Memoir and correspondence of the late Capt. Arthur Stormont Murray, of the 1st battalion of the rifle brigade

Preface

It would be idle to deprecate criticism, and foolish to be insensible to it if just; but in printing this work, my desire being simply to bear an honest tri¬ bute to the memory of my lamented son, I am con¬ tent that its execution should prove me a writer of better intention than ability—an excuse which I have no doubt the candid will accept. But it may be thought that the time for printing is ill selected—perhaps it is; but immediately after the events to which this work relates I was fully engaged with other duties; and, if I may be allowed to say so, the public mind was then in no very favourable mood towards military men.

A long peace, and the doctrines of those who were averse from war, created an opinion that an army was more costly than useful. The defences of the country were neglected, and the army was re¬ duced in every branch. A war was going on at the Cape of Good Hope, and the people here were out

a 3

VI

PEEFACE.

of all patience that the war was not brought at once to a conclusion. “If,” they said, “your dis¬ ciplined troops are worth anything, they ought to exterminate the undisciplined Kaffirs ,• and if your troops are worth nothing, the fewer of them, if any, the better.”

Now, whatever may have been the merit of this style of reasoning, subsequent events have shown its fallacy.

Even in regard to the Kaffir war it was wrong, for a Kaffir in the bush is proportionately strong from being a wild animal, cunning it is true, but rather from instinct than reason, and fighting in his own element.

But the defection of the Hottentots complicated the Kaffir war, and rendered it infinitely more difficult to bring to a conclusion.

Happily, however, that war was in the end successfully terminated; but a war of a very dif¬ ferent description, and upon a much larger scale, was soon to break up the indulgence of those peaceful notions the public had for so long a period been allowed to entertain. The Crimean war took place : the same sanguine expectation of the public was again to endure its disappointments.

PREFACE.

Vll

Victories were gained, but Sevastopol held out; all the various incidents of war, pestilence, slaugh¬ ter, and storm, seemed to form the aggregate of the imputed incompetence of the commanders, without calling attention to the fact that war is a trial of various moral qualities, which the public itself does not always cultivate with suffi¬ cient care. The public had been fancying for years past that it had only to stamp with its foot, and that armed men would spring from the earth and overcome whatever enemies there might be. But what soldier ever told the public so, who had been used to service P

Even peace, with all its blessings, which no one reasonably can contest, must always on recom¬ mencing war be in some measure a cause of difficulty; and particularly is it so when peace retrenchments have crippled every branch of service and paralysed some. Peace came at length, and our army, in melancholy triumph over the ruins of Sevastopol, left the Crimea saturated with the blood of so many of our bravest and best.

It is not an unusual thing with persons who embark in large expenses, of which they have not viii PREFACE.

previously ascertained tlie amount, to impute to every one ratlier than to themselves the magni¬ tude of the outlay, of which every step discloses the increasing extent; and if the expenditure does at last stop, and has to he reckoned up finally, the same desire continues to shift the blame from their own shoulders. As it is with individuals, so it is with a nation; and no stronger ex¬ ample could be given than this country gave during the war against Russia. Whoever has served must admit that, though one may look back to past service as a happy time, from the animation and excitement it gave birth to, yet during its continuance there are many considera¬ tions which at the time do not constitute it as a period free from annoyance. One may have a bad dinner or no dinner—clothes wet through and no change—instead of a bed, the cold, perhaps the wet or snowy ground-—want of rest, if not want of sleep—put out of one’s own way in everything, and not even a tent;—on such occasions a man, probably aching like Caliban, is disposed to be out of sorts and to grumble ; therefore nothing is more common than for men on service to grumble, sometimes with reason, and sometimes without.

PREFACE.

IX

Now, if tliis kind of grumbling get into print, it naturally creates an idea that things are not so well carried on as they ought to be. Then there is another species of grumbler, who thinks himself so extremely clever that he can always point out what the fault has been, and with whom it lies. There can he no doubt that the public mind is very apt to catch its impressions from these not unpreju¬ diced complaints, and thus to become incapable of exercising its natural good sense and right feeling. These were the causes that gave weight to the cruel abuse of Lord Raglan, and to the grave imputations which were recklessly hurled against officers of the highest merit, who were faithfully discharging their duty under almost unequalled difficulties. That indeed was a period of national ingratitude, and ought to be a humiliating recol¬ lection. But a confirmation may he drawn from it of what always has been truly considered as a principle inherent in English justice, that accusa¬ tion is no proof; whenever this principle is disre¬ garded, the consequence will always he such as no honest mind can approve of.

A war with China, of the justice or injustice of which there were different opinions, was com-

X

PREFACE.

menced, but no great interest was taken in it. An inquiry was made into the Crimean war; but the result, being different from wliat the prevailing opinion had been, left only the moral that

“ He that’s convinced against his will Is of the same opinion still.”

But the Crimean war had not been without some influence on the public mind : it had brought forward into useful action a new form of female compassion in the excellent Miss Florence Night¬ ingale ; it had shown in the officers, soldiers, and sailors, more admirable fortitude under appalling difficulties than perhaps had ever been displayed, and that combined with an active courage and enterprise never surpassed.

Lord Baglan was then remembered, with that antique courage the generous French appreciated, and that untiring kindness that made him beloved by our army and fleet. But when the Queen visited the wounded in hospital, and when with her own hands she bestowed the just rewards of valour, the whole nation caught the inspiration of the Sovereign’s virtues, and valued their brave defenders at their real worth. The country was only just beginning to enjoy the blessings of

PEEFACE.

si peace, when news arrived from India of the mu¬ tiny of the native army, not only to an alarming extent, hut one spreading with unheard-of rapid¬ ity, and to which no limit could he anticipated. In fact, our Indian empire was not only in the balance, hut with the weight preponderating against us.

The Commander-in-Chief had died, hut fortu¬ nately there was here Sir Colin Campbell to replace him, and that officer started for his distant com¬ mand with no more preparation than if merely on an excursion to the seaside, carrying with him the universal approbation of this country to the appointment. The war which was raging in India was accompanied not only by the usual horrors which attend on warfare, but with atro¬ cities on the wives and children of our officers, soldiers, and civilians, at which humanity shudders and is silent. But that war, fearful as it was, elicited new proof of the valour of our troops, indomitable under every disparity of numbers, and victories were gained which seemed so disproportioned as almost to be fabulous. Various names of officers became historical and swelled the long roll of British heroes. But England was animated to xn

PREFACE.

fresli exertion ; and as she poured thousand after thousand of her bravest troops into India, she re¬ cognised their claim to her regard in her inmost heart, and is animated now by every feeling to do them justice.

At such a moment it ceases to be inopportune to bring into light a character endowed with those qualities of which heroes are made, that ardent desire of distinction which emulates but does not envy all that is bold or noble, and whose possessor, if his allotted course was short, at least was straightforward and undaunted in the path of honour.

MEMOIR AND CORRESPONDENCE

OF THE LATE

CAPT. ARTHUR STORMONT MURRAY.

My youngest son Arthur was born at Douglas, near Cork, in February, 1820. There was at the time snow on the ground, and in speaking of a beech-hedge the gardener told me that “it was entirely burnt by the frostthe cold weather, however, seemed to be genial to the little stranger, who, born with an Irish constitution, throve well. The country house which I hired at Douglas was pleasantly situated; it stood on a hill of gentle ascent in the midst of rather park-like ground, though of small extent; the entrance was by a lodge gate, past which ran the road from Cork to Carigoline, and on the other side of that road was a much larger seat of Mr. Newenham’s, called Maryborough, in the park of which he kindly allowed me to ride.

The village of Douglas was small, but much more populous than it looked. There was a

B

TILLAGE OF DOUGLAS.

Protestant church, and the clergyman, the Bev. Mr. Donovan, and his lady were kind and hos¬ pitable.

Mr. Penrose and his sister had a small but pleasant residence near the village, and nowhere could persons more amiable be found than they were. The disposition of Miss Penrose was of great kindness, and she had a frankness, refine¬ ment, and sincerity of manner which made her good sense the more acceptable. But to enume¬ rate that neighbourhood would only be to record its hospitality.

The look-out from our house at Douglas was very pretty: a view over villas ; over the distant water—scenery that had rather too much con¬ trast with the actual poverty of the cottages in the village. But there, as elsewhere in Ireland, was to be seen a people whom want cannot depress, or deprive of the characteristics of many a noble quality ; and even these, our poorer neigh¬ bours, had always something friendly or droll to say to us.

The head-quarters of the 18th Hussars, which I then commanded, were at Cork. The environs are beautiful, but the barracks are perched on the top of a steep hill, and, looking down on an extensive prospect of water, are tantalized by an awkward deficiency of water for the troops.

THE NURSE’S PETITION.

The selection of this bad eminence was rightly or wrongly attributed to a job ; and that species of arrangement by which the many were incon¬ venienced for the advantage of the few was, if current report can be believed, no very unusual event in the former history of Ireland.

A few months after the birth of the little boy I was driving from Cork homewards and rather fast, when a. respectable-looking elderly woman rushed forward and threw herself on her knees in the road. I instantly pulled up. The petitioner had been Arthur’s monthly nurse—nurse tender, as they call it in Ireland : her son had enlisted, and she wished to get him off. I believe that I was able to accomplish this for her, but it could be only for the moment, as he was determined to be a soldier.

It is many years since that time, and the con¬ dition of a soldier has so much improved since then, that it is to be hoped that there is no longer the same repugnance to it in popular esti¬ mation. This poor woman’s energy in urging her petition had the warmth of feeling which is pecu¬ liarly Irish, and seldom fails to be accompanied by a natural eloquence equally national.

Whilst we were at Cork Miss O’Neil came there and acted several times, and we had the good fortune to meet her at Lady Cliatterton’s

DEATH OF GEORGE III.

and make lier acquaintance; she was as unas¬ suming in society as she was admirable on the stage.

In Juliet her youth and beauty particularly adapted her to the character; hut, though these attributes doubtless had some influence on opinion, I preferred her in Mrs. Haller (in the ‘ Stranger ’) even to Mrs. Siddons, for the impression she gave was as truthful and more feminine.

Fashion has almost discarded the English stage; but as a mirror of life, of human passion, and human action, how far is it before the Italian Opera, with the charms of music and all the meretricious ornaments of unreal splendour !

An event about this time took place which, in the remotest parts of the empire, gave a painful, and, strange as it may appear, an almost unex¬ pected shock—the death of our good King G-eorge III.

Bemoved from the public sight for so long a time by his affliction, he was hallowed in the thoughts of his people by his well-remembered virtues. His power, like all earthly things, had passed away, hut his worth still lived, and yet heats, in the hearts of the loyal.

The welfare of the loyal is the welfare of the country; the two interests cannot he separated. How different were the purposes of Thistlewood

THISTLEWOOD’S CONSPIRACY.

and liis associates ! tlieir element was anarchy, their objects riches and power, their course mur¬ der and treason.

But Providence revealed their dark designs, and they received the just reward of their villany from the hands of public justice.

How much of misery has been saved to the people of this country by the execution of those conspirators—whose watchword was Liberty, but whose intention was the hardest of all tyrannies, the unlimited power of the vile and flagitious ! Whenever a revolution takes place great crimes and great cruelties are committed, and a vast amount of suffering has to be endured by the in¬ nocent, and by those who have in no way contri¬ buted to the event: I confess, then, I have no coincidence in opinion with those liberal ideas that contemplate a revolution as merely a slight fever in the system, which is to usher in a change to a healthier constitution.

It more resembles the irruption of a volcano, which spreads waste and devastation around; and though in time vegetation may again rise through the blackened surface, how much the lava has overrun and destroyed of that which was beautiful and precious !

The foregoing was written before the late atrocious attempt on the lives of the Emperor

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

and Empress of the French—an outrage of almost unheard-of wickedness and cruelty ; and yet be it observed that this reckless and indiscriminate carnage, at which every better feeling recoils, was only the first step contemplated in the revolution : then, as a necessary consequence, what rapine, oppression, and blood were meant to follow !

The institutions which the wisdom and virtue of ages have established can only be maintained by the principles that gave them birth, and science in this age has made a much greater advance than principle.

At Douglas I received a letter of recommenda¬ tion from a gentleman whose son had just been appointed to a cornetcy in the 18th Hussars.

It was odd that, from the turn of the letter, I seemed to be very well acquainted with the writer of it, and yet I had no intimate friend of the writer’s name—“ Walter Scott.” When the truth broke upon me as a sudden light, it was from the author of ‘ Waverley.’ Many times after Sir Walter Scott used to correspond with me relative to his son; but in these letters, which were more or less of detail and reference to business, I could trace no identity. Still this circumstance the more confirmed me in my original opinion. His first letter was addressed to a stranger, and had for its object to make a favourable impression on

YOUNG WALTER SCOTT.

him in regard to the writer’s son, and, therefore, was written with more care.

It will he observed, too, that before that time the author of ‘Waverley ’ had published ‘ Guy Mannering,’ in which there are several letters.

If a few verses are repeated of Moore’s or of Scott’s, how easily we recognise the author! and as in poetry, in a less degree we perceive in prose the peculiar manner of the writer.

Be that, however, as it may, many times afterwards I heard it positively asserted that Sir Walter Scott was not the author of the Waverley novels; but the contradictions never at all shook my faith in my original opinion.

Walter Scott, when he joined us, was a stalwart youth, and soon showed his strength, activity, and resolution, by walking from Cork to Fermoy and back by dinner-time; winning his match, which was for some trifling bet, so narrowly, that the clock was striking as he re-entered Cork Barracks. He gave me an edition of his father’s poems, which I still possess. It is one with a very good engraving of Sir Walter Scott, from a picture by that excellent Scottish artist Baeburn. There was a time when one almost felt as if one could not get through the year without a couple of the Waverley novels ; and when they ceased, it caused

REGIMENTS DISBANDED.

a void in innocent amusement and interest which has never been since supplied.

The general impression left on the mind after the perusal of one of Sir Walter Scott’s novels was always favourable to virtue; it was a picture of nature, giving its lights and darker shades, hut never giving that false colouring which makes vice splendid and alluring. His great charm was a certain candour which made you delight in his companionship, and made you partake of the legends he delighted in, the romantic scenery which he surveyed with a poet’s eye, the recollec¬ tion that fell hack upon the distant past. Nor should it he forgotten that he conferred an im¬ portant benefit on his own country; he showed, in all its wild beauty, her romantic features of mountain, forest, and impetuous torrent, and, not less to he admired, the hardy Scot, in every clime, invincible and faithful to his chief.

It was decided that two regiments of ca¬ valry should he reduced, and, consequently, the 18th Hussars and the 19th Lancers, which stood in the numbering of Light Dragoon regiments the two lowest, were reduced. Both the 18th and the 19th were regiments of distinguished service. They were at Newbridge Barracks at the period of their disbandment, and in the highest order and efficiency—the one under my

THE EIGHTEENTH HUSSARS.

command, and the other under that of Colonel Henry Wyndham. It was a painful circumstance to witness the disbandment of two such regi¬ ments. The uniform of the 18th was blue with white facings and silver lace, and with fur caps; the shabracques were of a lighter blue, and the uniform was generally considered handsome, though not overloaded with lace. The men were rather tall, but light, and of what might be called not only a soldier-like, but a gentleman¬ like appearance, and their behaviour was re¬ markably good. They rode very well. Their horses were younger than was desirable, hut it was a fault gradually diminishing ; on their return from service their old horses were pretty much worn out, and those which were drafted to them from other regiments were even more worn out than their old ones. Therefore a great part of the horses were bought since the regiment had been in Ireland. These, from want of proper nourishment whilst young, had not the form or substance, though often they were as well bred as Yorkshire horses; but, after they had been some time with the regiment, they began to furnish, and, having action and good shape, would have been fit in a short time to have vied with the horses of any regiment.

b 3

THE EIGHTEENTH HUSSARS.

A word or two may be said for the men. No regiment was calmer under fire, nor any more spirited or adventurous in attack. As, during the campaign of 1815, I almost always slept in the same field in which the men were in bivouac, I can assert that they were quiet, well behaved, alert, and ready to turn out at a moment, and I heard no grumbling; in fact, they were always disposed to be kind and obliging. When the disbandment was in progress, and the men had their discharges, and it might be thought that discipline was at an end, I never found them more respectful and more obedient than they were at that time. I had the satisfaction to hear that, when they entered afterwards into other regiments, they proved good soldiers. Many of them entered the 4th Light Dragoons, then commanded by the late Sir Charles Dalbiac, an excellent officer, and went to India; lie spoke of them most highly, and promoted several to be non-commissioned officers. But, when reductions of regiments take place, it is a serious thing; I have reason to believe that His Royal Highness the Duke of York regretted the disbandment of the 18th Hussars. And I am certain that it re¬ quires years to create in a regiment that degree of discipline that carries on its economy on an assured principle of progressive improvement, and

INDICATIONS IN YOUTH.

that esprit de corps which is the essence of its efficiency and fame.

It is interesting to trace through childhood the lineaments of a character which has matured to some distinction. The indications in youth of natural disposition form a much surer guide to the conjecture of character, than those forms of cerebral development that carry out the theories of the phrenologist. It is true that in some remarkable instances there have been a lassitude and inaction in early life, which gave no promise of future energy ; but these may be considered as exceptions to a rule rather than involving any positive rule in themselves. Whilst the features of the face are undergoing a constant change through childhood, those of character may be frequently influenced by circumstances, but seldom or never experience an entire altera¬ tion.

We may not have remarked, or may not have attended to, indications of greatness in a youth who has afterwards attained to high distinction; but if we review our recollection of such indivi¬ dual, many trifling circumstances will be brought back to our remembrance, through which we may connect the chain of character from youth to age. For this reason, slight anecdotes of childhood are not altogether the frivolous stories of the nursery

CHARACTERISTICS OF CHILDHOOD.

which some people suppose them to be. The child that is brave, candid, and kind will seldom grow up to manhood deficient in spirit, truth, and beneficence ; position and employment in life may foster those qualities or depress them, but they will still remain inherent and integral in the character.

A little boy that I had not seen for some time came up to me, and, taking me by the hand, said, “You will be sorry to hear that I have been ill.”

This perhaps caused a smile at the moment, but the child’s motive was not selfishness but sympathy; and so I thought it at the time, and I was right.

The poor little fellow shortly afterwards died, and his last pleasure was having soup made for the poor.

When we consider the various ills to which childhood is by nature exposed, and the still more numerous dangers and accidents which it heed¬ lessly incurs, we cannot but be sensible how often it must be sheltered under the wings of Provi¬ dence to survive—and yet we move and have our being among millions with less of admiration than when we survey the clocks and time-pieces at a watchmaker’s.

We were sitting one night in the dining-room.

ARTHUR’S NOCTURNAL RAMBLE.

which was on the ground-floor, a couple of white terriers were quietly resting, and all was still, when the dogs suddenly sprang up and went full cry to the door.

I rated them and brought them hack. It was an unusual circumstance, for the servants could go in and out of the room without occasioning the slightest challenge; but one of us thought that there was a little noise at the door before the dogs barked. I therefore, shortly afterwards, went to the door, opened it, and looked out: there was nothing there—so I shut the door, came into the room, and sat down.

We thought no more of the matter. A little later on the same night the housekeeper heard something at the door of her room, opened it, and there stood little Arthur in his night-dress. She thought that the child had walked in his sleep; and taking him, without speaking to him, in her arms, and wrapping him in a shawl, the kind-hearted Madeleine Sunier carried him up to the nursery at the top of the house, and put him to bed. The next day she asked him whether he recollected anything that happened to him last night ? To her surprise (for she had thought him asleep), he knew everything that had passed perfectly well.

It seems that something had waked him, and,

ARTHUR’S NOCTURNAL RAMBLE.

as he did not go to sleep again directly, he thought it would be more amusing to go down to us. Accordingly he got up and proceeded creepingly in the dark.

Clifton Hall (where it happened) was an oldfashioned house, and on the staircase was a picture, larger than life, of King Charles XII. of Sweden; and, though it was too dark then to see him, for it was “the witching time of night/’ an imaginative child, such as this was, might well have fancied the hero, whom he was wont to gaze at in the picture by day, was himself there gaunt and grim, in his large jack-boots, his hair on end like quills of porcupine; but little the hoy cared for such superstitious fears ; alone and in the dark, except such scanty light as might he seen under¬ neath the door, he made his way to the dining¬ room door; there, when he tried the lock, the uncourteous reception of his friends Viper and Myrtle barred his entrance. He went then to the housekeeper’s room; hut there, when the door was opened, he was received in silence ; so, submitting himself to the different issue of his adventure from what he had expected, he allowed himself to be carried up to bed without saying a word. Such a pilgrimage in the dark would not have been a very pleasant undertaking even to a grown-up person, but it is rather an extraordinary one in a child.

ARTHUR’S CHILDHOOD.

Arthur was at this time a very handsome little hoy—a fair complexion with a healthy tint, intelligent eyes, and hair which afterwards grew dark, hut was then of a golden colour; his features were more defined than usual at that early age, hut yet without being formal, and his smile had something between mischief and good¬ nature, which was very engaging. He was playing one day in the garden, and fell head foremost into the water. It was not very deep, but he could not get up, and might have been drowned. The governess was so frightened that she could only call for help ; but his little sister seized him by the frock, and, with affection above all fear, held him fast till assistance came. At another time a dog bit him in the face. I sucked the blood from the wound; but the acci¬ dent was an anxious and distressing one until it could be ascertained that the dog was not mad.

From a very early period in life there were two quite distinct characteristics in his dispo¬ sition, but they somehow blended very happily together. The one was a readiness to seize and enjoy whatever was humorous or comical; the other, a serious turn of reflection that delighted in poetry and in noble actions, and seemed to partake of their inspiration. Possessed of an excellent memory, he soon became a pleasant

ARTHUR’S CHILDHOOD.

companion, and liis conversation, grave or gay, was always of interest.

When Arthur was a child, he said to me one day—“ Papa, I should like to he in a battle.”

“ Ay, hut if you were wounded ?”

“ I would tear my robe” he answered; “but I would not cry.”

This was the saying of a child, but the spirit of it was carried out at Bloem Plaats, for I was told that when he had been wounded, and his arm shattered, he proposed that it should be taken off, saying, “ It will not give you much trouble, for I am thin.”

His talents almost from childhood were of a superior order, so that, notwithstanding his vola¬ tility and excessively high spirits, he seemed without effort to have an intuitive facility : music he caught by ear*—whilst playing, and perhaps in mischief, in the school-room, it not unfrequently was found that the lessons others were learning remained on his recollection.

Enjoying everything in the way of gaiety and fun, there was a graver vein of thought and feel¬ ing which was in the depth of his disposition. Perhaps he was not amenable to the improvement