Lady De Lancey: the abridged story of Waterloo

Knowing that many of my friends are desirous to have an account of the distressing scenes I have passed through, and finding the subject too painful to be renewed by writing frequently on these scenes, I have determined to form a short narrative which may be given to those who desire the information. [1]

I was married in March 1815. At that time Sir William De Lancey held an appointment on the staff in Scotland. Peace appeared established, and I had no apprehension of the trials that awaited me. While we were spending the first week of our marriage at Dunglass, the accounts of the return of Bonaparte from Elba arrived, and Sir William was summoned to London, and soon afterward ordered to join the army at Bruxelles as Adjutant-Quartermaster-General.[2]  I entreated to accompany him, and my happiness in his society continued to increase with every day. I found him everything my affection had imagined, and the esteem and regard testified towards him by all ranks proved to me that I might confide entirely in the sterling worth of his character and principles.

We withdrew as much as possible from the gaiety then offered us in Bruxelles, where the numerous English families appeared to consider the arrival of the army as the commencement of a series of entertainments. Ten days we passed almost entirely together; Sir William occupied part of the morning with the business of his situation, but was so quick and regular in his method of arranging, that he found time to show me every object of attention at Bruxelles; our evenings were spent in tranquil enjoyment, nothing was known of the advance of the French, and there was no idea of immediate danger.

On Thursday the 15th of June we had spent a particularly happy morning, my dear husband gave me many interesting anecdotes of his former life, and I traced in every one some trait of his amiable and generous mind; never had I felt so perfectly content, so grateful for the blessing of his love. He was to dine at the Spanish Ambassador’s; it was the first time he had left me to spend an evening away since our marriage. When the hour approached he was most unwilling to go; I laughed at him, insisting on helping to dress him, put on the ribbons and orders he wore, and at last sent him away; he turned back at the door, and looked at me with a smile of happiness and peace. It was the last!

A short time after a message came from the Duke of Wellington to Sir William. He returned from the dinner and told me that news had been received of the near approach of the French, and that a battle was to be expected immediately, and that he had all the orders and arrangements to write as the army was to leave Bruxelles at daybreak. I entreated to remain in the room with him, promising not to speak. He wrote for several hours without any interruption but the entrance and departure of various messengers who were to take the orders. Every now and then I gave him a cup of green tea, which was the only refreshment he would take, and he rewarded me by a silent look. My feelings during these hours I cannot attempt to describe, but I preserved perfect outward tranquillity. Sir William told me that when he went to the Duke of Wellington he found him in his shirt, dressing for the Duchess of Richmond’s ball, and a Prussian officer stood by him in full dress, to whom he was giving orders in case of an engagement with the French before the main body of the army joined. How many attended the ball that evening, who were stretched on the field of battle so soon after.

The reveille was beat all night, and the troops actively prepared for their march. I stood with my husband at a window of the house, which overlooked a gate of the city, and saw the whole army go out. Regiment after regiment passed through and melted away in the mist of the morning. At length my husband was summoned. He had ordered everything ready for my removal to Antwerp, thinking Bruxelles too near the probable field of battle, and he charged me to remain as much as possible alone, to hear no reports nor to move till he sent to me. He endeavoured to cheer me by saying he thought the action would be a decisive one in favour of our troops, and that he should see me in a day or two.

When he had gone I felt stupefied, and had but one wish, the all that he had desired. I went to Antwerp, and found the hotel there so crowded, that I could only obtain one small room for my maid and myself, and it was at the top of the house. I remained entirely within, and desired my maid not to tell me what she might hear in the hotel respecting the army. On the 18th, however, I could not avoid the conviction that the battle was going on; the anxious faces in the street, the frequent messengers I saw passing by, were sufficient proof that important intelligence was expected, and as I sat at the open window I heard the firing of artillery, like the distant roaring of the sea as I had so often heard it at Dunglass. How the contrast of my former tranquil life there was pressed upon me at that moment!

I felt little fear respecting my husband, as I persuaded myself his post would be near the Duke of Wellington, and less exposed than in the midst of the battle. He was struck by a cannon-ball as he rode by the Duke’s side; the ball was a spent one, yet the shock was so violent, that he was thrown a considerable distance, and fell with such a force that he rebounded from the ground again. There was no visible contusion, but the internal injury was too great to be surmounted. He was able to speak in a short time after the fall, and when the Duke of Wellington took his hand and asked how he felt, he begged to be taken from the crowd that he might die in peace, and gave a message to me.

After the battle was concluded, all those whose duty it was to send in returns being killed or wounded, Lady H—, who was at Antwerp, was employed by her husband, General H—, to write the returns as they came in. Knowing I was in Antwerp, she purposely omitted Sir William’s name in the list of the wounded, and a friend of Sir William’s, seeing the return, came to me to tell me he was safe. I was delighted and felt that I could not be grateful enough. I was told then that General and Lady H— desired to see me. I ran to meet them with joy, but being struck by the melancholy expression of their countenances, I thought they had probably lost friends, and checked myself.[3]  General H looked at me and turned to the window, and then suddenly left the room. Lady H−, with great kindness, informed me that Sir William was severely wounded. Having been deceived before, my first impression was that he was killed. I refused to believe the contrary, and became almost distracted with grief; and I entreated to be left alone, and locked myself in. I remained some hours, scarcely conscious of anything but the feeling that I should see my dear husband no more.

A messenger came from Bruxelles later to say Sir William was better, that hopes were entertained that he might recover, and to desire me to come to him. Lady H – and my maid came to the door to tell me. It was some time before they could make me understand that they had good news to give; then I admitted them, and my feelings changed to an eager desire to be gone. After taking the refreshments Lady H – insisted upon, I ran up and down to hasten the preparations for my departure, until General Mackenzie, who had come to see me, recalled me to myself by a few calm and kind words. He said my friends were doing all they could, that I should have great calls for exertion when I reached Waterloo, and I ought to spare myself beforehand. I sat down and waited patiently, and thought if I could only see my husband alive, even if it were but for a few hours, I should never repine again.

The journey was dreadful; the roads were filled with waggons, carts, and litters bringing the wounded; with detachments of troops; with crowds of people; it seemed impossible to get on. The people were brutal in the extreme, particularly the Prussian soldiers. I had the greatest difficulty to prevent my servant who was on the box from losing his temper. I spoke to him from the carriage, begging him not to return the abusive language they gave us, and to remember we were unable to oblige them to let us pass. Once a Prussian rode up to the carriage with his sword drawn and refused to let it proceed, and even cut at the servant’s legs. I had kept the blinds down, but I then drew them up, and implored him with my gestures to let us go on. He drew back, and the look of pity on his before fierce countenance proved what effect the appearance of real distress will have on even the most hardened.

We were a night and two days on the road.[4] 4 General H— had put a bottle of wine and a loaf into the carriage, and upon a few mouthfuls of these we were supported. The horses could never move beyond a footpace, and we were often detained for a long time in the same spot. When we came to the field of battle, which we were obliged to cross, the sight of the dead terrified the horses so much, that it was with great difficulty they were forced on, and frequently they screamed with fright; the sound was a most piercing one, and such as I can never forget. The hovel where Sir William lay was on the further side of Waterloo, near the high road. When I got to the door, the officer, who had rode by the side of my carriage across the field, went in and told Sir William I was there. I heard his voice, clear as usual, say: “Let her come in directly,” and the sound nearly overpowered me. I found him unable to move, or even to turn his head, and suffering at times great pain; but he was perfectly collected and cheerful, and he expressed the greatest comfort at my presence. Nothing could be more wretched than the hovel, it had been plundered and set on fire by the French, and was destitute of everything. The surgical attendance was the very best, and nothing could exceed the kindness of all towards us. It was scarcely possible to procure food or necessaries, but all that could be found was brought to us. My maid proved an excellent nurse, and prepared everything that Sir William ate, but he could take but little. The cottage had two rooms, in one of which we cooked his food, and I had the inexpressible comfort of knowing that he had all that he wished for.

I passed the greatest part of the ten days his life lasted sitting by him and holding his hand; he could not speak much, but all he said was kind, soothing, and perfectly resigned. He often desired me to go and lie down in the other room; but if I returned in a few moments he forgot to send me away again. I fear he concealed his sufferings out of consideration for me, for sometimes, when I was out of his sight, I heard him groan deeply. The road, which was immediately near the cottage, was the only one by which all the waggons passed; but he did not appear to mind the noise. I think I slept but once during the ten days, and that was when he had fallen into a doze, and I leaned my head on his pillow; when I awoke he was looking at me and said it had done him good to see me sleep.  The first night I was there an officer, hearing I had no blanket, sent me one, and this was of the greatest use to us in fomenting Sir William’s limbs and chest, it relieved the pain; having torn the blanket into pieces, as well as my own petticoat and my maid’s, we were able to continue the fomentations for a considerable time. The surgeons were sometimes so exhausted, that when they came in the evening, they were nearly fainting and unable to speak. I applied the leeches, dressed the blisters, which had been ordered on his breast, and he often said I did it more gently than the surgeons.

One day we had an alarm that the French were returning; I prepared myself for it, and only prayed that I might die with my husband. Sir William noticed every little circumstance which occurred, and was amused at the ingenuity which I exerted to procure him comforts. An officer, who called to inquire after him, left a card which was directly made into a spoon to feed him. At one time he really appeared better, and said he thought he might recover, and that then it would be the happiest event of his life, for no one could expect him to continue in the army after such an injury as this, and he might retire and live with me.

Two days before the last, as no hope of saving his life remained, I was told that he could not live more than a very short time as water had formed on his chest. I thought it my duty to tell him; he bore it with the greatest firmness, and resignation to the will of God; but said that it was almost sudden to him as he had felt so much easier for several hours. He said many things at intervals to me respecting my return to England, and the comfort I should have in thinking over the time I had passed with him, and he prayed with me and for me.

I can scarcely recall the circumstances of the last twenty-four hours. He suffered much at times from oppression of the breath, and the advances of death, though slow, were very visible. He sunk into a lethargy and expired without a struggle. Two of the medical men were in the next room during the last day, and General D— was waiting in a house near; but they did not interrupt us.[5]  When all was over, and I saw my dear husband lying dead, so calm and with such a peaceful expression on his countenance, I felt what a blessed change he had made from this world of trouble and suffering.

General D— took me with him to Bruxelles. Sir William was buried near Bruxelles, in the same place with many other officers. I wished to have attended, but was advised not to do so. I received the greatest kindness from many whose names I did not know before. As I sat alone on the day of the funeral, reflecting on what had passed, remembered it was three months that very day since my wedding.  

Lady De Lancey was the wife of Sir William De Lancey and Lady De Lancey at Waterloo is a story of duty and devotion. This book tells the tragic story of William De Lancey, who became one of the first professional staff officers in the British Army, worked for Wellington throughout the Penisular War, and was his chief-of-staff at the Battle of Waterloo.