Part 17

After the battle of Bunkers Hill my aunt had no alternative but to return to England. The same ship that took her out a blooming happy bride now received her back, a broken-hearted widow. It was in this ship, in the midst of a storm, that her only child, a son, was born. As soon as she could, after leaving the ship, my aunt, acting upon advice, offered herself as nurse to one of the Royal princes. In those days it was not thought derogatory to a lady to fill the post of attendant to a member of the Royal Family. My aunt, however, did not obtain the post, she was thought to be not old enough and probably too good looking; but her applying for the place brought her under the Queen's (Charlotte) notice, and her cause was further advanced by Sir Charles Stewart, who was a connection of Mr. Hamilton's. His influence and exertions procured a pension for Captain Lyon's widow, and a promise from the Queen that she would provide for the education of his son, and when the proper time arrived, if his inchnation should point to the army, a commission was to be given him. Young Lyon went to Hanover when quite a child and was educated there with the young princes, George iii.'s sons. The Duke of Cambridge became much attached to him, and was his fast friend to the end of his life. My aunt accompanied her son to Hanover, and lived there with him till he entered the army. He obtained a commission in the 13th Foot, and his first experience of military life and acquaintance with war and all its horrors was on board Lord Howe's ship, in the action of the ist June 1794. He was then a lad of eighteen, and his regiment had been drafted into the ship to serve as marines. I remember his speaking of this incident one day at my father's table. He had then risen to a high position in the army, a K.C.B., having seen plenty of service, but he was so shy and diffident that it was seldom he could be induced to speak of himself. Upon this occasion he was led on by my father, of whom he was very fond, and after describing the whole scene of the action with great spirit and animation, someone present asked him what he felt when he found himself (such a lad as he was) in the midst of a terrible sea fight? He answered very quietly, " I will tell you. When the look-out men called out, 'The enemy are in sight,' I went below and was as sick as ever I was in my life." While her son was pursuing a more active life, my aunt wandered about from place to place, and seems to have had no relations or friends to cheer her loneliness, and at last came to Bath, where her connection with my family began. Bath was at that time a most fashionable watering-place. All the world went there — amongst them were my two uncles, both in the prime of life and both clergymen. Both of them became attached to the interesting widow, both made her an offer of marriage, and she accepted the younger of the two, and never had reason to repent her decision. She lived happily with my uncle, who proved a most kind and generous friend to his stepson. Quite at the latter end of my aunt's life, and when her mind had become prematurely weakened, the sorrows and trials of her early life were all revived. She was sitting one day in her quiet drawing-room, and an old friend with her, when a parcel was brought to her by a servant. It looked as if it came from a distance, and was directed to Mrs. Lyon in the first instance, and then had been redirected m another hand to her present name and address. My aunt opened it with trembling fingers and found inside, carefully secured, a picture — a portrait of herself. It was a lovely miniature, painted when she was in the bloom of her youth and happiness. The likeness had been taken for her first husband before they were married. It was her gift, and with her own hands she had fastened it round his neck, where he vowed it should always remain. He had worn it ever since. It was near his heart as he marched to action, and as he lay dying on the ground at Bunkers Hill the last words he spoke were to entreat a friend who was near him to take the miniature from his breast when he was dead, and give it to his wife. Strange to say, the friend to whom the poor fellow made this request betrayed his trust. A letter accompanied the parcel from the executors of this gentleman, mentioning how it had occurred. He was a brother officer of Captain Lyon's, and had also known Mr. Hamilton and his daughter at Chatham. He had become deeply attached to her, though his friend carried off the prize, so when this living likeness of the woman he loved fell thus unexpectedly into his hands he could not resist the temptation of keeping it, and the miniature remained in his possession till his death, when it was found and restored to Mrs. Lj'-on. The shock of receiving this memento of the past was terrible on my aunt, and had the effect of shaking her mind still more. It was a cruel act of the friend to keep back this dying message, and for the sake of his own selfish gratification to deprive the wife of her last and only consolation. My aunt never recovered from this shock. After the first few days of excited feeling upon the reception of the miniature, her mind became still more weakened and she sank gradually into a state of complete childishness. She lived to be past eighty. Her days were spent in harmless amusement, and she was perfectly unconscious of the presence of everyone about her. My uncle was the only person she recognised to the last. His presence would always rouse her from her abstraction, and she would look at him with pleasure, sometimes with a sweet smile breaking over her face, but she never cared to talk to him, and after the first moment would drop back to her deep brooding. He procured a companion for her, who watched over her with great care and kindness, but it was sad to see such a mind in ruins and to hear the language of an infant uttered bj'' lips that had been used to speak all that was clever and refined. So when the end came at last, and all her troubles and sorrows were laid at rest, let us humbly trust that the blessing of the change was as great for her as it was a comforting assurance to the many who loved and admired her.