Historical Record of the Twelfth, or the Prince of Wales's Royal Regiment of Lancers Containing an Account of the Formation of the Regiment in 1715, and of Its Subsequent — A Reader’s Guide
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Bligh was appointed to the colonelcy of the regiment, from the Twentieth Foot.
Brigadier-General Bligh was promoted to the rank of major-general in 1747, and removed to the Second Irish Horse, now Fifth Dragoon Guards; and the colonelcy of the TWELFTH Dragoons was conferred on Major-General Sir John Mordaunt, from the Eighteenth regiment of Foot. This distinguished officer was promoted to the Tenth Dragoons, in 1749, and was succeeded by Major-General Lord George Sackville, afterwards Viscount Sackville, from the Twentieth regiment of Foot.
On the 18th of January, 1750, Lord George Sackville was promoted to the Third Irish Horse, now Sixth Dragoon Guards; and the colonelcy of the TWELFTH Dragoons was conferred on Lieut.-Colonel Sir John Whitefoord, Baronet, from the Thirty-fifth Foot.
King George II. issued, on the 1st of July, 1751, a warrant regulating the clothing, standards and colours of the several regiments, from which the following particulars have been extracted respecting the TWELFTH DRAGOONS:--
COATS,--_scarlet_, double-breasted, without lapels, lined with _white_; slit sleeves, turned up with white; the button-holes ornamented with narrow white lace; the buttons flat, of white metal, set on two and two; a long slash pocket in each skirt; and a white worsted aiguillette on the right shoulder.
WAISTCOATS AND BREECHES,--white.
HATS,--bound with silver lace, and ornamented with a white metal loop and a black cockade; the forage cap red, turned up with white, and XII.D. on the little flap.
BOOTS,--of jacked leather.
CLOAKS,--of scarlet cloth, with a white collar, and lined with white shalloon; the buttons set on two and two, on yellow frogs or loops, with a green stripe down the centre.
HORSE FURNITURE,--of white cloth; the holster-caps and housings having a border of yellow lace, with a green stripe down the centre; XII.D. embroidered upon the housings, on a red ground, within a wreath of roses and thistles; the King's cipher, with the crown over it, and XII.D. underneath, embroidered upon the holster-caps.
OFFICERS,--distinguished by silver lace and embroidery, and a crimson silk sash across the left shoulder.
SERJEANTS,--to have narrow silver lace on their cuffs, pockets, and shoulder-straps; silver aiguillettes, with green and yellow worsted sashes tied round their waists.
DRUMMERS AND HAUTBOYS,--white coats, lined with scarlet, and ornamented with yellow lace with a green stripe down the centre; scarlet waistcoats and breeches.
GUIDONS,--the first, or King's guidon, to be of crimson silk, with a silver and green fringe; in the centre the rose and thistle conjoined, and crown over them, with the motto--_Dieu et mon Droit_, underneath; the white horse in a compartment in the first and fourth corners, and XII.D. in silver characters on a white ground, in the second and third corners: the second and third guidons to be of white silk; in the centre, XII.D. in silver characters, on a crimson ground, within a wreath of roses and thistles on the same stalk; the white horse on a red ground, in the first and fourth compartments; and the rose and thistle conjoined, upon a red ground, in the second and third compartments; on the third standard, a figure 3, on a circular red ground underneath the wreath.
Lieut.-General Sir John Whitefoord died in 1763; and was succeeded in the colonelcy by Colonel Edward Harvey, from the lieut.-colonelcy of the Sixth Dragoons. In the following year, this officer was removed to the Third Irish Horse, now Sixth Dragoon Guards, and the colonelcy of the TWELFTH Dragoons was conferred on Major-General Benjamin Carpenter, from lieut.-colonel of the second troop, now second regiment, of Life Guards.
Although the necessity for maintaining an efficient military force in Ireland, had prevented the regiment sharing in the perils and conflicts of the war from 1741 to 1748, and from 1755 to 1762, during which periods several corps had acquired never-fading laurels, yet its excellent conduct during its service in Ireland had been noticed and appreciated; it was held in high estimation, and in 1768, King George III. conferred upon it the distinguished title of "THE PRINCE OF WALES'S REGIMENT," in honor of the heir-apparent to the throne, afterwards King George IV., who was then in the seventh year of his age. At the same time the arms, clothing, and equipment were changed, and it was constituted a corps of "LIGHT Cavalry," and was designated "THE TWELFTH, OR THE PRINCE OF WALES'S REGIMENT OF LIGHT DRAGOONS." The regiment was also permitted to assume as a regimental badge, a coronet, with three feathers, and the motto "ICH DIEN;" also a rising sun, and a red dragon.
Major-General Carpenter was removed to the Fourth Dragoons in 1770, and was succeeded by Major-General William Augustus Pitt, from the lieut.-colonelcy of the Tenth Dragoons.
Richard Cannon's Historical Record of the Twelfth, or the Prince of Wales's Royal Regiment of Lancers moves between two distinct textual modes: the formal, administrative language of regimental returns and a startlingly immediate first-person account of the Battle of Waterloo. The work opens with General Orders specifying that each regiment's history shall include 'the Period and Circumstances of the Original Formation,' 'Stations at which it has been from time to time employed,' and 'the Names of Officers and number of Non-Commissioned Officers and Privates, Killed or Wounded.' Yet the most memorable passage—a wounded officer's narrative of lying on the field after being shot—breaks sharply from this bureaucratic frame, offering a sensory record of groans, cannon fire, and the 'clatter' of Prussian cavalry passing over him.
Two Registers of Record
The volume juxtaposes two documentary impulses. The first is the official regimental history, mandated by the Adjutant-General to 'hold forth these bright examples to the imitation of the youthful soldier.' This section lists stations, engagements, and casualties in a detached, summary style. The second register is the personal testimony of an officer wounded at Waterloo, which occupies a long, uninterrupted block of text. Here the prose becomes immediate and physical: the narrator describes a tirailleur who 'knelt and fired over me, loading and firing many times, and conversing with great gaiety all the while,' then ran off saying, 'Vous serez bien aise d'entendre que nous allons nous retirer; bon jour, mon ami.' The contrast between the general's command to 'display noble deeds' and the soldier's account of being plundered, left in 'a very uneasy posture,' and later having a dying man 'lying across my legs' creates a tension between official commemoration and lived experience.
Sensory Geography of the Battlefield
The Waterloo narrative is organized not by chronology but by proximity and sound. The wounded officer's world shrinks to the ground around him: he notes the 'cries and groans of the wounded all around me, became every instant more and more audible, succeeding to the shouts, imprecations, outcries of 'Vive l'Empereur!' the discharges of musquetry and cannon.' Intervals of 'perfect silence' are described as 'worse than the noise.' Movement is registered through touch and vibration—Prussian cavalry 'passed over me in full trot, lifting me from the ground, and tumbling me about cruelly.' The officer's position is fixed; he cannot see the battle's progress, only infer it from sounds and the behavior of soldiers who stop to plunder or aid him. This restricted perspective transforms the field into a landscape of voices, footsteps, and the 'air issuing through a wound in his side.'
Acts of Mercy Amid Plunder
Throughout the account, the wounded officer encounters a series of strangers—enemy and ally—whose actions oscillate between threat and compassion. A tirailleur threatens to kill him but accepts three dollars and leaves; an officer in a blue greatcoat gives him brandy and 'directed one of his men to lay me straight on my side, and place a knapsack under my head.' Another tirailleur fires over him 'with great gaiety' before departing. After the battle, Prussian soldiers wander 'to plunder,' and one pulls him 'about roughly.' Finally, a soldier from the 40th regiment agrees to stay by him in exchange for a reward, standing guard with a sword 'pacing backwards and forwards.' These encounters form a moral spectrum: the narrator is dependent on the unpredictable choices of men who might kill, rob, or save him. He never learns the name of the officer who helped him, noting 'I shall never know to whose generosity I was indebted.'
Literary Echoes in the Field
The narrator explicitly connects his experience to a literary precedent: 'the scene in Ferdinand, Count Fathom, came into my mind, though no women, I believe, were there.' This reference to Tobias Smollett's picaresque novel—which includes a famous scene of a protagonist wandering a battlefield at night—signals that the officer is filtering his trauma through a known narrative. The allusion also underscores the theatricality of the scene: the 'cries and groans,' the 'shouts, imprecations, outcries,' and the 'intervals of perfect silence' are described with a novelist's attention to pacing. Yet the account remains grounded in physical detail: the weight of the dying soldier, the 'convulsive motions,' the 'noises.' The literary reference does not diminish the reality but rather frames it as a scene that feels already written, as if the officer is both experiencing and observing his own story.
Readers should attend to the structural disjunction between the regimental record and the personal narrative, as it reveals how official military history can contain—but not fully absorb—individual testimony. The Waterloo passage rewards close attention to its sensory details and moral ambiguities: the enemy who gives water, the ally who plunders, the literary allusion that surfaces in extremity. This is not a conventional battle history but a document that lets a single voice, pinned to the ground, register the war from a fixed and vulnerable point.
The rain kept the room dim, and I sat with the 12th Lancers, held by that wounded officer’s voice amid the smoke of Waterloo. His physical immediacy lingered. Later, my hand drifted to the shelf, pulling down the Historical record of the 71st Regiment Highland Light Infantry — Reading Companion, curious how another soldier might recall his own thunder. The afternoon dissolved into their separate, shared silences.
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