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CHAPTER 17
Delaford Parsonage,
Dorsetshire - Sunday, June 18, 1815
It was a cloudy
after the rains of the day before. Marianne Brandon thought the
long-planned picnic would be canceled, but Elinor's children
would not hear of it. Therefore a compromise was reached. The
adults from Delaford Manor and Barton Cottage gathered at the
Parsonage after services and sat on chairs from the house upon
a new stone patio recently laid by Mr. Ferrars. In this manner
the adults would remain dry while the children proceeded to get
as dirty as possible.
As an extra treat,
Marianne brought her greyhound Princess that she might play with
the Ferrars' new greyhound puppy. Princess enjoyed meeting the
youngster, but proceeded to claim her usual spot at her mistress'
feet. The young male could not have that and proceeded to bark
at the older dog. Finally he swiped his paw at Princess, boxing
her ears, and with a yelp dashed away at full speed. With a growl,
Princess took off after him. The two ran and leaped across the
meadow, blurs of fawn and black, delighting the children.
"How do you
like your puppy, Edward?" asked Marianne.
"Well enough
- he's a jolly sort. But I can't get him to fetch if his life
depended on it!"
"Have you named
him yet?" she asked her sister.
Elinor's eyes sparkled
with mischief. "Well, since Edward is convinced he's touched
in the head, we've decided to name him…George!" All
three sisters dissolved in giggles, while Mrs. Dashwood looked
on with disapproval; she respected the monarchy far too much
to be comfortable with such jibs.
As she calmed down,
Marianne looked at her younger sister, Margaret. She had grown
into a lovely woman of eighteen; old enough for a serious conversation.
"Mother," she began, "have you received any letters
from Lt. Price?" As she expected, Margaret's face turned
bright red.
"It is strange
that you would bring that up, Marianne, for we received a letter
from the Lieutenant only a couple of days ago. He sends his regards
to you and the Colonel," answered Mrs. Dashwood.
Elinor glanced at
Marianne. "And did he mention anyone else?" she asked.
Mrs. Dashwood was
not the cleverest of women, but she was no fool; she understood
the direction of these questions. "As a matter of fact,
he did…"
"He asked about
me - is that what you want to know?" cried Margaret. "I
cannot see how that is any of your concern!"
"Margaret!"
snapped Mrs. Dashwood. "You will mind your words, young
lady!"
Margaret was only
a little humbled. "Yes, Mama."
Her older sisters
shared a look. "Margaret, I wish to take a turn in the garden,"
said Marianne as she rose. "Would you join me?"
Margaret looked
around. Her mother started to make some objection as to Marianne's
intrusion into her domain, but she was stilled by a look from
Mrs. Ferrars. Finding no support, Margaret joined her sister.
A few minutes later,
in the relative sanctity of Elinor's rose garden Marianne began
directly. "Margaret, do you have an understanding with William
Price?"
Margaret blushed
even deeper. "I…I do not take your meaning…"
"Oh, stop it!"
Marianne snapped. "Do not play childish games with me! I
asked you, adult to adult, of your attachment to Lt. Price, if
one exists. This is serious, sister."
She looked down.
"We have no understanding between us, except friendship,
Marianne."
Marianne breathed
out in relief. "That is well. Would I be wrong in deducing
that you wish for something more?"
In a small voice
her sister said, "No, you would not be wrong."
Marianne looked
kindly on her sister. "My dear Margaret, the reason I must
be so direct with you is that you have all of your sisters' bad
traits - you feel as deeply as I do and you are as closed-mouthed
about your feelings as Elinor."
She glanced up.
"I'm not as bad as Elinor…"
Marianne chuckled.
"Perhaps not. But we need to speak of this. Do you know
what you are about, Margaret?"
"I don't understand."
A pained expression
came over Marianne's face. "My love, I am a soldier's wife.
My dear husband is even now in Europe, preparing to face battle."
She stopped and seized her sister. "Christopher may not
return; do you understand this?"
Margaret's eyes
grew wide. "I…I…yes, I do…"
Her older sister
closed her eyes. "Good. The wife of a man in the King's
service must be ready to lose him to the service. I have learned
this the hard way. If you encourage Lt. Price's attentions, you
must face that reality as well. He is a sailor; the sea is his
home, upon a man-o-war. He can only win fortune and advancement
through action." Her eyes became hard. "By action I
mean fighting and killing. He may suffer grievous wounds - or
worse. A hurricane could sink his ship…"
"Stop it!"
Margaret cried. "Say no more!"
"I shall not
stop. You are choosing a hard road, Margaret. Lt. Price is a
fine man; he would make some woman a fine husband. But she must
be one that will support him in his profession. Are you that
woman? Are you willing to take the chance that you might lose
him to the sea? Think!"
Margaret looked
miserable. "I do not know…" She began to cry.
Marianne embraced
the girl. "Hush, my love. Shed no tears over an honest answer.
Truth can be hard and ugly sometimes, but it is the only path
to happiness. Lt. Price deserves nothing less." She tilted
her sister's head up. "Please think about what you want.
I love Christopher enough to risk losing him, for I would never
ask him to be anything but what he is. If you wish to travel
my road, you must do it with a full heart and open eyes."
Margaret looked
at her through her tears. "You mean…you don't object…?"
"No, my love,
just as long as you know what you are doing."
Meanwhile, across
the English Channel, the world shook as titans clashed…
St. George, Bermuda
- July 1815
Anne sat in the
sitting room of her little house on __th Street in St. George,
the former capital of His Majesty's colony of Bermuda, her home
since her arrival two months before, repairing a tablecloth.
It was late morning of another sunny day in summer. The open
windows of the room looked upon the street; therefore Anne could
pause from her labors and amuse herself by observing her neighbors
traveling up and down the inclined lane. The cool breeze from
the ocean brought in the scent of flowers and the sea and the
sounds of everyday life. The housemaid, a free Negress named
Mary (Anne was very amused that her indolent sister's namesake
was a maid), cleaned the room humming her favorite of her mistress'
repertoire for the pianoforte.
Anne sighed over
her work. The room was not too hot, even in early July; Bermuda,
the most northerly of the Caribbean islands, was far more temperate
than Jamaica or the Bahamas. (Bermudians hated their home being
called a Caribbean Island, by the way.) It was certainly warmer
in the summer than England, however. The weather was one of the
things Anne liked best about Bermuda. It was never really cold.
The flowers and plants that could grow there were all delightful
to Mrs. Wentworth. And the ocean - Ramsgate and Portsmouth had
their charms, but it was nothing to the exquisite beauty of the
Atlantic washing the soft pink (pink!) sands and hard grey rocks
of Bermuda.
The island was far
hillier than Anne had expected - there was hardly any flat land
to be found that wasn't already in agriculture. No fresh water,
either; rainwater had to be collected in cisterns. It was why
all the roofs were of white plaster. Fortunately, rainfall was
plentiful. And the sight of all the white roofs peaking through
the trees and plants about the hills were a constant source of
delight to Anne.
Friends Anne had.
The Governor's wife enjoyed entertaining and many of the other
wives got along very well with the bride of the dashing Captain
of the Laconia. (Apparently, the tale of Pyke's attack died with
the man.) Food was different, but not bad. The sailor influence
on the cuisine meant there was salt cod every Sunday, and the
large number of Portuguese fishermen added their own unique impact
upon the diet - the fish soup was a staple in the Wentworth household.
Beef was shipped in from America, now that the war was over.
She did not miss
her husband. Since the cession of hostilities with the United
States, the British ships spent their time looking for pirates
and the odd French ship - not that there were many of them. Frederick
was in port at Castle Harbour more days than not; in fact he
was home this week.
She did not miss
her family. Anne was a woman born to love, and love unconditionally.
Because of that she was also long-suffering. She knew there was
little affection for her from her father, Sir Walter Elliot,
or her eldest sister, Elizabeth. Mrs. Mary Musgrove, her younger
sister, cared for her as much as Mary could care for anyone other
than herself. And as for Lady Russell, Anne loved her as she
might love a maiden aunt. But it was time that Anne spread her
wings, and she felt that it would be difficult to do so while
under the eye of her loving yet domineering godmother. Anne told
herself every day that Lady Russell's persuasion of Anne to refuse
Frederick back in the Year Six was the right thing to do at the
time; that missing over eight years of bliss was as nothing.
Sometimes Anne believed it.
No, Anne had no
reason to repine. She sighed because it was normal to do so for
a woman four months with child.
"Oh, Miss Anne,"
said Mary the maid, "I love hearing you play. Will you be
playing today?"
"Perhaps later,
Mary." Anne was not put out by the informality of the islands.
"What would you like to hear?"
"I do like
that Bay-hoven song, ma'am."
"'Für
Elise'? Yes, I like Beethoven too."
Suddenly the two
women were interrupted by cannon fire. It is too soon for the
noon gun, thought Anne. As to prove her correct, the gun fired
again, this time answered by others. Anne stood up in alarm -
this was not the measured honors paid to a warship entering port.
Guns were going off pell-mell, now answered by church bells ringing
across the town.
"Miss Anne!"
cried Mary. "Are we under attack? Miss Anne, come back!"
Uncaring, Anne dashed
out the front door to the street. She could see cannon smoke
rising from the docks, only a few blocks away. Other people were
gathering in the lane, looking for the invader. Fear gripped
her heart and she began to work her way to the docks, her only
concern was for Frederick's safety. Anne had not taken more than
two dozen steps when she beheld a navy officer running uphill,
waving his fore-and-aft hat. In a moment she realized that the
figure was that of her husband, which both relieved and puzzled
her; Frederick always wore his hat out of doors.
Captain Wentworth
spied his wife and redoubled his efforts. Casting his hat upon
the ground (the ground!) he seized Anne and twirled her around,
laughing the whole time. "Its over! Anne, it's over! Ha,
ha, ha!"
"Frederick
- Frederick, please…" begged a now dizzy Anne. "Please,
dear, desist!"
"All right,"
he grinned and kissed her hard.
"FREDERICK!"
she murmured into her husband's mouth (he held her too tightly).
Finally Anne was able to pull back. "Frederick Wentworth!"
she cried, using his full name - a sure sign she was displeased.
"What are you about, sir? What is going on?" The guns
and bells were still filling the air.
Wentworth's smile
threatened to crack his face. "The news just came in - it's
over, my love! Bonaparte is beat! The war is over!"
Hamilton, Bermuda
A few weeks later
the Governor, Sir James Cockburn, at very short notice held a
large dinner in celebration of the famous victory. The guest
of honor was an army officer who had heard all the details of
Waterloo and was who was expected to entertain the guests with
the tale of Napoleon's final failure. What passed for society
filled Government House, recently relocated from the Town of
St. George.
Frederick and Anne
took their seats towards the middle of the table. Rear Admiral
Edward Griffith, Commander of the North America Station, sat
nearby. Frederick and the Admiral discussed for a few minutes
the progress of the construction of the new Royal Navy Dockyard
on Ireland Island south of Hamilton. Anne was talking to the
first lieutenant of the Laconia. "Well, William, have your
received any letters lately?"
"Oh, yes, Mrs.
Anne," replied Mr. Price. "My sister, Mrs. Bertram,
writes quite regularly."
"Of that I
am quite sure. But it was not Mansfield parsonage that was in
my mind, but Barton Cottage."
"Oh!"
Lt. Price blushed. "Yes, I have received a letter from Mrs.
Dashwood. All is well in Dorsetshire."
"Including
Miss Margaret?" Anne teased.
"Y…yes,
Miss Dashwood sends her regards." Lt. Price was positively
red by now. "But there was no news of Colonel Brandon when
she wrote."
"Oh…"
said Anne, all good cheer gone. The conversation switched to
safer subjects while dinner was served. The meal was heavy with
seafood, meat being dear.
Finally the Governor
rose. "Admiral Griffith, ladies and gentlemen. I am honored
that all of you could attend this special dinner today."
As he spoke servants began to serve the desert. "With us
today is Lt. Colonel ___ of the British Army." He indicated
an artillery officer sitting to his right. "He has recently
been transferred to the post here - for that we all welcome him
to Bermuda." There was polite applause from the other guests.
"Colonel ___ has been so kind as to agree to entertain us
with the details of our most wonderful victory at the Battle
of Waterloo fought last month, which finally put paid to Napoleon
Bonaparte."
A cry of "Here,
here!" arose from the crowd.
"Has the devil
been caught yet, Colonel?" asked a wealthy merchant.
"I heard he
has made for America!" cried another.
Colonel ___ stood
up. "The former Emperor Napoleon had not yet been captured
when I left Portsmouth, but it should only be a matter of time.
All his supporters have abandoned him. Before I say more, however,
I must thank Sir James for his kind invitation here today…"
The colonel continued to thank his host while two soldiers erected
a frame and hung a piece of sailcloth that had been made into
a crude map. "As an artilleryman, I find maps to be helpful
in describing battles. Before I begin, please understand that
most of my information was gathered second-hand from people I
believe to be very reliable. Oh, thank you," he said to
the servant that had handed him a glass of port.
Admiral Griffith
leaned over to Frederick. "He also brings news of Lord Hornblower,"
he whispered. "It seems the good captain has been delivered
safely from his incarceration in France."
"Very well,"
the colonel began again. "You see before you a crude map
of the Waterloo battlefield. On June 11, The Duke of Wellington,
leading the Anglo-Dutch forces, and Prince Blücher, leading
the Prussians, had received notice that Napoleon had crossed
the border. It was a very good stoke by the French; the Prussians
had not yet linked up with our troops around Brussels. Our armies
redoubled our efforts and met the French on June 16. The Anglo-Dutch
fought the French to a standstill at Quatre-Bras directly south
of Waterloo. The Prussians has a rougher go of it; they were
beaten badly at Wavre, due east of Waterloo.
"Wellington
decided to withdraw to a much stronger position on a ridge at
a village named Mont St. John just south of Waterloo, and did
so on the 17th. The Prussians fell back into Wavre. Wellington
decided to give battle here," he pointed to the map, "for
several reasons I will describe in a moment, and Blücher
agreed to meet him there."
Colonel ___ then
proceeded to explain such arcane subjects as reverse slopes and
strongpoints. He succeeded in confusing only half of his audience.
He then continued his tale. "So here we are: Hill with Second
Corps on the right, that is, to the west, holding Hougoumont;
the Prince of Orange with First Corps in the center, investing
La Haye Sainte; and Wellington's Reserve Corps, under Picton
on the left. Uxbridge's cavalry was to the rear of the center.
Total strength was about 68,000. The line was not over two and
a half miles - a very short line.
"Less than
a mile away to the south were the French, 72,000 strong, on a
ridge near La Belle Alliance. The valley between was not terribly
deep, but it had rained hard the night before and the going was
slow. The Prussians were moving to the west from Wavre with almost
80,000. The whole of the battlefield was about six square miles,
not much room for 200,000 men, I can tell you.
"Nothing happened
much the morning of the 18th. Finally at about 11:00 the French
artillery opened up and they attacked our right wing. Napoleon
didn't anticipate the fighting spirit of Second Corps, though
- Hill's men fought off all attacks. Finally, at about half past
one the French launched a major attack on the left wing, smashing
around our defenses at La Haie. Our boys stood firm, and Picton
lead the charge, losing his life to a bullet. As the French were
reeling, Uxbridge charged through the center and drove them back."
He then went into detail about the charge of the British heavies,
including the sad fate of the Scots Greys.
"At about 4:00
pm, Wellington saw that La Haye Sainte couldn't hold and began
to reposition our people. At that time, five thousand sabers
of French cavalry struck at the center! Time and time again they
slouched up the hill, only to be met by our brave boys and our
gallant Dutch and German allies." He was being generous
- while the KGL performed well, the Dutch troops had not, except
for one division. "We held them off, but we were hanging
by our fingernails, I can tell you. Had Napoleon attacked then,
at 6:00, I don't think we could have stopped him. All wanted
to know - where were the Prussians?
"Finally Blücher
made his presence felt at about 7:00. It was at this time that
Napoleon launched his final attack with the Imperial Guard -
his undefeated immortals! By that time, Wellington had Second
Corps move in from the west, placing them in position to hit
the French from their flank. It is said that Wellington himself
gave the order to open fire at a range of less than fifty yards.
Fire from musket and cannon poured into the Guard. They wavered,
trying to push through, but then began to give way. They were
unsupported by artillery or cavalry. The proud invincibles began
to fall back - that was when the light cavalry under Vivian and
Vandeleur, the only horse we had left, smashed into them. Meanwhile
the Prussians were hitting the French in force from the east.
"To the cries
of la Garde recule! the French retreated from the battlefield.
Wellington met Blücher at La Belle Alliance at 8:30. The
battle was over - a great victory, but a narrow one. Wellington
himself said: 'It was a damned close-run thing; the nearest run
thing you ever saw in your life.'"
"Colonel, what
was cost?" asked the Admiral.
"Our Anglo-Dutch
force lost about 15,000; the Prussians about half that. French
causalities are estimated at between twenty-five and thirty thousand.
All told about 50,000 causalities on all sides - almost 90,000
for the entire campaign out of the two hundred thousand that
started it."
Due to the ladies
in the audience, the colonel left out how bodies of men and horses
covered the field. Worse than that was the condition of the wounded,
many of whom lay three days before being treated. Parties of
Belgian scavengers toured the field, murdering and robbing the
wounded; looters from both Allied armies scoured the area, stripping
the dead and living alike. Over the whole field arose a continuous
moan. Those who saw it acknowledged that the most sickening sight
of all was in the Hougoumont enclosure, where a barn had been
set alight, burning to death the scores of wounded, both French
and British, who had been placed there.
The crowd became
very quiet as the toll of the battle became apparent to them,
as the colonel intended. He took no pleasure in battle; it was
a dirty, and sometimes necessary, business. Many ladies began
to weep, and there were a few gentlemen with tears in their eyes.
The Governor rose
from his chair. "Thank you Colonel; you have been most informative.
My friends, if you would now fill your glasses…"
"Sir James!"
called the Admiral from the other end of the table. "May
I beg an indulgence, sir?"
The Governor, who
was about to offer the customary toast to the King's health,
waved his permission.
"Thank you,
sir." With that, Admiral Griffith rose to his feet. "Ladies
and gentlemen, I am sure I was not the only one here today who
was spellbound by Colonel ___'s report on the epic events that
occurred in Belgium last June. It is not the practice of the
Royal Navy to do so, but today I will forego custom and propose
a toast to the British Army." Everyone got to their feet.
"Shipmates! As we raise our glasses let us remember the
bravery and sacrifice of our comrades-in-arms: Wellington, Picton,
Ponsonby and all our brothers, represented here today by Lt.
Colonel ___, from gentry to farmboy, who wear the King's uniform.
I give you the British Army!"
"THE BRITISH
ARMY!"
As she sipped her
wine, Anne could not help looking towards the colonel. He was
trying to drink his wine, his face awash in tears.
Capt. Frederick
Wentworth, RN
HMS Laconia
St. George, Bermuda
My dear sir,
Allow me to give
you and Mrs. Wentworth joy of the glorious victory! The Tyrant
is beat at last. 'Tis the great victory of the world, for all
love. All of Gibraltar is wild about it. Our common friend knows
not what to do, except shake every hand in sight.
Please forgive
the briefness of this note. We are to the place we were to go
before Bonaparte's late escape. We plan to touch at Sierra Leone
on our way. Please let Mrs. Wentworth know I shall keep her advice
in my mind.
Capt. Aubrey
sends his warmest regards to you and Mrs. Wentworth. He also
says that when next we shoot at Woolcombe for you to bring your
own fowling piece, as to not have any excuse when you fall to
your betters.
I have only time
to add God Bless.
Your obt. servant,
MATURIN
HMS Surprise
Gibraltar
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