The Duke died on 14 September 1852, in Walmer Castle on the South coast of Kent, this had been his official residence as Lord Warden of the Cinque Ports. This post was the last of The Duke’s military and government offices he had held. The Duke had been, in turn, Warden of the Tower of London, Commander-in-Chief of the British Army, and, Chief Ranger of Hyde Park and St James Park, Leader of The House of Lords, Lord High Constable of England, Prime Minister and at various times Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, Home Department, for War and the Colonies and Minister without Portfolio. In short a great statesman and advisor for three monarchs (George IV, William IV and Queen Victoria).
Born in 1769, he was 83 years old and still working; his retirement was only half-hearted as his many honorary positions, along with his near legendary status within Victorian society, led to additional work and calls for advice.
On the morning of 14 September, The Duke’s Valet, Kendall entered his master’s modest bedroom within the castle at 6 o’clock in the morning. The Duke did not apparently move when the fire was laid, despite the clattering of a poker in an iron grill. Only when Kendall entered a second time, this time to open the wooden shutters did the Duke stir.
Kendall recalled he told the Duke that it was getting late, as he rose early, he responded:
“Is it? Do you know where the apothecary lives?” “Yes, at Deal, your Grace.” “Then Send for him. I wish to speak to him”.
Deal is the next town to Walmer, less than a kilometre away, and so Kendall sent for the apothecary to come at once. When he arrived the Duke complained of “some derangement” and held a hand up to his chest. The apothecary obviously felt it was no serious condition, he felt the elderly Duke’s pulse and prescribed an ammonia stimulant, after which he returned home, promising to return later.
The Duke’s condition, sadly, did not improve. It is now believed that he had suffered a stroke overnight or a series of small seizures, which given his age, he was unable to recover from.
Kendall, a ever attentive valet asked the Duke if he would like some tea, which he normally took with sugar, the Duke responded positively, “Yes, if you please”. These were the last words he ever spoke.
On the apothecary’s return the Duke was not conscious, so a doctor was sent for. A few different remedies and poultices were tried, but the Duke did not seem to return. Kendall proposed that they moved him from the camp-bed to the nearby chair, a favourite wing-back. All present agreed to move him there. It was now half past 3 in the afternoon, the Duke of Wellington was quite motionless and gently he passed away.
A mirror was put near his lips, but no breath showed on the glass. This was shown to all in the room
Queen Victoria was deeply upset and refused to accept the news at first. She called the country’s loss “irreparable” and continued, “He was the GREATEST man this country ever produced, and the most devoted and loyal subject, and the staunchest supporter the Crown ever had”
The wishes of Queen Victoria were to include both Houses of Parliament in the arrangements for the funeral, but as the houses were not sitting, they had recently been prorogued, there was therefore a further delay in the final arrangements until Parliament could meet. During this time, and because the Queen had not received formal approval from Parliament, it was agreed that the Duke’s body would remain at rest at Walmer Castle.
It was also Queen Victoria’s wish that the Duke would, at great public expense, be interred in St. Paul’s Cathedral. After all formal arrangements were made, work on the organisation and preparation for the funeral began under direct supervision of Prince Albert, such was the importance given to the Duke’s passing. Prince Albert worked closely with Lord Derby and the Home Secretary Spencer Walpole to arrange one of the largest funerals ever seen, certainly given the population size of the time, an estimated 1 million or more lined the route of the 2 mile procession from Horse Guards to St Paul’s via Apsley House and Wellington Arch, the route was extended to allow for the volume of spectators. There was a national outpouring of grief as it signalled the end of not only a great man’s life, but also an era passed with The first Duke of Wellington.
This post was written by Marcus Cribb, who is the Site Manager at Apsley House London and in my opinion the best kind of person: someone who admires wellington as much as I do. Please find more of his writings here. https://www.dukeofwellington.org/blog
It is my great pleasure to host this highly entertaining thought experiment from the pen of the very talented Ian Stuart Sharpe, whose new book, The All Father Paradox, has just launched. It’s a very “Historyland” kind of thing. Read on to find out how fast you’d have to move to escape a Viking raid, and use the links provided to find out about the Vikingverse.
The Revolutionary and Napoleonic wars that spanned more than two decades are rightly famous for the epic battles that helped to decide the fate of a continent; Valmy, Waterloo, Trafalgar, Austerlitz, and Borodino amongst many others. But what is less well known are the machinations of countless traitors, spies and confidential agents that did as much to shape the progress of the war as any general or admiral. With almost constant political turmoil, especially in the early years of the conflict, France always had a ready supply of disgruntled former generals or ministers with axes to grind that were all too receptive to the approaches of foreign agents. Napoleon’s minister of police, Joseph Fouché and his foreign minister, Charles Talleyrand, both actively plotted against him on more than one occasion. Sometimes such men involved themselves in plots or conspiracies to protect their own positions and sometimes it was just for cold hard cash. Continue reading “The Commerce of Treachery: The Selling of Suriname, 1799. By Rob Griffith.”
Introduction: Ned Huthmacher fills us in on the Remember the Alamo reenactment!
This June, despite dodgy weather and supply problems that required a great deal of improvisation, hundreds of reenactors gathered to remember the Alamo amidst the green and pleasant surroundings of western England.
The world of interpretive history is sometimes confusing and mysterious, they tend to be the people who know all about Historyland. And this week hopefully we will get a little sneak peek into the effort and dedication that goes in to creating Historical impressions that spark our imaginations. A podcast called Helping History Happen with Allison Pettengill recently featured an interview with Historical Interpreter Kyle Jenks in an episode called “Creating High Quality Historical Interpretation” that… well I’ll let the guest fill in the details:
My first sight of the Trireme Olympias was as I turned a page of an Osprey Book about the Greek and Persian Wars. Thrilling isn’t it? But if a picture can blow a fellow away, imagine what it must have been like to sail on her. If I’m honest I’ve never given much thought to who actually put Olympias through her paces. Luckily today’s guest post has been written by just such a man, who urged by an article written by journalist, essayist, historian and biographer Byron Rogers who is an “historian of the quirky and forgotten, of people and places other journalists don’t even know exist or ignore if they do”’embarked on an true adventure in a Historyland all his own, and shared by a select few. Olympias was built between 1985 and 1987 as an accurate replica of the ship that probably saved western civilisation. Designed by John F. Coates who consulted with many other learned people on the project, Olympias was built in Greece between 1985 and 1987. The information gathered during her many sea trials revolutionised the understanding of ancient seamanship and set a bar for all subsequent experimental archeologists. The author of the following story took part in the 1987 trials as one of “Happy few” who helped bring the Tireme back to life: Continue reading “A Memory of the Olympias or “THAT BLOODY BYRON ROGERS” by Nigel Hillpaul.”
Last week an email popped into my inbox, and I’m really excited to share it with you. I really loved playing strategy games when I was a kid, anyone out there remember Sharpe’s Attack? It was pretty much Stratego (another sweet game), but it was awesome! Another great one I remember was called Lionheart, made by the makers of the classic game risk. For myself I still love these types of games, so when the folks at Hand 2 Hand Entertainment showed me their new War of 1812 game I was only to pleased to give them a place in Historyland. As yet I’ve not played the game, hopefully I will be able to review it for you guys in the future when prototype models are available. For now they’d appreciate your time and support. Here is what they have to say: Continue reading “Sabres and Smoke: The War of 1812.”
Between the end of August and mid-October 1799, Britain and Russia fielded a combined force of about 45,000 men in North Holland as part of the Second Continental Coalition against France. The campaign’s intention was to take Amsterdam, push the French out of the Batavian Republic and re-establish the deposed House of Orange, preferably with the help of a popular uprising.
This did not occur, and poor weather delayed the Allied advance. Although a series of battles on 27 August, 19 September, and 2 and 6 October forced the French back, the Allies were low on supplies, riddled with sickness, and unable to rely on local support. They made terms on 18 October and were permitted to evacuate unmolested in exchange for releasing 8000 French prisoners of war from Britain.
The Helder campaign is of particular interest to me because my research subject, the 2nd Earl of Chatham, commanded the 7th Brigade in the British expeditionary force.
With a continental campaign in mind, the British army had been hastily bulked up in the spring of 1799 by a militia draft of 10,500 men. Chatham’s brigade of 4000 men was composed of two skeleton regiments that had been built up to full strength from this draft. The 4th Foot (or “King’s Own”) received over 2700 militia recruits and was divided into three battalions; the 31st, which had been decimated in the West Indies, received 955.
This “militia brigade” was just as raw as its brigadier. Although Chatham had been in the army since 1774, he only had experience of garrison duty and had resigned his commission for personal reasons in 1785. He had, however, been allowed to retain his seniority (being the prime minister’s brother had its perks) and was now a Major-General.
Chatham’s brigade did not land in Holland until mid- September, and was not directly involved in any fighting until 2 October, when it played a significant role in advancing the British lines, for which Chatham was commended in the dispatches. Four days later, on 6 October, Chatham’s brigade again played a pivotal role.
Unlike the battle of 2 October, which was described at great length in the dispatches, no single coherent account of the 6 October battle exists. The Duke of York, Commander-in-Chief of the Allied forces, merely recorded in his official dispatch: “The enemy on their part advanced their whole force; the action became general along the whole line … and was maintained with great obstinacy on both sides until night, when the enemy retired, leaving us masters of the field of battle.”
Several things explain this lack of information. For one thing, the battle was entirely unexpected. York had merely commanded his troops to advance to the villages of Ackersloot, Limmen and Bakkum, in preparation for a future assault on the French and Dutch positions at Beverwijk. The Russians tried to secure their position and over-extended themselves in the direction of Castricum, which turned out to be far better defended than anyone had anticipated.
This triggered a full-scale French retaliation, and General Abercromby’s division, stationed around the village of Egmont-op-Zee (now Egmond-aan-Zee), was called in to reinforce the Russians.
Adding to the confusion, the weather was terrible. “The rain poured down in torrents,” recorded one of York’s aides-de-camp. “… The country … was extremely intricate, and the thick rain and the heavy smoke dwelling on the copse-woods, and inclosures of the villages made it impossible to distinguish anything clearly.” According to another source: “The morning loured … a deep mist prevented the view of either friend or enemy”.
Broad, sandy dunes (described by Sir John Fortescue as “a tangle of little hills”) divided the brigades from each other and made it difficult to see far ahead, even without the mist, smoke and rain. The Duke of York, who remained in Alkmaar the whole time, sent one of his aides up St Laurence’s Church tower with a telescope to see what was going on. This did not work, and headquarters were unaware that British troops were heavily engaged with the enemy for some hours.
Chatham’s brigade was one of the most heavily involved in the fighting. The statistics speak for themselves. The King’s Own lost 496 killed, wounded and captured, including three lieutenant-colonels. Of that number, 352 were captured when a portion of the 2nd and 3rd battalions got separated in the dunes, got confused in the rain and smoke and “forced their way within the Enemy Lines, without knowing at all where they were”. The 31st lost 133. Altogether, Chatham’s brigade lost about 630 men at a conservative estimate – a sizeable proportion of the whole brigade, nearly half the 1400 British casualties, and a fifth of the 3200 total allied casualties.
This did not even include one high-profile casualty, Lord Chatham, who received a spent musket-ball to the shoulder. Back home, prime minister Pitt hastened to assure Lady Chatham that her husband was “perfectly safe and well”, and the ball seems to have been “repell’d in a great degree by part of the Epaulet [sic]”. Nevertheless, the incident came as a shock to many, including Chatham himself, who had his coat and waistcoat “forced away” and suffered “a great contusion on his shoulder”.
The possibility that Chatham might have been seriously wounded probably kept the news out of the official gazettes; the prime minister was, after all, Chatham’s heir, and could ill afford to go to the House of Lords. (The secrecy doesn’t seem to have worked: a rumour got out that Chatham had been killed, and at least one worried stockholder sent a suggestion to Henry Dundas, Secretary of State for War, that a law should be introduced “to keep Mr Pitt in the House of Commons”.)
What was Chatham doing on 6 October? Whatever it was, the result was devastation for his brigade. Sir John Fortescue tried and failed to discover where Chatham was engaged, although he felt it wasn’t really significant: “Under so incompetent a brigadier they were likely to come to misfortune in any position.” This is rather unfair, particularly given Fortescue’s admission that he could not work out where Chatham was.
Three pieces of evidence, however, give a clue. The first is a letter from Chatham himself. On 4 October, Chatham wrote to his mother from Egmont-op-Zee, telling her that “I moved in the course of yesterday to this place to reinforce Sir Ralph Abercromby … we have marched in this morning”.
The second is a letter from Colonel MacDonald, dated 7 October, recording that he had “had the honor of conversing with [Lord Chatham] about two hours ago at Egmont op Zee” – where Chatham had returned after the action of the 6th. Clearly Chatham‘s Brigade formed part of the reinforcements sent by Abercromby to assist the Russians in the dunes surrounding Castricum.
The third clue about Chatham’s deployment is a letter from Christopher Hely-Hutchinson, brother of General John Hutchinson, whose brigade was also heavily damaged during the 6 October battle:
“The Russians, with Colonel McDonald’s Brigade, advanced rather too far upon the enemy, who came down upon them in great force. Our Brigade, with that of Lord Chatham’s, & General D’Oyly’s, advanc’d to their support. We advanced along the sand hills, with orders to support General D’Oyly who was on our left. … The enemy were in considerable force on our front”.
From this account, it seems clear that Chatham was involved in the thickest fighting. According to the regimental history of the 4th Foot, the regiment “principally sustained the shock of the enemy’s horse”. Most likely what happened was that Chatham’s brigade became caught up in the Russian’s retreat when they were beaten out of Castricum by one of the enemy cavalry charges. Given the restricted visibility and the presence of the routed Russians to the front, the brigade (unseasoned militiamen that they were) probably did not have time to form a square, or botched the manoeuvre and suffered accordingly.
Chatham left no account of his experience, perhaps partly because his wound left him temporarily unable to write (all accounts of his safety were conveyed to his family by third parties). One thing is certain: Castricum stopped him being sent abroad again during Pitt’s lifetime. Pitt’s 20th century biographers were flippant about the incident – P.W. Wilson, for example, joked that “Pitt’s career was safeguarded by the fraternal gold lace”, but the reaction of Pitt’s friends to Chatham’s near-miss was one of frank horror. Chatham’s cousin Lord Buckingham wrote to Lord Grenville:
Lord Chatham’s escape has, I trust, decided you and others to whom the public have a right to look, not to suffer yourselves to forego for his very proper feelings as a soldier the dearest interests of the public; and that, in one word, his further service on the Continent will be negatived; a sacrifice which, I must say, he owes to the public.
Nor was Buckingham alone in his assessment. Henry Dundas told Pitt that all would “concur … in reprobating the idea of Lord Chatham’s going at present upon any foreign Service, and the King will be under the necessity of interposing to prevent it”.
It would be ten years before Chatham had the opportunity to serve abroad again, at which point Pitt had been dead for three years. The sphere of engagement was again Holland; the result was even more disastrous than the Helder campaign. But Walcheren is another story.
 L. Cowper, The King’s Own: the story of a regiment, 3 vols. (Oxford, 1939), Vol. 1, p. 302. Piers Mackesy gives slightly different numbers: Statesmen at War: the strategy of overthrow, 1798-9 (London, 1974), p. 239.
 Edward Walsh, A narrative of the expedition to Holland in the autumn of the year 1799 (London, 1800), p. 132.
 Sir Henry Bunbury, A narrative of the campaign in North Holland, 1799 (London, 1849), pp. 26-7.
 Francis Maule, Memoirs of the principal events in the campaigns of North Holland and Egypt … (London, 1816), p. 37.
 Sir John Fortescue, A history of the British Army, 13 Vols. (London, 1899-1930), Vol. 4(2), p. 695.
 Sun, 16 October 1799.
 The numbers are collated from various sources, including Fortescue, History of the British Army, Vol. 4(2), p. 697; Bunbury, A narrative of the campaign in North Holland, p. 27; and Walsh, A narrative of the expedition to Holland, pp. 135-6.
 William Pitt to Lady Chatham, 12 October 1799, The National Archives PRO 30/8/101 f. 149; Colonel Donald MacDonald to Henry Dundas, 7 October 1799, National Records of Scotland Melville MSS GD 51/1/710.
 Sun, 15 October 1799; Miss Berry to Miss Cholmondeley, 12 November 1799, Lady Theresa Lewis (ed.), Extracts of the Journals and Correspondence of Miss Berry, 3 Vols. (London, 1865), Vol. 2, p. 104.
 15 October 1799, John Rylands Library, University of Manchester, Melville MSS Eng MS 697 Miscellaneous Correspondence.
 Fortescue, A History of the British Army, Vol. 4(2), p. 697.
 Lord Chatham to the Dowager Countess of Chatham, 4 October 1799, Lord Ashbourne, Pitt: some chapters of his life and times (London, 1898), pp. 168-9.
 Colonel Donald MacDonald to Henry Dundas, 7 October 1799, National Records of Scotland Melville MSS GD 51/1/710.
 Christopher Hely-Hutchinson to Lord Donoughmore, 7 October 1799, PRONI T3459/D/43/3.
 Cowper, The King’s Own, Vol. 1, p. 311.
 P.W. Wilson, William Pitt, the Younger (London, 1933), p. 278.
 Lord Buckingham to Lord Grenville, 15 October 1799, Manuscripts of J.B. Fortescue, Esq. preserved at Dropmore, 9 vols. (London, 1905-10), Vol. 5, p. 473.
 Henry Dundas to William Pitt, 3 November 1799, British Library Add Mss 40102.
About the author
Jacqueline Reiter has a PhD in late 18th century political history from the University of Cambridge. A professional librarian, she lives in Cambridge with her husband and two children. She blogs at www.thelatelord.com and you can follow her on Facebook (www.facebook.com/latelordchatham) or Twitter (https://twitter.com/latelordchatham). Her first book, The Late Lord: the life of John Pitt, 2nd Earl of Chatham, was published by Pen & Sword Books in January 2017.
In many ways a Roman Gladiator was a bit like a Big Brother Contestant. By which I don’t mean that in the Big Brother household they are battling to the death with Gladius in hand (although perhaps they should be, Channel 5 take note). Instead I mean that Gladiators were both loved and despised just like the fast fading celebrity who finds themselves in the midst of the Big Brother household. You can’t help but think of the average BB contestant as being someone you totally dislike but at the same time you just can’t bring yourself to turn the TV off (even when they’ve just spent the last 10 minutes screaming at someone for eating the last of the coco pops).
Gladiators were idolised. They were the sporting hero of their time. A baby oiled titan. And yet they were hated in the same breath, they were slaves, and much lower status than virtually everyone else in Roman society (apart from the actors, they were real scum). If you were unfortunate enough to become a Gladiator (unless you wanted to be one, free Romans were often drawn to the danger and excitement of the arena although they would of course keep their identities a secret so as not to embarrass their families) then you had to work hard to survive. Balancing both being really good at fighting with having the charisma necessary to win over the crowd.
How did they do this? What top tips would they have shared in order to be triumphant?
Fortunately for you, I (Captain Max Virtus – expert in Bizarrchaeology) have the answer for you. I didn’t discover this answer by reading dusty and forgotten text books or frantically scanning a Gladiator article on Wikipedia, Oh no, I LIVED the life of the Gladiator! Yup, in one of the halls in my castle I built a miniature Flavian Amphitheatre, hired a bunch of highly skilled trainers and then I practised being a Gladiator. I did it all;
Took on the role of a Venatore Gladiator and punched a hippo in the face (don’t worry animal lovers, the hippo got to punch me in the face too, and they can punch hard).
Practised using a lasso whilst training as a Laquerarii gladiator (don’t try to lasso the hippo you just punched, they really don’t like it and it all goes a bit horribly wrong when they try and lasso you back, having no opposable thumbs).
Fought with a Samnite, Provocator and Murmillones Gladiator types, gladius to gladius
I even rode on my war chariot as a Essedari gladiator (Unfortunately space was rather limited so this did involve a great deal of awkward reversing).
So what are the most important lessons that I leant? What things can I share with you, dear reader, so if you ever were to be thrust back in time, due to a freak accident with a crazily over excited doctor and a DeLorean, and found yourself living the life of the Gladiator in ancient Rome that you could survive (perhaps even thrive) too?
Top Tip 1 – Never become an Andabatae Gladiator
Imagine the scene, you’re a new Gladiator and you’ve just arrived at the Ludus (Gladiator School) for your first day. Suddenly, the biggest, baddest and brutalist (new word) Gladiator rocks up and starts hanging out with you. You are totally flattered because he is one of the cool Gladiators. He’s then being all friendly and says something along the lines of;
‘Hey dude, you know you would be major awesome as an Andabatae Gladiator. Would you like to be one at the next games?’
Don’t be tempted, don’t even pause to consider the question, just say NO!
First of all, I have no idea why the Gladiator was speaking like a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle.
Secondly, Andabatae gladiators were terrible, as your chances of survival were virtually zero.
To become an Andabatae you would have to commit a crime (this could be something major, like murder, or something relatively minor, like not being able to repay your debts) and sent to the arena to die. When you got there, you and a bunch of other criminals would be given;
A Gladius (things are looking up, a sword!)
No armour (that’s not so bad, at least your opponents don’t have any either)
And a helmet (yay!) with no eye holes so you are rendered completely blind (you what?!)
Once your helmet is on your head you would be sent out into the area to frantically wave your sword around, hoping by Jupiter’s left toe, that you hit your opponent before they hit you. Even if you are hit but are only injured you are still going to die anyway, because a friendly chap dressed as Charon (the ferryman to the underworld) will come along with a hot poker to check you’re dead, if not, expect him to wallop you over the head with a hammer until you are (it probably won’t take long, it’s a big hammer).
Maybe you might get lucky and end up being the last man standing and get to live. But your chances are not even half as good as a regular Gladiator. In actual fact, most Gladiators had the best health care in all of Rome, with few battles resulting in death (after all, which self respecting event organiser would want to pay out a fortune to the owner of the Gladiator if they were to die in battle?)
Top Tip 2 – Don’t get the Emperor’s thumb the wrong way around
So, you’ve just won your first big fight in the Colosseum with Emperor Commodus himself watching, exciting stuff! Your opponent lies exhausted at your feet and your stand above him, Gladius raised and ready to strike. The crowd chant around you in an incomprehensible wall of noise. You look up to the Emperor, he’s stood there looking pensive (the lion’s head he is wearing looks slightly pensive too – Commodus wore one as he desperately wanted to emulate his hero Hercules). Then with a nod the Emperor has decided, he extends his arm with his thumb pointed down towards the floor. You respond and with a neat swing of your blade your opponent is dispatched.
WHOOPS! You just disobeyed the request of the Emperor. You are in trouble.
Don’t make this rookie mistake. A downwards thumb means let your opponent live (the direction of the thumb indicates that the blade should be lowered) An upwards pointing thumb means kill them (the thumb is pointing towards the neck, where they should be stabbed).
Don’t forget lest you really embarrass yourself and snatch defeat from the jaws of victory.
Top Tip 3 – Don’t bring Kitchen implements to a Sword Fight
Being a man of wonder I don’t make many mistakes (unless you count letting a Hippo punch me in the head) but one I did make was bringing the wrong weapon to one of my duels. My trainer had explained that in the next fight we would be battling as Scissors Gladiators. So off I went to the kitchen and fetched my finest Kitchen Scissors (they even have golden handles, to go with the theme of my kitchen) only to return and discover my trainer had a metal gauntlet on his right arm, attached to it were two large blades. It’s then that I realised my trainer had said Scissores Gladiators rather than Scissors Gladiator. Suffice to say I lost the fight. Badly.
Go Forth Gladiator, Rome salutes you.
So there you have it, Max Virtus’ Top 3 Tips to survive as a Gladiator in Ancient Rome. With these lessons learnt you stand a good chance of getting your hands on the wooden sword known as a Rudis and earning your freedom. But don’t worry, if you find yourself missing the danger and excitement of the arena once you are free you can always go back for one last big payout. Just be careful, without an owner to have to pay back you’ll find the event organiser won’t provide you with nearly as good healthcare as before. After all, what better way for the crowd to remember the event than with the death of a famous Gladiator?