Sir Arthur and Sir Harry, Sir Harry and Sir Hew, Doodle, doodle, doodle, cock a doodle doo! Sir Arthur was a gallant knight, but for the other two Doodle, doodle, doodle, cock a doodle doo!

Some years afterwards, with regard to this famous occurrence, John Stanhope wrote in his journal—

I regret that I did not at the time dwell at a greater length upon the Convention of Cintra.... That Convention and even the battle of Vimiera, at one time the theme of every tongue, are effaced from the memory of even us their contemporaries by the more brilliant achievements of the British army—by successes which have blotted out all recollections of former errors. I can scarcely recall to my mind the arguments that were used for and against that Convention by those who were present at the battle; but the feeling against it in England was so strong, that, strange as it may appear in these days, at a Race Ball at Carlisle where I accompanied my father, then Member for that City, when the Steward, Sir James Graham, gave the health of Sir Arthur Wellesley, an officer rose and declared that he would not drink the health of a General who had disgraced England.

That Sir Arthur Wellesley was fortunate in throwing the blame from his own shoulders on to his superiors in command, there can be little doubt, as notwithstanding the assertion of his friends, it is not possible to consider the signature of such a man in the situation that he then held, as a mere matter of official duty.

If a General is superseded in his command in the hour of victory he does not become a mere aide-de-camp or secretary to the officer by whom he has been superseded. In conducting a negociation, he stands rather in the position of an ambassador, who, though he may not have full power himself, is still held to be mainly responsible for the treaty that he signs. If Sir Arthur only signed the Convention officially, he ought, for the sake of his own character, at once to have remonstrated openly against all the terms of which he disapproved and which tarnished the splendour of his victory.

The obvious conclusion to be drawn from his signature of the Convention was that, the opportunity of following up the victory having been lost, the surrender of Lisbon and the evacuation of the whole of Portugal by the French troops were advantages too great to be rejected and left to the uncertain decision of arms.

But whatever may have been his private opinion, he was fortunate to rise superior to the disgrace which fell upon his commanding officers, probably because the victory of Vimiera must have served to open the eyes of our Government to the folly of submitting a man of his abilities to the command of Generals higher in rank but far inferior in military experience. It can but appear singular that a General should be superseded in his command in the very moment of battle, and that, before his successor had time to grasp the reins of power, the latter should in turn be himself succeeded, by yet another commander! It affords an extraordinary instance either of indecision or of intrigue in the Cabinet!... Suffice it to say that this Triumvirate produced as a monument to their glory the Convention of Cintra!

Following upon this event, Sir John Moore took command of the British troops in Portugal, and advanced into Spain to relieve the Spaniards. "There was," relates John Stanhope, "at this period no man in the army whose character stood higher than that of Sir John Moore. He was a man of the finest principles and of the most undaunted courage; by those under his command he was adored. In the hour of battle he had the most perfect self-possession and confidence both in his troops and in himself, which alone was sufficient to ensure success. Though not a fortunate general, he was esteemed one of the most able in the British service, and it gives me pleasure to add, that I have since heard French officers who served against him give the highest testimony in favour of his military conduct. But his political opinions, which were hostile to Government, added to the difficulty of his situation, and that circumstance undoubtedly weighed upon his mind.... It is to this very susceptibility, this want of moral courage and readiness to sacrifice his own reputation to the cause in which he was engaged, that his misfortunes are principally to be attributed."

The story of Moore's advance into Spain, as John Stanhope points out, "undoubtedly betrays, both on his part and on that of the Government, a most lamentable ignorance of the real state of that country. Because they heard of Spanish armies in the field, they idly supposed that these were armies in the accepted sense of the word and not a mere collection of peasants, undisciplined and chiefly unarmed, officered by men as ignorant of their profession as themselves and commanded by a General yet more incompetent.—And with armies so composed they actually sent a British force to co-operate! ... Sir John Moore had not been long in Spain before he discovered the mistake that had been committed and the danger of his situation; he saw at once that the course he ought to adopt was to retreat upon Portugal, fall back upon his resources and rely entirely upon his own judgment."

The story of his dilemma, and of how he was forced to act against his convictions, is well known to posterity. After dwelling at length upon the aspects of the situation, John Stanhope concludes:

He made a rapid march on Madrid and was on the point of attacking Soult when he learnt, by an intercepted dispatch, that Bonaparte was marching against him in person and that he was in immediate danger of being surrounded. The consequence was his famous retreat. As to the manner in which that was conducted, I have heard a French General, who was employed in the actual army by which Moore was pursued, speak of his enemy's tactics with boundless admiration. But perhaps the highest praise which can be accorded to it is that the pursuit, in the first instance, was conducted by Bonaparte in person, and subsequently by Soult and Ney under his express directions, and yet that Sir John Moore succeeded in effecting his escape without once being entraine, and crowned his efforts by the victory of Corunna—a victory which, sealed as it was with his own blood, ought to wash out the memory of any errors which he may have committed. [10]

Mrs Spencer-Stanhope to John Spencer-Stanhope. RAMSGATE, January 27th, 1809.

You will have experienced the greatest grief for the loss of our gallant defender, Sir John Moore—a great blow to this country. But while deploring his death, we must not forget to glory in what our brave troops performed, tho' 'tis grievous to think how many lives have been lost, and what the remaining army have gone through, without lamenting that this almost unexampled victory will be of so little use.

Last night this place was thrown into surprise and confusion by the arrival of one or two Transports with part of the 52nd, and of two or three other Regiments. The poor men were obliged to pass the night in the Transports as they could not come on shore till the orders came from Canterbury. Your father went last night to see some of them. He found a Serjeant who said they had no assistance from the Spaniards, but the accounts are so various I do not like to give too ready credit to what I hear, tho' I hear there is not the patriotism amongst them one should suppose.

Lady Lilford, [11] that beauty en masse (who is here with two daughters ill out of the four she has with her) was made very happy last night by the arrival of her Son who was in the 52nd, & of whom she had not been able to hear anything.

We have put on a black ribbon for Major Stanhope, son to Lord Stanhope. [12]

The Knoxs will have been in great anxiety, for they have a son in the 52nd. Knox would be just in time to receive him.

The excitement occasioned by news of the victory of Corunna and the lamentable death of Sir John Moore had scarcely abated when the attention of the public was arrested by a cause celebre which occasioned an unprecedented commotion.

The Duke of York, Commander-in-Chief, had for three years had a liaison with Mrs Mary Anne Clarke, a woman of humble origin, but great powers of fascination. It was at length discovered that she had been selling commissions in the army for extortionate sums and sinecures in almost every department of State, so that men of all classes, by her intervention, had procured places and privileges as a matter of favouritism or of merchandise. So much was this the case, that a footman whom she liked was given a commission in the Army, and a clergyman, for substantial payment, had secured the honour of preaching before the King. On January 27th, 1809, Colonel Wardle, M.P. for Okehampton, brought forward a motion of inquiry in the House, charging the Commander-in-Chief, not only with having been a party to such practices, but of actually participating in the proceeds. Instead of this inquiry taking place, as he had intended, before a secret Committee, so great was the belief in the Duke's innocence, that it was decided to give the investigation all the publicity possible, and that the witnesses should be examined before the whole House. This was singularly unfortunate, as the consequent scandal was great.

On February 14th, 1809, Mrs Stanhope wrote:—

The House sat till three this morning examining Mrs Clarke, who your father says is a lively, clever woman. End as it will, it must be disgraceful to the Duke of York. The King is much hurt at it. Except the floods, that is the only subject of conversation.

During the progress of the inquiry, Mrs Clarke appeared daily at the bar of the House exquisitely dressed, witty, impudent, and answering the attacks of the cross-examiners with a cleverness and fund of smart repartee which completely foiled them. On March 8th, Mrs Stanhope wrote again:—

It is very extraordinary that the day should arrive and Colonel Wardle never have signified what his Motion is to be. Tierney wrote to him the day before yesterday, to which the answer was that he should not be at the House, and referred him to Lord Folkstone who did not appear till the Debate was begun; therefore all is conjecture. This conduct on the part of Mr Wardle will be in favour of the Duke, who I doubt not will be honourably acquitted.

Mr Burrell says, what a fuss they make about the Duke's having what every man in Office must have—a clerk.

Mr Stephens, brother-in-law to Wilberforce, made a speech of four hours on the Commission business. For three he commanded attention. It will be published.

Although the verdict eventually given declared charitably that the Duke was exonerated from the charge of personal corruption, it was evident that he had been guilty of culpable neglect of his duty, that he had signed papers presented to him without troubling to read them, and had agreed to every arrangement made by Mrs Clarke, although knowing that she was making a traffic of such commissions.

The Duke, in consequence, was forced to resign his Commandership, although in 1811, he was, to the indignation of many people, reinstated in it by his brother, the Prince Regent.

Ere that date, however, another topic of conversation had been provided for the social world.

February 25th, 1809.

We are very quiet. To-night, we go to the Opera, and on Wednesday, another dance at Mrs Knox's and voila tout. Your father was at the House till four, but I cannot give you any account of the Debate, as our thoughts have been engaged by the fire at Drury Lane. The whole fabrick burned down in a very short time. Fortunately, as it is Lent, the Theatre was not open. It took fire during the rehearsal, and even some of the stalls are down. Charles has been there this morning and says there was only one life lost. It is the fifth theatre I remember being burnt. Canning was speaking when the account reached the House. The Debate was immediately interrupted, and it was proposed to adjourn, but Sheridan requested they would not postpone it for him, and it went on. Knox, with his good-humour, asked Anne if he was not to have a ticket in my box, but she told him, as he could not want one at present, he should have one from the beginning of April.

Your father and Lord James [13] go to the Speaker's to-night. We are grown very good and walk in Hyde Park every day. From Ramsgate, I hear that the place is full of poor Irish soldiers who are dying fast. I fear the mortality has been so great since the return of the Army that it will increase the loss of men largely.

The destruction of Drury Lane was rendered yet more tragic by the conditions under which the news of such a startling disaster reached those who were most affected by it. "On the 24th of February," Michael Kelly relates, "Mr Richard Wilson gave a dinner to the principal actors and officers of Drury Lane Theatre, at his house in Lincoln's Inn Fields. All was mirth and glee; it was about 11 o'clock when Mr Wilson rose and drank 'Prosperity and Success to Drury Lane Theatre.' We filled a bumper to the toast; and at the very moment when we were raising the glasses to our lips, repeating 'Success to Drury Lane Theatre' in rushed the younger Miss Wilson and screamed out, 'Drury Lane Theatre is in flames!' We ran into the Square and saw the dreadful sight. The fire raged with such fury that it perfectly illuminated Lincoln's Inn Fields with the brightness of day. We proceeded to the scene of destruction. Messrs Peake and Dunn, the Treasurers, dashed up the stairs, at the hazard of their lives, to the iron Chest in which papers of the greatest consequence were deposited. With the aid of two intrepid firemen they succeeded in getting the Chest into the street—little else was saved.

"I had not only the poignant grief of beholding the magnificent structure burning with merciless fury, but of knowing that all the scores of operas which I had composed for the Theatre, the labour of years, were then consuming. It was an appalling sight! And, with a heavy heart I walked home to Pall Mall. At the door I found my servant waiting for me, who told me that two gentlemen had just called, and, finding I was not at home had said, 'Tell your master when he comes home, that Drury Lane is now in flames, and that the Opera House shall go next.' I made every effort to trace these obliging personages, but never heard anything more of them.

"Mr Sheridan was in the House of Commons when the dreadful event was made known, and the Debate was one in which he was taking a prominent part. In compliment to his feelings, it was moved that the House should adjourn.

"Mr Sheridan said that he gratefully appreciated such a mark of attention, but he would not allow an adjournment, for 'Public duty ought to precede all private interest,' and with Roman fortitude he remained at his post while his Play House was burning." [14]

Sheridan, indeed, in the midst of such a misfortune, showed a nobility and disinterestedness which did him infinite credit. Forgetful of self, he begged the whole Theatrical Company to stand by each other, even at personal loss, till the Theatre could be rebuilt, pointing out that while the superior actors would have little difficulty in getting other engagements, the inferior ones were in far other case. "Let us," he urged, "make the general good our sole consideration. Elect yourselves into a Committee and keep in remembrance even the poor sweepers of the stage, who, with their children, must starve if not protected by your fostering care."

Although the cause of the disaster was never ascertained, a general impression prevailed that the Theatre had not been set on fire by accident, and the mysterious message left at the house of the unhappy manager seemed to confirm this suspicion. A report was also current that the Prince of Wales had some time previously received an anonymous letter telling him that all the principal public buildings should be burnt down one after the other. Innumerable fires, indeed, occurred, and many people were afraid of attending the Opera, since it was rumoured that a train of gunpowder had been found under it. Hence, doubtless, the "good-humoured" request of Mr Knox for a seat at the post of danger; and shortly afterwards another mention of him occurs. He had attended a Drawing-room held by the Queen, which had proved unusually crowded, owing to the sympathy that all were anxious to show for the Royal family on the acquittal of the Duke of York.

GROSVENOR SQUARE, March, 1809.

Knox was presented yesterday, and his Mamma takes him to introduce to all her acquaintances, which he does not like. Her last ball was much too full, she might have opened her whole house, therefore, there was no good dancing till just before supper, when the Musick was sent away, to the sore annoyance of Anne, who was just beginning the dance with Mr Fraser. The Knoxs say that Charlotte Bouverie is a painted thing, but Archy was charmed with her, and her dancing. He has given up talking of home, both he and Lord James dine here again, the 11th, with the Primroses and Mr Knox, Lady Milton, Lord Euston, and some others. The Drawingroom was very full yesterday, and I believe the Queen spoke to everybody; she thinks there are times to be civil.

I was surprised at Court to hear Knox say he thought it was everybody's duty to go to Court yesterday, as he supposed Queens would feel like other Mothers. I was delighted to hear so loyal a speech from one of that house, for though his father and his uncle are in possession of a place of L10,000 a year, I do not believe they are disposed that way.

Miss Shuckburgh [15] was presented yesterday, and as she has a borough, Knox thought she might be worth looking at, but the Borough and Twelve Thousand a year must be thought of, by any one disposed to think of her.

The Beaumonts are to be at Cheltenham on Monday, the Colonel is much better, a very large Blister has roused his senses. [16]

March 22nd.

You must put on a black coat for the Duchess of Bolton who died yesterday. [17]

March 30th, 1809.

Your brother Philip is by the kindness of the Duke of Montrose, the Master of the Horse, appointed Page to His Majesty. We are ordering him his smart uniform, sword, etc., for him to go to Court in, to kiss the King and Queen's hand, the week after next.

Marianne is busy learning to make shoes. Archy was so pleased that he has begun. The Shoemaker says he does very well, but he thinks Lord James [Murray] understands better. The Master is a Scotchman. What think you of Princess Charlotte learning the trade? It rather discomposes me, as it is not an amusement for a Queen of England.

A novel occupation was absorbing the attention of the fashionable world. The craze for making shoes suddenly obsessed Society. Shoemakers unexpectedly found themselves the most favoured of mortals. Lessons in their art were demanded on all sides and at all costs. They were so busy teaching it, they had little time to practise it. Men and women alike would forego engagements while they strove to perfect themselves in the new hobby; and the lady who, at balls, could boast that her feet had been shod by her own fair hands was an object of envy to all the less talented. [18]

The Stanhopes threw themselves with avidity into the new pastime, and still in existence are the little cards which they had printed in jest announcing that this new profession was "Carried on at Cannon Hall and Grosvenor Square." Mrs Stanhope apparently viewed the occupation with equanimity, save when it became the recreation of Royalty. Nevertheless it seems occasionally to have interfered seriously with her arrangements. That same month she writes:—

I have not seen Archy of some days, but I think I shall this morning as I have sent an Opera ticket for either him or Lord James yesterday, and they neither of them appeared. They are so busy learning to make shoes that they can think of nothing else, and all engagements are forgotten.

The new opera last night was excellent. The Chasse of Henri Quatre when we had Viva, Viva, Nostro Re, there was universal applause, and it was with spirit encored. The dancing excellent. Miss Gaylon does not dance after Saturday, as she is to marry a Mr Murray, a clergyman.

Knox is gone to Ireland; I believe heartily glad to get from his Mamma's introductions. When he was introduced to the Duke of Gloucester, H.R.H. inquired what profession he was brought up to—and at the reply exclaimed—"What, no profession!" Mrs Knox, who had presented him as an eldest son, coloured.

I must conclude with an extract from the papers:—

"A few days ago was married by special license, at St George's Church, Hanover Square, Mr Tho. Kay of Hickleton, near Doncaster, farrier and blacksmith, to Miss Sarah Walker, of Upper Grosvenor Street, London."

The enclosed paragraph I send you, because the lady is my laundry- maid, and is at this moment at the wash-tub. She chose to marry a day or two before I came to Town, to the rare annoyance of my footman, Robert, as there had long been an attachment between them, though she is old enough for his mother. She has now announced her decision to the fashionable world.

Meanwhile the visit to Ireland does not seem to have been altogether happy for Mr Knox. Various letters speak of his serious illness, and the multiplicity of the remedies resorted to in his aid rivalled those employed on behalf of Lady Elizabeth Lowther. On June 11th a certain Mr Maconochie, a Scotch friend of John Stanhope, wrote from Edinburgh:—

We had fine fun at Pitt's dinner. Lord Melville made a very good speech; we had good singing too. I went to the evening Collation on the King's Birthday where there was about 1,000 people, and the immortal memory of Mr Pitt drunk with three times three. The Whigs, I can assure you, are quite down in Scotland.

By the way when I speak of Whigs, you have alarmed me very much about poor Knox. What is his complaint? You have never told me, you only say he is in great danger—no wonder, poor fellow, with six physicians attending him.

Later, Mr Maconochie furnished John Stanhope with news of another common friend.

I was in Edinburgh on Wednesday last. Mrs Playfair has got three or four youths from the South, among whom is the aimable Lord John Russell [19] I suppose he intends to honour the speculative with his presence as Mrs Playfair told me she hoped I would not vote against him. I certainly shall not, as I think any thing of the appearance of a gentleman will be of invaluable service.

You must observe in the newspapers that old Sir William Douglas [20] is dead, and I am very sorry to say that owing to the negligence and delay of Frank Walker's papa, our friend William does not succeed nearly to what his Uncle intended, nor does he indeed get anything till after his father's death.

The state of the Case is this:—Sir William met his agent, Mr Walker, at Harrogate, this summer, and he then desired him to make out a settlement for him by which he left everything he should die possessed of to William. Mr Walker recommended him to delay it till he should get to Scotland that he might execute it formally. To this Sir William agreed. On his getting to London, however, he found himself so very unwell that he wrote to Mr Walker to say that he had no time to lose. Mr Walker, none the less, still delayed, and did not send the Deeds for above a fortnight, and Sir William had died two days before they reached Town. By the Will which is valid, and which was executed so long ago as the year 1790, his whole fortune is to be divided between three brothers, William's Papa, Mr Douglas (Sir James Shaw's partner), and one in America. The American one is since dead, leaving an only daughter, and there is a great question whether or not she will be entitled to anything.

But let the worst come to the worst, our friend will have the Castle Douglas estate entire, about L7,000 per annum, besides his father's estate of Orchardton, L5,000 a year more. This he will in a great measure owe to his uncle, Mr Douglas's, kindness, who says that as far as possible, the unexecuted Deed shall be complied with. In the meantime, you see, he would have nothing till his father's death.

But I have since heard that the old Boy is going to reside at Castle Douglas, and going to give his present place immediately to William.

Douglas is no doubt disappointed, as he has lost above L150,000 exclusive of what he will get, for actually the old Curmudgeon died worth, L4,000,000!

From such an event as the disposal of a fortune of four hundred thousand, the thoughts of Mrs Stanhope were again distracted by the news in the political world. A letter from Archibald Macdonald, dated July 23rd, 1809, echoes the current gossip respecting Lord Wellesley, afterwards Viceroy of Ireland, of whose movements with regard to the Continental campaign no one could speak with certainty. "Is he gone to Spain or not?" questioned Mr Macdonald. "I have heard it very confidently asserted that he is not going, and that all his gout, etc., is merely affected to prevent his being sent. In short, that he has changed all his plans and did not venture to stir one step. On the other hand, it is said, that he is become nearly quite imbecile." Meanwhile, although Sir Arthur Wellesley had obtained victories at Oporto and at Talavera, having been unsupported by the Spaniards he was obliged to retreat; and following on this, an expedition sent out by the British Government to Walcheren under Lord Chatham proved a terrible failure. The mutual recriminations of Canning and Castlereagh led to their resignation and resulted in a duel which took place between them on September 9th, and of which Archibald Macdonald writes:—

When we were at Glasgow Circuit the Lord Advocate shewed me Lord Castlereagh's own account of the duel, and really from it I think there is no doubt he behaved most infamously. Canning was certainly not in the least to blame. I hope the King will still take Lord Wellesley and him into the Cabinet.

Lord Melville intended to have gone to England in the beginning of the month; he has now, however, determined not to stir till everything is fixed, lest it should be said that he has gone a-place hunting.

In October Perceval succeeded the Duke of Portland as Prime Minister, First Lord of the Treasury and Chancellor of the Exchequer, while Lord Wellesley became Minister for Foreign Affairs. A rumour meanwhile reached the Stanhopes with regard to their young friend Mr Pemberton Milnes which roused their curiosity.

What say you in the South to the Administration? Will it be possible for them to go on? 'Tis strongly reported here that Milnes refused being Chancellor of the Exchequer. True it is that a King's Messenger was sent to him, and I believe that something which he declined was offered to him, but surely not that great office. I live in dread of the United Talents being called in! Lord Wellesley and Lord Melville might enable them to go on, but without them they will never do. I am still willing to hope that Peace is not signed and that Bonaparte may be ill.

The true story of the offer which was made to Pemberton Milnes was afterwards thus recorded by John Stanhope:—

Soon after he left Cambridge, Milnes made a bet of L300 to L500 with Kit Wilson, then a great character on the Turf—indeed for a long time Father of the Turf—that before seven years were over he should be Chancellor of the Exchequer. I do not mention this from mere rumour, for I heard Mr Wilson himself tell the story at dinner at Wentworth House, adding that the bet was drawn before the seven years were over. As will be seen by his letter to me, he was actually offered the Chancellorship of the Exchequer at five-and-twenty,—not perhaps exactly in the view in which he originally intended, as that place has now for years been considered as attached to the position of the Prime Minister, but still with a place in the Cabinet.

Robert Pemberton Milnes to Walter Spencer-Stanhope. October 23rd, 1809.

My Dear Sir,

As I feel as strongly as I can the kind expressions of friendship that we have interchanged, and as I flatter myself on this occasion you may find an interest in what perhaps may be thought a leading event in my life, I sit down to send you a line informing you of my having reached London, having received a letter from Perceval which would have made it personally disrespectful to him had I declined coming. On my arrival here, and after he had submitted in great detail the history of the Cabinet discussions, he closed by no less an offer than saying he had the King's orders to propose to me the situation either of Chancellor of the Exchequer or Secretary of War,—the latter without a seat in the Cabinet, if I wished to lessen the responsibility.

This was on Saturday, and I have employed the interval, not in reviewing the grounds upon which he stands as Prime Minister, which really on the first statement satisfied me there was no alternative, but in duly weighing my own situation and taking my measure (as it were) for my fitness for the Office. The result of my reflections has been to decline both offers. In so doing, you may imagine I had no ordinary feelings of personal vanity to contend with, nor a common self-satisfaction in thinking that the proposal had been made me. At the same time, dazzling as the place of a high Cabinet situation might have been, I do conscientiously assure you that I looked to my country more than to myself, and differing from Perceval in thinking that its interests would well be entrusted in my hands, I have answered decisively that I thought there were others who would conduct them better.

I believe that he proposes offering the Chancellorship of the Exchequer to Rose, and the Secretaryship of War to Palmerston.

In all this business, however well or ill determined on my part, you will be glad to hear that I think Perceval's case quite a triumphant one, and such as, when well stated to Parliament, will meet with sure support.

I write in the greatest hurry.

I am, dear Sir, Yours most faithfully,

ROB. P. MILNES.

The tradition of this famous bet has long been related and disputed. The incident was one of national importance, for it was the refusal of Mr Milnes to accept this brilliant offer pressed upon him by Perceval which gave Lord Palmerston admission into the Ministry, and started him on a career which finally led him to the Premiership. Lord Palmerston's Maiden Speech in the House was made in reply to one by Mr Milnes.

In Mrs Milnes's Diary, there is given the following account of the reception of the offer by her husband:—

One morning when we were at breakfast a King's Messenger drove up in a post-chaise-and-four with a despatch from Mr Perceval, offering Mr Milnes the choice of a seat in the Cabinet, either as Chancellor of the Exchequer or Secretary of War. Mr Milnes immediately said "Oh no! I will not accept either. With my temperament I should be dead in a year." I knelt and entreated that he should, and represented that it might be an advantage to our little boy, please God he lived, but all was to no purpose, and he went up to London to decline the most flattering and distinguished compliment ever known to have been paid to so young a man. [21]

Immediately after Christmas, as was their custom, the Stanhopes returned to London, and 1810 found them once more resuming their life in Grosvenor Square.

Mrs Spencer-Stanhope. February 27th, 1810.

London is not yet gay. Of Politicks, whether the present Ministers can stand seems doubtful. Lord Chatham in his examination throws blame on the Navy; his having presented a paper to the King without any communication with the other Ministers, has made sad work. The business in the House is every day, and all day, and all night.

I have not seen any of your friends yet. Miss Acklom is not yet come. The body of Mr Eden [22] is found, & though he had been so long in the water, some Bank Notes were found perfect in his pocket.

Sir T. Gascoigne [23] and Sir C. Turner [24] both dead, the former has left his fortune to the Olivers, and failing them and their issue to Lord Fitzwilliam—very distant, if any relation.

Sir C. Turner, his house, stud, and plate at Newmarket to his groom there; everything else, for ever, to Lady Turner.

Honoria Blake has married Captain Cadogan—amiable and poor. Lord and Lady Barnard to live at the Duchess of Bolton's old house—the two Lords of that name so near will make a confusion.

March 20th, 1810.

There are more girls of high fashion just come out than has been known for many years.

London, I never knew so dull.... I hear of no matches, the flirtations have not yet begun.

March 27th, 1810.

Ministers have much to do this week. The Walcheren Debate came on yesterday and is to last Tuesday; Wednesday they repose from their labours, and Thursday and some say Friday the Debate is to last.

We have sent to Mr Knox for the numbers, he came home at one, and he thought there would be no division. I suppose this question will decide the fate of the Ministers.

There was a very interesting debate the other day on a statute, precluding all men who have written on hire for newspapers from becoming Members of Lincoln's Inn. A lawyer present described a case in which a young man of the highest expectations, most distinguished education, might be driven by necessity to accept of such an offer for existence. After enlarging with great feeling on such a case, he concluded by saying he had not described an imaginary situation, but his own, thirty years before. The applause of the House was excessive. I wish you may meet with the speech for it was very interesting.

Sir F. Burdett has published a letter to say that the House of Commons have no right to imprison Gale Jones. [25] There is to be a debate upon it. I fear his conduct will do much mischief. His letter is addressed to his Constituents.

Pole Carew got drunk at Oxford and made such a riot he was sent to the Castle. Think of Wentworth (Beaumont) coming from Cambridge to have a tooth out without leave!



April, 1810.

Yesterday early I went into the Park to see between 4,000 & 5,000 Cavalry pass in Review before the Commander-in-Chief. The sight was highly gratifying, the morning beautiful, & as they entered from the Kensington Barracks & went down the Ride, all the carriages went up the drive, several open carriages and a large concourse of people both on foot & horseback. It was well-timed, as this morning there is to be a Meeting of the Electors of Westminster in Westminster Hall to address, I believe, the Commons for having deprived them of one of their Members, but the sight of the army yesterday will, I doubt not, keep all quiet.

Sir F. Burdett is going to Law with the Speaker on the illegality of his Warrant. Thursday, the Foot Troops are all to be reviewed in the Park, the number about 17,000. Major Gibbs and his Regiment are on guard in the Square.... Since Sir F. Burdett was safe in the Tower the town has been perfectly quiet & all parties in the House join to condemn his conduct.

May 10th.

This year there is quite a new Ball set. Mrs Beaumont's was the best of the year—a child's Ball from 8 to 10, and then a grown-up one, two suppers, magnificently done, never too full, nor too hot. I had a few people before, only 14 or 15 women and plenty of men. They danced to the Pianoforte.

I invited Lady Eleanora Dundas. [26] Our visiting arose from an odd mistake. She called here and believed herself at Lady Dalkeith's. I, somewhat surprised at her invasion, of course, as in politeness bound, returned her visit—at which she must have been much astonished, being still unaware she had called on me. When she came to return my return-visit, she was not a little shocked and surprised to discover where she had actually been when she supposed herself to be calling upon Lady Dalkeith! Archy says La Belle [27] is to marry the son of Picture Davis, at whose house they are, and who has bought Lord Leicester's house.

London is very gay now. Mrs Knox has contributed more to its gaiety than anybody yet. Last night she had another excellent dance downstairs in two rooms. I was there till five, Esther (Acklom) with me, the little Lord still perseveres, but I am told it will not do.

Archy has got a capital house, elegantly furnished, in Connaught Place, close to Tyburn, with a fine view of the Park.

May 22nd, 1810.

To-day all the world are wishing it may continue fair, as Lady Buckinghamshire gives a Venetian Breakfast. I scarcely expect she will find the world fools enough to mask by daylight.

The last week has not been gay, we have had nothing but dinners and assemblies.

Lord James Murray was married on Saturday, [28] and this day at twelve Miss Dashwood gives her hand to Lord Ely, [29] all her first cousins to attend to the amount of forty. I hope he will behave well to her for she is truly amiable.

To-day Esther goes to the Breakfast, to the Opera to-night with us, and then to sup at Devonshire House with Lady Caroline Wortley. I see no beau likely to succeed at present.

Towards the close of 1810 the mental affliction under which George III. had so long suffered became more pronounced, and was declared by his physicians to be incurable. In the February following, the Bill was passed by which the Prince of Wales became King in all but name; and forthwith, in the worst possible taste, he determined to celebrate the inauguration of his regency by a fete at Carlton House, which should surpass all previous entertainments given by him in its unrivalled magnificence. The selfishness which prompted such callous indifference to the condition of his father was accentuated by the fact that he fixed upon the date of the old King's birthday as an appropriate anniversary on which to hold this public rejoicing at the incapacity of the unfortunate monarch; while the occasion was rendered still more memorable by the fact that from this great festivity, not only was the Princess of Wales perforce excluded and Mrs Fitzherbert, by a studied slight on his part, prevented from attending, but even the unoffending Princess Charlotte, now verging on womanhood and panting to taste that gladness of youth of which she had known so little, was denied participation in the gaiety for which she ardently longed.

None the less, all other members of the world of fashion went to the entertainment, which proved one of surpassing brilliancy. The night was fine, and the company, which began arriving soon after nine o'clock, stayed till the small hours of the following morning. The walks adjacent to the Palace were enclosed and converted into temporary rooms, glittering with lights and festooned with flowers. The supper took place at two o'clock in the morning in an exquisite grotto of rare exotics, and along the centre of the table, which was 200 feet long, a river of pure water flowed from a beautiful fountain at its head. Gold and silver fish disported themselves in its limpid waters, while along its banks were ranged cool green moss and aquatic flowers. In contrast with this scene of simulated sylvan beauty, the daily papers relate with awe, if with some lack of humour, that "the gold and silver plate used at the fete amounted to seven tons. Nearly a wagon load of it belonged to the late Sir W. Pulteney and was borrowed for the occasion." In the midst of this astonishing display, surrounded by his most favoured friends and waited on by sixty servitors, sat the Regent, resplendent in his finest clothes and swelling in the plenitude of his new importance. To him it mattered nothing that his daughter was breaking her heart in the dullness of Windsor, that his wife was chafing in her seclusion at Blackheath, or that the woman who loved him knew herself publicly humiliated by his attitude towards her; yet the condemnation meted out freely to his conduct, even by those who accepted his hospitality, finds no echo in the correspondence of Mrs Stanhope, who with tireless energy attended the royal fete previous to starting on the long journey to Cannon Hall.

CANNON HALL, July 1st, 1811.

The day before I left Town I attended the most magnificent fete I ever saw, given by the Prince Regent. It was to have been on the King's Birthday, but the preparations could not be ready in time. Three Thousand people were invited and there was room at supper for all, the tables were in the temporary rooms in the garden, and it was more like Vauxhall than anything I know to compare it to. All our princes, the Duke of York & Princess Sophia & the Duke of Gloucester were there.

We did not get home till 1/2 past 5 & started on our journey to Yorkshire at 3. I hear the public are to be admitted to see the Hebris of our feast.

Unfortunately, this well-intentioned decision on the part of the Prince Regent was attended with a dire result. "The condescension of the Prince," relate the papers, "in extending the permission to view, for three days longer, the arrangements for the late fete at Carlton House, has nearly been attended with fatal consequences. Wednesday being the last day of the public being admitted, many persons took their station at the gates so early as seven o'clock. By twelve the line of carriages reached down St James's Street, as far as Piccadilly, and the crowd of pedestrians halfway up the Haymarket. At three o'clock the crowd had so much increased, that the Guards were forced to give way; several ladies were unfortunately thrown down and trampled upon; and we regret to learn that some were seriously hurt, among whom were Miss Shum of Bedford Square, and a young lady, daughter of a gentleman at the British Museum. Another young lady presented a shocking spectacle; she had been trodden on till her face was quite black from strangulation, and every part of her body bruised to such a degree as to leave little hopes of her recovery."

"I hear," wrote Mrs Stanhope from her safe retreat in Yorkshire, "that no one knew what to do nor how to disperse the people. At last, the Dukes of Kent and Cumberland ordered ladders to be brought, and, climbing up on to the wall of the court-yard, they personally announced loudly that the Prince Regent had given orders that the house should be shut up and no more people admitted. There were numbers wounded, however, before the immense crowd could get away. What a mercy Esther Acklom did not go, as I know that she intended doing!"

Esther Acklom, to whom constant reference is made in the correspondence of Mrs Stanhope, was the only daughter and heiress of Richard Acklom, Esq., of Wiseton Hall, Nottinghamshire. She was much sought after in society on account of her reputed wealth; and although stout and somewhat plain in appearance, she was a decided flirt, and extremely fond of amusement.

Partly owing to the fact that her mother was in delicate health, partly to the proximity of her father's house in Lower Grosvenor Street to that of Mr Stanhope, she was the constant associate of the young Stanhopes, and attended many balls and routs chaperoned by their mother. There was, indeed, much to recommend her companionship. Clever, well-read, lively in manner and witty in conversation, she was invariably agreeable, despite the fact that her speech was apt to be too frank and her determination too unswerving to render her universally popular. Of her extraordinary decision of character, indeed, her life furnishes more than one striking instance, and an illustration of this may be given, which occurred when she was but fifteen years of age.

She was then journeying abroad with her parents, when, in common with some other English travellers, they were detained at Vienna on its capture by Napoleon. The danger was imminent. Once plunged into a foreign prison, it was impossible to say when or by what means they might escape thence. In such a dilemma none knew what to do or to advise; but Esther Acklom was equal to the occasion. Hearing that the military commandant was Marshal Mortier, who had been known to her family in England, she took her maid, and went off to interview him. She found the great man seated in the Hotel de Ville, surrounded by a large staff, listening to the complaints of the burghers and administering justice. She presented her petition, but he scarcely glanced at it, and roughly bade her to stand aside till others had been attended to who were of more importance. Her maid, terrified at his manner, implored her young mistress to come away, but Esther, nothing daunted, stood her ground. She had shrewdly observed that an aide-de-camp of the Emperor was by the side of the marshal, and concluding that this fact might account for his manner, she patiently awaited the turn of events. Nor was she wrong. In course of time the aide-de-camp departed, and the commandant then politely inquired in what he could serve her. She explained, and, evidently struck by her courage, he further asked in the kindest manner how many passes she required. Again she had presence of mind to perceive the drift of his question, and to see that he was anxious, if she so desired, to aid her friends as well as herself. She boldly answered, three, in the hope of serving two English families of her father's acquaintance. To her delight, the passes were at once handed to her, and within a few hours the three carriages were hastening from Vienna.

Even then her adventures were not at an end. An English family, who had failed in securing a pass, decided, as a forlorn hope, to follow in the wake of the other carriages on the chance that, in the confusion of so many vehicles leaving the city, they might effect their departure under cover of the passports of their friends. As was to be expected the attempt failed. The Official on guard allowed the three carriages with passes to drive through the gates, but the fourth was at once arrested and ordered to return. Vainly did its frightened occupants entreat and expostulate, the man was obdurate, and they had given up all for lost, when the clever girl who had secured the safety of the rest of the party came to their rescue.

Thrusting her head out of the carriage in which she was seated, Esther looked back at them with well assumed anger. "Why on earth don't you go back to your hotel and fetch your pass," she cried impatiently, "instead of giving all this trouble? It is absurd! We will, of course, wait here till your return!" So convincing was her indignation, and so complete her assurance, that the Official was deceived. The fourth carriage received permission to pass the barrier, and the fugitives hastened to make good their escape, showering blessings on the young girl whose coolness and presence of mind had saved them.

A character of so much individuality and resource doubtless appealed strongly to the young Stanhopes, and Esther, besides being their constant companion in London, was often their guest at Cannon Hall. Between the years 1810-1811, mention is made of an incident which occurred during one of these visits, and which in a striking manner serves to emphasise the gulf between a past and a present century.

An advertisement had been issued in Wakefield announcing that, on a given day, a man would fly from the Tower of the Parish Church to the Bowling- green in Southgate. Much local interest had been roused by this statement and wagers had been made upon the practicability or impracticability of the attempt. The Stanhopes had no thought of attending this performance, but they happened to be driving in the neighbourhood with Esther Acklom on the day appointed, and their lively guest, with her usual wilfulness, insisted that they should make their coach pause near the Church in order that she might witness the occurrence.

At the appointed time, accompanied by some other men, the adventurer appeared. He stood for a moment in view of the crowd, outlined darkly against the Tower of the Church, then, stepping cautiously off the roof, he apparently committed himself to space, and was pushed off on his voyage by his companions. With his arms waving to and fro like wings he slid slowly towards a tall pole upon the bowling-green, while the vast mob below watched his flight with breathless anxiety. The fact was that a fine rope was attached from the Tower of the Church to the stake, and a piece of board with a deep grove underneath having been securely strapped to the "aviator," the groove was then balanced upon the rope, and the action of the man's arms sufficed to set it in motion. The venture, however, was sufficiently perilous to sustain the interest of a crowd who must presumably have been cognisant of the existence of the rope, and when the successful adventurer reached the ground in safety, he was greeted with heart-whole acclamations from an enchanted crowd, in which lively Esther Acklom joined.

A more important incident in the life of Miss Acklom was likewise due to her acquaintance with the Stanhopes. But we must first glance at the train of events which indirectly gave rise to it.



CHAPTER V

ANECDOTES FROM A PRISONER OF NAPOLEON

1810-1812

John Stanhope had early evinced a desire to travel. His most youthful venture had been a tour in Wales, whilst his next excursion, the tour to the Hebrides already referred to, had been of a more daring nature; indeed, a man, in those days, who had made such a journey, was looked upon as a traveller of some experience. Not content, however, with having acquired this reputation, young Stanhope, when not yet twenty-three years of age, determined to extend his researches further afield.

He was anxious to investigate the antiquities of Greece, about which little was then known, and having imbued his friend Tom Knox with his own enthusiasm the latter decided to accompany him. On the 29th of January 1810 the two young men therefore embarked on board the ship Vestal, which was carrying Mr, afterwards Sir Charles Stuart [1] as Minister, out to Lisbon.

It was a singularly exciting time to venture upon the continent. The very atmosphere seemed permeated with terror of Napoleon. Each country was on the defensive, struggling openly or surreptitiously to preserve its threatened liberty; while the one topic of conversation was the defeat or the success of armies. Thus the correspondence of the young travellers, so eagerly awaited and devoured by the family in Grosvenor Square, serves to throw many interesting sidelights upon continental existence during a period of history with regard to which interest can never wax cold. [2]

John Stanhope and his friend for some time wrote from Lisbon, where, under the auspices of the new Minister, they mixed in the best society, and met the most prominent civil and military residents of the day. Among others, they saw a great deal of General, afterwards Lord, Beresford [3] and were much struck by the discipline of the Portuguese troops under his command.

A field-marshal in the British Army, William Carr Beresford, had, in 1807, been appointed Governor and Commander-in-Chief of the island of Madeira. Subsequent to the Battle of Corunna, at which he was present, he was sent back to Portugal to take command of the troops there, and at the head of 12,000 men he drove back the French. Of the difficulties, however, with which he had to contend in his stupendous task, John Stanhope gives a graphic description.

"At the time," he relates, "when Beresford was appointed to the command of the Portuguese army, it was conspicuous for a lack of discipline which in these days would hardly be credited. To say that it was the worst in Europe would hardly give any idea of its degradation. The Portuguese soldiers were a weak, worthless rabble, without pluck or organisation, and practically useless for the campaign. Nor was the Government of the country in a much better state; a long series of misgovernment had introduced every species of corruption and deteriorated the character of the people."

But the English general at once took a characteristic method of dealing with a complex situation, and produced order out of chaos in the following drastic manner.

"Lord John Russell," relates John Stanhope, "once told me an anecdote of Beresford's first advent in Portugal, which serves so well to illustrate his character that I cannot do better than retail it.

"Upon one of the first occasions of his taking the field with the Portuguese troops, an officer, after having been despatched to a particular post, came galloping back to him.

"'Why are you come here?' asked the marshal, surprised.

"'The fire was so hot,' the man exclaimed, 'that if I had remained there a moment longer, I should certainly have been shot.'

"'Shot! but, to be sure, it was to be shot that I sent you there! Now, I will give you fresh directions. I advise you to give in your resignation, otherwise you must go back whence you came and be shot, or else be tried by court-martial, which will come to the same thing!'

"The officer, who was of high rank, took the hint; he gave in his resignation, and the other Portuguese officers learnt that under the English commander it was necessary to make up their minds to be shot."

"Further," John Stanhope adds, "Beresford cashiered the field officers of every regiment in the service. The fury that prevailed in the country at such a measure may be better imagined than described. It was believed that thousands of stilettoes would be raised against the tyrant Beresford. He heard both threats and murmurs with perfect apathy, and immediately put at the head of each regiment young officers belonging to our service, distinguished for their spirit and decision. Raised to a rank above their highest expectations, these young men were anxious to justify his choice by their conduct, as well as to distinguish themselves; and gloriously did they succeed. To content myself with mentioning one instance, I will relate the case of Colonel Campbell, an officer whom I know well here in Lisbon.

"Campbell was appointed to the command of one of the regiments of cavalry, and the first breach of discipline which came under his notice was that of a private striking an officer. Campbell determined to make a signal example of the culprit. He was promptly warned, however, that when, upon some previous occasion, a similar event had taken place, on the officer then in command attempting to inflict punishment upon the delinquent, the entire Regiment mutinied. Campbell, on hearing this, came to a quick decision. He advanced and faced his battalion with a pistol in each hand. He made them a brief speech in which he pointed out how glaring a breach of discipline it was for a private to strike his superior; and he ended by saying that he understood in a similar case the regiment had mutinied. 'I,' he concluded quietly, 'am determined that this man shall be punished; if you intend to mutiny, you must begin with me. I am perfectly ready to receive you.' He then cocked his pistols and waited imperturbably in expectation of the result. No one moved. Awed by his manner and his threat, not a murmur escaped from the soldiers who confronted him, and Campbell's influence over his men was permanently established, so that he soon had the satisfaction of seeing them one of the best disciplined regiments in the service.

"Marshal Beresford, who was capable of selecting his subordinates with such perspicuity, did not fail to set them an example which roused their emulation, so that the soldiers soon became proud of their own discipline, and consequently attached to their officers and devoted to their marshal, till the latter, adored by the army, is become completely dictator of Portugal, his word is law, and the regency is little better than the shadow of Government. Moreover, the marshal acts his part to perfection, riding about the town in semi-regal state, surrounded by a brilliant staff. The man who has accomplished all this may not be a genius, but he has a right to be considered an extraordinary man, a man of the highest courage and energy.

"To show the extent of his power and the coolness with which he exercises it, I have only to instance the case of the embargo laid upon horses which are private property. At the instigation of Beresford, an order was issued for all the horses in the kingdom above a certain height to be taken for the use of the army, the Government allowing a fixed price for each. One of the first persons against whom the order was enforced was the Prince Regent; his carriage, under the charge of some officers of his household, was actually stopped in the town and the horses taken out of the vehicle, which was left standing in the middle of the street. The Portugese at once recognized that if the order was executed so strictly against the Regent himself, his subjects were not likely to be treated with more consideration, and the entire nation submitted with a good grace to the inevitable. Portugal, in short, in the manner in which all deferred to the dictation of Beresford, affords an extraordinary proof of how much may be done towards regenerating a people by the hand of a vigorous ruler."

The Regent, however, if ignominiously bereft of horses, appears to have remained the owner of innumerable unique, if useless carriages, which, on one occasion, John Stanhope was taken to see.

"I was extremely amused," he writes, "with these curious specimens of ancient magnificence. Some of the coaches were literally rooms on wheels. They were extraordinarily cumbrous, covered with gilding and lined with velvet, embroidered in gold. Many of them were decorated with pictures on the panels and large gilt figures in front of the boxes. There were, however, some of a more modern construction which had been built in Paris, and one of these was pointed out to me as celebrated for having conveyed the English generals on their entry into Lisbon after the famous Convention of Cintra. Upon this occasion, I understand, it broke down and became the cause of much wit among the generals as to whether it was their personal weight or the weight of their dignity that caused their fall. Had they been superstitious, they might have feared that it was ominous of a yet greater fall!"

At length the two young travellers determined to journey on into Spain; but in order to accomplish this, it was necessary first to buy horses—no easy matter, since all that were available had been seized for the army. After considerable delay Stanhope heard of a pretty little black Andalusian, which belonged to a Spanish gentleman willing to sell it, and lost no time in going to see the animal. He found that it furnished one of the most quaint instances which he had yet come across of the intense hatred to the French then universally cherished. "I took a great fancy to it," he says, "from a curious trick which it had been taught; one, however, which would have proved very inconvenient to me. The moment it heard anyone speak French, it put back its ears and flew at him! As I wished to try this intelligent animal before I made my bargain, I returned to give orders that my saddle should be sent to its stables; but in the meantime, to my great disappointment, the servant in charge sold it to another man, unknown to his master, and for a less price than I should have been willing to give for such a remarkable animal."

At last, having procured the necessary steeds, the travellers started on their journey, encountering many adventures and seeing many interesting sights by the way. On one occasion they were quartered for some days upon a poor Captain Major, whose habitation was a humble hut in a singularly lonely district. Yet they found that he was a learned man, who had his small but treasured library; and in the latter John Stanhope was further astonished to find that one of the volumes which its owner considered most priceless was a Latin translation of Young's Night Thoughts.

"It is a curious thing," he remarks, "that this work, held in general in but little estimation in England, is invariably one of those most admired throughout the entire Continent, not only by the Portugese, but particularly by the lively Spanish."

It was men of the rank of their host, he adds, who had given occasion to an amusing mistake on his part upon his first arrival in the country: "According to the Portugese pronunciation," he writes, "Major sounds like Moor or More. The first time I met a Captain Moor, I was much surprised at finding a man of that name in Portugal; but when at every turn I found another Captain Moor, I could no longer refrain from expressing my astonishment at meeting with so many of that family, and all Captains! The laugh that was raised at my expense may be imagined!"

The two young travellers at length reached Cadiz, which was then besieged by the French army. Almost one of the first things which struck John Stanhope with regard to the city, he records as a feat both novel and ingenious:—

Situated as Cadiz is, almost in the midst of the sea, the constant breaking of the waves was sufficient to endanger, not only the walls of the city, but even the neighbouring houses. A Spanish engineer, Don Thomas Minoz, undertook to provide a curious security against so alarming a danger. He effected his purpose by placing, at certain intervals, large planks extending some distance into the sea; these intervals he filled up with stones and cemented with a peculiar species of mortar which had the advantage of becoming hardened by the effects of time and exposure to weather; the wall above he built in the shape of a bow; by these means the force of the waves was effectually broken. But he met with those difficulties that so frequently are opposed to the efforts of men of distinguished genius. His labours were, in the first instance, counteracted by the misguided parsimony of his employers, and subsequently, when completed, the work was neglected and not kept in repair, in opposition to his express injunctions, so that a great part of the cliff has since fallen.

The morning following his arrival, young Stanhope was taken to be introduced to Admiral Purvis, then in command of the fleet off that coast; and, having received from him an invitation to dinner, he returned on shore to pay his respects, in the interval, to the Minister, Mr Wellesley. On again boarding the ship he found the Admiral occupied in studying through a telescope a vessel then in sight, which to Stanhope's great excitement he explained was the Ville de Paris returning to England with Lord Collingwood. Overjoyed at the unexpected prospect of seeing, not only his kinsman, but also his brother William, young Stanhope begged to be allowed to accompany Admiral Purvis in paying a visit to the approaching ship. Accordingly they snatched a hurried meal and set off in a small boat. Scarcely, however, had they embarked than they were greeted by the tidings that the vessel which they proposed to visit bore, not the brave Admiral returning to his native land, but his lifeless corpse, worn out with an arduous service sustained too long.

They immediately tacked about and returned to the ship they had just quitted, and thence young Stanhope watched the stately Ville de Paris as she approached over the shining water, while he thought sadly of the gallant life which had thus ended, and of the grief which the news that had thus strangely become known to him would be learnt, many weeks later, by his family in Grosvenor Square. The following day he saw his brother William, now a sturdy youth grown out of all recognition; then the brothers parted once more, William eventually to return to England, his naval career ended, and John to experience a fate which he then little foresaw.

He, with his companion Knox, remained some time in Cadiz, taking great interest in the operations of attack and defence, into which they were initiated by their friend, the celebrated Lord Macduff, [4] an exceptionally keen and gallant soldier, who, however, apparently owed his predilection for war to a singularly horrible event in his life.

"A tragic episode," writes John Stanhope, "has rendered the excitement of active service an absolute necessity to him. His delight in battle arises solely from the loss of a beloved wife, and sadly calculated was the end of the beautiful Mrs Macduff to make the most serious impression on a husband's mind, all the more so, perhaps, in that so fully did she merit that epithet beautiful which was always attached to her name. She had a Newfoundland dog, which one day leapt up in apparent affection, and catching her nose, gave it a bite, which not only seemed little more than a scratch, but as the dog had just sprung out of the water no suspicion attached to him. After some lapse of time, however, Mrs Duff was seized with symptoms of hydrophobia, and soon fell a victim to that dreadful disorder. Such a death for anyone cannot be contemplated without a shudder, but in the case of one in the full pride of youth and exceptional beauty, it appears, if possible, more inexpressibly horrible; and her unhappy husband has subsequently striven to find even a temporary oblivion of it in the greatest of earthly excitements—the din of arms."

Mixing with the most interesting society of Spain, enjoying many novel experiences and encountering many famous people, the days of the young travellers passed pleasantly. The Spaniards at this date cherished the most profound admiration for the English. "They," explains John Stanhope, "consider an Englishman as something superhuman, and, indeed, are anxious that 'George terceo' should come to reign over them." He was also much struck by the "devotion of the entire nation to the forms of their religion"; and he adds: "There is, perhaps, nothing more striking amongst the numerous ceremonies of this superstitious people than the effect produced by what is usually known as the Angelus. On a fine evening in summer, when the Alameda is crowded with Spaniards of all classes, enjoying the delights of a Southern sky and the pure breezes of the sea, at one moment all is noise and animation, the eyes, the tongues, the faces of the fair Andalusians are all in motion and the Spanish caballeros all devoted to the terrestrial object of their adoration: on a sudden, the Angelus sounds, the whole babel stops, a profound stillness falls like a cloud over the gay scene, and everyone remains totally absorbed in prayer so long as the sound of the bell is heard. It is scarcely possible to convey any adequate idea of the effect produced by the instantaneous silence of so vast a crowd. The moment the bell ceases, each addresses a salutation to the person whom chance has thrown near him, and the stillness—so striking, so solemn—is as suddenly broken by the recommencement of all the former pandemonium and a deafening noise of eager tongues.

"Yet in Spain a religion of forms and ceremonies seems to have been substituted for a religion of Christian purity and morality. Although the large majority of the population are devoted to their Church, they yet imagine that if they strictly observe her ceremonies, fast rigidly, and go regularly to confession, they have done all that is requisite. The consequence of this state of things is the prevalence of the greatest profligacy, which is fostered by the innumerable herd of monks who infest the country. Common prostitutes sell indulgences which exempt from fasting in Lent; and by what means they have obtained possession of these it is not difficult to conjecture."

Another great drawback which John Stanhope found to life at Cadiz at that date was the prevalence of a condition of society which entailed that each Spanish lady should have her cortejo, or devoted attendant. "Behind each lady who smiles at you," he explains, "there stands—not a duenna, such a one as is represented on our stage—but a grim, black, ugly grandee, ready to avenge with the stiletto every glance you may chance to give to the lady of his love."

Nevertheless, Stanhope was enveigled into a silent flirtation which he describes thus amusingly:

"Immediately opposite to my habitation are two houses belonging to two merchants, who are either brothers or brothers-in-law. The one has an only daughter, who cannot boast of much beauty, the other has two daughters, the one a very pretty girl of a style rather unusual in Spain, for she has auburn hair, while her sister is a thorough Spaniard, a lively little thing with Andalusian eyes.

"A general flirtation was soon established between us; the heiress made me a sign every morning, upon which I descended into the street; she then threw out a most beautiful rose, which I picked up, and, pressing to my lips, returned to my balcony. This was certainly something like swearing allegiance, but I must confess that the fair cousin with the auburn hair, who lived next door to her, was the real object of my admiration; she was very modest and shy, and would only favour me with an occasional smile, but there was a sweetness in that timid, blushing smile which surpassed that of all the roses of Andalusia. She used also to serenade me on the piano by playing God save the King, to which I responded politely by playing some of the national airs of Spain. This silent flirtation continued for some time, when one day while I was on my balcony, I was not a little surprised to find standing beside me the servant from the house of the modest little lady with auburn hair. He at once accosted me in French, and, sans ceremonie, asked me which of the two young ladies I admired. "It is not that one, I am sure!" said he, pointing to the lady of the roses. "No," said I, somewhat ungratefully, and pointed to her fair cousin. The servant instantly disappeared; a conscious smile from the beauty rewarded me for my preference, but—no more roses!"

An episode of a very different nature is described in another letter from Cadiz. "An extraordinary execution took place the other day," he writes; "extraordinary both from the manner in which it was carried out and the circumstances under which it took place. The unfortunate man was strangled by means of a machine of a new construction. It was an iron case or collar that was fitted round his neck and drawn closer by means of a screw till it occasioned strangulation. I did not follow the general example and attend the execution, as I did not feel sufficient curiosity about this new instrument of death to tempt me to witness so distressing a sight.

The sufferer was one of the principal judges in Madrid, and had rendered himself peculiarly odious by the severity which he had exercised towards the patriots, many of whom he had condemned to death. The guerrillas had, in consequence, signalled him out as their victim, and nothing can perhaps better illustrate the extraordinary state of Spain at this moment and the power of the guerrillas than the daring nature of their attempt and the success with which it was attended.

Having received information that the judge was to be present at a ball given on the occasion of the marriage of one of his servants at a village a short distance from Madrid, a guerrilla chief determined to take advantage of the opportunity which this offered. He accordingly made his appearance at the ball, and accosting the judge, requested him to come at once to the door of the house, as he had something important to communicate to him. No sooner had the judge reached the door than he was seized, placed upon horseback, and hurried off. From the actual vicinity of the capital, in a part of the country thickly occupied by troops, he was thus carried away, and finally brought to Cadiz, where he was condemned to atone for his treachery by his death. Previous to his execution, he acknowledged the justice of his sentence, but declared that there are now in Cadiz many men far more deserving of punishment than himself, some of whom are actually in the employ of the Government."

At length John Stanhope decided that, in June, he would embark for Gibraltar, intending to proceed thence to Carthagena, Valencia and Majorca. At this juncture, however, Tom Knox, reluctantly listened to the persuasions of his family, who feared his inability to stand a hot climate, and decided to return home. How fortunate it was for himself that he decided to do so, events were subsequently to prove.

John Stanhope, in company with some other friends, next made an agreement with an English merchant to take them to Gibraltar. The man, however, played them false, and sailed without them; whereupon they took passage on board a wretched boat called the Liverpool Hero, on which they endured extreme discomfort. One of Stanhope's greatest wishes had been to set foot on the coast of Africa, but owing to the unseaworthy nature of the vessel on which they found themselves, combined with the extreme roughness of the weather, they were driven from the coast, and only after a most dangerous passage did they eventually arrive at Gibraltar. As they entered the bay, the first object which met their eyes was the ship in which they had originally intended taking their passage. She had only just dropped her anchor, and as they passed she hailed them. "On going on board," relates John Stanhope, "the captain gave us a detailed account of a most melancholy occurrence which had marked their voyage. Their few hours' advantage in starting had enabled them to effect what we had in vain attempted—the weathering Cape Espartel. There were on board the actual passengers who had cut us out of our berths. They had felt as anxious as I had done to plant their feet upon the coast of Africa. They accordingly got into a boat and landed. They were amusing themselves with walking a little way into the interior when a party of Moors, who had apparently been watching them, stole gently through the brushwood with which the coast was covered, and, getting between them and the coast, cut off their retreat. The Moors killed two of them, one being a boy, to whose head they deliberately put a gun and blew his brains out. The third they carried away captive.

"We could not help shuddering at the thoughts of our narrow escape. Had we fulfilled our original intention and occupied the berths which we had actually taken on board that vessel we should undoubtedly have been in the place of these unfortunate men, and should have experienced the horrible fate which befell them."

A strange illustration of the fluctuations of fortune peculiar to those days next came under the notice of young Stanhope, on his way to Carthagena. "We passed," he writes, "the house of a Spaniard whose history is singular enough. He was originally a poor peasant, but during the last war with England he happened to be upon an island near the coast, in company with one of his friends, when they observed two sailors land from an English vessel. They promptly concealed themselves so that they might observe the proceedings of these men without themselves being seen. The sailors whom they watched dug a hole, put something carefully into it, and then covered it over; after which they re-embarked.

"No sooner were they out of sight, than the two Spaniards came out from their place of hiding, and hastened to the spot, eager to ascertain what it could be that had been so mysteriously buried. Great was their delight when they dug up what proved to be a treasure of great value, a heavy bag of gold. They divided the spoil, and returned home wealthy men. Subsequently, however, one of them, either feeling scruples with regard to the possession of the booty or else in the due order of confession, unburdened himself to his priest, who at once impressed upon him the sinfulness of retaining the stolen treasure and the obligation of endeavouring to find the rightful owners and restoring it to them. The penitent, therefore, went to explain these views to his fellow-thief, who appearing fully convinced by such reasoning, at once promised to undertake on behalf of both himself and his friend the researches necessary for the restoration of the stolen property. Believing this assurance, the repentant man at once gave up to his friend his own share of the treasure, only to discover, when too late, that his less scrupulous comrade had not an intention of carrying out any such obligation, but having thus got possession of the whole of the gold, he kept it, and is now one of the richest and most influential men in this part of the country, while his more honest dupe is still a poverty-stricken peasant."

In short, as John Stanhope was soon to find to his cost, it was not an age when a sense of honour dictated the actions of the majority of men. It happened soon afterwards that, unable to procure a satisfactory passage to Majorca, Stanhope was constrained to embark upon a small vessel, the appearance of which was singularly unprepossessing. But untrustworthy as was the boat, its captain proved to him a greater source of danger. Ignoring the undertaking he had given to the young Englishman, he traitorously sailed for Barcelona, where he delivered up his passenger to the French authorities, and John Stanhope thus unexpectedly found himself doomed to the fate which Esther Acklom had so ingeniously escaped, that of being a prisoner of Napoleon.

After various vicissitudes, and having been for eight weeks confined in a dungeon in hourly expectation of death, he was at length ordered with other prisoners of war to the depot at Verdun. Part of the journey thither was accomplished on foot, part driving in a diligence. The weather was bitterly cold, and the windows of the vehicle, which on this account were perforce closed, were chiefly of wood, so that not only was the view excluded, but the greater part of the journey was passed in darkness.

During part of the time, his only compagnon de voyage was a French soldier, who had just obtained his conge and was returning home after a long period of foreign service. "Poor fellow," writes John Stanhope, "his happiness was unbounded! He could think and talk of nothing but the moment of his first arrival at home, amusing himself with discussing the various modes in which he might surprise his family. At length that which he seemed inclined to adopt was to apply for a billet upon his own people; to enter the house with all the swagger of a soldier quartered on strangers— in short, to enact the part which he had often played in Germany and so many other countries, and after having well tormented and frightened the whole household, to throw himself into his father's arms with—"Mon pere, embrassez votre fils!" I enjoyed the thought of the denouement—so truly French—but with envious feelings; not to draw a contrast between our relative situations was impossible, and I kept thinking, When—if ever— shall I be able to surprise my family with my unexpected return?"

At another period of his journey one of Stanhope's fellow-travellers was a certain Captain Reid, who had been aide-de-camp to General Reding, [5] and had been taken prisoner. He told Stanhope the following curious story, "which," the latter suggests, "Walter Scott would probably hail as an additional proof of the reality of the art of divination. Captain Reid's mother, many years ago, having heard of the fame of some fortune-teller, resolved, out of pure frolic, to have her fortune told. She therefore disguised herself as her own maid and went to see the woman. She was at that date a wife and the mother of five children. The fortune-teller informed her that she would have, in all, fifteen children; that, out of those, two only would survive their infancy, and of those two, she would only have comfort from one. The predicted number of children were born. Reid and his sister alone lived to grow up, and 'what the future may produce, I know not,' Reid concluded, 'but as I am a prisoner in a foreign land, she certainly has no comfort in me."

With many anecdotes of General Reding did Captain Reid likewise regale his fellow-prisoner: "—that distinguished but unfortunate officer," says John Stanhope, "who at length fell victim to anxiety of mind arising from the difficulties with which he had to struggle and disappointment at finding that he commanded men who were not brave like himself. One day when Reding was about to engage the French (I rather think it was to make an attack on Barcelona) he sent his aide-de-camp, Reid, to a Spanish general, with imperative orders to be at a certain post, at a certain time, with his division. Just as Reding was on the point of moving forward to commence the projected attack he perceived the Spanish general riding leisurely towards him. 'What, you here!' he exclaimed, horror-stricken, 'Why are you not at your post?' 'I have received no orders,' was the reply. 'Reid!' shouted the Swiss general in an overpowering fury and raising his sabre over the head of his aide-de-camp, 'why did you not give my orders to the Spaniard?' Reid, knowing his General's irritable temper, thought that instant death was before him. 'I did!' he asserted emphatically; 'there stands his aide-de-camp who was present at the time—let him deny it if he dare!' Fortunately the aide-de-camp was too much a man of honour to deny the truth. Reid was acquitted in his General's eyes; but the old Swiss turned away heart-broken at the recognition that all his schemes at this important juncture had been defeated by this act of treachery or cowardice on the part of the Spaniard, and, in unconcealed disgust, he gave the order for a retreat.

"Reding while on active service usually drank three bottles of wine a day, and never slept for more than three hours; he and his men were always in motion, yet Reid, though pursuing the same regimen, declared that, in common with his General, he was never in better health or happier at any time of his life."

Of another famous general, Stanhope also records some interesting observations. Arrived at Dijon, which was a depot for Spanish prisoners, he went to call on an English fellow-prisoner, and found him having breakfast in company with two Anglo-Spanish officers, both of whom had served at Saragossa. "I therefore," he relates, "felt great interest in talking over with them the events of that memorable siege, in which they had acted an important part. Of course, to judge from their own account, to them and to other Hibernian-Spanish officers was due the honour of having conducted the defence of Saragossa; but what was indeed of interest was to find that of Palafox [6] they spoke but slightingly, and seemed to consider him merely as the nominal commander. All this was so new, so incredible to me, that I could not help openly expressing my doubts on the subject; these, however, were met by an argument to which it was impossible not to attach considerable weight—that Palafox was at that moment on parole in a town in France. 'Do you really think,' asked they, 'that if he were the powerful man he is represented to be he would be left in comparative liberty? No; the Emperor is too wise for that! If Palafox were what he has been supposed to be, Napoleon would consider that no prison in France is strong enough to hold him!'"

At length young Stanhope arrived at Verdun and entered upon a period of detention there to which he could foresee no prospective conclusion. "There was no positive suffering of which to complain," he wrote afterwards, "yet there is a weariness, an utter hopelessness in the life of an exile which none can understand who have not experienced its intensity." The patriotism which had gilded the voluntary exile of Collingwood was perforce absent from the imprisonment of John Stanhope. No glory of martyrdom dignified his forcible detention; he was merely the victim of mischance. And the outlook was singularly hopeless. "The negotiation for the exchange of prisoners has totally failed," he writes. "The hope of the conclusion of the war appears to be more distant than ever. Whilst the Emperor lives, peace seems to be impossible, and he may live twenty years without the least diminution of his energy or his ambition ... there is but one source from which we can any of us derive the slightest consolation, and that is from the character of Napoleon himself. His insatiable ambition, after having prompted him to the execution of everything that is practicable, may finally urge him to attempt impossibilities. Alexander wept because he could find no more worlds to conquer; Napoleon may find there are too many worlds for him. Universal dominion is not now so easy an acquisition. 'Give him rope enough and he will hang himself!' is in all our mouths!"

With this slender consolation the luckless prisoners endeavoured to cheer themselves; but meanwhile, as Stanhope points out, they existed "a thousand people of different characters, ranks and habits collected together in one town, without any occupation to divert the tedium of their lives." Nor were there wanting additions to their society of an undesirable character, men who had voluntarily fled across the Channel to escape the consequence of nefarious dealings in horse-racing and gambling. One of these, indeed, was described by the French Minister of War as "the worst monster which England in her wrath has yet vomited across the Channel"; and the enforced idleness to which the prisoners were subjected, rendered them for the most part ready victims to the designs of such unscrupulous villains, while it tended to make the life of the town peculiarly demoralising. One source of satisfaction alone did Stanhope find in his altered conditions. His family, who for many months had believed him to be dead, were now overjoyed to hear of his safety, and to find themselves once more able to communicate with him; none the less it was impossible to ignore the constant danger to which his position still exposed him. At any moment he or his fellow detenus might be sacrificed to the vindictiveness of Napoleon or to the exigencies of some political situation, and he had not been long at Verdun before a recognition of this fact was unpleasantly brought home to him.

Lord Blayney, [7] an Irish friend of his, was suddenly arrested one day in the streets of Verdun and hurried off to the citadel. There he was informed that by order of the French Government he was to answer with his life for the safety of a French prisoner in England, who, having been detected in some treasonable intrigue, was condemned to close confinement and likely to be shot. Thus for a long time subsequently Lord Blayney remained a prisoner in hourly peril of instant death.

There were also other evils to be reckoned with. The governors in whose charge the prisoners were placed were too often unscrupulous men, who, so long as they were secure from detection, did not hesitate to employ tyranny or fraud in the endeavour to further their own advancement, either by the pretended discovery of imaginary plots, thus giving a fictitious impression of their own zeal to the ministers, or by extorting money through terrorism from their defenceless victims.

A story in this latter connection is told by John Stanhope. It appears that a certain General Wirion, who had at one time been attached to Moreau's party, had succeeded in getting into favour with Napoleon, who made him Governor of Verdun. Forthwith, the General's principal object was to devise some means of extracting money from the prisoners resident there, towards whom his conduct, on all occasions, was peculiarly atrocious.

Among the detenus he soon observed a young man of more fortune than wit, whom he at once recognised as a victim ready to his hand. He accordingly sent for this youth one morning, and informed him that he would give him leave to reside in a village a little way beyond the limits, for so the imaginary boundary was always designated within which the prisoners were confined by their parole. Although surprised at a permission for which he had not even applied, the young detenu naturally was delighted, and, utterly devoid of suspicion, he lost no time in availing himself of his increased liberty.