautiful battery,” but, instead of proceeding straight through the ranks, as they had done everywhere else, each subdivision--nay, each individual horse--was closely scrutinised, Blucher repeating continually that he had never seen anything so superb in his life, and concluding by exclaiming, “_Mein Gott, dere is not von orse in dies batterie wich is not goot for Veldt Marshal_:” and Wellington agreed with him. It certainly was a splendid collection of horses. However, except asking Sir George Wood whose troop it was, his Grace never even bestowed a regard on me as I followed from subdivision to subdivision. The review over, and corps dismissed, I resigned my command to my second captain, and proceeded direct to Ninove, Lord Uxbridge having invited all commanding officers to meet his illustrious guests at dinner. On repairing to the monastery, I found a numerous company assembled, comprising some of the most distinguished characters in Europe.

The room in which we assembled, as well as the dining-room, was of splendid dimensions, but totally void of ornament: plain white stuccoed walls, and no furniture in the one but a few travelling articles of our noble hosts; and in the other the dinner-table, chairs, and benches of the most ordinary kind, evidently brought in for the occasion. Long corridors running the whole length of the two wings (standing at right angles to each other), with numerous rooms of similar dimensions opening from them, seemed to be the plan of the building. I suppose the dining-room must have been nearly 100 feet long, nearly square, and about 18 or 20 feet high. In this the tables were laid horse-shoe fashion. In the centre of the cross-table sat Lord Uxbridge; on either hand Blucher and Wellington; then the Duke of Brunswick; the hereditary Prince of Orange; his brother Prince Frederick; Gneiseneau; Ziethen; Kleist; Dornberg; a Danish general whose name I forget; Sir Frederick Arentschild, K.G.L. (the Duke of Wellington’s favourite old hussar); Sir Sidney Smyth; Lords Hill, Pack, Picton, Elly; and a host of illustrious names, foreign and British, but not one Frenchman that I recollect. (Perhaps the affair of the morning might have caused the absence of the Duc de Berri, &c.) What names!--names familiar to every ear in the history of those exciting times--names we pronounce with respect regarding those who bear them as being removed above everyday life. But to have sat at table with them, to have heard them called out in the familiarity of everyday conversation--how strange! One can hardly imagine himself thoroughly awake on such occasions. But to return.

It was my good fortune to sit between Colonel Sir F. Arentschild and another no less celebrated officer of the German Legion, Lieutenant Strenuwitz, a Pole by birth, who had signalised himself on more than one occasion in the Peninsula by attacking and capturing outposts. We broke up at an early hour (too early, I think, for old Blucher, who seemed to enjoy himself much), and retired to another room, where coffee was served, and after some little conversation we dispersed. In leaving the dining-room the Duke of Wellington stopped for a few minutes to converse with old Arentschild, and, pinned in a corner by them, I had time to contemplate, well and closely, our great leader. At that time he certainly had not a grey hair in his head.

It was getting dusk when I mounted my horse to return home, and the people were beginning to discharge squibs and crackers on the street of Ninove; the houses were decorated with garlands of laurel and green boughs, so that everything wore an air of festivity.

_May 30th._--How delightful the tranquillity of Strytem appears after the stir and bustle of yesterday! The fields look more gay, the woods and pleasure-grounds more lovely than ever. Yesterday morning was passed amidst the din of arms and pomp of war--amidst crowds of crested warriors and the clang of martial music--the evening in festivity, amidst magnates of the earth.

How differently has this lovely day glided by! The morning I passed in a quiet peaceable ride amidst the charming scenery of the neighbourhood--wandering through corn-fields, orchards, and hop-grounds, and exploring the shady recesses of the Bois de Liederkerke; the evening in voluptuous indolence, sauntering up and down under the magnificent beeches of the great avenue, indulging in fairy dreams, and listening to the rural sound that, from time to time, broke on the stillness of the hour, whilst the smoke of my cigar hung in wreaths around me as I occasionally stopped to contemplate the scene. No living soul interrupted the solitude, except once the gardener’s son, in his blue smock-frock, wooden shoes, and dirty night-cap, with a long rusty old gun under his arm and a short pipe in his mouth, crossed the avenue, marched up the central path of the garden, and disappeared amongst the thickets of the _pleasaunce_ beyond. He went, I knew (for he always said so), to the Chasse aux Lièvres for the supply of our table; but as that was badly supplied, we might have fancied our gamekeeper a bad shot, had not our worthy doctor one evening (for what purpose he could best say) also taken a ramble in the said _pleasaunce_, where, to his infinite surprise, he stumbled upon our chasseur making love to his sister’s _adjointe_ (a great Flanderkin of a Maritornes), which instantly explained the deficiency of supply. There he went then, as I said, for either purpose--his short pipe leaving a long gossamer-like film of smoke behind him. And this digression brings me to the close of this delightful day.

The genial month of May thus terminated amidst the delightful enjoyments of a country life, and June commenced under happy auspices, little dreaming of the far different scenes we were destined to witness ere yet another month had passed.

The only event that marked this period of our tranquil, even-flowing existence was the removal of our 1st division from the chateau farm, in compliance with the urgent request of the farmer (Walsdragen), to the pretty village of Yseringen, about a mile off, on the hill above us. I regretted this separation of the troop, but could not withstand the poor man’s solicitations, who expected every hour his wife’s _accouchement_. As for the division, it benefited by the change. The officer (Leathes) got most excellent quarters in a comfortable well-furnished chateau, whilst his men and horses were equally well lodged in the adjoining farm. Poor Walsdragen, however, could not enjoy this relief, for, a few days after, the impending event took place, and he lost his wife. I shall not forget in a hurry this melancholy circumstance, for I charged myself with unkindness towards him in his affliction by having so long withstood his solicitations to be relieved of our people. I was walking in the avenue, as usual, after dinner, enjoying my weed; the evening was calm and serene, the sun just setting; no sound disturbed the stillness save the hum of insects or the croaking of the frogs. Suddenly one of the most terrific shrieks I ever heard burst forth, until the woods rang again. At first, startled as I was, there was no saying whence the sound came, and taking my cigar from my mouth, I had scarcely assumed a listening attitude when, again and again, it was repeated in a manner so appalling as to make my very flesh creep. It evidently proceeded from the farm; but what could occasion such horrid cries? This time they were succeeded by loud lamentations of many voices, male and female. I hurried towards the farm, hardly knowing what to conjecture. The first idea that flashed on me was an irruption of some French party, who were plundering, murdering, &c. &c., and this, in the first instance, seemed in some measure borne out when several men, without hats, came rushing out of the farmyard with lamentable cries, and passing by me without notice, proceeded to the bridge of the chateau, and there, throwing themselves on their knees before an image of the Virgin and child standing in a niche outside the chapel already mentioned, commenced a most dolorous mixture of lamentation and half-chanted supplication--part of a litany, I presume. I stood somewhat puzzled. After a few minutes of this devotional exercise, one of them ran away and brought a spade, with which he cut a large sod, and the whole party hurried back to the house, carrying it with them. At this moment St Cyr (one of our farmers, and the best amongst them) came up, and, making Mynheer Walsdragen’s compliments, reported from him, and at his desire, the death of his wife, which had just taken place--a strange piece of etiquette at such a moment. The sod, I learned, was to put under her head, an ancient practice invariably observed.

My first idea of an irruption of the enemy did not seem just now quite so improbable, for we almost daily heard a good deal of firing in the direction of Mons, and the peasantry were continually bringing accounts of movements of the French army, none of which ever proved true; and the firing, we afterwards learned, proceeded from the practice of the Dutch or Belgic artillery at Mons.

Our host, the Baron van Lombeke, paid us a visit about the beginning of this month for the first time. The ostensible motive for this visit was an inspection of the roads, which he said were immediately to be put in a complete state of repair. He stayed three or four days with us, during which his excursions never extended further than the major’s or the curé’s, so that he saw but little of the roads--which, together with the circumstance of his having arrived only a few days before from Paris, induced a suspicion that his real business was of a very different nature--possibly to ascertain the strength and positions of our cavalry corps, or something of the sort.

It seemed odd enough receiving a man as a guest in his own house; our servants prepared a room for him, and he was waited upon by the old gardener. Of course he dined, or rather supped, with us; for I believe he usually partook of the curé’s dinner at one o’clock. Although what we should call rather vulgar-looking, yet we found M. le Baron exceedingly well-informed, perfectly the gentleman in manners, and upon the whole an agreeable acquisition to our little party. His gardens, and everything about the place, he begged us to consider as our own. We had done so already; however, we took the thing as it was meant--a mere compliment; but we felt that there was more sincerity in the contrast he drew between ourselves and the Prussians, and the repeated assertions of his satisfaction in having his chateau occupied by us instead of by them.

Finding me in want of books, he kindly promised to send me some from Brussels; and I was agreeably surprised at his punctuality, when, a day or two after his departure, the old gardener brought me the five volumes of ‘The Hermit of the Chaussée d’Antin’--a work new to me, and to which I was indebted for several most agreeable evenings.

The day marked for our advance into France now approached; and although no confirmation of the rumour reached us, yet we began to prepare for it as confidently as if already given out in general orders. Meantime, as will be seen, our friends beyond the border were scrutinising our intentions pretty closely.

It was on the evening of the 15th June, and about sunset or a little later, that an officer of hussars rode into the village of Yseringen, Leathes being at the time at dinner with me at our chateau. He was dressed as our hussars usually were when riding about the country--blue frock, scarlet waistcoat laced with gold, pantaloons, and forage-cap of the 7th Hussars. He was mounted on a smart pony, with plain saddle and bridle; was without sword or sash, and carried a small whip;--in short, his costume and _monture_ were correct in every particular. Moreover, he aped to the very life that “devil-may-care” _nonchalant_ air so frequently characterising our young men of fashion. Seeing some of our gunners standing at the door of a house, he desired them to go for their officer, as he wished to see him. They called the sergeant, who told him that the officer was not in the village. In an authoritative tone he then demanded how many men and horses were quartered there, whose troop they belonged to, where the remainder of the troop was quartered, and of what it consisted? When all these questions were answered, he told the sergeant that he had been sent by Lord Uxbridge to order accommodation to be provided for two hundred horses, and that ours must consequently be put up as close as possible. The sergeant replied that there was not room in the village for a single additional horse. “Oh, we’ll soon see that,” said he; pointing to one of the men who stood by, “Do you go and tell the _maire_ to come instantly to me.” The _maire_ came, and confirmed the sergeant’s statement, upon which our friend, flying into a passion, commenced in excellent French to abuse the poor functionary like a pickpocket, threatening to send a whole regiment into the village; and then, after a little further conversation with the sergeant, he mounted his pony and rode off just as Leathes returned to the village. Upon reporting the circumstance to the officer, the sergeant stated that he thought this man had appeared anxious to avoid him, having ridden off rather in a hurry when he appeared, which, together with a slight foreign accent, then for the first time excited a suspicion of his being a spy, which had not occurred to the sergeant before, as he knew there were several foreign officers in our hussars, and that the 10th was actually then commanded by one--Colonel Quentin. The suspicion was afterwards confirmed, for upon inquiry I found that no officer had been sent by Lord Uxbridge on any such mission. Our friend deserved to escape, for he was a bold and clever fellow. A brother emissary, however, who visited Lombeke Notre Dame the same evening, was not quite so prudent nor so fortunate, for he was caught by the sentinel in the act of examining the guns of Sinclair’s Brigade by aid of a dark-lantern and made prisoner; but in the hubbub of marching the next morning made his escape, and was heard of no more. We afterwards learned that a number of officers had been sent the same evening into our cantonments to ascertain whether we remained quiet, &c. &c.

Spite of my eagerness for more active service, it was not without regret that I saw the time approach when I expected to leave for ever the tranquil abode of Strytem; and some such thoughts occupied me this very evening (_15th_), as I sauntered about the great avenue after Leathes had left me. Most of the other officers had gone to the ball at Brussels, and I remained quite alone. The balmy softness of the air, the beauty and repose of the scenery, were, I thought, more exquisite than ever; and I continued in the avenue until the increasing obscurity of the evening drove me in to enjoy an hour or two with ‘The Hermit of the Chaussée D’Antin’; ere I retired for the night.