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“I have considered the days
of old, and the years that are past.”
I was born in St. Andrew's Square, Edinburgh, at eleven o'clock a.m., on
the 13th of March, 1785. The bells of St. Andrew's Church were calling
douce folk to worship, and charivaried my entrance on the great stage of
life. There is an old saying, “that those born on Sunday pass through
life with good fortune and happiness." Thank God I cannot gainsay it;
for, although the sunshine of my course has been sometimes obscured with
clouds of affliction and ingratitude, yet 1 am thankful to say that now,
in the seventy-fifth year of my age, I am enabled to skim o'er the days
of my earthly pilgrimage with a grateful heart to the Almighty Creator
of all. My father was the descendant of an ancient race, and chief of
his family; my mother the daughter of a noble baron, the twelfth in
direct descent inheriting the peerage and title of Gray : thus were
their children nearly related to many families of ancient lineage and
high station. I had several brothers and sisters, which death diminished
to the number of six, of whom I was the Benjamin. My mother died in
1787; my father remained a widower during the remainder of his life.
My maternal grandmother was Lady Gray, heiress of the estate of Kinfauns.
She possessed great firmness of mind and insight into character, with
unvarying fixedness of purpose, to accomplish whatever appeared
conducive to the happiness of those in whose welfare she was interested.
During the troubles in Scotland in 1745, my grandfather was
lord-lieutenant of Angusshire, and a friend to the Hanoverian dynasty.
On the advance of the Duke of Cumberland into Scotland, to assume the
command of the royal army, he halted at Dundee, remaining there two
days. My grandfather immediately proceeded to pay his devoirs to the
prince, attended by several of the deputv-lieutenants, and by many of
the most influential gentlemen of the county of Angus. Their reception
by the prince was haughty and most offensive, treating Lord Gray and the
other gentlemen, both in language and manner, as if they were rebels and
friends of Prince Charles. My grandfather, in consequence of this
treatment, returned to his residence of Gray in a towering passion, and,
in relating to Lady Gray the reception he had met with from the prince,
exclaimed, “I will let that Hanoverian know I have as ancient blood in
my veins as he can boast of, and that Scottish noblemen and gentlemen
are not to be treated as if they were a pack of German hind lowpers. I
will to-morrow stick a white cockade in my bonnet and join Prince
Charles, who, papist or no papist, is of the old legitimate Stuart line
of Scottish kings.” My grandmother remained quiescent, wisely
considering it was scant wisdom “to blow the coal to burn one's self;”
so she let her lord stamp up and down the room, uttering every amount of
anathema against the duke, intermixing such with scraps of Jacobite
songs, amongst which the one apparently most comforting to his amour
propre, and which he sang with great vehemence, was—
“Wha hae they gotten to be
their king,
But a puir hit German lairdy,
Wha, when they gaed to bring him over,
Was delving in his kail yardie?”
In the evening Lord Gray
wished to bathe his feet, as he felt symptoms of a eold from having got
very wet in riding to Dundee, he therefore gave orders to his valet to
that effect. It was then my grandmother showed her strength of mind and
farsightedness. She informed the servant that she would herself attend
to his lordship; accordingly, when he retired to his dressing-room she
accompanied him, having previously desired the valet to place hot water
at the door of the room. When all was prepared, and Lord Gray had placed
his feet in the foot-tub, her ladyship brought in the almost boiling
water, and poured the whole contents of the pitcher in one avalanche
upon his legs and feet. A tremendous yell proved that her end was
gained; the limbs were severely scalded, assistance was obtained, the
sufferer was plaeed in bed, and the surgeon sent for, who, after
administering palliatives to soothe the pain, gave positive orders that
his lordship was to remain in bed until all symptoms of inflammation
were redueed. Of course the intention to join Prinee Charlie was
abandoned for the time, and ere the incensed nobleman was again able “to
boot and saddle/’ his ire against the duke had cooled down, and the
white cockade remained perdu. Thus, by a bold stroke (not for a husband,
but for a husband’s welfare), the estates and title of Gray were
preserved from forfeiture, and Lord Gray himself from Tower Hill. My
uncle, his son and successor, who I have often heard relate the story,
used to add, “that whether or not his father ever became cognizant of
the warm proof of his lady’s care for his worldly interests, such never
diminished the warm affection subsisting between the noble pair.”
My paternal grandfather died in 1773, possessed of an estate in the
county of Mid Lothian, which my father, as his eldest son, inherited.
The mother of my father was the daughter of Sir Philip Anstruther, a
baronet of ancient creation, in the county of Fife. Her eldest sister
was married to the Earl of Trftquair; her second sister to Mr. Loch, of
Dry Law. My father was born in 1729, and at an early age was sent to
Westminster School, and boarded with one of the Dames (as they were
termed); a lady of the name of Douglas, who took a motherly charge of
him. He always spoke of her with affection and gratitude. He had no
inclination for Latinity, but yearned for a sword and red coat; so,
after passing through the usual routine of Westminster scholastic
studies, and having also acquired the accomplishments requisite in those
days for a young gentleman of birth and station, he entered the army in
1754, as lieutenant in the second troop of Horse Grenadier Guards,
commanded by the Earl of Harrington. Of this description of force there
were only four troops, each commanded by a nobleman. The privates were
principally the sons of yeomen of small landed estate, and paid each the
sum of L100 for admission to this force. At the coronation of George
III. my father carried the standard of the troop in which he served. In
1762 he was appointed head of the staff of Prince Charles of Mecklenburg
(brother of Queen Charlotte), and accompanied his royal highness to
Portugal, on the prince assuming a command in the Portuguese army (then
commanded by the Count de Lipe), during the administration of that most
ahle, but tyrannical minister, the Marquis de Pombal. At the termination
of two years, Prince Charles resigned his eommand in the Portuguese
army, and returned to England.
My father accompanied his royal highness, and soon after rejoined the
British army in Germany. In 1768 he was promoted to the rank of major.
The Horse Grenadier Guards were reduced in consequence of the heavy
expense of their appointments and pay. When this took effect he was
promoted to the rank of colonel, and was appointed to the command of the
4th regiment of Irish Horse; and as a mark of the estimation in which
his services and character as a soldier were held, his majesty George
III., on my father retiring from the army, conferred on him the honour
of knighthood, which at that period was held in high consideration, and
equal to the K.C.B. of the present period. During the Seven Years’ war
he was on the staff of Prince Ferdinand, then commander-in-chief of the
allied army, and afterwards aide-de-camp to General, afterwards Marquis
of Townsend; he saw much service, and was present at the battles of
Minden and Kirk Dinkerden.
My father had two brothers; the eldest entered the army, and was
distinguished for his bravery at the battle of Emsdorff, when major of
the 15th Light Dragoons, under the command of Sir William Erskine. This
regiment was the first which was embodied as light dragoons, and were
known under the soubriquet of "Elliot’s Tailors.” This gave rise to the
following anecdote. At an entertainment given to the officers on the
return of the regiment from Germany, one of the guests inquired of Sir
William Erskine the particulars of the desperate charge made by the 15th
on a body of French cavalry who were drawn up within a field surrounded
by high banks and hedges. Sir William, who was brave as he was joyous,
and withal spoke broad Scotch, replied, “ Weel ye see, when I received
the order to charge, I gathered up my reins and roar’d out, ‘Now, lads,
there’s the Mounseers! dinna spare them at them, ye deevils—charge!’ I
rammed my horse Clutic at the hedge; he louped clean ow’r, and landed me
in the thick o’ the melee, whar my tailors were laying about them like
mad, and that brave fallow Ainslie had just clove a Frenchman’s head
down to his stock-buckle. The Mounseers soon found they had enough, and
as mony as were able made clean heels of it.”
After serving throughout the war, my uncle was made king’s aide-de-camp,
and appointed Governor of Ostend; and in course of time acquired the
rank of lieutenant-general, became Governor of the Scillv Islands, and
colonel of the 13th regiment of foot. He died at the age of eighty-two.
His brother Robert, after passing through different diplomatic grades,
received the distinguished appointment of ambassador extraordinary to
the Sublime Porte in 1790, the duties of which he fulfilled with great
ability during a period of seven years. On being recalled, he was
created a baronet, and, with Lord Paget (afterwards Marquis of
Anglesey), sat in Parliament for Melbourne Port. Whilst ambassador at
Constantinople, he effected a most important service for the East India
Company, which they acknowledged by presenting to Sir Robert a superb
service of plate. He was a man of determined courage and great coolness,
of which I shall now relate an instance. On a certain occasion, while
writing a letter in the coffee-room of the Thatched House Tavern, in St.
Jameses Street (at that period a fashionable resort for the members of
the hauteton), Sir Robert observed a person in the adjoining box
(coffee-rooms being then divided into separate boxes) leaning over, and
coolly perusing that which Sir Robert was writing; upon which, without
appearing to notice this impertinence, Sir Robert continued his letter
in the following terms:—
“I would have written further were it not for an impudent scoundrel who
is reading from behind me that which I write.” This brought from the
Paul Pry the exclamation of, “How dare you, sir, call me a scoundrel?”
Sir Robert replied, “You are a scoundrel. If you are offended, follow
me.” Upon which they retired into an adjoining room, drew their swords,
and after a sharp rencontre Sir Robert wounded his impertinent opponent
severely. Sir Robert lived to the great age of eiglity-four, and was
succeeded by his nephew, a son of the general. On the death of my mother
my father sold his house in Edinburgh, and retired to his country seat.
I have stated that I was the Benjamin of my family, with the exception
of my younger sister Annie. I was strong, healthy, and precocious, and
gave much anxiety and trouble to my kind nurse Peggy, an instance of
which I will relate. The roof of the stables was under repair, a ladder
was raised up to enable the slater to reach a portion of it. The slater
had gone to dinner, Peggy was engaged in a flirtation with Peter
Neileiis, the gardener, and had only eyes for Pete. Unobserved I began
to mount, or rather crawl up the ladder, and had attained such a height
as would have caused broken bones had I tumbled. When Peggy observed my
dangerous position, Pate and herself were much alarmed and puzzled how
to get me in safety from my perilous perch. Pate quietly ascended the
ladder, while Peggy stood under with her apron spread out to receive me,
in the event of my falling. Pate placed me within Peggy’s grips, when
she exclaimed, "Was there ever seen sic a ventersome bairn!” accompanied
by a hearty shake and bullet as she carried me off to the nursery.
Another instance. There was a sagacious honest tyke of a Newfoundland
dog, named Terror, between whom and myself the closest friendship
existed, and on whose care of me, and vigilance, Peggy placed much
reliance. She frequently left me in Terror’s charge while she went to
dinner. On one occasion, when in the garden, I wandered away into an
adjoining field accompanied by Terror: the day was sunny and warm, after
toddling about I became tired, lay down and slept. When Peggy returned
to the garden and did not find me, she ran to the servants’ hall for aid
to assist in searching for me. There was a general alarm, as there were
ponds in the fields adjoining the gardens. After a very anxious search I
was found fast asleep with Terror lying by me, and one of his large paws
on my breast as a shield of protection. Peggy, who was in great alarm
and grief, lifted me up, exclaiming, “ Oh laddie, laddie, ye’ll be the
death o’ me!” while tears ran down her sonsy cheeks. Many other
anecdotes of my childish daring I could relate, but I refrain, although
the recollection and narration of them renews in intense vividness some
of the happiest portions of my early days.
In after life, when reflecting on the generally asserted opinion, that
the awakening of the minds of children to certain feelings and impulses
is denied by nature to a more remote period than I humbly think is the
case., my own experience and the recollections of my childhood lead me
to the different conclusion, that nature is not niggardly in this
respect, and that the minds of children even at three years of age are
sufficiently opened to estimate both acts and consequences, which either
protect from pain or confer pleasure.
For example, when I scrambled up the ladder I anticipated pleasure; the
same feeling which impelled me to expect such, would have prevented me
from putting my finger into the fire, from an undefinablc idea or
warning that doing so would give me pain. When I toddled with Terror
into the field I felt the anticipation of pleasure; I would not have
done so under the anticipation of danger. I therefore think that if my
mind had not been awakened to distinct and active feelings and impulsive
calculations, I neither would have scrambled up the ladder or gone into
the field.
On the recovery of George III., in 1789, Edinburgh was illuminated. I
remember, as yesterday, the preparation in my fathers house to join in
this manifestation of loyalty: the fixing of the tin holders for the
candles in the window frames; the discussion on these points between the
housekeeper and butler; and my nurse, Peggy, lifting up her voice with,
“It’s a grand thing for the candel makers whan the king’s sick, honest
man.” I recollect the pleasure I felt on looking at the illumination. If
my mind and feelings had been (as many assert) yet unwakened in this my
early childhood, such would have remained dormant.
At this time an occurrence took place which, as the newspapers express
it, occasioned by a prodigious sensation. A person named Brodie, a
member of the Town Council of Edinburgh and deacon of a Guild, and
considered affluent and of considerable influence with his fellow
citizens, was brought to trial before the Court of Justiciary, and found
guilty of breaking into the Excise Office in Edinburgh and stealing a
large sum of money. He was condemned to be hanged on a certain day in
October, on the scaffold at the west end of the Tolbooth, famed by Sir
Walter Scott as "The Heart of Midlothian.” The fatal day was stamped in
my memory by the unusual gloom and silence of the maidens who attended
upon my little sister and myself; even Peggy’s lively, cheery song of
“Jenny Nettles” was unheard. My sister and myself became impatient under
this state of matters; we were fractious, and whmyed and yammered to the
great annoyance of our attendants. At length Peggy broke out with, “Oh
bairns, bairns, ye little ken what’s gaan on at the west end o’ the
lncken booths on this blessed day! To think that a responsible man like
Deacon Brodie is to be in the grips o’ that dour deevil Jock Heeli, the
hangman, is awfu’! but we’r aa sinfu’ craters, may the Lord be about
liiz!” Peggy’s moralising was beyond us, and by no means calmed down our
peevishness, until we were amongst the flowers in the garden. Brodie was
a dissipated, reckless fellow, a gambler, and cockfighter, which was
quite unknown except to his associates, who were of the lowest grades of
blackguardism. A man of the name of Smith suffered with him as criminis.
Jock the hangman was in early days a continual cause of dread and awe to
my schoolfellows and myself. Jock was a cadaverous, down-looking fellow,
with a most satanic scowl, as if he were ever thinking of the last looks
of his victims as he adjusted the rope and covered their anguished
countenances with the white nightcap, ere lie withdrew the fatal holt.
He was by trade a cobbler, and followed his calling in a house in the
Fish Market Close. Many a time as a boy I looked with fear and horror at
Jock as he sat at his door cobbling shoes. He escaped being hanged for
robbery, by agreeing to fill the situation of public executioner. His
wife was a huge, hard-featured woman, of whom we schoolboys stood in
great dread. Jock made use of her as a bull-dog, to slip at us when we
chaffed him in passing his stall; and certes we had to make a clean pair
of heels when she was after us. Jock lived to a great age, but I
scarcely think the usual legend of “He died beloved and respected,”
graced his headstone.
My brothers had now attained an age when it became requisite that they
should choose a profession. Both declared for the army. My father
immediately purchased for George (the eldest) an ensigncy in the 19th
regiment of foot, and for Charles a cornetey in the 4th regiment of
Dragoons, commanded by Lieutcnant-Colonel Hugonin, and quartered at
Musselburgh, Perth, and Hamilton. An intimate companion of my eldest
brother was Colin Halket, who, for his gallantry and distinguished
conduct during the Peninsular war and at the battle of Waterloo, was
promoted to the highest grades of his profession; he died, at a very
advanced age, governor of Chelsea Hospital. His only brother, Hugh (but
much his
junior in years), was my constant playmate and friend. He entered the
army at an early age, as ensign in the Scotch Brigade, which he
accompanied to India. On his return from that service he was appointed
to a lieutenancy in the Hanoverian Legion, and eventually attained the
command of the light infantry battalion of that distinguished force, at
the head of which he served through the Peninsular campaigns, under the
Duke of Wellington. At the battle of Waterloo, he led his battalion into
the thickest of the fight, and in the most gallant manner made a French
officer prisoner, after a determined personal hand to hand encounter. On
the peace of 1815 he returned to Hanover (on the Hanoverian Legion being
disbanded), where he still resides, and is now commander-in-chief of the
army of that kingdom: thus has the playmate of my boyhood risen by his
gallantry to the most distinguished rank of his profession, and has also
received the decoration of G.C.B. from the Queen of England.
The father of these meritorious soldiers was of an ancient Scottish
family, who had
settled in Holland. He entered as lieutenant one of the Scotch regiments
in the pay of that country, and in process of time attained the command
of a battalion of that force. On the French republican army, under the
command of Piehegreu, advancing to take possession of Holland, the
British government recalled these regiments to Scotland, where they were
re-formed under the designation of the Scotch Brigade, and the command
in chief was conferred upon General Francis Dundas, a cousin-german of
the Right Hon. Henri Dundas, the de facto secretary of state for
Scotland. This measure was considered very harsh and unjust towards
Colonel Halket and the other officers of these regiments; but “might
overcame right” in this instance, and the weak suffered. Colonel Halket,
with his family, took up his residence at Drumsheugh (at that time
nearly a mile from the new town of Edinburgh), in one of two small
houses opposite to the grounds of the Earl of Moray. It was there that,
with Unglue Halket, I frequently passed my Saturday lioliday. His father
was the beau ideal of a soldier; tall in person, with a countenance
which expressed great firmness and intelligence, tempered with much
kindness and urbanity. He was advanced in years, and possessed a most
gentlemanly hearing, with the unmistakable air of one who had mixed with
the best society. To his dying day he always wore his cocked hat; and,
as he passed along, his erect carriage and military air at once marked
the soldier.
At the period of which I now treat, the extent of the new town of
Edinburgh westward was very limited; there were then only five houses
west of Castle Street, beyond which all was open ground as far as the
Kirk Brae-Head Toll, the entrance to the road leading to the Queen’s
Ferry. This open ground went under the term of Braefoot’s Parks, and
through which the Lang Gate, leading from the Calton Hill on the east
and westward to the Queen’s-ferry Road, passed. It was along this Lang
Gate that Clavers (Viscount Dundee) retreated with his dragoons, and
halted them, while he climbed up the rock to the sally-port, on the west
side of the castle, to have an interview with the Duke of Gordon, at
that period governor of the Castle of Edinburgh, then besieged by the
troops of the Scottish Parliament. |
