Reminiscences of Captain Gronow | Page 7

are the
author of the letters which appeared in the Morning Chronicle abusing
me and finding fault with my military plans."
Lord Wellington paused here for a moment, and then continued:
"Now, Stewart, you know your brother Castlereagh is my best friend, to
whom I owe everything; nevertheless, if you continue to write letters to
the Chronicle, or any other newspaper, by God, I will send you home."
Sir Charles Stewart was so affected at this rebuke that he shed tears,
and expressed himself deeply penitent for the breach of confidence and
want of respect for the Articles of War. They immediately shook hands
and parted friends. It happened, however, that Sir Charles Stewart did
not remain long in the cavalry, of which he was Adjutant-General.
Within a few weeks he was named one of the Commissioners deputed
to proceed to the Allied Armies, where the Sovereigns were then
completing their plans to crush Napoleon.
ST. JEAN DE LUZ
During the winter of 1813, the Guards were stationed with
head-quarters at St Jean de Luz, and most comfortable we managed to
make them. For some short time previously we had been on scanty
commons, and had undergone considerable privation: indeed we might
have said, like the Colonel to Johnny Newcome on his arrival to join
his regiment, "We sons of Mars have long been fed on brandy and
cigars." I had no cause to complain personally; for my servant, a
Sicilian, was one of the most accomplished foragers (ill-natured
persons might give him a worse name) in the whole army; and when
others were nearly starving, he always managed to provide meat or
poultry. He rode on his mule sometimes from twenty to thirty miles,
often running the greatest dangers, to procure me a good meal; of

which he took care to have, very justly, a large share for himself.
At St Jean de Luz, we were more attentive to our devotions than we had
been for some time. Divine service was performed punctually every
Sunday on the sand-hills near the town; Lord Wellington and his
numerous Staff placed themselves in the midst of our square, and his
lordship's chaplain read the service, to which Lord Wellington always
appeared to listen with great attention.
The mayor of the town, thinking to please "the great English lord,"
gave a ball at the Hotel de Ville: our Commander-in-Chief did not go
but was represented by Waters. I was there, and expected to see some
of the young ladies of the country so famed for their beauty; they were,
however, far too patriotic to appear, and the only lady present was Lady
Waldegrave, then living with her husband at head-quarters. What was
one partner among so many? The ball was a dead failure, in spite of the
efforts of the mayor, who danced, to our intense amusement, an English
hornpipe, which he had learnt in not a very agreeable manner, viz.
when a prisoner of war in the hulks at Plymouth.
There were two packs of hounds at St Jean de Luz; one kept by Lord
Wellington, the other by Marsden, of the Commissariat: our officers
went uncommonly straight. Perhaps our best man across country
(though sometimes somewhat against his will) was the late Colonel
Lascelles of my regiment, then, like myself, a mere lad. He rode a horse
seventeen hands high, called Bucephalus, which invariably ran away
with him, and more than once had nearly capsized Lord Wellington.
The good living at St Jean de Luz agreed so well with my friend that he
waxed fat, and from that period to his death was known to the world by
the jovial appellation of Bacchus Lascelles.
Shortly before we left St Jean de Luz, we took our turn of outposts in
the neighbourhood of Bidart, a large village, about ten miles from
Bayonne. Early one frosty morning in December, an order came, that if
we saw the enemy advancing, we were not to fire or give the alarm.
About five, we perceived two battalions wearing grenadier caps coming
on. They turned out to belong to a Nassau regiment which had
occupied the advanced post of the enemy, and, hearing that Napoleon
had met with great reverses in Germany, signified to us their intention
to desert. They were a fine-looking body of men, and appeared, I
thought, rather ashamed of the step they had taken. On the same day,

we were relieved, and on our way back met Lord Wellington with his
hounds. He was dressed in a light blue frock coat (the colour of the
Hatfield hunt) which had been sent out to him as a present from Lady
Salisbury, then one of the leaders of the fashionable world, and an
enthusiastic admirer of his lordship.
Here, I remember seeing for the first time a