_By an eye witness._
[For the following very interesting Narrative, our acknowledgments are
due to the _United Service Journal,_--a work which has just started with
the year, and to which, in the "customary" phrase, we wish "many happy
returns."]
The summer of 1815 found me at Brussels. The town was then crowded to
excess--it seemed a city of splendour; the bright and varied uniforms of
so many different nations, mingled with the gay dresses of female beauty
in the Park, and the _Allée Verte_ was thronged with superb horses and
brilliant equipages. The _tables d'hôte_ resounded with a confusion of
tongues which might have rivalled the Tower of Babel, and the shops
actually glittered with showy toys hung out to tempt money from the
pockets of the English, whom the Flemings seemed to consider as walking
bags of gold. Balls and plays, routs and dinners were the only topics of
conversation; and though some occasional rumours were spread that the
French had made an incursion within the lines, and carried off a few
head of cattle, the tales were too vague to excite the least alarm. I
was then lodging with a Madame Tissand, on the Place du Sablon, and I
occasionally chatted with my hostess on the critical posture of affairs.
Every Frenchwoman loves politics, and Madame Tissand, who was deeply
interested in the subject, continually assured me of her complete
devotion to the English.--"Ces maudits François!" cried she one day,
with almost terrific energy, when speaking of Napoleon's army. "If they
should dare come to Brussels, I will tear their eyes out!"--"Oh, aunt!"
sighed her pretty niece; "remember that Louis is a conscript!"--"Silence,
Annette. I hate even my son, since he is fighting against the brave
English!"--This was accompanied with a bow to me; but I own that I
thought Annette's love far more interesting than Madame's Anglicism.
On the 3rd of June, I went to see ten thousand troops reviewed by the
Dukes of Wellington and Brunswick. Imagination cannot picture any thing
finer than the _ensemble_ of this scene. The splendid uniforms of the
English, Scotch, and Hanoverians, contrasted strongly with the gloomy
black of the Brunswick Hussars, whose veneration for the memory of their
old Duke, could be only be equalled by their devotion to his son. The
firm step of the Highlanders seemed irresistible; and as they moved in
solid masses, they appeared prepared to sweep away every thing that
opposed them. In short, I was delighted with the cleanliness, military
order, and excellent appointments of the men generally, and I was
particularly struck with the handsome features of the Duke of Brunswick,
whose fine, manly figure, as he galloped across the field, quite
realized my _beau ideal_ of a warrior. The next time I saw the Duke of
Brunswick was at the dress ball, given at the Assembly-rooms in the Rue
Ducale, on the night of the 15th of June. I stood near him when he
received the information that a powerful French force was advancing in
the direction of Charleroy. "Then it is high time for me to be off,"
said the Duke, and I never saw him alive again. The assembly broke up
abruptly, and in half an hour drums were beating and bugles sounding.
The good burghers of the city, who were almost all enjoying their first
sleep, started from their beds at the alarm, and hastened to the
streets, wrapped in the first things they could find. The most
ridiculous and absurd rumours were rapidly circulated and believed. The
most general impression seemed to be that the town was on fire; the next
that the Duke of Wellington had been assassinated; but when it was
discovered that the French were advancing, the consternation became
general, and every one hurried to the Place Royale, where the
Hanoverians and Brunswickers were already mustering.
About one o'clock in the morning of the 16th, the whole population of
Brussels seemed in motion. The streets were crowded as in full day;
lights flashed to and fro; artillery and baggage-wagons were creaking in
every direction; the drums beat to arms, and the bugles sounded loudly
"the dreadful note of preparation." The noise and bustle surpassed all
description; here were horses plunging and kicking amidst a crowd of
terrified burghers; there lovers parting from their weeping mistresses.
Now the attention was attracted by a park of artillery thundering
through the streets; and now, by a group of officers disputing loudly
the demands of their imperturbable Flemish landlords; for not even the
panic which prevailed could frighten the Flemings out of a single
stiver; screams and yells occasionally rose above the busy hum that
murmured through the crowd, but the general sound resembled the roar of
the distant ocean. Between two and three o'clock the Brunswickers
marched from the town, still clad in the mourning which they wore for
their old duke, and burning to avenge his death. Alas! they had a still
more fatal loss to lament ere they returned. At four, the whole
disposable force under the Duke of Wellington was collected together,
but in such haste, that many of the officers had not time to change
their silk stockings and dancing shoes; and some, quite overcome by
drowsiness, were seen lying asleep about the ramparts, still holding,
however, with a firm hand, the reins of their horses which were grazing
by their sides. About five o'clock, the word "march" was heard in all
directions, and instantly the whole mass appeared to move
simultaneously. I conversed with several of the officers previous to
their departure, and not one appeared to have the slightest idea of an
approaching engagement. The Duke of Wellington and his staff did not
quit Brussels till past eleven o'clock; and it was not till some time
after they were gone, that it was generally known the whole French army,
including a strong corps of cavalry, was within a few miles of Quatre
Bras, where the brave Duke of Brunswick first met the enemy:
"And foremost fighting--fell."
Dismay seized us all, when we found that a powerful French army was
really within twenty-eight miles of us; and we shuddered at the thought
of the awful contest which was taking place. For my own part, I had
never been so near a field of battle before, and I cannot describe my
sensations. We knew that our army had no alternative but to fly, or
fight with a force four times stronger than its own: and though we
could not doubt British bravery, we trembled at the fearful odds to
which our men must be exposed. Cannon, lances, and swords, were opposed
to the English bayonet alone. Cavalry we had none on the first day, for
the horses had been sent to grass, and the men were scattered too widely
over the country, to be collected at such short notice. Under these
circumstances, victory was impossible; indeed, nothing but the stanch
bravery, and exact discipline of the men, prevented the foremost of our
infantry from being annihilated; and though the English maintained their
ground during the day, at night a retreat became necessary. The agony of
the British, resident at Brussels, during the whole of this eventful
day, sets all language at defiance. No one thought of rest or food; but
every one who could get a telescope, flew to the ramparts to strain his
eyes, in vain attempts to discover what was passing. At length, some
soldiers in French uniforms were seen in the distance; and as the news
flew from mouth to mouth, it was soon magnified into a rumour that the
French were coming. Horror seized the English and their adherents, and
the hitherto concealed partizans of the French began openly to avow
themselves; tri-coloured ribbons grew suddenly into great request, and
cries of "Vive l'Empereur!" resounded through the air. These
exclamations, however, were changed to "Vive le Lord Vellington!" when
it was discovered that the approaching French came as captives, not
conquerors.
Between seven and eight o'clock in the evening, I walked up to the
_Porte de Namur_, where the wounded were just beginning to arrive.
Fortunately some commodious caravans had arrived from England, only a
few days before, and these were now entering the gate. They were filled
principally with Brunswickers and Highlanders; and it was an appalling
spectacle to behold the very soldiers, whose fine martial appearance and
excellent appointments I had so much admired at the review, now lying
helpless and mutilated--their uniforms soiled with blood and dirt--their
mouths blackened with biting their cartridges, and all the splendour of
their equipments entirely destroyed. When the caravans stopped, I
approached them, and addressed a Scotch officer who was only slightly
wounded in the knee.--"Are the French coming, sir?" asked I.--"Egad I
can't tell," returned he. "We know nothing about it. We had enough to do
to take care of ourselves. They are fighting like devils; and I'm off
again as soon as my wound's dressed."--An English lady, elegantly
attired, now rushed forwards--"Is my husband safe?" asked she
eagerly.--"Good God! Madam," replied one of the men, "how can we
possibly tell! I don't know the fate of those who were fighting by my
side; and I could not see a yard round me." She scarcely heeded what he
said; and rushed out of the gate, wildly repeating her question to every
one she met. Some French prisoners now arrived. I noticed one, a fine
fellow, who had had one arm shot off; and though the bloody and mangled
tendons were still undressed, and had actually dried and blackened in
the sun, he marched along with apparent indifference, carrying a loaf of
bread under his remaining arm, and shouting _"Vive l'Empereur!"_ I asked
him if the French were coming.--"Je le crois bien," returned he,
"preparez un souper, mes bourgeois--il soupera à Bruxelles ce
soir."--Pretty information for me, thought I. "Don't believe him, sir,"
said a Scotchman, who lay close beside me, struggling to speak, though
apparently in the last agony. "It's all right--I--assure--you--." The
whole of Friday night was passed in the greatest anxiety; the wounded
arrived every hour, and the accounts they brought of the carnage which
was taking place were absolutely terrific. Saturday morning was still
worse; an immense number of supernumeraries and runaways from the army
came rushing in at the _Porte de Namur,_ and these fugitives increased
the public panic to the utmost. _Sauve qui peut!_ now became the
universal feeling; all ties of friendship or kindred were forgotten, and
an earnest desire to quit Brussels seemed to absorb every faculty. To
effect this object, the greatest sacrifices were made. Every beast of
burthen, and every species of vehicle were put into requisition to
convey persons and property to Antwerp. Even the dogs and fish-carts did
not escape--enormous sums were given for the humblest modes of
conveyance, and when all failed, numbers set off on foot. The road soon
became choked up--cars, wagons, and carriages of every description were
joined together in an immovable mass and property to an immense amount
was abandoned by its owners, who were too much terrified even to think
of the loss they were sustaining. A scene of frightful riot and
devastation ensued. Trunks, boxes, and portmanteaus were broken open and
pillaged without mercy; and every one who pleased, helped himself to
what he liked with impunity. The disorder was increased by a rumour,
that the Duke of Wellington was retreating towards Brussels, in a sort
of running fight, closely pursued by the enemy; the terror of the
fugitives now almost amounted to frenzy, and they flew like maniacs
escaping from a madhouse. It is scarcely possible to imagine a more
distressing scene. A great deal of rain had fallen during the night, and
the unhappy fugitives were obliged literally to wade through mud. I had,
from the first, determined to await my fate in Brussels; but on this
eventful morning, I walked a few miles on the road to Antwerp, to
endeavour to assist my flying countrymen. I was soon disgusted with the
scene, and finding all my efforts to be useful, unavailing, I returned
to the town, which now seemed like a city of the dead; for a gloomy
silence reigned through the streets, like that fearful calm which
precedes a storm; the shops were all closed, and all business was
suspended. During the panic of Friday and Saturday, the sacrifice of
property made by the British residents was enormous. A chest of drawers
sold for five francs, a bed for ten, and a horse for fifty. In one
instance, which fell immediately under my own observation, some
household furniture was sold for one thousand francs, (about 40 l.) for
which the owner had given seven thousand francs, (280 l.) only three
weeks before. This was by no means a solitary instance; indeed in most
cases, the loss was much greater, and in many, houses full of furniture
were entirely deserted, and abandoned to pillage.
Sunday morning was ushered in by one of the most dreadful tempests I
ever remember. The crashing of thunder was followed by the roar of
cannon, which was now distinctly heard from the ramparts, and it is not
possible to describe the fearful effect of this apparent mockery of
heaven. I never before felt so forcibly the feebleness of man. The rain
was tremendous--the sky looked like that in Poussin's picture of the
Deluge, and a heavy black cloud spread, like the wings of a monstrous
vulture, over Brussels. The wounded continued to arrive the whole of
Saturday night and Sunday morning, in a condition which defies
description. They appeared to have been dragged for miles through oceans
of mud; their clothes were torn, their caps and feathers cut to pieces,
and their shoes and boots trodden off. The accounts they brought were
vague and disheartening--in fact, we could only ascertain that the Duke
of Wellington had late on Saturday taken up his position at Waterloo,
and that there he meant to wait the attack of the French. That this
attack had commenced we needed not to be informed, as the roar of the
cannon became every instant more distinct, till we even fancied that it
shook the town. The wounded represented the field of battle as a perfect
quagmire, and their appearance testified the truth of their assertions.
About two o'clock a fresh alarm was excited by the horses, which had
been put in requisition to draw the baggage-wagons, being suddenly
galloped through the town. We fancied this a proof of defeat, but the
fact was simply thus: the peasants, from whom the horses had been taken,
finding the drivers of the wagons absent from their posts, seized the
opportunity to cut the traces, and gallop off with their cattle. As this
explanation, however, was not given till the following day, we thought
that all was over; the few British adherents who had remained were in
despair, and tri-coloured cockades were suspended from every house. Even
I, for the first time, lost all courage, and my only consolation was the
joy of Annette. "England cannot be much injured by the loss of a Single
battle," thought I; "and as for me, it is of little consequence whether
I am a prisoner on parole, or a mere wanderer at pleasure. I may easily
resign myself to my fate; but this poor girl would break her heart if
she lost her lover, for he is every thing to her." In this manner I
reasoned, but in spite of my affected philosophy, I could not divest
myself of all natural feeling; and when about six o'clock we heard that
the French had given way, and that the Prussians had eluded Grouchè, and
were rapidly advancing to the field, I quite forgot poor Annette, and
thanked God with all my heart. At eight o'clock there was no longer any
doubt of our success, for a battalion of troops marched into the town,
and brought intelligence that the Duke of Wellington had gained a
complete victory, and that the French were flying, closely pursued by
the Prussians. Sunday night was employed in enthusiastic rejoicing. The
tri-coloured cockades had all disappeared, and the British colours were
hoisted from every window. The great bell of St. Gudule tolled, to
announce the event to the surrounding neighbourhood; and some of the
English, who had only hidden themselves, ventured to re-appear. The only
alloy to the universal rapture which prevailed, was the number of the
wounded; the houses were insufficient to contain half; and the churches
and public buildings were littered down with straw for their reception.
The body of the Duke of Brunswick, who fell at Quatre Bras, was brought
in on Saturday, and taken to the quarters he had occupied near the
Chateau de Lacken. I was powerfully affected when I saw the corpse of
one, whom I had so lately marked as blooming with youth and health; but
my eyes soon became accustomed to horrors. On Monday morning, June 19th,
I hastened to the field of battle: I was compelled to go through the
forest de Soignês, for the road was so completely choked up as to be
impassable.--The dead required no help; but thousands of wounded, who
could not help themselves, were in want of every thing; their features,
swollen by the sun and rain, looked livid and bloated. One poor fellow
had a ghastly wound across his lower lip, which gaped wide, and showed
his teeth and gums, as though a second and unnatural mouth had opened
below his first. Another, quite blind from a gash across his eyes, sat
upright, gasping for breath, and murmuring, "De l'eau! de l'eau!" The
anxiety for water, was indeed most distressing. The German "Vaser!
vaser!" and the French "De l'eau! de l'eau!" still seem sounding in my
ears. I am convinced that hundreds must have perished from thirst alone,
and they had no hope of assistance, for even humane persons were afraid
of approaching the scene of blood, lest they should be taken in
requisition to bury the dead; almost every person who came near, being
pressed into that most disgusting and painful service. This general
burying was truly horrible: large square holes were dug about six feet
deep, and thirty or forty fine young fellows stripped to their skins
were thrown into each, pell mell, and then covered over in so slovenly a
manner, that sometimes a hand or foot peeped through the earth. One of
these holes was preparing as I passed, and the followers of the army
were stripping the bodies before throwing them into it, whilst some
Russian Jews were assisting in the spoilation of the dead, by chiseling
out their teeth! an operation which they performed with the most brutal
indifference. The clinking hammers of these wretches jarred horribly
upon my ears, and mingled strangely with the occasional report of
pistols, which seemed echoing each other at stated intervals, from
different corners of the field. I could not divine the meaning of these
shots, till I was informed, that they proceeded from the Belgians, who
were killing the wounded horses. Hundreds of these fine creatures were,
indeed, galloping over the plain, kicking and plunging, apparently mad
with pain, whilst the poor wounded wretches who saw them coming, and
could not get out of their way, shrieked in agony, and tried to shrink
back to escape from them, but in vain. Soon after, I saw an immense
horse (one of the Scotch Greys) dash towards a colonel of the Imperial
Guard, who had had his leg shattered; the horse was frightfully wounded,
and part of a broken lance still rankled in one of its wounds. It rushed
snorting and plunging past the Frenchman, and I shall never forget his
piercing cry as it approached. I flew instantly to the spot, but ere I
reached it the man was dead; for, though I do not think the horse had
touched him, the terror he felt had been too much for his exhausted
frame. Sickened with the immense heaps of slain, which spread in all
directions as far as the eye could reach, I was preparing to return,
when as I was striding over the dead and dying, and meditating on the
horrors of war, my attention was attracted by a young Frenchman, who was
lying on his back, apparently at the last gasp. There was something in
his countenance which interested me, and I fancied, though I knew not
when, or where, that I had seen him before. Some open letters were lying
around, and one was yet grasped in his hand as though he had been
reading it to the last moment. My eye fell upon the words "Mon cher
fils," in a female hand, and I felt interested for the fate of so
affectionate a son. When I left home in the morning, I had put a flask
of brandy and some biscuit into my pocket, in the hope that I might be
useful to the wounded, but when I gazed on the countless multitude which
strewed the field, I felt discouraged from attempting to relieve them.
Chance had now directed my attention to one individual, and I was
resolved to try to save his life. His thigh was broken, and he was badly
wounded on the left wrist, but the vital parts were untouched, and his
exhaustion seemed to arise principally from the loss of blood. I poured
a few drops of brandy into his mouth, and crumbling my biscuit contrived
to make him swallow a small particle. The effects of the dose were soon
visible; his eyes half opened, and a faint tinge of colour spread over
his cheek. I administered a little more, and it revived him so much that
he tried to sit upright. I raised him, and contriving to place him in
such a manner, as to support him against the dead body of a horse, I put
the flask and biscuit by his side, and departed in order to procure
assistance to remove him. I recollected that a short time before, I had
seen a smoke issuing from a deep ditch, and that my olfactory nerves had
been saluted by a savoury smell as I passed. Guided by these
indications, I retraced my steps to the spot, and found some Scotch
soldiers sheltered by a hedge, very agreeably employed in cooking a
quantity of beefsteaks over a wood tire, in a French cuirass!! I was
exceedingly diverted at this novel kind of frying-pan, which served also
as a dish; and after begging permission to dip a biscuit in their gravy
for the benefit of my patient, I told my tale, and was gratified by the
eagerness which they manifested to assist me; one ran to catch a horse
with a soft Hussar saddle, (there were hundreds galloping over the
field,) and the rest went with me to the youth, whom we found
surprisingly recovered, though he was still unable to speak. The horse
was brought, and as we raised the young Frenchman to put him upon it,
his vest opened, and his _"livret"_ fell out. This is a little book
which every French soldier is obliged to carry, and which contains an
account of his name, age, pay, accoutrements, and services. I picked it
up, and offered it to my patient--but the young man murmured the name of
"Annette," and fainted. "Annette!" the name thrilled through every
nerve. I hastily opened the _livret,_ and found that it was indeed Louis
Tissand whom I had saved! The rest is soon told. Louis reached Brussels
in safety, and even Madame's selfishness gave way to rapture on
recovering her son. As to Annette--but why perplex myself to describe
her feelings? If my readers have ever loved, they may conceive them.
Louis soon recovered; indeed with such a nurse he could not fail to get
well. When I next visited Brussels, I found Annette surrounded by three
or tour smiling cherubs, to whom I was presented as _le bon Anglais,_
who preserved the life of their papa.
* * * * *