Here lies Copenhagen, the charger ridden by the Duke of Wellington the entire day of the battle of Waterloo. Born 1808, died 1836.
God’s humbler instrument though meaner clay Should share the glory of that glorious day.
[Illustration: WELLINGTON’S WATERLOO CHARGER “COPENHAGEN”
As we stood by “Copenhagen’s” grave in the summer of 1872, the duke said to me:
Several years after my father’s death an old servant of the family came to me in the library, and, producing a paper parcel, spoke as follows: “Your Grace, I do not believe that I have long to live, and before I die I wish to place in your hands what belongs to you.” With no small degree of surprise I inquired what it was, and when he opened the package and produced a horse’s hoof he said: “Your Grace, when Copenhagen died I cut off this hoof. None of us imagined that the duke would trouble his head about the body of the war-horse, but, to our great surprise, he walked down to the stables on his sudden return from London to see him buried. He instantly observed that his right forefoot was gone, and was in a fearful passion. No one dared tell him how it happened. I have preserved the hoof carefully for thirty years, and I now return it to your Grace.”
[Illustration: GRANT’S THREE FAVORITE WAR-HORSES: “EGYPT” (ON THE LEFT), “CINCINNATI” (IN THE MIDDLE), AND “JEFF DAVIS” (ON THE RIGHT)
SHERIDAN’S FAMOUS WAR-HORSE “WINCHESTER”]
Lady de Ros, the last survivor of those who danced at the Duchess of Richmond’s ball in Brussels on the evening before the battle of Waterloo, also the last among those who had mounted “Copenhagen,” published a little volume of recollections of Wellington which contained the following extract:
We often stayed with the duke at Abbaye, Mount St. Martin, Cambrai, and one morning he announced that there would be a sham battle, and that he had given orders to Sir George Scovell that the ladies riding should be taken prisoners, so he recommended our keeping close to him. I had no difficulty in doing so, as I was riding the duke’s Waterloo charger “Copenhagen,” and I found myself the only one within a square where they were firing. To the duke’s great amusement, he heard one of the soldiers saying to another: “Take care of that ’ere horse; he kicks out. We knew him well in Spain,” pointing to “Copenhagen.” He was a most unpleasant horse to ride, but always snorted and neighed with pleasure at the sight of troops. I was jumping with him when the stirrup broke, and I fell off. In the evening the duke had a dance, and said to me, “Here’s the heroine of the day--got kicked off, and didn’t mind it.”