Chapter LV: Appendix: II

Some Family Letters preserved by Harry Smith with Particular Care.

_Letter I._ Endorsed—“_7^{th} May, 1813. From Eleanor on Stona’s marriage.—H. G. S._”

Whittlesea, May 7^{th}, 1813.

My Dear Henry,

From the ardent desire which you have long expressed concerning Stona’s marriage, it will, I am convinced, give you pleasure to hear that the nuptials are at last solemnized. The ceremony took place on Tuesday, which was the fourth of May. Mr. Coleman was father, and of course led the bride to church. Stona, Kate, Charles, and Anna Maria followed, and my Uncle Ground’s John in a handsome livery, and Stona’s own servant (who is a particular smart-looking young man) dressed in a drab coat, and a gold band on his hat—all new for the occasion—attended to receive the bridesmaids’ parasols at the church door, and remained there in waiting during the ceremony. When concluded, the party returned to breakfast at my Uncle Ground’s, where were assembled to meet them a group of relations consisting of about two and twenty. Each of us was presented with a white favour, the ringers and servants also. There were forty favours given away. The bride and bridegroom, accompanied by Catherine, set off at twelve for Cambridge, and from thence they proceeded to London. I assure you they cut a dash. The postboy of course had a favour on his hat, and James, Stona’s man, attended them on horseback as far as Ramsey. Unfortunately it was a Newmarket meeting, and Cambridge was so full that they could not get beds, were therefore obliged to proceed another stage that evening. About five the next day they arrived in the Metropolis, and when they had dined, they dressed for Covent Garden Theatre. Stona repeatedly expressed a great wish that it was possible to meet you in town. Neither the bride nor bridesmaid would, I can venture to say, have had any objection to that. Never poor fellow I think was in a greater agitation than Stona during the ceremony and two days before. When he was being married he trembled in such a manner that Anna Maria expected no other than he would drop the ring—and he was himself much afraid lest he should have fainted at the altar....

I must not omit to tell you what a very pretty place Stona’s house is, and so handsomely furnished that I declare it is enough to make me long to be married....

We are now always changing our Curates; next week Mr. Cook is going to leave us, and that handsome gentlemanlike man, whom I mentioned to you in my last, Mr. Powis, is to take his place. The young ladies, they say, will become very religious, and many of them attend prayers.

I have, since writing the above, received a letter from you for which I thank you a thousand times. Believe me, I am not offended at the remark you made respecting my age, and the next time I hear from you, I expect the letter addressed to “Mrs. Eleanor Smith.” You will, my dear Henry, be six and twenty in June.

My Mother, I am happy to say, is better than when I last wrote, though still rather delicate. My Father goes into quarters on Sunday. Wisbeach, as usual, is to be head-quarters.

Mrs. W——, I fear, has not added much to her happiness by marrying W——, for he is excessively idle, an _epicure_, a free _drinker_, and a _notorious debauchee_. With such a man, can any woman be truly happy?...

I hope you will lose no opportunity of writing, for, as I have frequently observed, it is the greatest pleasure I can have in your absence. Would to God we could have you among us. I never wished for you more than I do now. My Mother is quite delighted that you wish to see us.

As you do not say anything about Tom, I conclude he is well. Pray give my love to him, and tell him that Mary Smith[249] is a pretty little black girl, and generally allowed to be more interesting than ever her sister was.

All your friends, my dear Henry, join in affectionate remembrance to you and Tom; and sincerely wishing you health and happiness, believe me to remain, dearest Henry, your truly affectionate sister,

Eleanor.

Addressed—

Brigade-Major Smith,
2nd Light Brigade,
Light Division,
Portugal.

Pd. 3/

_Letter II._ Endorsed—“_19^{th} August, 1813. The last letter
my dear Mother ever wrote to me. She died on the 12^{th}
December, 1813, Sunday.—H. G. Smith._”

Whitt^a, Aug^{st} 19, 1813.

My beloved Child^n,

What words shall I find sufficiently expressive to congratulate you upon y^r great escape from the great perils and dangers you have been exposed to, where so many of y^r brave countrymen have fallen? But to God alone must the praise be given, who has preserved you both, I hope to be an ornament to y^r country and a blessing to y^r friends, and may God Almighty of his infinite mercy still hold his protecting Arm over you both, and may we never lose sight of him, and have always his goodness in our sight as never to neglect our duty for his great mercies towards us at this time and all others.

This, my dear Harry, is an anxious time, and, tho’ we have not a Lett^r from you, by the _Gazette_ we know that you are safe.

As for Tom, I think he never intends to write to eith^r of us again, but I am proud to hear of him from you as being so brave a fell^w, and hope to have Lett^{rs} by the next dispatches. We can make every allowance for not hearing from you at this time, as indeed you must be so much ingaged, but pray write whenever you can, and indeed it is one of my greatest comforts.

I have been very ill, so much so that I never expected seeing eith^r of you again, but with the blessing of God I am a very great deal bett^r, and with the kindness of y^r Fath^r and the attention of y^r Sis^{rs} I look forw^d with the hopes of seeing my beloved boys once more under their parental roof....

We have been extremely healthy for a length of time that y Fath^r and Bro^r make great complaints some time for want of something to do.

Poor R^d Binfield is no more. He payd the great debt of nature about three weeks ago, after being a very great sufferer. When he was taken to be buried, his Corpse was preceeded by six Girls dressed in white with white turbans, and baskets of flowers in their hands, wh^h they throwed into the grave as soon as the Corpse was let down. The Pall was supported by six of the scho^{rs} in white Hat-bands, and the whole Sch^l follw^d in the same way. It altogether was a pretty sight, but rath^r too romantic, but you know the woman....

Y^r Sis^r Sargant is not in very good health, and is gone to Cromer. It is upon the Norfolk coast, and is a very fashionable Bathing-place. The rest of the Family, I am happy to say, are well. As for y^r dear Fath^r, I think if you could see him you wou^d think he had grown fat. We all Unite in Love to you and Tom, with best wishes for y^r healths and prosperity. Pray write soon, and may God Almighty preserve you both is the fervent prayer of y^r affec^e Moth^r,

E. Smith.

Eleanor desires me to say she is much oblidged to you for y^r Lett^r and will write soon, and Betsy also says that unless Tom will write to her she never will write again.

Addressed—

Brigade-Major Smith, Light Brigade,
2nd Light Division, Portugal.

Post paid to Falmouth.

_Letter III._ Endorsed—“_15^{th} Oct. 1813. From my Father,
saying my Mother was pleased with my Letter after a fight in
Spain.—H. G. S._”

Whittlesea, Oct^r 15^{th}, 1813.

My D^r Harry,

Your Mother receiv’d your letter the other day and myself one about a fortnight back, both of which gave us great satisfaction, particularly as you were both in good health and safe. We were in hopes as the French were so much beaten by our brave fellows, and Soult having had so good a specimen of the superior Abilities of Marshal Wellington (superior they are indeed, for he is certainly the first General in the world), that he wou’d have been glad to have got hived, and not have exposed himself again to the second part of the same tune.

I was very sorry to hear of your Horse’s accident, as it must be a great loss, but it was an accident and cou’d not have been prevented. My Horse I bought for you to send into Portugal has turned out very unfortunate. He has had a bad Cough on him for near a year, which continued getting worse, and I was fearful of its terminating in Glanders. Had he been quite well he was worth two hundred. However, I was under the necessity of sending Long Will to Bridge Fair, and selling him for what he wou’d fetch, which was fifteen pounds, leaving me a loser of at least £100, for I was at great expence with him.

I was happy to find Cap^n Stewart’s horse turn’d out so well, but you clapt your seal over the amount and we cou’d not read it. Send me the amount when you write again. As to news I have none, for Eleanor gives you that in all her letters.

I must say I feel hurt at Tho^s not writing at all.... I am very proud to hear so high a character of him as an adjutant. Major Percival came from Portsmouth with Bob Hotchkin to London, and seeing an offic^r in the coach in 95^{th} uniform, he asked him if he knew Capt. Smith, and he asked him which, Henry or Tom. They had a great deal of conversation, and he said he believ’d Tom to be one of the best adjutants in the service. A poor unfortunate Cripple he was. Bob was with Gen. Murray at that noble business. He came Home extremely ill indeed of Dysentery.

I am sorry to tell you poor Mr. Moore[250] I think is wearing up fast. He has been severely afflicted with Rheumatism. He is better of Pain, but left so weak and low that he can scarcely ride on horseback....

If any one is coming home that you can trust, I wish you wou’d send me some flower seeds, but I am in great hopes you will bring them yourself.

The Allies seem to be licking the French in Germany well, and I hope will drive them into Peace.

We one and all unite in Love and affection to self and Tom, praying God to protect you both is the prayer of your affect. Father,

Jn^o Smith.

Addressed—

Brigade-Major Smith, 95th Reg^t Rifle Corps,
Light Division, Light Brigade.
Serving under
Marshal Wellington,
Spain.

_Letter IV._ Endorsed—“_14^{th} Dec^r, 1813. My dear Father’s
Letter announcing my poor Mother’s Death.—H. G. S._”

Whittlesea, Dec^r 14^{th}, 1813.

We have received, my D^r Harry, your letter dated Sante Pe, Nov^r 14^{th}, and it was read by myself, your _D^r Mother_, Brothers, and Sisters with infinite pleasure in finding you were both unhurt, and with gratitude to the Almighty for the preservation of you both in this and in every other danger you have so often been expos’d to.

But, my _D^r Boys_, what pain, what affliction is it to me to tell you it is the last letter your poor dear Mother will ever hear or read more from you.

You have been apprised of her ill health by your Sister Elean^r, and we did not wish to distress your feelings by repeatedly telling you the ill state of her health, for we were in hopes she might have got well again. But alas! her D^r soul quited this earthly abode on Sunday morning, Dec^r 12^{th}, in hopes of a joyful resurrection, which her pious, virtuous, good life entitled her to hope for in her blessed Lord and Redeemer. Oh Harry! she prayed constantly for the return and welfare of you both; she suffer’d much in anxiety; she dearly, very dearly lov’d you and adored you, and in her last prayers never lost sight of her dear Boys abroad. She died in her perfect senses even to the last moment. I hope she did not suffer very much in the separation of soul and body.... Your poor distrest father, Brothers and sisters all unite in the strongest love and affection for you both. God Bless you.

Jn^o Smith.

Send a proper direction. Pray write to me on the Receipt of this.

Remember, my D^r Boys, that this letter is equally addrest to you both by your very much afflicted Parent.

Addressed—

Brig^d-Major Smith,
Light Brigade,
Light Division,
Commanded by Col. Colborne,
Serving under Marq. Wellington,
France.

_Letter V._ Endorsed—“_19^{th} Feb^{ry}, 1814, after my poor
mother’s death, from my sister Eleanor.—H. G. S._”

Whittlesea, Feb^{ry} 19^{th}, 1814.

My Dearest Henry,

I received your melancholy and affectionate letter on the seventeenth, and only waited to answer it until we could purchase a pair of Wild Ducks to send with it to Mr. Angelo, who has very politely offered at any time to forward our letters abroad. Heaven has indeed, my dear Brother, thought proper to lay upon us a most heavy affliction; every day proves to us the severity of our loss and the inestimable value of her who is gone. You have indeed, my poor Henry, lost your best friend. Never parent more truly loved a child than she did you. Never shall I forget her the last time she read a letter from you. When I went in, she raised her languid face from the pillow, and holding up the letter to me, said with a heavenly smile, “I am quite purely [i.e. _well_] to-day, my love, for I have had such a delightful cordial”—meaning your letter. I have witnessed two deaths and heard of many, but never such a one as our angel mother’s. For two months before her death, she was not able to walk upstairs, but was carried up and down every day, and laid upon a sopha in the dining-room. On the 10^{th} of December,[251] she was so much worse, that we requested her not to leave her bed, but she earnestly begged to be brought downstairs, and as soon as she had recovered a little from the fatigue of being dressed and removed, she told us that she felt her end approaching, and summoning my grandmama, my aunts, and all her children around her, she took a long and affectionate farewell of every one separately with as much calmness and composure as if she was only going a short journey. With my father she requested to be left alone, and continued talking with him for a considerable time. She lamented greatly that she could not see her other three boys, and wept when she left you her blessing. All the day she spent in dozing, praying, and speaking peace and comfort to her afflicted husband and children. Frequently she held up her hands to look at her poor black nails, and would often request my father and brother to feel her pulse, and begged they would tell her if it did not get lower every time. She mentioned every particular respecting the disposal of her clothes, and gave orders about being laid out and for her funeral, and turning to my father, meekly said, “If not too much expense, I should like a vault.” Oh, Henry, what a day was that! To describe our feelings is impossible, but from your own on receiving the intelligence of her death, you may form some idea of ours who witnessed it. It was some consolation to us that she did not die below. She loved to be carried upstairs. My father lay by her side all night, and from her calm and comfortable slumbers was in hopes she would awaken rather better. But when she awoke, she complained of being in a little pain, which did not continue long. In about an hour after, with her hands clasped in prayer, she breathed her last. Who, who beheld such a scene as this could refrain from exclaiming, “May I die the death of the righteous, and may my last end be like hers!” The highest respect we can pay to her ever-lamented memory is to aim, my dear Henry, at her perfection, that by a virtuous life here, we may be re-united to her in Heaven. My poor Father is better than he was, but still continues to feel his loss greatly, as do we all. But the conviction of the eternal happiness of her for whom our tears flow blunts the edge of our affliction. Our loss is most assuredly her gain. It is for ourselves that we lament, and selfish indeed should we be to wish for her return. Elizabeth is my father’s housekeeper, and Anna Maria and her, by their attention to him, endeavour to assuage the bitterness of his regret. Charles, by his own wish and the request of his dear departed mother, is under the tuition of my Uncle Davie, who performs to the uttermost—nay, I must say, exceeds the extent of his promise, a convincing proof of his regard for her to whom he made it. Charles neither boards nor sleeps in our house. At least, he does not breakfast or dine with us, but he always comes in at eleven for some refreshment, drinks tea, and sups with us constantly every evening, and on Sunday we have his company all day. He is a very amiable, promising youth, and I cannot speak too highly of my aunt and uncle’s kindness to him, nor of his gratitude to them. Sam, by his own choice, is to be a surgeon and apothecary, and by his good talents and attention has gained the approbation of his father and brother. He is a very respectable English scholar, and might have been a good Latin one if Mr. Binfield had taught him properly, but by experience it is proved that, though Mr. B. may understand that language himself, he is incapable of teaching it to others. An opportunity has, however, presented itself for Sam learning Latin in perfection, if he will be but diligent. Mr. Pratt, our new curate, is allowed to be a classical scholar of considerable eminence, and he has promised to instruct Sam.... Since my father was in practice, he never had so little business as he has had for these last two years. It is the general remark, that such a healthy time or so long a continuance was never remembered. I was concerned to see your friend Captain Eeles’ name in the list of wounded at the late Engagement in Holland. I sincerely hope that the war is nearly at an end, and that we may again meet, though the late melancholy change in our family will render it both a happy and painful meeting. But you must be confident that you have still many friends left, who dearly love you, and believe me, no one better than myself.... All your friends, my dear Henry, join in affectionate remembrance to yourself and Tom, and believe me to remain if possible more than ever

Your truly affectionate Sister,
Eleanor Moore Smith.

_Letter VI._ Endorsed—“_13^{th} July, 1815. From my Father after
Waterloo, thanking God he had three sons unhurt.—H. G. S._”

Whittlesea, July 13, 1815.

My D^r Harry,

Never did I receive two Letters with such pleasure as your two last since the fight at Waterloo. For three of you to have been engag’d and to come off unhurt, must have been not the fate of chance, but Providence seem’d to have watch’d over you all and protected you. How grateful we all ought to be to the Almighty. I assure you my Prayers have ever been offered up to the Throne of Grace, praying for the Protection of you all, and a safe return to England. This has been one of the most glorious, and most decisive, Battles that has been fought this War. What a shocking sight to see the _Gazette_, it contain’d full four Columns and a half of kill’d and wounded, and amongst them so many Names I had so often heard spoke of. Poor Major Bringhurst is among the kill’d, an only Son, and his poor father almost broken-hearted.

Poor Mr. Moore is at my house, broken-hearted, and a most distrest object in Health....

Poor Sudbury is dead, he has been a poor creature for many Weeks....

Your Mare was put to Cervantes, a Horse of L^d Fitzwilliam’s; she is very well, and lying in my Wash ground with my Mare and foal, I think the handsomest I ever saw. I am sorry to hear Charles’ Mare is like to have bad feet; if so, the sooner she is disposed of, the better. Tell Tom and Charles I expected to have heard from them long ago.

Give my Love to your Wife and tell her how much I felt for her, before I heard of your fate, well knowing that she must have been dreadfully alarm’d.

Your blood Mare is worth, Buckle tells me, a great deal of Money. Her Dam is dead, and they have sent to him for her to Newmarket to breed from.

Your sisters have told all the News, therefore I conclude with my Love to your Wife and Brothers join’d with all at home.

I am your affect. father,
J. Smith.

Write soon.

Addressed—

Major Smith,
95^{th} Reg^t of Rifles,
Serving under the
Duke of Wellington,
France.

_Letter VII._ Endorsed—“_31^{st} Dec^r, 1816. My Father’s
Letter announcing the death of my good Grandmother, 83
years old.—H. G. Smith, Col._”

Whittlesea, Dec^r 31^{st}, 1816.

My D^r Harry,

After a very short tho’ not painful illness, your poor old Grandmother paid the last debt of nature in the 83^{rd} y^r of her Age. During the whole of the time she lay on her death-bed she retained her senses, and died calm and reposed, a Blessing which God grant we may all do in the same manner as she did, a Pattern of true Piety and Benevolence. The changes in our family have within these last seven y^{rs} been great, and _one of them_ painful and very distressing to me, having lost that Companion whose Conduct endeared her to every one who at all knew her, and, that being the case, how much more so must I have felt her Loss! But these are trials we must all expect to meet with, and let none of us in our _gay moments_ forget how soon the case may be our own....

I find the House is to be sold, but times are so bad here now that no one has got any money to purchase, however desirable they may be. I hope if Charles and his Lady shou’d marry, they may become the Purchasers....

Since the Death of poor old Jack, I have lost my Uria Mare, which I was obliged to have shot. I afterwards bought a fine big Horse five y^{rs} old, one I expected wou’d have proved valuable. After keeping him about ten Weeks he made his exit as rotten as a Hare, so you see I am one of those unfortunate Beings in the Horse way. I must now be satisfied with my little Mare and my good old Gig Horse; when you are tired of your bay Mare, forget not she is a particular favourite of mine....

Remember me most kindly to all my friends, particularly Col. Achmuty, Bell, and my old friend St. John.

Tell Charles we have not written to him as you wou’d be able to tell him every particular. I hope his Mare turns out well and that he is able to hunt her. How are all your Horses? I hope you have had good hunting; it has been very wet here, and very heavy riding. I suppose the same with you.

Give my Love to Juana, and tell her the whole of her Brothers and Sisters do also.

I remain,
My D^r Harry,
Your affect. father,
Jn^o Smith.

Addressed—

Lieut.-Col. Smith.
Rifle Brigade,
Town Major,
Post p^d. Cambray,
France.

_Letter VIII._ Endorsed—“_18^{th} March, 1822. Eleanor as to the Genealogy of my Mother’s family.—H. G. S._”

Whittlesey, March 18^{th}, 1822.

My dear Harry,

... You have desired me to collect for you all the information I can of the Moore family, but that is very little. My good grandfather Moore always used to say that he was descended from that great though unfortunate man Sir Thomas Moore, who was beheaded in the reign of Henry the eighth. Alice always says that she is sure we are descendants, the arms are undoubtedly the same. When my poor Mother was very young, my aunt Stona told her that she was descended from no mean family, and to prove it unfurled a genealogical table which reached half over the room, but my Mother was then so young that she never could recollect much about it. She used to say that she remembered seeing a number of Gabriel Moores. This table I am sorry to say was destroyed during the riots in London. At that time my aunt Stona lived in London and lost a great many valuable things. Our great great grandfather was the first of the Moores who lived in Whittlesey, and he was an Attorney and came out of Buckinghamshire.

... I must now say farewell, and with kindest love to yourself and Juana, believe me, dear Harry, to remain your truly affectionate sister,

Eleanor Moore Smith.

Addressed—

Lieut.-Colonel Smith,
Rifle Brigade,
Glasgow,
Scotland.

[_See Appendix VIII._, p. 794.]

_Letter IX._ Endorsed—“_2^{nd} Sep^r, reporting the death of my
poor and venerable Father, 2^{nd} Sep. 1843, ¼ before five
o’clock in the Morning; rec^d at Cawnpore 31^{st} Oct^{br},
1843.—H. G. S._”

Whittlesea, Sep^r 2, 1843.

My dearest Harry,

... Our beloved father breathed his last this morning at ¼ before 5 o’clock....

About three weeks ago Charles perceived an evident alteration in his appearance. He became ill in health that week, and on Wednesday, Aug^{st} 16^{th}, he took to his bed. His poor mind was in a most distressed state and his terrors extreme. Unable to bear the suspense, Anna Maria and myself set off for Whittlesea, Saturday, Aug^{st} 19^{th}. Eleanor had come to Charles’s from Northampton a few days before, and on the Monday morning as we got to W. on the Sunday Tom arrived. We found our poor father very ill, but certainly not like immediate dissolution, tho’ his state was very precarious. We tried to rouse him to recollection and to soothe him, and oh, blessed be the Almighty for the mercy, we so far succeeded as to be convinced that we restored him to happiness and peace. Tho’ not able to retain recollection of us for many minutes together, he was ever conscious that his children were about him; he blessed us, recognized us, asked us to pray for him, to repeat the Lord’s Prayer, and one day he told us he had _hope_, that God was a God of mercy. He never uttered indeed two connected sentences, and he rambled incessantly, but the character of his ramblings was altered—bits of hymns, parts of the Psalms, exclamations to the Deity took the place of cries of terror, etc. He was _happy_—our voices reached him and soothed him, and he would reward us with a word or a look of love. He would lie in bed and amuse himself with fancied dressings of himself, talk of driving, etc., entreat to get out of bed, and would sit a few minutes in his chair. On this day week we got him out of bed, when his happiness was beautiful, but oh, the heartrending appearance he made! He was _literally_ a skeleton; he had not an ounce of flesh on his whole body, he was a breathing death. He knew us all, smiled on each (the four daughters and Charles), dressed himself in imagination for a walk and a drive, tied his handkerchief on his neck, and when he had fidgetted away the blanket in which he was wrapt, and I put a light chair cushion in his lap, saying, “It is cold, we must pull up the apron of the gig,” he smiled and said, “What fun it is!” After a little while he asked to go home; we laid him in bed and thought he was dying. It was, however, but exhaustion, and he rallied again, but he was never more so rational as this.

Oh, Harry, all my desire now was to gain something for you. I tried him, asked him if he recollected you, spoke the name “Harry” in a marked manner, and oh, Harry, you will thank me for this—at length he said, “Harry, yes, God bless him.” I had touched the string. Some time after he addressed a set speech (made of broken sentences) to Col. Smith, in which he said he “thanked”—“noble deeds”—“to be praised”—and much more that could not be gathered; but this was enough, his darling son was not forgotten. He spoke much of William, always saying, “William, I am coming,” and once he said, “Stop, Stona—I’ll go with you.” He took decided notice of Anna Maria, but he held all our hands as we sat by him, and would stroke them and take them to his cheek, and even to his lips and kiss them. When he awoke in tears and we spoke to him, it vanished and he became calm; and even when we prayed by his side, if we told him not to interrupt us, he would become quiet, seem to catch some sentences, become soothed and fall asleep. The last three days he became very ill and the pains of death racked him greatly, and it was _very_ sad to see his sufferings. He was dying all yesterday and all the night, and oh, what an awful night we passed by his bedside! He appeared to suffer a good deal from convulsive affection of the muscles, but the strength of his constitution was really wonderful. It was a hard struggle indeed for the victory. After many hours’ most laboured breathing, he became gradually lower and lower, and at length with one sigh, one struggle, one effort, he breathed his last at ¼ before 5 o’clock this morning, Sept. 2^{nd}, having reached the great age of 87. We mean to lay him beside our beloved mother on Wednesday afternoon....

I must close my letter, praying God to bless and comfort you, and grant that hereafter we may all meet in Heaven and there form one happy family again.... Kind love to you both from all.

Believe me your fond sister and friend,
J. A. Sargant.