As I had been anxious for some time to get leave and go to England, I find by the same memorandum that I went that same day to ask Sir George to make an application for me, which, however, he would not do, telling me that the Duke had refused leave (and very angrily) to Captain Cleeve of the German Legion Artillery, though summoned to his father’s deathbed. That I eventually escaped paying a heavy sum of money for depredations committed by others, is not attributable to the Duke of Wellington’s sense of justice, but to the irritability of his temper. An officer holding a command in his army (particularly of cavalry or artillery) was in constant jeopardy--constantly struggling to reconcile two contradictions: 1st, to conciliate the natives, and thus prevent complaints; and 2d, to keep his men comfortable and horses _fat_ (that is the word), which could only be done at the expense of the natives. These, encouraged by the Duke’s orders, proclamations, &c., were never backward in complaining--indeed, they soon became insufferably insolent: and whilst affecting to admire and praise the _grand Vellangton_, and draw comparisons between him and Blucher and his Prussian _thieves_ (for so they invariably termed them)--“_voleurs Prussiens_”--they in reality laughed at us; whilst even the private soldiers of the Prussian army were (to their face, at least) treated with the most reverential deference. A sad contrast there was between our relative situations. As for gratitude, the wretches have not one grain of it. Many actually imagine that motives of fear have induced the Duke to adopt this (to them) strange line of conduct.