Pursued By Danger: Memoirs of Maj Gen R G B Wilson

By Richard Wilson

Rediscovered after 150 years, the life story of Major General Richard G B Wilson has never been published until now. Pursued by Danger is the vivid account of one soldier’s survival in his own words.
From Napoleon to the Victorian era, Wilson’s reminiscences reveal the action, danger, rivalries, and hard-won rewards of being an army officer in Britain’s Royal Artillery. The recently graduated lieutenant was rushed to the war-torn Low Countries, where he joined the now-famous Rogers’ Battery. Having led his gunners through the losses of Quatre-Bras to victory at Waterloo, near-death experiences followed him for the rest of his career.
His army postings took him to the Mediterranean, the Caribbean and beyond, where he faced down perils from rioters to epidemics and pirates. Even at the end of his military service, where he supervised experiments on new weapons, he narrowly escaped the explosion that claimed the lives of his men.
Wilson rewards the modern reader with his delight in the natural world and now-extinct regional customs, but he shocks with the difficulty involved in journeying and clinging to life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brown Dog Books
• Release date: Apr 10, 2024
• ISBN: 9781839527371

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First published 2024

Copyright © Peter Guy Hedditch 2024

The right of Peter Guy Hedditch to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, digital, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the copyright holder.

Published under licence by Brown Dog Books and The Self-Publishing Partnership Ltd, 10b Greenway Farm, Bath Rd, Wick, nr. Bath BS30 5RL, UK

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ISBN printed book: 978-1-83952-736-4

ISBN e-book: 978-1-83952-737-1

Cover design by Kevin Rylands

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TO

Sylvester Frederick William Moor Wilson

Captain, 55th Regiment

Major of Brigade, 1st Brigade Malta

∼

History of a Life

Reminiscences of the Life and Services of Major General Richard Goodwin Bowen Wilson Colonel, Royal Regiment of Artillery

∼

Jersey, January 1st 1864

CONTENTS

EDITOR’S PREFACE

1Cadet and commission | 1809–13

2Bergen-op-Zoom and Antwerp | 1813–15

3Quatre-Bras and Waterloo | 1815

4Occupying France | 1815–16

5Ireland and Jamaica | 1816–19

6Scotland, Ireland, and Gibraltar | 1819–24

7Leave, Gibraltar, and Spain | 1825

8Recruitment, marriage, and France | 1825–27

9Return to Gibraltar | 1827–29

10 Canada and America | 1829–34

11 France and Malta | 1834–41

12 Scotland and Bermuda | 1841–46

13 England, Jersey, and Jamaica | 1847–54

14 Master of experiments | 1854–55

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Appendix A: Non-canonical additions

Appendix B: Loose leaves

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Author’s citations

Editor’s sources

Books and magazines

Online articles and images

Websites

Digital archives

Individual records in archives

INDEX

EDITOR’S PREFACE

Author’s spellings and misspellings in the main text have been preserved for transparency and to provide insight into the historical period. Any apparent inconsistencies, where words have been repeated, are simply a reflection of variation in the author’s manuscript. Spellings in the index, however, have been corrected and/or updated for the 21st century.

Punctuation has been inserted, as the original is very hard to follow without modification. Inserted commas, semicolons, and full stops have not been square-bracketed, as there would be so many of them as to interrupt the readability of the text.

Where underscore characters have been used in names, this does not denote illegible script in the manuscript. Rather, the author has evidently inserted a line in the MS as an intentional device to preserve anonymity or to indicate the author’s uncertainty on that point.

Footnotes and index reflect the military ranks of indicated persons at that point in the narrative. Final or highest achievements are shown in parentheses in the footnotes where possible.

Date ranges in parentheses (footnotes) denote birth and death unless otherwise indicated.

The indexing convention records place names as main entries where the locations are well known in their own right but otherwise as subentries under the relevant country. The exception is France, where the large numbers of place references make it expedient to index under town name with the country as a qualifier after the town. A number of important maritime landmarks have also been alphabetised outside of their country.

Place names are also sub-indexed under the country, where multiple instances of that place could otherwise lead to confusion. Place names are indexed under the modern spelling of the name used during that period in the narrative rather than the author’s version or 21st-century place names, for example, Kingstown (Ireland) rather than Kingston or Dún Laoghaire.

Peter Hedditch

November 2023

1. Cadet and commission | 1809–13

I pass over the period of my boyhood, which presented little interest, having been much the same in incident as falls to the lot of other boys.

At 10 years of age, my parents began to consider the walk in life I should pursue, but as I was delicate and suffered from weak eyes, it was a matter of difficulty to decide.

My other brothers were provided for.

Sylvester Douglas was in the Army Pay Office, afterwards Sr Paymaster General in Ceylon¹ and subsequently Resident² as Government Agent of the Province of Badulla³ in that island, where he was treacherously murdered⁴ in 1817 (by the rebel Cingalese)⁵ in quelling an insurrection in Kandy.⁶

My second brother, William, was a clerk in the house of John David Gordon, a connection of my mother’s and a leading wine merchant at Xerez⁷ de la Frontera in Spain, which he left on the occupation of that country by the French in 1809; he was afterwards in the Office of Woods and Forests, Whitehall; and subsequently a settler in New South Wales, where he died in 1840.

My third brother, Fred Douglas, a midshipman on-board the Phaeton⁸ frigate (Captain Sir George Cockburn),⁹ was lost in the Jaseur¹⁰ sloop of war in 1812 in a typhoon in the Indian Seas, on which occasion every soul perished.

My other two brothers, John and James, died very young.

In 1809, when I was 14 years of age – being born¹¹ in 1795 – a cadetship in the Royal Military Academy Woolwich¹² being offered and accepted, I was, in January of that year, taken by my father to Woolwich to be examined the following day for admission. I shall never forget the night prior to this ordeal – it was a wet, gloomy, and cold evening. I slept at the Mortar Inn,¹³ the best in that period in the town and, being contiguous to the Royal Arsenal,¹⁴ the most convenient. It being wartime, the constant quarter-hour bell ringing in that establishment added to my nervous apprehensions about passing the examination. It kept me awake the best part of the night, so that when the morning’s sun rose bright and cheery, my intellect exhibited the very opposite.

11 a.m. was the hour appointed for the trial. I went to it with a palpitating heart, and I found, at the close, that I had come short of the requirements.

Old Dr Evans,¹⁵ one of the professors, assisted by the assistant master, were the examiners; as the latter, at the time, kept a school, I was told by him that they would pass me in but recommended that I should remain under his tuition between the interval of my going to Great Marlow,¹⁶ where a further examination awaited me.

Great Marlow¹⁷ was then what Sandhurst is now, the military college for cavalry and infantry officers, and the primary school of instruction for Woolwich cadets. It was the end of January when I departed for Great Marlow College; my father went with me.

I was again put through an examination in Latin, French, and mathematics to the extent of vulgar fractions and decimals – a simple trial compared with that of the present day. I succeeded in this instance better than I did at Woolwich, and, being sent to the surgeon for examination, I left satisfied I had passed. It was soon notified to me that I had been admitted a cadet.

I was now desired to present myself to one of the many tailors of the town to be fitted with the prescribed costume of the College, which consisted of a scarlet coat with silver vellum lace, both rich and handsome, blue trousers, and a double-breasted blue greatcoat with silver-plated buttons; this latter was made by our family tailor, Dignum of London.¹⁸

A kind under-officer conducted me to the cap and cloak room, and [pointed] out a peg, on which he recommended me to hang the greatcoat for safety, observing,

‘Yours is the smartest coat I have seen; you must take care of it, otherwise someone will prig¹⁹ it.’

I thanked him for his advice, which I suspect was a very interested one, for when I went the following morning to get my coat, I found a shabby half worn-out one in its place; no doubt, my kind friend had adroitly appropriated my handsome ‘Dignum’ to adorn his own person! I never cast eyes on it again.

As Woolwich cadets seldom remained at Marlow more than six months, they were provided with a second-hand regulation cap, it being thought unjust to inflict on parents the expense of a local cap, the plate of which (being solid silver) was high-priced.

Being now fully equipped, I was introduced by my father to the military authorities. I was appointed to the ‘A’ Company and bore the number 62. The rest of the day I spent at the hotel with my father and, at 6 p.m., was handed over to the serjeant major of the college.

I remained in the great hall till 9 o’clock, when the drum beat for prayers; I, with the whole of the ‘A’ Company, 100 strong, now paraded. One of the cadets read the prayers. This duty performed, we were marched to the sleeping houses – large private buildings at some distance in the town.

The Military College consisted of several large wooden buildings, in which were the breakfast, dining, and study rooms, also halls containing desks, in which we kept our books, brushes, etc. At the gate entrance was the guard room, the whole situated in an extensive enclosure affording spacious drill and play grounds.

At first, I naturally felt uncomfortable, thrown, as I was, amongst youths many of whom were much older than myself, indeed some, the cadets, were actually commissioned officers.

At 7 a.m. in the winter and 6 a.m. in the summer, we rose, washed, and dressed; the servants of the establishment cleaned our shoes and brushed our clothes, after which we were left to perform these offices ourselves. By 8 a.m., we had quitted our dormitories and were assembled in the great hall for prayers; this over, we sat down in squads to breakfast, a cadet, under-officer, or corporal superintending. This completed, we went into our company halls, repolished our shoes, brightened the brass buckles, and combed our hair, for the most scrupulous cleanliness was exacted. We were then again paraded in companies, the orders of the day read, and guard mounted.

The guard was composed of those cadets who had passed through recruits’ drill and [been] admitted into the battalion; a requirement strictly enforced by Col Butler,²⁰ the lieutenant-governor of the college, who was a very just officer and strict disciplinarian, and both respected and beloved by the cadets. No man could have been better adapted to command four hundred youths, embracing every kind of disposition (indeed many of them commissioned officers in the army), than he was; he was a perfect soldier in appearance, with an influential bearing.

The guard mounted at 10 a.m. at the principal entrance, and, where the guard room was situated, it (the guard) furnished two sentries; the whole was withdrawn during the hours of study and at sunset.

At 9 a.m., we were marched off to our studies, which continued till noon; drills followed.

At 1 p.m., we were again paraded, scrupulously clean, for dinner and marched in squads, the same as at breakfast, into the dining hall.

Our dinners were excellent, consisting of roast and boiled meats, both of the very best quality. We had always fruit pies or puddings according to the season; so good were these last that cadets were, as punishment for neglect of duty or studies, deprived of them, the names of such cadets were read out at the table by the under-officers or corporals in charge of their squads.

After a short recreation, we again paraded and marched off to our studies, which lasted from 2 p.m. till 4 p.m.; in summer, we were again drilled till 5 p.m. This drill only applied to the recruits. I escaped performing it for being a tolerably good cricketer; the older cadets got me off to join their cricket matches.

One night, at prayer hour, I was called out of the ranks by the under-officer on duty, to read the prayers. Being of a shy disposition, I refused. I was then cautioned that, if I disobeyed orders, I should be placed, after prayers, in the black hole; still I refused. Prayers finished, I was ordered to the rear of the company, and the serjeant directed to lock me up in the cell for the night. Having heard that this dungeon was infested with rats, I began to regret that, through my obstinacy, I had subjected myself to this predicament. It fortunately happened that the under-officer, whose name was Elrington,²¹ was of a very kind disposition, so, just as we reached the building in which the cell was, he came to me and said,

‘If you will promise to read the prayers the next time you are called on, I will not black-hole you this time.’

Readily I promised, anything to be free of rats and a bad lodging.

I joyfully joined my companions and slept soundly, not in ‘marble halls’ but in a long dormitory free from rats and other discomforts. It so happened, during the rest of my stay at Marlow, I was never again called on to read the prayers.

Many amusing incidents occurred during my stay of three months at this college, which show that boys, in all ages, are much the same, being influenced by exuberant spirits and fondness of a little fun.

One afternoon (it was a half-holiday) I accompanied several of my companions in a walk along the banks of the Thames; on reaching a chapel standing in the grounds of Sir William Clayton,²² we took shelter from the rain, which was falling heavily and had done so for several days previously, flooding, by the overflowing of the river, the adjoining field and inundating the floor of the chapel and soaking the hassocks,²³ which were placed outside the portal to dry. We at once decided to launch these into the river. So, as soon as we had seen them all fairly afloat, we made our way to Great Marlow Bridge, where we had the satisfaction of seeing our fleet of hassocks pass under its arches, steering their course toward Windsor. What the consternation of the sacristan was at the absence of his moveables, or if he ever recovered them, I never learnt.

We were only too glad to get within the college grounds again and escape the vigilant eyes of the detective serjeants, the latter soldiers of excellent character, selected as drill serjeants and employed in preventing the cadets from passing the prescribed boundaries. Each cadet had his numbers on his forage cap with the letter badge of his company. It was by these that the detective serjeants were enabled to identify the cadets taken in flagrante delicto.

I am sorry to say that these escapades were not always confined to trifling cases, for a very serious row took place between some of the senior cadets and an apothecary residing close to the Crown Hotel in the High Street,²⁴ where a select party of cadets were dining. It was about 6 p.m., one winter’s evening, when an altercation took place between one of the cadets and the man of physic; the former having related the circumstance to his companions, they resolved, one and all, to ‘physic’ the doctor. So, descending into the street, they forced the druggist’s shop and, after giving him a hearty thrashing, proceeded to decant (into the street) the contents of the red, blue, and yellow large glass jars which hitherto had shone so brilliantly in his shop windows, besides scattering pills, powders and other drugs which composed the materia medica of this vendor of medicine. Had the under-officers and serjeants not made their appearance at this scene of lawless violence and allayed the assault, it is most probable the whole shop’s contents would have found its way into the sewer instead of the stomachs of his wretched patients. The affair was hushed up by a compromise of £30 paid to the apothecary.²⁵

The cadets remained quiet for some time after this affair, but such mercurial beings, as were these young gentlemen, could not be expected to remain long from the committal of other pranks, and so it turned out; for one evening, about the end of April, some men belonging to a windmill, on meeting cadets who were walking in the neighbourhood of the mill, accosted them with much insolence. A violent altercation arose. The millers threatened to duck them in the mill pond. Whilst this row was going on, one of the cadet party stole away to the college and informed his brother cadets of what was going on. Fortunately, it was a half-holiday, and, a number of the cadets still within the grounds, these (in a very short time) mustered a tolerable large body and, like an enraged hive of bees, started, armed with sticks, for the mill. A regular fight took place when the miller and his men (being outnumbered) retreated, leaving the mill to the tender mercies of the victorious cadets, who did not fail to damage the property to an extent as caused the miller to keep the peace for the future. Suddenly there was the cry of ‘Sauve qui peut!²⁶ The serjeants are coming.’ So, covering the numbers on our caps with our handkerchiefs, we took to flight and, being more nimble than our detectives, escaped into college without a single capture. The authorities tried in vain to discover the ringleaders, so we escaped all punishment beyond six weeks’ confinement to barracks. So ended the Battle of the Mill.

The end of May following, our examination came on for selection to go to Woolwich; being one of the selected, I left Great Marlow in the four-horsed stagecoach for Charing Cross. The morning (6 a.m.) being fine, the six seniors chose the outside. As one of the six juniors, my berth was inside. Though²⁷ I felt disappointed at the time at not getting an outside place, the sequel proved I was more fortunate than my seniors, for, two hours after our departure, the sky clouded and soon poured upon them a pelting rain, wetting them to the skin.

We breakfasted at Slough. The outsiders lotioned themselves, both on the inner and outer man, with brandy, and dried their saturated clothes the best way they could. We had 40 minutes here, during which time we managed to make a hearty breakfast on mutton chops, ham, eggs, and tea, so that we did not fall into the slough of despondence;²⁸ the time being up, we resumed our seats and howled along at a merry pace through a lovely country.

The rain cleared off and we arrived sound and safe at the Ship Hotel,²⁹ Charing Cross, where an omnibus, just holding the twelve, stood ready to engulph³⁰ us. Alongside the vehicle stood a majestic figure richly dressed in a blue coat with scarlet facings, richly trimmed with gold lace, his shoulders decorated with a pair of large gold epaulettes, and the whole figure surmounted by a huge cocked hat with gold loop and white feathers.

Never having seen a serjeant major of the Royal Artillery, we took this important personage for, at least, a general on duty at the Horse Guards; in this notion we did not stand alone, for it happened once that the guard of that official military building turned out to this splendid dressed soldier, taking him, as we did, for an officer of distinction. We, as I presume they, were soon undeceived by the imaginary general popping his head into our coach and, in a commanding tone, telling us that he was Serjeant Major Calder,³¹ at the same time requesting the young gentlemen to descend. We obeyed and were immediately transferred, like a flock of sheep, to the ponderous omnibus; the imaginary general, like the police detective of a van of criminals, posted himself on the top of the ‘bus’ to see that none of his charge attempted to escape.

A slow journey of two and a half hours brought the ‘bus’ and its juvenile freight to the cadet barracks in the arsenal, a place, for all the world, like a felon’s prison. Here our golden chief delivered his charge to the authorities.

Our arrival happened at the hour when the cadets’ evening studies terminated. As soon as they were dismissed, they assembled around us, as the West Indies planters did, of old, a cargo of negroes. Each head of a room selected his slave, in cadet phraseology his neux,³² according to his fancy. Our names and the rooms we were posted to were affixed on a board placed under the colonnade. We were then marched to our rooms and our places pointed out to us. Each room (they were all on the ground floor) held four cadets; our bedsteads were of iron and placed at each corner (they were folded up during the day); underneath was put our regulation portmanteaus (of an oval form), four cherrywood chairs, and a large deal cupboard composed all the furniture.

Our breakfast, which was anything but luxurious, consisted of a pint of milk and a large slice of bread without butter! This we consumed in our rooms at 8 a.m. (summer and winter), 9 a.m. being the hour of study.

At 1 p.m., we dined, being previously paraded in squads and marched to the hall by the officer on duty, a lieutenant of artillery. These squads consisted of nine cadets, one of whom was a corporal or head of a room; as soon as we were seated at our tables, the dinner was served. It (six days in the week) consisted of a leg of mutton, roasted or boiled; on Sundays, of roasted or boiled beef with a large dish of potatoes en chemise.³³ Grace was then said by the head of the squad.³⁴ This terminated, a scramble took place for the potatoes.

The neux, who was furthest from the dish, came generally off with short commons. He suffered equally in the meat line, for the head, who was always first helped, took no small quantity for himself, the second followed his example, and so on in succession, so that when it came down to the poor neux, it required a microscopic eye to discover his share. It was the duty of the neux, when all were helped, to hold up the dish and call ‘bone’, upon which a servant came and carried it away, returning with it split in halves; the head and second took them as rights, such luxuries³⁵ being too great for us underlings.

On Tuesdays, in addition to our mutton, there was a baked bread pudding named by the cadets ‘stick jaw’, manufactured from the crusts of bread left during the previous week by the squads, an exhibition of the thrifty qualities of our housekeeper, who was generally the poor widow of a deceased officer of artillery or engineers, and who, it was evident, made the most of her situation and thrived on the crumbs which fell from the poor cadet’s table.³⁶ Whether the government of that day considered frugality a part of our military education, I cannot pretend to say, but it may be conjectured they did – or that the widow did – for them.

During the first month of my residence in the arsenal, I scarce got an ounce of meat. I remember once being desired to cut this ‘stick jaw’ into nine portions and, as I had no meat, to cut one of the portions larger than the rest for myself. I did so and, as was customary, handed the pudding to the head, who took the largest piece, the seven others the remaining portions, leaving me the empty dish to feed on. I complained to the officer on duty who decided I was factious, that I had no business to cut a larger slice for myself to the prejudice of the rest, that I was properly served, and wound up his judgement by saying,

‘I would be wiser for the future.’

Such was cadet discipline in my day – very different from that in the present.

The evening meal was held in the large gothic hall and consisted of bread and cheese, washed down, not with pale ale but dark, queer-tasted table beer. Fortunately, attendance at this meal was only compulsory on the defaulters. The rest were encouraged in providing themselves with tea, sugar, bread and butter, and other luxuries such as ham, herrings, and muffins according to their fancy – all, of course, at their own expense – a system much approved of by our frugal housekeeper, who very sensibly pocketed the affront passed on her bread, cheese, and beer.

I was most fortunate in falling to a room the head of which was a quiet, gentlemanly youth named Molesworth³⁷ with the sobriquet of Sally. As neux of his room, I was not tasked beyond filling the pitcher at dressing hour from the pump close by, cleaning his leather belt and breeches with pipe clay (for all cadets at that time wore, on a Sunday, white kerseymere³⁸ knee breeches with long black gaiters³⁹), also preparing the evening tea, and fetching eatables from the town.

The neux of the adjoining room was less fortunate, having, independent of cleaning breeches, to perform many menial offices, as well as being kicked and cuffed into the bargain; his head was a thorough bully. He died as a Lt-Colonel R. L. in the Crimea.

Neuxing in my time was carried out to a cruel excess, so much so as to cause the cadets of the 5th and 6th academies,⁴⁰ then quartered in the arsenal, to dread joining at the upper barracks on the common, where it was carried out in a most brutal manner.

In order to crush this system, the older cadets in the arsenal drew up a petition expressing their uneasiness at being moved to the upper barracks, where they, especially those who had exhibited talent and assiduity at the lower barracks, expected nothing but ill-treatment and systematic opposition to progress in their studies from those who, from idleness or incapacity, had prolonged their stay at the institution. This memorial, signed by the whole of the cadets (5th academy), was laid before the master-general of the Ordnance;⁴¹ in it were given the names of ten of the leaders of these acts of persecution. We preferred sending our petition direct to the master-general rather than submit it through the lieutenant-governor,⁴² then Colonel Drummond,⁴³ but who probably would have burked⁴⁴ it and censured us for taking so unconstitutional a step, for neuxing had grown into a system unchecked by the authorities. The master-general came down to Woolwich, paraded the upper barrackers, read them a sharp lecture on their tyrannical conduct towards their juniors, and declared if a recurrence of such objectionable conduct took place, he would dismiss the ten whose names were given in the petition; this produced the desired effect and freed us from any molestation (of any moment) for a long period, yet it revived soon after the ten got their commissions and passed out of the academy.

I was one of the arsenal cadets who benefitted by the unconstitutional acts of my coadjutors. The only trouble I got into was at the lower barracks; I was then head of number 10 room, the second of which was a Mr Darby,⁴⁵ a great friend of mine. We arranged to have a little supper, to which we invited several other cadets belonging to other rooms in the same building.

At 9 p.m., all lights are extinguished; to ensure this, and to ascertain that all the cadets are present in their rooms, an officer goes round accompanied by one of the servants, who, as soon as the officer is satisfied that all is correct, locks the outer door to prevent our getting out.

As we could not enjoy our symposium in the dark, we nailed our blankets against the windows and, with the aid of a lucifer match,⁴⁶ struck a light and so lighted our candle, which we concealed in the cupboards, a dangerous experiment, seeing there was not four inches between the wick of the candle and the upper board of the cupboard; so dangerous was it that, when we withdrew the candle, it was found that the flame had burnt a hole in the board.

Ten o’clock having struck, and supposing the authorities all in bed, we made preparations for our supper. Scarce had we discussed a savoury beef-steak pie and some bottled porter, when the vigilant eye of the serjeant major, who was prowling about, detected the lights through our flimsy blankets and immediately informed the officer (Lieutenant Sam Wyatt)⁴⁷ on duty, who, accompanied by Captain Gomm⁴⁸ (a brother of Sir William Gomm⁴⁹), at once proceeded to our quarters. On hearing the bolts of the door being drawn, we pulled down the blankets, popped the remnants of our feast into the cupboard, and blew out the lights, but alas, we had not time to remove the tumblers and empty bottles. I then jumped into bed with my trousers on. Darby did the same. The two juniors, who did not join in the feast, were already in bed, and our guests escaped to their rooms. The captain, on entering the room, said,

‘Who is the head of this room?’

The officer on duty replied, ‘Mr Wilson’.

I was then ordered to get up and account for the disorderly state of the room, the captain eyeing all the time the empty beer bottles and tumblers. Seeing me standing in my ‘inexpressibles’, he asked if it were usual to go to bed half-undressed. I was dumb. He then desired the other three to get up. Poor Darby was breeched like myself; the two juniors, being en règle, were permitted to return to bed. Darby and I were ordered to complete our dress and to be sent to the black hole. Fortunately for us, Captain Gomm was a kind, considerate man, so, it being 11 p.m., he took compassion on us, suspended the threat of the black hole, and simply placed us in arrest.

I was still continued head of my room and was in hope that, as three weeks had passed over since the affair, I had escaped any further punishment. Unfortunately, Darby, who was rather a bumptious youth, subsequently offended Lt Wyatt and was sent to the black hole. The following day to D.’s incarceration, an order came out reducing me from head of a room to second and placing me in the black hole for 24 hours, which was carried into execution more, as I think, to gratify the vindictive feelings of Lt Wyatt towards both Darby and myself, than for the sake of discipline.

D. was placed third of an upstairs room.

The black hole was a narrow, dark closet about seven feet in length and four in width; not a ray of light penetrated its cold, brick walls. The entrance was within a narrow passage. We had a wooden bench to lie on, and bread and water for meals, of which latter the numerous rats, which obtained an entry from under the bench, fully participated in. My punishment, not interfering with my studies, gave me small concern. I viewed it as an event common to almost all cadets once during their academic course.

Having completed my studies in the 5th and 6th academies, I was removed to the upper barracks, which I joined after the Xmas vacation.

I remember it was a very cold day, snowing hard. When I reached the barracks at 8 a.m., the snow was lying thick on the ground. The place looked cheerless – and so I felt – being a stranger to most of the cadets amongst whom I was now to be associated. The serjeant major, who I first encountered, directed me to the list of cadets (and the rooms they were to occupy) hung up under the colonnades which connect the officers’ and cadets’ barracks to the central building, which latter contains the four halls of study, in the rear of which was the handsome gothic hall, in which we dined.

I found my berth in room number 32, 4th Division; my friend Darby, singularly enough, was posted to the same room. Our head was a cadet named Phillpots⁵⁰ – a brother of the Bishop of Exeter’s⁵¹ – a quiet person and little disposed to exact any out-of-the-way or ungentlemanly demands from us. I found myself very comfortable in this room where no neuxing was permitted.

One night, when all in our room were asleep, the door was suddenly opened, and both Darby and myself were favored with a basin of water thrown in our faces. On the departure of these practical artillerists, Darby enquired of me if they had sluiced me. Scarce had I replied in the affirmative, when the party returned, threw open the door, and baptised my friend D. with the full contents of a large can of water. I escaped a similar baptism.

After this initiation, we were no longer subjected to similar annoyances, and, excepting our beds being turned up when we were sleeping and strapped to the wall, I passed through the establishment unharmed.

There were many tricks the old cadets delighted in playing on their juniors, such as greasing your nightcap with tallow and then dusting it over with pounded pipe clay. As one generally put these on after lights were out, we did not notice the trick till the following morning, when our heads strongly resembled the quills of the ‘fretful porcupine’,⁵² and a tough job it was to clean all off again. Another trick was placing wet wafers on your eyes whilst asleep. The most abominable trick of all was played by the old cadets, who, as their final examination approached, sat up till two or three o’clock in the morning studying; prior to going to bed, they tied a string to a mouse’s tail, and, having soaked it well in grease and pipe clay, they went through the rooms, and, whenever they found a cadet sleeping with his mouth open, they popped the mouse, which was easily gulped down by the sleeping victim and as easily shown out by the victimisers, to perform the same process on some other unfortunate wight. I have, in after life, often thought this a dangerous practical joke, for had the string broke, it might not have become the ‘mountain in labour’.⁵³

I was altogether (Great Marlow included) three years at the military academies. I obtained my commission as 2nd lieutenant in the Royal Artillery on 12th December 1812.⁵⁴ I was sorry, in a measure, to leave the academy, where I had many friends, most of whom have now passed away from this world. Some lived to reach rank in the Service, some died young, and others fell in battle. My poor friend and associate Darby died very soon after he was commissioned.⁵⁵

You may well imagine how elated I felt, the first time I presented myself in full uniform to the commandant (then General Ramsay)⁵⁶ for his inspection. My uniform being en règle, I was placed on the garrison rollster⁵⁷ for duty.

How well I remember the first guard I mounted. It took place in front of the west wing of the officers’ quarters. As I stood in front of the guard, at open order, listening to the trooping by the excellent band of the Artillery, I really felt proud of my position – a young officer of artillery in my 17th year of age with men under my command – and such magnificent men as then composed the Royal Artillery: not a man under five feet ten inches, the very elite of our army, men of excellent character and highly disciplined, and much superior to the gunners of the present day. Still, the regiment as a body, physically speaking, surpasses all other corps.

At the time I speak of, we had a separate corps of drivers officered by men, some from the ranks, others taken from civil life but none from the regiment. They were designated captain and lieutenant commissaries, as driver officers; their duties were attendance on the horses, and charge and payment of the drivers. The junior artillery officers commanded them at all artillery parades, and they had to report every circumstance connected with their charge to the subaltern⁵⁸ on duty of the battery to which they belonged. This body of men and officers have been long done away with, and their functions performed by gunners, the smallest men being selected to ride and drive.

Our arsenal guard mounted at 10 a.m. daily. It had a captain and two subalterns attached to it, and mustered 100 gunners and two drummers. Besides this guard, there were three others paraded with us, viz. the barrack, Grand Store, and West Wharf. The barrack and West Wharf were each commanded by a subaltern officer, who reported to the captain of the main guard. After marching past the field officer of the day, we proceeded through the town on our way to the arsenal, headed by the band;⁵⁹ this latter bore the name of The 40 Thieves in consequence of their pocketing their pay and doing little regimental work for it.⁶⁰ After going through the ceremony of relieving guard, the subaltern inspected the small detached guard and marched them off. The arsenal guard was a pleasant duty in fine weather. The band played on the green in front of the field officers’ quarters until all the reliefs were completed, when it returned to the barracks with the old guard playing as before.

I had to visit the sentries once during the day and once at night between 12 and 2 a.m. The posts of the sentries extended a good mile and half; in foggy weather, which frequently prevailed in winter, much caution was necessary in visiting these posts, many of them being along and close to the riverside, the wharves along which were unprotected.

I remained in garrison at Woolwich nine months to gain a knowledge of the various artillery drills, finishing with a field battery exercise. These over, I was eligible for any service.

1Sri Lanka.

2First Assistant to the Resident and Magistrate at Badulla.

3Badulla is one of two districts that make up Uva Province in the central south.

416 September 1817.

5Sinhalese.

6Great Rebellion of 1817–1818 (1818 Uva-Wellassa Rebellion).

7Jerez.

8HMS Phaeton (1782).

9Captain (later Admiral of the Fleet) Sir George Cockburn, 10 th Baronet (1772–1853).

10 HMS Jaseur (1807) was lost in August 1808, an accompanying vessel reporting that they became separated between Bengal and Penang. Although the date conflicts with Wilson’s recollection, none of the other vessels that bore this name would fit the timeline.

11 Another of various timeline mysteries in the memoirs, the baptismal register for St Pancras Old Church in London clearly records a date of 1793 not 1795. Although one of his middle names, Goodwin, has been misspelt as Gooden, the whole name is too distinct to be anyone else. Furthermore, the date of birth of 1 December matches perfectly with other records. The discrepancy, in what is clearly an educated family, seems too great to put down to accident: perhaps his parents understated his age to help him meet the criteria for cadetship. His service record (WO/76) shows 1795, but other records contradict this.

12 The RMA operated at Woolwich Common from 1806 until 1939, after which time Sandhurst took over British Army officer training. The site continued in army use until 2002.

13 The Mortar public house, later the Royal Mortar Tavern, on Beresford Square was at 1 Woolwich New Road (corner with Plumstead Road). It was rebuilt in 1842 and demolished in 1984. It was almost opposite The Ordnance public house, which survives to this day.

14 The Royal Arsenal gatehouse survives at Beresford Square, next to what is now the Beresford Street dual carriageway.

15 Wilson’s designation of ‘Old’ would suggest Lewis Evans (1755–1827), who was First Mathematical Master at RMA Woolwich rather than Thomas Simpson Evans (1777–1818), who