His lordship was sure of Colin Campbell, too, who had been with him so many years, and managed his household so admirably, in spite of his inability to speak intelligibly any foreign language.
In fact, his lordship was perfectly happy in his personal staff. As for his general staff, though he complained peevishly of having strangers foisted on to him, and of being unable to entrust the details of the departments to any of the young gentlemen on the staff, he was not (if the truth were told) so very badly off there either. He might write to Toreens that he had no means of naming any of the officers he would prefer to all others, but somehow they began to appear on the general staff; seasoned men like Elley, and Waters, Felton Hervey, Greenock, Woodford, Gomm, Shaw, and any number of others. He had Barnes for his adjutant-general; and was getting De Lancey sent out as quartermaster-general; in place of Sir Hudson Lowe. He wanted Murray, of course: De Lancey was only a deputy; but Murray was still in America, and he could not really blame Torrens for being unable to spirit him back to Europe.
To read his lordship's despatches you might think he had no power at all over the appointments in the Army. In one of his irritable moods, he wrote another barbed letter to Bathurst. "I might have expected that the Generals and Staff formed by me in the last war would have been allowed to come to me again," he complained, and continued in a sweeping style which made Lord Bathurst grin appreciatively: "But instead of that, I am overloaded with people I have never seer before; and it appears to be purposely intended to keep those out of my way whom I wished to have." His lordship felt much better after that explosion of wrath, and added: "However, I'll do the best I can with the instruments which have been sent to assist me."
But gentlemen applying for staff appointments in the Duke's army were told at the Horse Guards that the selection of officers to fill these was left to the Duke: and occasionally his lordship seemed to forget that he had no power to employ gentlemen of his own choosing. He might complain of having his hands tied, but when it came to the point his lordship seemed to do very much what he liked. When he wanted Lieutenant-Colonel Grant to come out to him to be at the head of the Intelligence Department, and Lieutenant-Colonel Scovell to take charge of the Department of Military Communications, he told Lord Fitzroy to write offering the posts to both these gentlemen, and only afterwards informed Torrens of having done so. He hoped, coolly, that it would be approved of, and, in point of fact, had not the least doubt that it would be approved of.
But you could not be surprised at his lordship's being a little testy. He was not a pessimistic man, but he rather liked to have a grievance, and was very apt to grumble that he was obliged to do everyone's work in addition to his own. He had, moreover, an overwhelming amount of work of his own to do, and endless annoyances to deal with. The wonder was not that he was peevish in his office but that he was so cheerful out of it. Quite apart from the all-important task of putting the country and the Army in a state of readiness for war, he was obliged to tackle such problems as the amounts of the subsidies to be granted to the various countries engaged in the campaign. First it was Hanover (a complicated business, that); then Austria; then Russia (shocking people to deal with, the Russians); and next it would be the Duke of Brunswick, already on the march with his troops to join the Army.
Subsidies one moment, wagons for the Hanoverians the next; then some quite trivial matter, such as old Arendtschildt's request for permission for certain of his officers to receive a Russian decoration: there was no end to the business requiring his lordship's attention;yet in the midst of it all he could find time to review troops, pay flying visits to garrisons, attend parties, and even to give a large party himself, and appear as lighthearted at it as though he had not a care in the world.
His lordship had a natural taste for festivities, and during his late spell of office as Ambassador to King Louis, had acquired the habit of planning his own parties on a lavish scale. His first in Brussels was a brilliant affair, comprising a dinner at the Hotel de Belle Vue to his more important guests, including the King and Queen of the Netherlands, followed by a concert, ball, and supper at the Salle du Grand Concert, in the Rue Ducale.
It quite eclipsed the Court party, held some days previously. Everything went off without the smallest hitch; the Catalani was in her best voice; the Duke was the most affable of hosts; his staff seconded him ably: and the Salle was so crowded with distinguished persons that it became at times quite difficult to move about.
The invitation list was indeed enormous, and had cost the staff many a headache, for besides the English in Brussels all the Belgian and Dutch notables had received elegant, cream-laid, gilt-edged cards requesting the honour of their presence. Nearly all of them had accepted, too: the Duc d'Ursel, with his big nose and tiny chin; cheerful little Baron Hoogvorst, and Madame; competent M. van der Capellan, the Secretary of State; the Duc and Duchesse de Beaufort, and Mademoiselle; bevies of Counts and Countesses and Dowager Countesses, all with their blushing daughters and hopeful sons; and of course the Royals: King William, and his lethargic spouse, with their splendid young son, Frederick, and an extensive suite. The Prince of Orange was present as well, but could hardly be included in the Royal party, since he arrived separately, was dressed in the uniform of the Prince of Wales's Own, talked nothing but English, and consorted almost exclusively with his English friends and fellow-generals. He had quite forgotten his huff at being superseded in the command of the Army. He was going to be given the 1st Corps, Lord Hill having the 2nd; and his dread mentor was treating him with so much confidence that he had nothing left to wish for. "For ever your most truly devoted and affectionate William, Prince of Orange," was how the Prince subscribed himself exuberantly in his letters to the Duke. All he ever received in return was "Believe me, & etc., Wellington." His lordship was never fulsome. "Je supplie Votre Altesse d'agreer en bonze les sentiments respectueux avec lesquels j'ai l'honneur d'etre, Vlonseigneur, de Votre Altesse le tres humble et tres obeissant serviteur," would write some Prussian general painstakingly. "Write him that I am very much obliged to him," scrawled the Duke at the foot of such despatches.
But the Prince of Orange was too well acquainted with his lordship to be cast down by his chilly letters. In fact, the Prince was in high fettle. His personal staff was composed of just the men he liked best: all English, and including his dear friend the Earl of March. He was very happy, sparkling with gaiety, looking absurdly young, and just a little conscious of the dizzy military heights to which he had risen. Sometimes he felt intoxicatingly important, and was a trifle imperious with the generals under his command; but when he found himself in Lord Hill's presence, and looked into that kindly face, with its twinkling eyes and fatherly smile, his importance fell away from him, and he was all eager deference, just as he was with the Duke, or with the veteran Count Alten of the German Legion, whose bright, stern gaze could always disconcert him. Sir Charles Count von Alten was under the Prince, in command of the 3rd Division, which was formed of one British brigade, under Sir Colin Halkett; one brigade of the German Legion, under Baron Ompteda; and one Hanoverian brigade, under Count Kielmansegg. Count Alten was fifty-one years of age, seasoned in war, and rather grim-faced. He was an extremely competent general - so competent that even the men of the Light Division had approved of him when he had commanded them - and a somewhat alarming person for a young gentleman only twenty-four years old to have under him. He was very polite to the Prince, and they got on really very well together, but his Royal Highness was glad that the rest of the 1st Corps, with the exception of the Guards, was composed of Dutch-Belgian troops under two generals who, though experienced soldiers, naturally had a respect for their Hereditary Prince which the English and the Germans could not be expected to share. His bete noire, and late second-in-command, Sir Henry Clinton, was commanding a division in Hill's corps; and that much more alarming person even than Count Alten, Sir Thomas Picton, was destined for the Reserve.