While it was not disorganized or demoralized, Blücher’s army was in
great peril. Two of his army corps were concentrated at Wavre, one was
at Gembloux, and the fourth at Wandesett. Had the French been vigilant,
these separated corps might have been overwhelmed in detail. Through
the carelessness of videttes, the lack of enterprise in the leaders
of reconnoitering parties and the unpardonable neglect of General
Exelmans, neither Napoleon nor Grouchy was informed of the movement of
the Prussian corps.
After Grouchy was given command of 33,000 troops to pursue the
Prussians, the delays in starting, the slowness of the march, the
lack of harmony between Grouchy and his two lieutenants, Vandamme and
Gérard, made the “pursuit” the most futile on record.
How it was that an army of 70,000 Prussians could get lost to the
French, then found, then lost again, is something that the untutored
civilian labors in vain to understand.
Yet that is the truth about it. The morning after the battle of Ligny
the French did not know what had become of the Prussian army. They
began to hunt for it. The search was clumsy and far afield. But at
length Thielman’s corps was located at Gembloux. Grouchy’s entire army
might have enveloped and crushed it. Not being attacked, Thielman
sensibly retired, and when the French entered Gembloux they did not
even know what had become of those Prussians. A strange “pursuit,”
truly.
Although he still had two hours of daylight, Grouchy decided that the
“pursuit” had been pushed far enough for one day, and he postponed
further activities until the morrow. During the night he received
intelligence that the whole Prussian army was marching on Wavre. That
Wavre was on a parallel line to the line of Wellington’s retreat, and
that Blücher’s purpose might be to succor Wellington when necessary
never once entered Grouchy’s head. On the contrary, he believed that
Blücher was making for Brussels and would not tarry at Wavre. Yet he
knew that the Emperor was expecting a battle _just where that of the
next day was fought_.
Then why not put his 33,000 men nearer to the Emperor than Blücher
would be to Wellington? To do so he had but to cross the little river
Dyle and march along its left bank. Wavre is on the left bank of the
Dyle, and therefore he would have to cross it in any event, going
to Wavre. And by maneuvering on that side of the river he could the
more readily keep in communication with the Emperor and succor him
in case of need. That Napoleon expected Grouchy to do this is shown
by the orders which he gave to General Marbot to throw out cavalry
detachments in that direction. On the morning of the fateful 18th the
well-rested troops of Grouchy might have marched at three. Yet they
were not ordered to move till six, and did not actually get under way
until about eight. When the French of Grouchy left Gembloux for Wavre,
_the Prussians had already been four hours on the desperate march to
Waterloo_.
Having at length got his army off, the admirable Grouchy rode as far as
Walhain, where he entered the house of a notary to write a dispatch to
the Emperor. Having done this,--it was now about ten o’clock,--Marshal
Grouchy coolly sat down to his breakfast. At this hour the Prussian
advance guard had reached St. Lambert, and Wellington knew it. And here
was Napoleon’s lieutenant, placidly working his way to those historic
strawberries, blissfully ignorant of the fact that his stupendous folly
had wrecked Napoleon’s last campaign.
Upon this breakfast enter the excited officers who have heard the
opening guns at Waterloo. “A rearguard affair, no doubt,” thinks the
admirable Grouchy. But soon the distant thunder and the cloud of smoke
tell of a battle, a great battle--a battle of which men will talk as
long as there are human tongues to wag, as long as there are human
hearts to feel.
“The battle is at Mont-Saint-Jean,” says a guide. And that is where
the Emperor thought the fight would be. “We must march to the
cannon,” says Gérard. So says General Valezé. But Grouchy pleads his
orders. “If you will not go, allow me to go with my corps and General
Vallin’s cavalry,” pleads Gérard. “No,” said Grouchy; “it would be an
unpardonable mistake to divide my troops.” And he galloped away to
amuse himself with Thielman, as Blücher had meant that he should do.
So, all day long, while the Emperor strained his eyes to the right,
looking, looking, oh how longingly! for his own legions, his own
eagles, Grouchy was in a mere rearguard engagement with Thielman.
When Bülow appeared like a sudden cloud in the horizon, the Emperor
hoped it was Grouchy. When the cannonade at Wavre reached La Belle
Alliance, the Emperor fancied that the sound drew nearer--that Grouchy
was coming, at last. The agony of suspense which drew from Wellington
the famous “Blücher, or night,” could only have been equalled by the
storm which raged within the Emperor’s breast--the storm of impotent
rage, and of regret that he had leaned so heavy upon so frail a reed as
Grouchy.
The positive order which the Emperor sent to Grouchy, after the
appearance of the Prussians at Chapelle-Saint-Lambert, were delivered
in time for a diversion in Bülow’s rear which would have released
Napoleon’s right. But Grouchy decided that he would obey this order
_after_ he had taken Wavre. As he did not take Wavre until nightfall,
he might just as well have been openly a traitor to his flag. During
the whole of two days he had been repeating “my orders, my orders,”
and his apologists are forever prating about those orders; but what
about this last order, hot and direct, from the field where all was
at stake? How could a victory over Thielman be anything but a trivial
affair in comparison with the tremendous conflict going on over there
at Mont-Saint-Jean?
Ah, well, he took Wavre, licked his Thielman, extricated his army very
cleverly from a most perilous position made for it by the disaster
of Waterloo, got back into France in admirable shape, and had the
satisfaction of knowing that he had made a record unique in the history
of the world.
As the man who did not do the thing he was sent to do, Grouchy has
no peer. As a man who, in war, exemplified the adage of “penny wise
and pound foolish,” Grouchy is unapproachable. As a man who,--by an
almost miraculous union of inertness, stupidity, pig-headed obstinacy,
complacent conceit, jealous pride, and inopportune wilfulness,--caused
the last battle of the greatest soldier of all time to become the
synonym for unbounded and irremediable disaster, Grouchy occupies a
lofty, lonely pillar of his own--a sort of military Simeon Stylites.