Dear Lady Besborough,

     You have often wished for some written account of the adventures and sufferings of your son Col. Ponsonby in the field of Waterloo. The modesty of his nature is, however, no small obstacle in the way. Will the following imperfect sketch serve, in any degree, till you can procure something better? The battle was alluded to one morning in the library at Althorp, and his answers to many of the questions which were put to him are here thrown together as nearly as I could remember in his own words.

     “The clouds broke at noon, and the sun shone out a little just as the battle began. The armies were drawn up front to front, their distance from each other varying from eight to twelve hundred yards. A small valley lay between them, in which the videttes might be seen conversing. I was stationed with my regiment of cavalry, about three hundred strong, at the extreme of our left wing, and ordered to act discretionally.

     “At one o’clock, observing, as we thought, some unsteadiness in a column of French infantry, fifty by twenty or thereabouts, which were advancing with an irregular fire, we resolved to charge them. As we descended, we received from part of our own line on the right a fire much more destructive than theirs; theirs having begun long before it could take effect, and slackening as we drew nearer. When we were within fifty paces of each other, they turned, and much execution was done among them, as we were followed by some Belgians who had seen our success; but we had no sooner passed through them, than we were ourselves attacked before we could form, by about three hundred Polish lancers, who had hastened to their relief, the French artillery pouring in among us a heavy fire of grape, though for one of our men they killed three of their own. In the mêlée I was almost instantly disabled in both of my arms, losing first my sword, and then my rein, and followed by a few of my men who were presently cut down, no quarter being asked or given, I was carried along by my horse till, receiving a blow from a sabre, I fell senseless on my face to the ground.

     “Recovering, I raised myself a little to look round, being at that time, I believe, in a condition to get up and run away, when a lancer passing by, cried out, ‘Tu n’est pas mort, coquin? and struck his lance through my back: my head dropped, the blood gushed into my mouth, a difficulty of breathing came on, and I thought all was over.

     “Not long afterwards (it was then impossible to measure time, but I must have fallen in less than ten minutes after the onset) a tirailleur stopped to plunder me, threatening my life. I directed him to a small side pocket, in which he found three dollars, all I had; but he continued to threaten, and I said he might search me: this he did immediately, unloosing my stock and tearing open my waistcoat, and leaving me in a very uneasy posture.

     “ But he was no sooner gone, than an officer bringing up some troops, to which probably the tirailleur belonged, and happening to halt where I lay, stooped down and addressed me, saying, he feared I was badly wounded: I answered that I was, and expressed a wish to be removed into the rear: he said it was against their orders to remove even their own men, but that if they gained the day, (and he understood that the Duke of Wellington was killed, and that six of our battalions had surrendered) every attention in his power should be shown me. I complained of thirst, and he held his brandy-bottle to my lips, directing one of the soldiers to lay me straight on my side, and place a knapsack under my head: he then passed on into the action, soon perhaps to want, though not to receive, the same assistance; and I shall never know to whose generosity I was indebted as I believe for my life. Of what rank he was I cannot say: he wore a great coat.

     “By and by, another tirailleur came up, a fine young man, full of ardour: he knelt down and fired over me, loading and firing many times, and conversing with me very gaily all the while: at last he ran off, saying, ‘Vous serez bien aise d’apprendre que nous allons nous rétirer. Bon jour, mon ami.’

     “It was dusk when two squadrons of Prussian cavalry, each of them two deep, came across the valley, and passed over me in full trot, lifting me from the ground and tumbling me about cruelly: the clatter of their approach, and the apprehensions they excited, may be imagined: a gun taking that direction must have destroyed me.

     “The battle was now at an end or removed to a distance. The shouts, the imprecations, the outcries of “Vive l’Empereur,” the discharges of musketry and cannon were over, and the groans of the wounded all around me, became every instant more and more audible: I thought the night would never end.

     “"Much about this time, I found a soldier of the royals lying across my legs: he had probably crawled thither in his agony, and his weight, his convulsive motions, his noises, and the air issuing through a wound in his side, distressed me greatly; the last circumstance most of all, as I had a wound of the same nature myself.

     “It was not a dark night, and the Prussians were wandering about to plunder; the scene in Ferdinand Count Fathom came into my mind, though no women appeared. Several stragglers looked at me as they passed by one after another, and at last one of them stopped to examine me. I told him as well as I could, for I spoke German very imperfectly, that I was a British officer, and had been plundered already: he did not desist, however, and pulled me about roughly.

     “An hour before midnight I saw a man in an English uniform, walking towards me: he was, I suspect, on the same errand, and he came and looked in my face. I spoke instantly, telling him who I was, and assuring him of a reward if he would remain by me. He said he belonged to the 40th, and had missed his regiment: he released me from the dying soldier, and being unarmed, took up a sword from the ground and stood over me, pacing backwards and forwards.

     “Day broke, and at six o’clock in the morning some English were seen at a distance, and he ran to them. A messenger being sent off to Harvey, a cart came for me, and I was placed in it and carried to the village of Waterloo, a mile and a half off, and laid in the bed from which Gordon, as I understood afterwards, had been just before carried out. I had received seven wounds: a surgeon slept in my room, and I was saved by excessive bleeding.

     “Such probably is the story of many a brave man, yet to me it is new. The historian, describing military achievements, passes silently over those who go into the heat of the battle, though there, as we have seen, every character displays itself, and many a virtue is practised. The gay are still gay, the noble-minded are still generous; nor has the commander in his proudest moment a better claim to our admiration than the meanest of his soldiers, when relieving a fallen enemy in the midst of danger and death.

     “The lances, from their length and weight, would have struck down my sword long before I had lost it, if it had not been bound to my hand. What became of my horse, I know not: it was the best I ever had.

     “The men soon grow savage from being knocked about; the French make a great clamour in action: the English only shout.

     “Much inconvenience would arise from allowing the wounded to be carried off, the men being ready on the slightest pretext to leave the field: it is not allowed in our armies.

     “The man was still breathing when I was removed in the morning.

     “Much confusion arose and many mistakes from similarity of dress: the Belgians, in particular, suffered greatly from their resemblance to the French, being on that day in the very same clothes they had worn under Buonaparte: our scarlet is more distinguishable than any other colour.

     “Horses are very unwilling to go into battle, and cower and hang down their heads, when the balls whistle round them.”