Brief Summary of Events for Four Years preceding the Battle of
Waterloo.--Author’s Narrative resumed at that Period.--Preparation
of Troops for the Battle.--Skirmishing preceding its
Commencement.--Reception of the News at Brussels.--Departure
of the English for the Field of Battle.--Disposition of the
Forces.--Attack upon Hougomont.--Progress of the Battle.--Arrival of
the Prussian Reinforcements.--Charge of the Old Guard.--Flight of
the French.--The Author wounded, and left upon the Field.--Rescued
by a Camp-follower.--Carried to the Hospital, and thence taken to
England.--He quits the Service, and emigrates to America.--Conclusion.
These four years thus spent to me were days of quiet, unmarked by
aught that would interest my readers; but four years more eventful,
more fraught with heavy consequences of good or ill to Europe, have
seldom--perhaps never--been numbered in her eventful history. The
victorious banners of France were waving on every battle-field on the
continent. Wagram and Jena, Austerlitz and Friedland, echoed back the
glory of the conqueror’s name; and kings and emperors, in whose veins
flowed the blood of the Cæsars, had esteemed it an honor to claim
alliance with the plebeian child of Corsica. But the Russian bear and
the English lion had not yet yielded to his claims; and, gathering his
vast and victorious armies, he led them to face a sterner enemy and a
more subtle foe than they had ever yet contested. Half a million of
men, firm and confident in their own resources, had crossed the Niemen
under Bonaparte’s approving eye. A few months later, and the remnant
of that scattered army, in rags, wan and ghastly, staggered, like a
band of spectres, over that same river. No human might had struck them
down; but the ice of winter and the deep snows of the north, which
the fur-clad Russian glories in, had been the signal of death to the
light-hearted child of vine-clad France. He who had left France at the
head of such glorious armies had returned to his capital alone with his
own brave heart and iron courage, to find there that the arms and gold
of the allies had done their work.
[Sidenote: BONAPARTE’S ADDRESS BEFORE WATERLOO.]
From Spain, the French had retreated step by step. Ferdinand, soiled,
even in his youth, with flagrant crimes, had returned amid rejoicings
and banquets to his capital, to sink still deeper in shame and contempt
the Bourbon name, and to reward with dungeons and tears and blood the
brave hearts that had struggled so long and nobly for his kingdom.
Joseph had fled before him on foot, scarcely escaping with his life
from that kingdom, which might, indeed, have taken a glorious place
among the nations, had he had the courage or ability to carry out,
in the spirit that dictated them, the great and far-seeing plans of
his brother. On every side the nations turned their arms against the
falling emperor, until, at length, he who had disposed in his palace of
the thrones of Europe had only left one small island, which must have
seemed to him but a child’s bauble, in view of the past. He _would_
not rest here, and the events of the hundred days had roused again the
world to arms. The prestige of his name had won back the allegiance
of the French, and thousands had, as in days of yore, collected around
his standard. The battle which should decide the fate of Europe drew
on. France stood alone, on the one side, with her veteran troops, and
her memories of glorious victories, and, more than all, her emperor;
and on the other were the united forces of England and the continent.
Napoleon was confident of victory. On the 14th of June, in his own
resistless eloquence, he thus addressed his army, the last he was ever
destined to command:--“Soldiers, this day is the anniversary of Marengo
and Friedland, which twice decided the destiny of Europe. Then, as
after the battle of Austerlitz, as after the battle of Wagram, we were
too generous. We believed in the oaths and protestations of princes,
whom we left on their thrones. Now, however, leagued together, they
aim at the independence and the most sacred rights of France. They
have committed the most unjust aggressions. Let us, then, march and
meet them. Are not we and they still the same men? Soldiers, at Jena,
against these same Prussians, now so arrogant, you were one to three;
and at Montmirail, one to six. Let those among you who have been
captives to the English describe the nature of their prison-ships, and
the horrible sufferings they endured. The Saxons, the Belgians, the
Hanoverians, the soldiers of the Confederation of the Rhine, lament
that they are obliged to use their arms in the cause of princes who are
the enemies of justice and the rights of all nations. They know that
this coalition is insatiable. After having devoured twelve millions
of Poles, twelve millions of Italians, one million of Saxons, and six
millions of Belgians, it now wishes to devour the states of the second
rank in Germany.
“Madmen! a moment of prosperity has bewildered them! The oppression
and humiliation of the French people are beyond their reach; if they
enter France, they will find their tomb there! Soldiers, we have forced
marches to make, battles to fight, and dangers to encounter; but, if we
are firm, victory will be ours. The rights, the honor, the happiness of
the country, will be recovered. To every Frenchman who has a heart, the
moment is now arrived when he should either conquer or die.”
The plan which Napoleon had laid down was, by a rapid advance, to force
his way between the armies of Wellington and Blucher combined,--to
attack one with the mass of his forces, while he detached troops to
keep the other in check. Let us now turn our attention to the allies.
[Sidenote: SKIRMISHES BEFORE THE BATTLE.]
They had combined their whole strength at and near Brussels. The army
of Blucher, at this time, numbered about one hundred thousand men.
These occupied Charleroi, Namur, Givet and Liege. The headquarters
of the Anglo-Belgian army, under Wellington, were at Brussels. This
army numbered seventy-six thousand men; but thirty-five thousand of
these, however, were English, the flower of the Peninsular army having
been sent to America. The remainder were Hanoverians, Dutch and
Belgians. The right of the Prussian army communicated with the left of
the English; their commanders having so arranged their troops, that
wherever the attack of the French should be made, they might support
each other. They could not doubt that Napoleon’s mark was Brussels, but
as yet it had been impossible for them to learn by which of the four
great routes he intended to force his passage. Several prisoners had
been taken, but these either could not or would not communicate the
intelligence our commander was so desirous to obtain. On the morning of
the 15th, however, the movements of the French unfolded their designs.
Their second corps crossed the Sambre, and drove in Zeither’s outposts,
who fell back on Fleurus to concentrate with the Prussian corps. They
were hastily followed by the French army. The emperor’s purpose was
then to crush Blucher, before he could concentrate his own forces, much
less be assisted by the troops under Wellington. Immediately Zeither,
who had the command at Charleroi, sent out despatches to all the
commanders of Blucher’s army, summoning them to his aid. Then gallantly
marshalling the men who were under his command, they held their ground
bravely, though with great loss, until, finding it impossible longer to
withstand, they fell back in good order, on a position between Ligny
and Armand, where Blucher now awaited Napoleon’s attack, at the head
of his whole army. Though the emperor’s plan of beating the Prussian
army in detail had failed, he might still prevent the conjunction of
his forces with Wellington’s. He continued his march, therefore, on the
main road to Brussels from Charleroi. At Frasnes, some Nassau troops
had been stationed. These were, however, obliged to retire before the
French, who followed them as far as Quatre Bras, or four arms,--a farm,
so called because the roads from Charleroi to Brussels, and from Namur
to Nivelles, here cross each other. Here the French halted for the
night.
Lord Wellington, as I have said, held his headquarters at Brussels.
Not a rumor of Napoleon’s onward movement had, as yet, reached him.
That gay city presented many attractions to our gallant officers, and
festivals and parties had followed each other in quick succession. On
that very night the Duchess of Richmond gave a splendid ball, and it
was as gayly attended by the British officers as if the French had been
on the Seine, instead of the Sumbre. Wellington himself was there.
Sir Thomas Picton, too, our own brave commander in the Peninsular
campaign, who had but that day arrived from England, also met his
brother officers in this festal scene. The festivities were at their
height, when an officer in splashed and spattered uniform presented
himself at the door, and asking for the duke, communicated to him
the startling intelligence. For some moments the iron duke remained
in deep reflection, his countenance showing a resolution already
taken. Then, in a low and steady voice, he gave a few directions to a
staff-officer, and again mingled in the festivities of the hour. But,
before the ball was ended, the strains of courtly music were drowned
in the louder notes of preparation. The drum had beat to arms, and the
bugle summoned the assembly, while the Highland bagpipe added its wild
and martial call to the field. All were soon prepared and under arms,
and the fifth division filed from the park with the Brunswick corps,
and directed their course to the forest of Soignes.
[Illustration: COMBAT OF THE PRUSSIAN ARMY UNDER BLUCHER WITH THE
FRENCH.]
[Sidenote: BRUSSELS ON THE EVE OF THE BATTLE.]
Three o’clock pealed from the steeple-bells. All was now quiet; the
brigades, with their artillery and equipage, were gone, the crash of
music was heard no longer, the bustle of preparation had ceased, and an
ominous and heart-sinking silence succeeded the noise and hurry ever
attendant on a departure for the field of battle.
These incidents have been so beautifully described by Byron, that we
cannot resist the temptation to quote the passage:
“There was a sound of revelry by night,
And Belgium’s capital had gathered then,
Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright
The lamps shone o’er fair women and brave men.
A thousand hearts beat happily; and when
Music arose with its voluptuous swell,
Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again,
And all went merry as a marriage bell.
But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell.
“Did you not hear it? No! ’twas but the wind,
Or the car rattling o’er the stony street;
On with the dance! let joy be unconfined!
No sleep till morn, when youth and pleasure meet,
To chase the glowing hours with flying feet!
But hark! that heavy sound breaks in once more,--
As if the clouds its echo would repeat,--
And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before.
Arm! arm! it is, it is the cannon’s opening roar!
“Ah! then, and there was hurrying to and fro,
And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress,
And cheeks all pale, which, but an hour ago,
Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness.
And there were sudden partings, such as press
The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs,
Which ne’er might be repeated;--who could guess
If evermore should meet those mutual eyes,
Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise!”
[Sidenote: THE NIGHT BEFORE THE BATTLE.]
By two o’clock the Duke of Wellington had left Brussels, and before
light he reached Bry, at which place Blucher was stopping, and there
the plan of the day was agreed upon. Napoleon resolved, with his own
troops, to attack the Prussian army, because that had concentrated
all its strength, while forty-five thousand men, under Ney, were to
give battle to the English. At early dawn, on the 16th, hostilities
were renewed. The morning, however, was occupied in slight skirmishes,
in which the soldiers in both armies showed their bravery. The main
contest between the English and the French commenced about three in
the afternoon. The French were drawn up among growing corn, so high as
nearly to conceal them from sight. The seventy-ninth and forty-second
regiments were thus taken by surprise, and nearly destroyed. Out of
eight hundred men, but ninety-six privates and four officers escaped.
At night the English general had possession of Quatre Bras. The number
of killed and wounded on the side of the allies was five thousand.
Blucher fought as stern a battle, but with less success. He had eighty
thousand men, while Napoleon was opposed to him with ninety thousand.
The French and Prussians felt for each other a mortal hatred, and
little quarter was either asked or given. When the night of the 16th
closed around them, thirty-five thousand men were left on the field of
battle,--twenty thousand of the Prussians, and fifteen thousand French.
Blucher had been forced to retire in the direction of Wavre, and so
skilfully were his movements made that it was noon on the 17th before
Napoleon discovered his retreat. As soon as Wellington learned that
Blucher had retreated, he gave orders to fall back from Quatre Bras to
the field of Waterloo. A heavy rain had fallen all day, and made the
roads almost impassable with mud. The English soldiers were wearied
with their day’s labor, and discouraged by the command to retreat; but
their spirits revived when, on reaching their bivouac for the night,
they were informed that the battle should be given on the next day. We
found little comfort, however, in our night’s position; for, as the
darkness closed in, the rain fell in torrents, and was accompanied by
heavy thunder.
The soldiers themselves, although no temptation would have been strong
enough to have induced them to turn away from the morrow’s battle,
still could not but feel the solemnity of the hour. Thousands of
those who had bivouacked with them the preceding night, in health
and spirits, were now cold and lifeless on the field of battle. The
morrow’s action could not be less severe, and in such an hour it was
not in human nature to be entirely unmindful of home and friends, whom
it was more than probable we should never see again. For my own part,
my thoughts reverted to my dear parents, and I could not but remember
that, had I not disregarded their wishes, I should now have been in
safety with them. My disobedience appeared to me in a very different
light from what it had formerly done; but I resolved to conceal my
feelings from every one. I was just endeavoring to compose myself
to sleep, when my comrade spoke to me, saying that it was deeply
impressed on his mind that he should not survive the morrow; and that
he wished to make an arrangement with me, that if he should die and I
should survive, I should inform his friends of the circumstances of
his death, and that he would do the same for me, in case he should be
the survivor. We then exchanged the last letters we had received from
home, so that each should have the address of the other’s parents. I
endeavored to conceal my own feelings, and cheer his, by reminding him
that it was far better to die on the field of glory than from fear; but
he turned away from me, and, with a burst of tears, that spoke the deep
feelings of his heart, he said, “_My mother!_” The familiar sound of
this precious name, and the sight of his sorrow, completely overcame
my attempts at concealment, and we wept together. Perhaps I may as well
mention here, that we had not been in the action twenty-five minutes
when he was shot down by my side. After my return to England, I visited
his parents, and informed them of the circumstances of his death; and I
can assure my readers that it was a painful task. We were not alone in
our sad feelings. The fierce contest of the elements, the discomforts
of our position, and the deep gloom which covered every object, all
served to deepen in every heart those feelings which, I venture to say,
even the bravest will experience in the stillness and silence of a
night preceding a battle.
With the early dawn of morning all the troops were in motion.
Wellington was to commence the action, while Blucher, with all his
army, with the exception of a single corps left to contend with Marshal
Grouchy, marched to support him.
[Sidenote: ORDER OF BATTLE.]
Our troops were drawn up before the village of Mont St. Jean, about
a mile and a half from the small town of Waterloo, on a rising
ground, which descended, by a gentle declivity, to a plain a mile in
breadth, beyond which rose the opposite heights of La Belle Alliance.
The first line was composed of those troops on whose discipline and
spirit the duke could most rely. These were the British, three corps
of Hanoverians and Belgians, and the men of Brunswick and Nassau. The
second line consisted of those whose courage and bravery were more
doubtful, and those regiments that had suffered most severely the
preceding day. Behind both of these lay the horse. Four roads crossed
each other in this position, affording great facilities for the
movements of the armies. It included, also, the chateau and houses of
Hougomont, and the farm-house and enclosures of La Haye Sainte, which
were very strongly occupied, and formed important outworks of defence.
The whole front of the British army extended, in all, about a mile.
The army of the French, meanwhile, had been marching all night, and
many of them did not reach the heights of La Belle Alliance until
late on the morning of the 18th. Napoleon had feared that the English
would continue their retreat to Brussels. It was, therefore, with much
pleasure that he saw them drawn up on the opposite heights. “At last,
then,” said he, “at last I have these English in my grasp.” Eighty
thousand French soldiers were seen moving, in close massive columns,
on the crest of the height, as they took up their several positions
for the day. When all was arranged, Bonaparte rode along the lines,
reviewing his troops; and when he had finished, and turned to ride
away, a loud shout of “Vive l’Empereur” rolled after him, which shook
the field on which they stood. He then ascended an observatory, a
little in the rear, where he could overlook both lines, and from this
point directed the battle. It was an eventful hour in the history of
this great man; and he felt, as did also his troops, how much depended
on the issue of the day. Victory alone would give the courage necessary
to send out reinforcements from a country where scarcely any were left
but old men and youth. Defeat would be decisive of the emperor’s fate.
These thoughts nerved the hearts of the French, and they fought with
unexampled impetuosity.
[Sidenote: ATTACK AT HOUGOMONT.]
About ten o’clock the action was commenced, by an attack upon the
gardens and wood of Hougomont. They were particularly anxious to gain
this post, as it commanded a large part of the British position. It
was furiously and incessantly assailed by the French, and as gallantly
defended by the English, under General Byng. The French pushed up to
the very walls of the chateau, and thrust their bayonets through the
door; but the Coldstream Guards held the court-yard with invincible
obstinacy, and the enemy were at length compelled to retire, leaving
fourteen hundred men in a little orchard, beside the walls, where it
does not seem so many could be laid. Every tree in the wood was pierced
with balls, their branches broken and destroyed, and the chateau itself
set on fire by the shells. Travellers inform us that the strokes which
proved so fatal to human life have not affected the trees; for, though
the holes still remain, their verdure is as beautiful as ever. Beneath
those trees, and in the forsaken garden, flowers continue to bloom.
The rose-trees and the vines, crushed and torn in the struggle, have
flowered in new beauty, and offer a strong contrast to the piles of
bones, broken swords, and shattered helmets, that lay scattered among
them.
When Napoleon saw that he had failed in taking Hougomont, he
strengthened his attack upon the main lines. Most of the British had
been drawn up in squares, not quite solid, but several files deep,
and arranged like the squares on a chess-board; so that, if any of
the enemy’s cavalry should push between the divisions, they could be
attacked in the rear, as well as in front. When, therefore, the French
artillery opened upon them, and whole ranks were mowed down, the
chasms were instantly filled, and not a foot of ground lost. But such
was the impetuosity of the French onset, that the light troops, drawn
up in front of these squares, were driven in, and the cavalry, which
should have supported them, fled on every side. The Brunswick infantry
now opened their fire upon the French cavalry, with a coolness and
intrepidity that made dreadful gaps in their squadrons, and strewed the
ground with men and horses that were advancing to the charge. But the
courage of the French did not desert them. Their artillery played, at
the distance of one hundred and fifty yards, on the British squares,
with dreadful execution. Their object was to push back the right wing
of the British, and establish themselves on the Nivelles road. But the
courage of their opponents rendered these efforts unavailing; and the
struggle here at length subsided, to rage with greater fury in other
parts of the field. A strong body of French infantry advanced, without
firing a shot, to the position occupied by Sir Thomas Picton and Kempt.
They had gained the heights, when Sir Thomas, forming his division into
a solid square, advanced to the charge with such effect, that, after
firing one volley, the French retreated. That volley, however, proved
fatal to our brave commander. A musket ball struck him in the temple,
and he expired without a struggle. After his fall, it was ascertained
that he had been wounded on the 16th, but had carefully concealed
it from every one but his servant. His wound, for want of surgical
assistance, had assumed a very serious aspect.
[Sidenote: PROGRESS OF THE BATTLE.]
Again the French pressed on, and, attacking the Highland division,
drove them back in great disorder. But the brigade of heavy cavalry
now came to their assistance, and again the assailants fell back. A
column, two thousand strong, bore down upon the 92d regiment, which
immediately formed itself into a line, and, charging on the foe, broke
their centre. The French were now reinforced by their cavalry, and
the British by the brigade of heavy dragoons. A contest then ensued
which has hardly a parallel in modern warfare. The determined valor of
the British, however, conquered, and the French retired behind their
infantry. It was at this time that Sir William Ponsonby was killed.
He led his brigade against the Polish lancers, and took two hundred
prisoners; but, riding on in advance of his troops, he entered a
newly-ploughed field, when his horse stuck in the mire, and he found
it impossible to proceed. At this instant, a body of lancers rode up.
Sir William saw that his fate was inevitable. He took out his watch and
a picture, and desired some one near to send them to his wife. A moment
after, he fell, pierced with seven lance wounds.
At the farm of La Haye Sainte, the French succeeded in cutting off
the communication of the German troops stationed there, and put them
all to the bayonet. Here they maintained their position, until the
final attack in the evening. The combat now raged with unabated fury.
Every inch of ground was disputed on both sides, and neither gave way
until every means of resistance was exhausted. The field of battle
was heaped with the dead; and yet the attack grew more impetuous, and
the resistance more obstinate. The continued reverberations of more
than six hundred pieces of artillery, the fire of the light troops,
the frequent explosions of caissons blown up by shells, the hissing of
balls, the clash of arms, the roar of the charges, and the shouts of
the soldiery, produced a commingling of sounds whose effect it would
be impossible to describe. Still, the contest raged on. After the
advantage gained at La Haye Sainte, Napoleon threw the masses of both
infantry and cavalry upon the British centre, which was now exposed.
The first battalions gave way under their impetuous attack, and the
French cavalry rushed on to carry the guns on the plains. An English
ambuscade ran to receive them. The slaughter was horrible. Neither
party yielded a step. Three times the French were on the point of
forcing their position, and three times they were driven back. They cut
to pieces the battalions of the English, who were slow or unskilful
in their movements, but could make no impression on the squares. In
vain were their repeated attacks. They were repulsed, with the most
sanguinary fury.
[Illustration: TERRIBLE CONTEST BETWEEN THE ENGLISH AND FRENCH ARMIES.]
Napoleon now advanced the whole centre of his infantry, to assist
the cavalry. They pressed on with an enthusiasm that overpowered all
resistance, and, for the moment, carried all before them. It was at
this critical period that our noble commander showed himself worthy
of a nation’s honor. Everywhere in the thickest of the fight, he was
seen cheering by his presence those who were almost ready to fail. He
seemed to bear a charmed life. Balls flew thick and fast around him,
and his staff-officers fell on every side; yet he moved on unharmed.
His unwearied exertions were at length successful in arresting the
progress of the French, and in wresting from them the advantages they
had gained. Again the attack on the chateau of Hougomont was renewed.
The cuirassiers poured the strength of their charge upon the 30th
regiment, who received them in a square, and immediately deployed
into a line, that the effect of their fire might be more fatal, while
the instant re-formation of the square protected them, in a degree,
from the next charge of the enemy. Leaving, at length, the 30th
regiment, they rushed on to the 69th, and succeeded in reaching them
before their square was formed, which enabled them to commit dreadful
slaughter. Before the British cavalry could rush to their relief, only
a few brave soldiers remained to effect their escape. Then, retiring to
their former position, the fire from three hundred pieces of artillery
was poured upon the whole line of the allies. The effect of this fire
was very destructive. One general officer reported to Wellington that
his brigade was reduced to one-third of its original numbers, and
that a temporary cessation was necessary to the very existence of his
troops. “What you propose,” was the answer of the duke, “is impossible.
You, I, and every Englishman on the field, must die in the spot we now
occupy.” “It is enough,” replied the general; “I, and every man under
my command, are determined to share your fate.”
Numerous were the instances on each side, among both officers and men,
of self-sacrifice to save their fellow-soldiers. But, notwithstanding
the gallant defence of the British, their situation now became,
critical in the extreme. The first line of their troops had suffered
severely, and those brought up to assist them could not always be
relied on. One Belgian regiment, which the duke himself was leading to
the contest, fled from the first fire, and left the duke to seek for
more devoted followers. Another, being ordered to support a charge, was
so long in doing it, that the duke sent word to their commander, either
to advance immediately, or to draw off his men altogether. He thanked
his Grace for the permission, and started for Brussels, alarming the
town with a report that the French were at his heels.
[Sidenote: ARRIVAL OF THE PRUSSIAN FORCE.]
The Duke of Wellington felt and expressed the greatest anxiety. He
exerted himself to the utmost to cheer his men; but, as he saw how
fatal were the French charges, he said to one of the officers near
him, “O that night, or Blucher, would come!” Napoleon saw, at last, as
he imagined, that the contest was nearly won. Already were couriers
sent off to Paris to announce to its anxious multitudes that victory
had crowned his efforts. Already had the shouts of victory! victory!
passed from rank to rank among the French, as they saw the lines of
the English tremble and fall back. But now a sound was heard which
stilled, for a moment, even the fierce tumult of the battle. It was
the voice of the trumpet, announcing the arrival of fresh troops; and
the most intense anxiety pervaded every heart, to learn to what army
they belonged. Both parties felt that the answer must decide the fate
of the day. Marshal Grouchy had been stationed, with thirty thousand
men, to control the movements of the Prussian army; and, in case of a
severe engagement, he was to advance with his men to assist Napoleon.
At daybreak, an aid-de-camp was sent, commanding him to be in readiness
at a moment’s warning. Soon after, another followed, requesting him
to march immediately to the scene of action. At ten o’clock, he had
not moved from his encampment. Still, Napoleon’s confidence in him
was unshaken. “He has committed a horrible fault,” said he; “but he
will repair it.” Every hour he had expected his arrival; and now,
when the first files of the new army emerged from the wood, he felt
almost certain that his hopes were realized. But the Prussian standard
was unfurled, and the English, with loud cheers and renewed courage,
returned to the charge. Even then, Napoleon persisted believing that
the Prussian army was only retreating before the marshal, and that he
would soon appear on the field. He was mistaken.
[Sidenote: CHARGE OF THE OLD GUARD.]
Grouchy, if report may be believed, corrupted by British gold, remained
in inglorious safety in his camp. He himself always maintained that
he believed the small detachment of the Prussian army which remained
near him was the whole of their force; and that, though the very ground
under him was shaken by the reverberation of the continued discharges
of artillery, he was acting up to his orders in remaining to check
the Prussians. Be this as it may, his conduct decided the fate of the
day.[B] “The destiny of Europe hung on the feeble intellect of a single
man; and his sluggish arm, in its tardy movements, swept crowns and
thrones before it, overturned one of the mightiest spirits the world
ever nurtured, and set back the day of Europe’s final emancipation
half a century. In a moment, Napoleon saw that he could not sustain
the attack of so many fresh troops, if once allowed to form a
junction with the allied forces; and so he determined to stake his
fate on one bold cast, and endeavor to pierce the allied centre, with
a grand charge of the Old Guard, and thus, throwing himself between
the two armies, fight them separately. For this purpose, the Imperial
Guard was called up, which had remained inactive during the whole
day, and divided into two immense columns, which were to meet at the
British centre. That under Reille no sooner entered the fire than it
disappeared like mist. The other was placed under Ney,--the bravest
of the brave,--and the order to advance given. Napoleon accompanied
them part way down the slope, and, halting for a moment in a hollow,
addressed them in his furious, impetuous manner. He told them that
the battle rested with them, and he relied on their valor. ‘Vive
l’Empereur!’ answered him, with a shout that was heard all over the
field of battle.
“The whole continental struggle exhibited no sublimer spectacle than
this last effort of Napoleon to save his sinking empire. Europe had
been put upon the plains of Waterloo to be battled for. The greatest
military energy and skill the world possessed had been tasked to the
utmost during the day. Thrones were tottering on the ensanguined
field, and the shadows of fugitive kings flitted through the smoke of
battle. Bonaparte’s star trembled in the zenith,--now blazing out in
its ancient splendor,--now suddenly paling before his anxious eye. At
length, when the Prussians appeared on the field, he resolved to stake
Europe on one bold throw. He saw his empire rest on a single charge.
The intense anxiety with which he watched the advance of that column,
and the terrible suspense he suffered when the smoke of battle wrapped
it from his sight, and the utter despair of his great heart when the
curtain lifted over a fugitive army, and the despairing shriek rung on
every side, ‘La garde recule,--la garde recule,’ make us for a single
moment forget all the carnage, in sympathy with his distress.
“Nothing could be more imposing than the movement of that grand column
to the assault. That guard had never yet recoiled before a human foe,
and the allied forces beheld with awe its firm and terrible advance to
the final charge. For a moment the batteries stopped playing, and the
firing ceased along the British lines, as, without the beating of a
drum or the blast of a bugle to cheer their steady courage, they moved
in dead silence over the plain. The next moment the artillery opened,
and the head of that gallant column seemed to sink into the earth. Rank
after rank went down, yet they neither stopped nor faltered. Dissolving
squadrons and whole battalions disappearing, one after another, in the
destructive fire, affected not their steady courage. The ranks closed
up as before, and each treading over his fallen comrade, pressed firmly
on. The horse which the gallant Ney rode fell under him; and he had
scarcely mounted another, before it also sunk to the earth. Again and
again did that unflinching man feel his steed sink down, until five had
been shot under him. Then, with his uniform riddled with bullets, and
his face singed and blackened with powder, he marched on foot, with
drawn sabre in hand, at the head of his men. In vain did the artillery
hurl its storm of fire and lead into that living mass. Up to the very
muzzles they pressed, and, driving the artillery-men from their own
pieces, pushed on through the English lines. But, at that moment, a
file of soldiers, who had lain flat upon the ground behind a low ridge
of earth, suddenly arose and poured a volley in their very faces.
Another and another followed, till one broad sheet of flame rolled
on their bosoms, and in such a fierce and unexpected flow that human
courage could not withstand it. They reeled, shook, staggered back,
then turned and fled. Ney was borne back in the refluent tide, and
hurried over the field. But for the crowd of fugitives that forced him
on, he would have stood alone, and fallen on his footsteps. As it was,
disdaining to give way, though the whole army was flying, that noble
marshal formed his men into two immense squares, and endeavored to stem
the terrific current; and would have done so, had it not been for the
thirty thousand fresh Prussians that pressed upon his exhausted ranks.
For a long time, those squares, under the unflinching Ney, stood, and
let the artillery plough through them. But the fate of Napoleon was
writ, and though Ney doubtless did what no other man in the army could
have done, the decree could not be reversed. The star that blazed so
brightly over the world went down with honor and in blood, and the
‘bravest of the brave’ had fought his last battle. It was worthy of his
great name; and the charge of the Old Guard at Waterloo, with him at
their head, will be pointed to by remotest generations with a shudder.”
[Illustration: FINAL CHARGE OF THE OLD GUARD.]
[Sidenote: WOUNDS OF THE AUTHOR.]
[Sidenote: SUFFERING UPON THE FIELD.]
Soon after Sir Robert Picton had received his death wound, while
our shattered regiment was charging on the French column, a bullet
pierced my left arm, the first wound I ever received in all my
engagements,--the mark of which is now plainly visible,--which obliged
me to fall back. I bled very freely; and this weakened me so much,
that, finding it impossible to continue my retreat over the pile of
dead and wounded with which the field was covered, I fell among them.
Here I lay for a few moments, endeavoring to recover my exhausted
strength. But here my situation was as dangerous as that of those
advancing to the charge. Balls were flying in every direction around
me, sometimes striking in the earth, soaked with the recent rains, and
throwing it in every direction; but oftener falling on the wounded, who
might yet have had a chance for life, and crushing them in a yet more
terrible death. Many a poor fellow, who had fallen from wounds, and the
weakness induced by exertion, with the loss of blood, was trampled to
death by the advancing cavalry. It was this, combined with an earnest
desire to see the progress of the battle, that induced me to endeavor
to change my location. I rose, and with great difficulty proceeded but
a few steps, when a second ball entered my thigh, which again brought
me to the ground. Scarcely had I fallen the second time, when a company
of Scotch Greys made a charge upon the French troops, not ten rods from
where I lay. I then gave up all hope of ever leaving that battle-field,
and expected never to rise again. Already, in imagination, I felt “the
iron heel of the horse” trampling out my little remnant of life. The
contest raged fearfully around us. Shots were exchanged thick and fast,
and every moment but heightened the horrors of the scene. The blood
flowed rapidly from my wounds, and my doom seemed inevitable. An old
tattered handkerchief was all that I could procure to stop the rapidly
exhausting hemorrhage. With my remaining hand and teeth I succeeded in
tearing this into strips, and stuffed it into my wounds with my fingers
as best I could. This arrested the crimson tide in some degree. I
knew not how severe my wounds might be; but, even if a chance of life
remained from them, I knew full well that I was exposed every moment to
share the fate of those who lay around me. Friends and enemies fell on
every side, and mingled their groans and blood in one common stream.
Our lines were driven back, and our brave men compelled to yield the
contest. Rivers of blood were poured out, and regiments of brave men
were cut down in rapid succession. Nothing could exceed the bravery
of the combatants on both sides. But the French light troops had this
advantage of the English,--they could load and fire more rapidly than
their enemies. The duke was compelled to see his plans frustrated,
and his lines cut to pieces and driven back by the emperor’s troops.
Victory seemed already decided against us. Our men were fleeing--the
enemy advancing with shouts of victory. The fate of the day seemed
settled, and to us soldiers it was so. It was not possible to rally
the men to another charge. But, at the moment when all seemed lost, a
bugle, with drum and fife, was heard advancing with rapid step. All
supposed it to be Grouchy’s regiment of fresh troops, ready to follow
up the victory, and completely destroy the remnant of the duke’s
forces. Consternation now filled every mind, and confusion and disorder
reigned. But the Prussian colors were seen hoisted, and it was then
announced that Blucher, with thirty thousand men, was at hand. A halt,
or rally, and renewed hopes animated every breast. This was the lucky
moment, and the fate of the day was at once changed. Report charges
Grouchy with being corrupted and bought by English gold,--that he sold
himself to the allied forces, and thus gave them the victory,--for,
had he come at that time, we should have been completely destroyed.
Grouchy never entered the fight, or rendered Napoleon any assistance
whatever. He was made immensely rich, and spent his life in the English
possessions. He has ever been regarded as the man who sold his country
and himself to the allies. His life was neither peaceful or happy. He
died in 1848. That Wellington never gained the victory at Waterloo
by fair and honorable means, is not and cannot be asserted. But gold
accomplished what neither the iron duke or his numerous allies could
accomplish by military prowess and skill. Napoleon would have gained
the victory of Waterloo, had not treachery and bribery done their
work. I must own the truth, although it be the lasting disgrace of my
nation. I fought hard against Napoleon, and for my king. My hands were
both blistered and burned black by holding my gun, which became so
hot, the flesh was nearly burnt off the palms of both my hands. While
I lay upon the ground covered with blood, unable to move, some one,
more able than the rest, shouted, “The French are retreating. Blucher,
with thirty thousand fresh troops has arrived, and is pursuing.” This
glad sound enabled me to raise my head, and soon, with great joy, I
saw that the French were truly falling back, and that our troops were
following. Again I felt that I had another chance for life; and this
thought gave me strength to reach my knapsack, from which I took a silk
handkerchief, and with my teeth and right hand succeeded in tearing it,
as I did the one before, and binding up tightly my wounds. This stopped
the flow of blood while I remained perfectly still; but the least
movement caused it to gush forth afresh. A little distance from me was
a small hill, and under its shelter I should be in comparative safety.
O, how I longed to reach it! Again and again I attempted to rise; but
every attempt was useless, and I was about resigning myself to my fate,
when I observed, only a short distance from me, a woman with a child
in her arms. This woman belonged to the company of camp-followers, who
were even now engaged in stripping the dead and wounded, with such
eager haste, that they often advanced too near the contending columns,
and paid with their lives their thirst for gold. In my travels it has
often been my lot to witness the birds of prey hovering over the still
living victim, only waiting till its power of resistance is lost,
to bury their beaks in the writhing and quivering flesh, to satisfy
their thirst for blood. I could think of nothing else, as I saw those
wretches, reckless of their own lives, in their anxiety to be first on
the ground, and lost to all feelings of humanity for others, stripping
from the yet warm dead everything of value upon their persons; not
hesitating to punish with death even the least resistance on the part
of the wounded, and making sport of their groans and sufferings. This
woman came quite near to me. She stooped to take a gold watch from the
pocket of an officer. As she raised herself, a shell struck the child,
as it lay sleeping in her arms, and severed its little body completely
in two. The shock struck the mother to the ground; but, soon recovering
herself, she sat up, gazed a moment upon the disfigured remains of her
child, and, apparently unmoved, continued her fiendish work. Thus does
war destroy all the finer feelings of the heart, and cherish those
passions which quench even the pure flame of a mother’s love for her
helpless and dependent child. To this woman I appealed for help; and,
with her assistance, succeeded in reaching the little hill to which I
have alluded, and remained there in safety until the fate of the day
was fully decided.
[Sidenote: FLIGHT OF THE FRENCH ARMY.]
Between eight and nine o’clock that night the last of the French troops
had withdrawn from the field, which had been fatal to so many thousands
of human beings. The clouds and rain, which had rendered the preceding
night so uncomfortable, had disappeared, and the full moon shone in
unclouded splendor. The English army, or, at least, that remnant of
them left alive, wearied out by the exhausting scenes of the day, had
returned to their bivouac of the night preceding, while the Prussians,
under Blucher, continued the pursuit of the flying and panic-stricken
French.
History informs us that the horrors of that night exceeded even the
tremendous scenes of the day. The French were in complete confusion.
Carriages and horsemen marched over the fainting and exhausted
infantry. The officers tried in vain to rally their men, that they
might retreat in order. The first flash of a Prussian gun would scatter
them, in the wildest confusion. Thousands fell in the confusion of
the retreat, and thousands more were crushed to death, or drowned
in crossing the rivers. Napoleon himself but just escaped with his
liberty. His carriage was stopped, his postilion and coachman killed,
and the door of his coach torn open just in season to witness his
escape from the other side. While Blucher led on the Prussians in this
murderous pursuit, the Duke of Wellington again led his army upon the
field of battle. The wild tumult and confusion which had pervaded it
through the day was now stilled, but the groans of the wounded and the
shrieks of the dying were heard on every side. The English re-trod the
battle-field, and searched out their wounded comrades, and hastily
dressed their wounds. They then constructed litters, and on these
carriages were the sick and wounded borne to the hospitals of Brussels
and Antwerp.
I have somewhere read a description, written by an eye-witness of the
scenes of the night and following day, which I will beg leave of my
readers to transcribe here. He says: “The mangled and lifeless bodies
were, even then, stripped of every covering--everything of the smallest
value was already carried off. The road between Waterloo and Brussels,
which passes for nine miles through the forest of Soigny, was choked up
with scattered baggage, broken wagons and dead horses. The heavy rains
and the great passage upon it rendered it almost impassable, so that it
was with extreme difficulty that the carriages containing the wounded
could be brought along. The way was lined with unfortunate men, who
had crept from the field; and many were unable to go further, and laid
down and died. Holes dug by the wayside served as their graves, and
the road for weeks afterwards was strewed with the tattered remains of
their clothes and accoutrements. In every village and hamlet,--in every
part of the country for thirty miles round,--the wounded were found
wandering, the Belgian and Dutch stragglers exerting themselves to
the utmost to reach their own homes. So great was the number of those
needing care, that, notwithstanding the most active exertions, the last
were not removed to Brussels until the Thursday following.
[Sidenote: THE SCENE AFTER THE BATTLE.]
“The desolation which reigned on the scene of action cannot be
described. The fields of corn were trampled down, and so completely
beaten into the mire that they had the appearance of stubble. The
ground was completely ploughed up, in many places, with the charge of
the cavalry; and the horses’ hoofs, deep stamped into the earth, left
the traces where many a dreadful struggle had been. The whole field was
strewed with the melancholy vestiges of devastation: soldiers’ caps,
pierced with many a ball,--eagles that had ornamented them,--badges of
the legion of honor,--cuirasses’ fragments,--broken arms, belts, and
scabbards, shreds of tattered cloth, shoes, cartridge-boxes, gloves,
Highland bonnets, feathers steeped in mud and gore,--French novels and
German testaments,--scattered music belonging to the bands,--packs of
cards, and innumerable papers of every description, thrown out of the
pockets of the dead, by those who had pillaged them,--love-letters, and
letters from mothers to sons, and from children to parents;--all, all
these, and a thousandfold more, that cannot be named, were scattered
about in every direction.”
The total loss of the allies, during the four days, was sixty-one
thousand and five hundred, and of the French forty-one thousand.
For my own part, I was fortunate enough to reach Brussels on the
following day; but it was not till the 20th that my wounds could be
attended to and dressed. So great was the number requiring surgical
attendance, that, although the utmost diligence was used by every
surgeon attached to the army, yet many died who might perhaps have
been saved, could immediate attention have been given to their wounds.
On this morning, the surgeon came to me, and, having examined my
arm, declared that it must be amputated. To this I stoutly refused
my consent. He still insisted upon it, saying that it would surely
mortify, and cause my death; but I said to him that, if I must die,
it should be with my arm attached. My readers may perhaps wonder at
my obstinacy; but their astonishment may possibly diminish, when they
learn that for _every joint_ amputated the operating surgeon obtained
an enormous price from the government; and I was confident, in my own
mind, that, in my wound, the fee lay at the foundation of his judgment.
He persisted, but I was firm; and thus kept my arm, which has since,
to my great joy, done me much good service. Others of my comrades in
arms were not so fortunate. All day long the business of amputation
went on, and at night three carts, laden with legs and arms, were
carried away, leaving many hundreds of poor fellows on the invalid list
for the remainder of their lives.
[Sidenote: RECOVERY FROM WOUNDS.]
I remained in the hospital at Brussels until September, when orders
came that all the invalid soldiers able to be removed should be
transported to England. There were four hundred and ninety shipped with
myself on board the Tiger, and on the 17th day of September we arrived
in Chatham. When our ship came into the harbor, we were welcomed with
military honors, as soldiers deserving well of their country, and a
national salute of sixty-two guns from Fort Pitt heralded our safe
arrival in port. I was immediately carried to the hospital, for I was
not yet recovered from my wounds, although able to be about part of the
time.
Here I remained until the 3d of December, when I was pronounced cured
by the surgeons of the hospital, or so far recovered from my wounds
as not to require hospital treatment. My wounds at this time were so
nearly healed that I could dress them myself, and I began to feel
that I was a man again. I was now ordered to return again to the
barracks, and wait until the board should meet to decide upon the
disabled soldiers. I was ordered to Chelsea, into the garrison, under
the command of Colonel McCabe, who treated me with great kindness and
attention. Here I remained until the 17th of the following May, when
orders were received for the invalid soldiers to go before the board
for inspection. They did not meet, however, until the 5th day of June,
when his Grace the Duke of York, commander-in-chief of the armies of
England, convened the board.
Our whole regiment was called, and every man examined; and, reader, how
many do you suppose there remained? We were one thousand strong, when
we commenced our Peninsular campaign. Only seven men, with our colonel,
who had lost one arm, were now alive! Nine hundred and ninety-two had
fallen upon the field of mortal strife, and only seven men, beside
myself, could be found, in less than one year after the bloody battle
of Waterloo! Such, reader, are some of the horrors of war. Nine hundred
and ninety-two men, in the prime of life and spirits, out of one
thousand, sacrificed to gratify the ambition of kings and nobles!
We passed the board; and what do you think, reader, was the
compensation we received for the service we had rendered our country
during those years of carnage and blood? One shilling sterling per day!
Less than one dollar and fifty cents per week was to be my pay for
life, if I remained in Great Britain. Yet even this I was thankful to
receive.
I returned, and remained in the garrison at Chelsea, with Colonel
McCabe, until March, 1818, when I left to visit Ireland. I was then
regularly mustered out of the British army, and returned again to my
home, to visit the loved scenes of childhood days, and my ever dear
parents, after an absence of eight years.
[Sidenote: CONCLUSION.]
For twelve years--that is, until 1830--I remained near my home, when,
in consequence of certain things in which I was engaged, I was advised
to leave the country with all possible haste. I accordingly petitioned
government to commute my pension,--that is, give it up under certain
conditions,--and settle in the American provinces. The officers whose
duty it was to attend to such business answered that I could receive
four years’ pay in advance, and two hundred and eighty acres of land in
Upper Canada, upon the relinquishment of my pension. These terms were
at once accepted by me, and drawing two years’ pay in Dublin, I sailed
for Quebec. Here I received the remainder of my pay. I immediately
proceeded to Montreal, where I took out the deed of my lands, which
I now hold. Not feeling perfectly safe in the British provinces, I
immediately started for the United States; on entering which, I felt
that I was again a free man, and am determined to remain such as long
as I live. I came into the immediate vicinity of Worcester, where I
have ever since remained; and, by persevering labor, have supported
thus far a large family of children. I expect to remain near or in
this city, where I shall be happy to see any of my readers, and relate
to them any of the incidents of my military life which it was not
possible for me to include in the preceding narrative.
In thus closing this brief history of my adventures, I can but look
back with regret upon the scenes of strife and bloodshed in which I
have been a participator; and if my description of the horrors of these
scenes, faint and imperfect though it be, should add but one particle
to that broad tide of influence that must be exerted ere the nations
of this world shall learn to make war no more, I shall indeed have
reason to rejoice, and to pray, with my readers, that that blessed
time may soon come, when all this bloody array shall be changed into
the peaceful implements of husbandry, and universal love and good-will
shall everywhere prevail.
ERRATA.
The following paragraph should have been inserted on page 28, after the
sentence ending on the 7th line:
Orders came to Dublin for militia volunteers. Knowing that I was in
as great danger, as a deserter, whilst in the militia as at home, and
being proud of the opportunity of volunteering, we were called by a
general order to Phoenix Park, where I volunteered from the Lowth
militia into the 28th regiment of foot, for foreign service, and
received eighteen guineas, as volunteer’s pay,--being the fourth time I
received the same sum.
FOOTNOTES:
[A] Headley.
[B] Headley.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
The sidenotes in this eBook appear in the original as page headers on
odd numbered pages and have been moved to the beginning of the
paragraphs to which they refer.
The paragraph mentioned in the Errata should go between youth. and
Preparations on page 28.
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.