Chapter 19: The Hero's Return

By good fortune the transports that we boarded at Ostend took us direct to the port of Boston, in Lincolnshire, which is no more than a three day march from Lincoln.
We were greeted as heroes through every hamlet and village we passed through on our journey, and on arrival in Lincoln were permitted to march through the city with bayonets fixed, drums beating, and colours flying. I say 'colours', as another King's colour had been manufactured by the regimental tailor, and none but the most discerning eye would tell it was a replacement.

Lord Brownlow, the Colonel-in-Chief of the regiment, wanted to know the full story of the loss of the King's colour and the rescue of the Regimental colour, at Quatre Bras. Jamie McMurdoe had been killed at Waterloo; a cannon ball had struck him, killing him instantly, as he stood just few feet from me. Drayton Parslow had been severely wounded, and was now in an army hospital. Thus, I was the only officer able to relate the whole story.

Lord Brownlow lived at Belton House, a place I knew well as it was in the grounds of Belton House that I had been caught poaching. As I entered the study and stood ready to give him my account of Quatre Bras, I wondered if His Lordship would recall the last time I had appeared before him.
That appearance had been in his court room, when he had given me the option of transportation to Australia or a life in the army. I doubted he would be able to recall the faces, or even the names, of those whom had been arraigned before him over the many years that he had been magistrate. In any event, I was now twenty-four years of age, and a Captain in His Majesty's army, a far cry from the sixteen year old apprentice scrivener caught poaching on his estate.

Lord Brownlow was very affable and friendly; he offered me a cigar, gave me a glass of wine and bade me tell him the complete story of Quatre Bras. I did as best as I could, taking sips from my glass as I relived the memories of that terrible day. When I ended my story there was a long, heavy silence. Eventually his Lordship gave a great sigh, and said.

"Well, it seems there was little my regiment could have done under the circumstances, and taking to their heels at least preserved the greater part of them for the later battle at Waterloo."

He paused, and then said, "Tell me, what happened on the ridge of Mont St Jean, Captain, for I have heard rumours that my regiment left its position without orders."

I told him that we had retired only after receiving the order from General Halkett himself, and then had participated in the repulse of Napoleon's Old Guard. Unfortunately, the 1st Foot Guards, and the 52nd Foot, have received all the plaudits for that deed, and our regiment is never mentioned.

"I'm glad to hear that my regiment did its duty, Captain, as you did yours in saving the Regimental standard. The King, or rather the Prince Regent, gives a colour to every battalion of every regiment, but I have only presented two, one to the First Battalion, and one to the Second Battalion of my regiment. I freely admit that if my regiment had to lose a flag I would prefer it not to be one I had given."

He generously presented me with fifty guineas, as reward for saving the Regimental colour, but I demurred, saying it was Ensign Clinton who had carried it into the square, and he should have the reward. Ensign Aston Clinton had since secured a lieutenant's commission, and had transferred into the 24th Foot.

Lord Brownlow would have none of it.

"Not at all, if you hadn't formed the square he would have suffered the same fate as the ensign bearing the King's colour."

I then told him that Captain Parslow had played a major part in forming a viable square. His Lordship asked where Parslow was now, and when I replied he was in a Military Hospital in Aldershot he called his steward, and directed him to make provision to have Parslow moved to a medical institution in Windsor. Many people say that Lord Brownlow is a grasping, greedy, and rapacious landlord, and at times he certainly could be, but his conduct towards me, and others of the regiment, illustrates a different side to the man.
On Lord Brownlow's orders I was given two weeks furlough, and spent some of that time at Greenaway's Farm, I also, unknowingly, laid the foundation of coming into a legacy.

My mother's second cousin was a DeLacey, a family of land owners who were highly respected in Lincolnshire. Great Aunt Jemina had spent much of her married life in India, as her late husband had been an officer in the army of the Honourable East India Company (HEIC) — which is known more familiarly as 'John Company'. He had made a sizeable fortune before retiring and returning to England, where he and Jemina lived as gentry. Great Aunt Jemina now lived in a modest sized, but well-appointed mansion on the Newark road, three miles north of Grantham. Due to her long association with 'John Company's army' she entertained a great interest in all things military, and I was directed to attend on her and give a full account of the Waterloo campaign.

I had never met the lady before, but knew that she was rather eccentric and employed no male servants. Even her butler was female. Although she was at least sixty five years old, Jemina still preserved the manners, attitudes and outlook, of her youth, and she had her staff dress in the fashion of that more rakish time.