by David Rooney
During their brief time in Toulouse enjoying the benefits of peace, the British received a kind welcome into people’s homes, and as Kincaid said, ‘made love to the pretty girls with which the place abounded’. The officers continued to organize dances but on one occasion, during Lent, the ladies wondered whether they should attend. However, ‘they arranged things with their conscience and joined in the waltz right merrily’.
There were tears when the order came to move to Bordeaux, with many expressions of genuine affection, and a year later, after Waterloo, the units received many letters expressing concern about casualties. Near the Biscay coast the troops found plentiful supplies of fresh eggs, butter and, above all, fresh fish, but at Saint Jean de Luz ‘the prices were absolutely suicidal’. Kincaid observed that by the sea the women had unrivalled complexions and wore lots of yellow petticoats, but behind the joyous and light-hearted celebrations of peace and plenty lay the sombre thought, yet to be solved, of what was there for soldiers to do in peacetime. The Government was going to have not only discharged and unemployed soldiers on its hands, but also many unemployable due to severe wounds, both physical and mental. There was little provision for either and the land was soon to see sad knots of ex-soldiers begging in the streets or being turned over to the poorhouse. Trouble was being stored up for the future. This, of course, was the same for the French and it was therefore no wonder that former soldiers flocked to Napoleon’s Colours on his escape from Elba. Harry was a highly experienced combat officer but he had never done anything else. Was it to be peacetime soldiering, with little foreseeable action, or pastures new? For Harry and Juana, what did the future hold?
Chapter 4
America
April 1814 to March 1815
Harry and Juana need not have worried: in April, Harry was sent for by Colonel Colborne, his much-admired Commanding Officer, badly wounded in the arm at Ciudad Rodrigo, who told him he was unlucky, despite his considerable combat experience, not to have been promoted to major. He must now, he said, leave for America, to which a large force was being sent, and he, Colborne, would see to it that he would be appointed Brigade Major. While now there was no question of promotion by purchase, there is no doubt that Harry’s name was well known in the military hierarchy, and he had a number of powerful and influential friends, such as General Sir Edward Pakenham, Wellington’s brother-in-law, and, specifically, General Ross, who was to command the American expeditionary force. Thus Harry was appointed Deputy Adjutant General (a senior administrative staff officer) on Ross’s staff in the rank of major.
The departure from Toulouse in May brought many moments of intense emotion. For Harry and Juana, the black cloud of their impending separation, while Harry went off to take part in the expedition to America, hung over everything else. Harry had landed in the Peninsula with the Battalion about a thousand strong, but now only about half that number were able to parade. Harry’s reputation as the best Brigade Major in the Light Division, his frenetic energy and his caring leadership were rewarded when the whole Battalion lined up to cheer him farewell. This, too, was an overwhelmingly emotional moment, as they cheered their ‘Mr Smith’ and begged him to come back. As he left, he and they remembered, as all units do who have fought tough battles, the friends and comrades who have been killed or wounded and left along the way.
Harry was torn between his future career prospects and remaining with his beautiful wife. The war with Napoleon was effectively over but there remained significant conflicts in other parts of the world, notably in America in what was termed the War of 1812. So, was Harry to languish in peacetime soldiering, with little money and unlikely advancement, but with his wife, or take on further adventures, temporarily, without her? A dilemma a modern soldier thoroughly understands.
The tension between the United States and Great Britain arose over two main issues: the British claim to the right of search on the high seas of neutral vessels suspected of carrying contraband or strategic materials to France and her allies; and American ambitions to assimilate those parts of Canada adjacent to the Great Lakes and the St Lawrence River.
One can imagine the anguished discussions over their future separation and Juana’s life without him. Harry wrote:
I knew I must leave behind my young, fond and devoted wife, my heart was ready to burst, and all my visions for our mutual happiness were banished in search of the bubble reputation. I shall never forget her frenzied grief when, with a sort of despair, I imparted the inevitable separation that we were doomed to suffer, after all our escapes, fatigue, and privation; but a sense of duty surmounted all these domestic feelings.
Harry and Juana travelled by boat down the Garonne, together with his brother Tom, still nursing a wounded knee, and the tough but diminutive Bob Digby, a close colleague and friend. Digby had an old and reliable servant who was going to accompany Juana to England, because West, Harry’s servant, was going to America with him. During several days’ leisurely travel, the party stopped at riverside inns, which they found to be much cleaner and more comfortable than many they had known in Spain. When they arrived in Bordeaux, Harry insisted that they put up in the best hotel, and they enjoyed a few days of luxury and pleasure in the prosperous and attractive port city lying along the estuary. When the actual moment of parting arrived, Juana said, ‘I lose the only thing my life hangs on.’ Such was the intensity of their love for each other that Harry was nearly overcome with emotion and Juana actually fainted. Digby took charge, told Harry to be on his way and promised to look after Juana. He and Tom arranged for her passage on the next ship for England, together with Tiny, her favourite horse, and dogs and greyhounds.
Juana, oppressed by her separation from Harry, had a dull but uneventful voyage from Bordeaux to Portsmouth, though there were on the ship several good friends from the Light Bobs, who had taken part in the campaign from Badajoz onwards. With their respect and affection for Harry and Juana, they did their best to lift her spirits. She stayed briefly in Portsmouth, while Tom arranged for the horses and dogs to be taken on to Whittlesey, and when that was done he hired a post-chaise to take them to London.
Tom, excited at being back in England, eagerly pointed out all the interesting places on the London road as they passed the Hog’s Back and Guildford, and then saw the Thames. Juana, who had briefly seen the fashions in Bordeaux and Portsmouth, was relieved when Tom said that he was rather short of money and suggested that, initially, they stayed in a modest inn. When he apologized for this, she just laughed and reminded him of the tumbledown and bug-infested places they had often occupied in Spain.
Having lived in Badajoz and having stayed briefly in Madrid, Juana was overwhelmed by the bustle and the traffic in central London. It appeared to be a most prosperous city, and she found the shops in Bond Street and Oxford Street quite intimidating. Tom was a model of decorum and concern, but Juana, as she had with the other young officers in the Rifles, teased him unmercifully about his various lady friends in Spain and France, but promised she would not tell the family. She was acutely aware that she had learnt very little English and found it very difficult to communicate at all with English people. She was therefore greatly relieved when they found rooms for her in Panton Square near the Haymarket, with a French woman, Madame Dupont.
As soon as Juana was installed in Madame Dupont’s very respectable house, Tom raised the question of visiting the family in Whittlesey, but she, very conscious of her lack of English, was extremely apprehensive about meeting such a large and, as she saw it, formidable group. Little did she know that they were just as concerned at the prospect of meeting her. She was determined to work hard at learning English, and then she would be able to meet the large family when Harry returned from America. So while Tom went off to see the family, Juana was left, lonely, isolated and love-lorn in central London. Her landlady had arranged for her to have lessons with a rather prim spinster, who was accustomed to teaching well-brought-up young ladies. She found Juana alarmingly unconventional and
when she came out with some fruity phrases which she had picked up from the Riflemen during the campaign, her teacher was horrified. Soon afterwards they found an elderly man who coached her in language and pronunciation, and enjoyed the humour of the situation.
Juana slowly explored London and even walked in Hyde Park, but found the elegant well-dressed ladies walking with their proud escorts to be very daunting, while all the time she was aching for her Enrique. She waited week after week for the one solace which could overcome her loneliness, a letter from Harry, yet it did not come, and she shared the anguish of all service wives whose loved ones are fighting in a far-off land.
Tom returned from his leave with the warm and loving family in Whittlesey, and tried to convince Juana that they were longing to see her. He had told them all about her and had tried to convince them that she was not a proud and formal Spanish matron. One sister who could speak French had written a letter of welcome, begging her to go and stay with them. Then Juana wanted to hear all about the horses and dogs. Harry’s father was a fine horseman and had cared for them all, and Tom was able to reassure her that Tiny, who had carried her safely through so many adventures, was flourishing, but ‘Old Chap’, Harry’s favourite horse, was old and sick and not likely to last long. The father had been amazed that Harry had allowed Juana to have such a spirited and difficult horse as Tiny.
She cheered up at the news of the horses and dogs now safely housed at Whittlesey, and became quite animated at the activities of so many old friends. She impressed her tutor with the casual way she referred to the Duke of Wellington, who had returned to London after another visit to Spain. After Tom’s return from leave, it was arranged that his married sister, Mrs Alice Sargant, who lived near London, should come and visit Juana. A strong personality, who appeared daunting even to Harry, Mrs Sargant eventually came to visit but arrived unexpectedly, making Juana feel totally inadequate as she was not suitably dressed to receive visitors. At first Alice was amazed that the quiet, withdrawn and almost frightened-looking young girl could be Harry’s wife. A rather tense and stilted conversation took place, during which Juana forgot even the little English she had so laboriously learnt. Alice kept asking questions in a somewhat imperious way, and received shorter and shorter answers. Both women felt increasingly embarrassed and conversation had nearly dried up when a servant announced two gentlemen. As Johnny Kincaid and George Simmons walked into the room the quiet, withdrawn girl leapt up and flung her arms around them with a babble of excited Spanish. The shock and joy of seeing two close friends was too much for Juana who then burst into tears. Kincaid gently chided her until gradually she calmed down and was able to introduce the two officers to her sister-in-law. Simmons then sat and chatted amiably with Alice, while Juana plied them with questions about other old friends, and above all for any news from America. Alice began to realize that her first impression had been wrong.
After the restrained first contact with the Smith family, Juana began to revive in the company of Johnny Kincaid and other friends from the Regiment who came to visit. They took her to Vauxhall Gardens, where there were fireworks displays, which enchanted her, and later Charlie Beckwith, a particularly close friend of Harry, arrived in London and took Juana to theatres and shows, trying to fill the gap until Harry returned. The kind thoughtfulness of friends from the Peninsula did relieve Juana’s lonely tedium, but as the summer wore on their visits became fewer because they, like most people who could afford it, left London for pleasanter places by the sea, such as Brighton, or in the country, like Bath or Harrogate. The annual exodus from London took place because hot summer weather brought appalling stenches from piles of rubbish and ordure in the streets, with plagues of flies and wasps making life extremely unpleasant for everyone. For Juana, life seemed to stretch ahead as a lonely desert of boredom with no end in sight.
At last, in early September 1814, a letter arrived from Whittlesey, and it contained a letter from Harry. While this brought some relief, it really added to her apprehension. It had been sent off from Bermuda where Harry’s ship had called in because of a severe storm, so he had not then even arrived in the war zone. While Harry assured her that she was in his thoughts both day and night and he was longing for their reunion, he did write amusingly about his interesting life on board, where he was deeply respected as a Peninsula veteran. He added colourful anecdotes about his fellow passengers and the ship’s crew, but all this detail seemed to increase her lonely longing for her Enrique.
On leaving Juana in Bordeaux, Harry had handled his grief by leaping on his horse and riding hard for 20 miles towards his embarkation port, Paullic. He later wrote:
I had a long ride before me on the noble mare destined to embark with me. On my way I reached a village where I received the attention of a kind old lady, who from her age had been exempt from having any troops quartered on her; but, the village being full of Rifle Brigade, Artillery, and Light Division fellows, the poor old lady was saddled with me. The Artillery readily took charge of my horse. The kind old grandmamma showed me into a neat little bedroom and left me. I threw myself on the bed as one alone in all the wide world, a feeling never before experienced, when my eye caught some prints on the wall. What should they be but pictures in representation of the Sorrows of Werther, and, strange though it be, they had the contrary effect upon me to that which at the first glance I anticipated. They roused me from my sort of lethargy of grief and inspired a hope which never after abandoned me. The good lady had a nice little supper of côtelettes de mouton, and the most beautiful strawberries I ever saw, and she opened a bottle of excellent wine. To gratify her I swallowed by force all I could, for her kindness was maternal.
After another long ride, Harry reached Paullic, and met up with his faithful soldier servant, West, who was devoted to Juana but, knowing how much it would upset Harry to speak of her, restrained himself from asking after his beloved mistress. West had found Harry a comfortable billet in the house of an elderly lady, of whom he wrote:
One morning I heard a most extraordinary shout of joyful exclamation, so much so I ran into the room adjoining the one I was sitting in. The poor old woman says, ‘Oh, come in and witness my happiness!’ She was locked in the arms of a big, stout-looking, well-whiskered Frenchman. ‘Here is my son, oh! my long-lost son, who has been a [prisoner] in England from the beginning of the war.’ The poor fellow was a sous-officier in a man-of-war, and, having been taken early in the war off Boulogne, for years he had been in those accursed monsters of inhuman invention, ‘the hulks’, a prisoner. He made no complaint. He said England had no other place to keep their prisoners, that they were well fed by the English, but when, by an arrangement with France at her own request, the French Government fed them, they were half starved. The widow gave a great dinner-party at two o’clock, to which I was of course invited. The poor old lady said, ‘Now let us drink some of this wine: it was made the year my poor son was taken prisoner. I vowed it should never be opened until he was restored to me, and this day I have broached the cask.’ The wine was excellent. If all the wine-growers had sons taken prisoners, and kept it thus until their release, the world would be well supplied with good wine in place of bad. Poor family! It was delightful to witness their happiness, while I could but meditate on the contrast between it and my wretchedness. But I lived in hope.
When Harry embarked on the Royal Oak, he was very nervous of unwittingly breaching some Royal Navy etiquette, rules or conventions of behaviour, some of which survive to today (for instance, you are always in a ship but on a boat or yacht). Additionally, he was highly conscious that up to, and soon after, Trafalgar in 1805, the Royal Navy, headed by Nelson, was idolized by the people. However, since then, the Army, with a series of astounding victories in the Peninsula under Wellington, had supplanted the Navy in the population’s affections. Harry need not have worried; as a ‘Peninsula’ man, he was a hero enough in naval eyes. He received a warm welcome aboard by Admiral Malcolm and given a large glass of gin.
General Ross arrived the following morning and they set sail. The passage was uneventful until they encountered bad weather off Bermuda and lost their mizzen topmast. Harry, still morose from his separation from Juana, managed to send her a letter during a brief stop in port. They then sailed on from Bermuda, up the Chesapeake Bay, anchoring off the mouth of the Patuxent River. The senior commanders, including the aggressive Admirals Cochrane (this was not the other, even more famous, Admiral Sir Thomas Cochrane but Sir Alexander) and Cockburn, met aboard and decided to approach Washington up the Patuxent River in the frigates and smaller boats. Harry described progressing up this heavily forested river as a ‘large fleet stalking through a wood’. Landing some 36 miles from Washington, Harry started to express some doubts about General Ross. He seemed to have assumed, with higher rank, an air of caution and timidity, and to lack the spirit that both Colonel Colborne and Harry remembered from his Peninsula days, so essential to fast-moving, opportunist operations which they now needed. The force, not in good order from their long time at sea, made contact with the enemy at Bladensburg on 24 August. To Harry’s horror, Colonel Thornton, commanding the leading brigade, decided to attack immediately with no thought of reconnaissance or a possible diversion on the enemy’s left flank further up the river. Harry suggested this, in his own inimitable way, to General Ross, who ignored him and allowed the attack to carry on. Having pointed out that the other two brigades could not come up in time to support the attack, Harry sardonically reported, ‘It happened just as I said,’ and the brigade was repulsed with heavy casualties. He was then ordered by Ross to bring up the other two brigades as fast as possible. Galloping on, without giving out any further detail, the General had two horses shot under him and was wounded in two or three places. Nevertheless, the battle was eventually won with British losses at about 300. Harry sourly remarked that Colborne would have done the job with a mere forty or fifty casualties. On 26 August, the British marched the 5 miles into Washington, determined to sack it.