_June 16th._--It would appear that our Quartermaster-General of
the cavalry took a peculiar pleasure in disturbing people at very
unseasonable hours. He served me so at Dendermonde, and now he has
done precisely the same at Strytem. As on that occasion, I was
sound asleep when my servant, bustling into the room, awoke me
_en sursaut_. He brought a note which an orderly hussar had left,
and ridden off immediately. The note had nothing official in its
appearance, and might have been an invitation to dinner; but the
unceremonious manner in which the hussar had gone off without his
receipt looked curious. My despatch was totally deficient in date, so
that time and place were left to conjecture; its contents pithy--they
were as follows, viz.:--
“Captain Mercer’s troop will proceed with the utmost diligence
to Enghien, where he will meet Major M‘Donald, who will point out
the ground on which it is to bivouac to-night.
“Signed, * * *
D.A.Q.M.-Gen.”
That we were to move forward, then, was certain. It was rather
sudden, to be sure, and all the whys and wherefores were left
to conjecture; but the suddenness of it, and the importance of
arriving quickly at the appointed place, rather alarmed me, for
upon reflection I remembered that I had been guilty of two or three
imprudences. First, all my officers were absent; secondly, all my
country waggons were absent; thirdly, a whole division (one-third
of my troop) was absent at Yseringen. “_Send the sergeant-major
here_,” was the first order, as I drew on my stockings. “_Send for Mr
Coates_” (my commissariat officer), the second, as I got one leg into
my overalls. “_William, make haste and get breakfast_,” the third,
as I buttoned them up. The sergeant-major soon came, and received
his orders to turn out instanter, with the three days’ provisions
and forage[11] in the havresacks and on the horses; also to send
an express for the first division. He withdrew, and immediately the
fine martial clang of “boot-and-saddle” resounded through the village
and courts of the chateau, making the woods ring again, and even the
frogs stop to listen.
The commissary soon made his appearance. “What! are we off, sir?”
“Yes, without delay; and you must collect your waggons as quickly as
possible.” “I fear, Captain Mercer, that will take some time, for St
Cyr’s are gone to Ninove.” My folly here stared me full in the face.
Mr Coates said he would do his utmost to collect them; and as he was
a most active, intelligent, and indefatigable fellow, I communicated
to him my orders and determination not to wait, desiring him to
follow us as soon as he possibly could. My first-enumerated care was
speedily removed, for I learned that the officers had just arrived
and were preparing for the march, having known of it at Brussels ere
we did. The two divisions in Strytem were ready to turn out in a few
minutes after the “boot-and-saddle” had resounded, but, as I feared,
the first kept us waiting until near seven o’clock before it made its
appearance. This delay allowed us time to make a hearty breakfast;
and, in the uncertainty of when we should get another meal, we each
stowed away a double portion of Walsdragen’s fine eggs. At length the
first division arrived, and the animating and soul-stirring notes
of the “turn-out” again awoke the echoes of the hills and woods. Up
jumped my old dog Bal, and away to parade and increase the bustle
by jumping at the horses’ noses and barking, as parade formed. Away
went the officers to inspect their divisions, and Milward is leading
my impatient charger Cossac up and down the court. I linger to take
a last look of my antique apartment, and bid farewell to my mute
companions the Van Voldens.
The gardener, his son, and Mdlle. Mon-père-dit, with her pale face
rendered still paler by the agitation of the morning, stand drawn up
in the court, precisely in the same order and on the same ground as
on the day of our arrival. With a profusion of blessings, &c., they
thank me for the great care we have taken of the chateau, and for the
very liberal gratuity which our paymaster, the doctor (Hitchins),
had bestowed upon them. They wish me all manner of success, but
fear we shall have bloody work. The old man mutters something about
Buonaparte _capôte_, which I do not understand, but take for granted
is something friendly, so return thanks, mount my horse, and, once
more, adieu Strytem.
We had cleared the village and marched some miles well enough,
being within the range of my daily rides; but, this limit passed, I
was immediately sensible of another error--that of having started
without a guide, for the roads became so numerous, intricate, and
bad, often resembling only woodmen’s tracks, that I was sorely
puzzled, spite of the map I carried in my _sabretache_, to pick
out my way. But a graver error still I had now to reproach myself
with, and one that might have been attended with fatal consequences.
Eager to get on, and delayed by the badness of the roads, I left
all my ammunition-waggons behind, under charge of old Hall, my
quartermaster-sergeant, to follow us, and then pushed on with the
guns alone, thus foolishly enough dividing my troops into three
columns--viz., the guns, ammunition-waggons, and the column of
provision waggons under the commissary. For this piece of folly I
paid dearly in the anxiety I suffered throughout this eventful day,
which at times was excessive.
Rid of all encumbrances, we trotted merrily on whenever the road
permitted, and, arriving at Castre (an old Roman legionary station),
found there the 23d Light Dragoons just turning out, having also
received orders to march upon Enghien. A Captain Dance, with whom I
rode a short distance, told me he had been at the ball at Brussels
last night, and that, when he left the room, the report was that
Blucher had been attacked in the morning, but that he had repulsed
the enemy with great slaughter, was following up the blow, and that
our advance was to support him. The road for the last few miles had
been upon a more elevated country, not so wooded--a sort of plateau,
consequently hard and dry; but immediately on passing Castre, we
came to a piece which appeared almost impassable for about a hundred
yards--a perfect black bog, across which a corduroy road had been
made, but not kept in repair, consequently the logs, having decayed,
left immense gaps. The 23d floundered through this with difficulty,
and left us behind. How we got through with our 9-pounders, the
horses slipping up to the shoulders between the logs every minute,
I know not; but through we did get, and without accident, but it
took time to do so. About noon, after threading our way through
more mud and many watery lanes, doubtful if we were in the right
direction, we came out upon a more open and dry country close to a
park, which, upon inquiry, proved to be that of Enghien. To the
same point various columns of cavalry were converging, and under the
park wall we found Sir Ormsby Vandeleur’s brigade of light dragoons,
dismounted and feeding their horses. Here we also dismounted to
await the arrival of Major M‘Donald; and as I looked upon the day’s
march as finished, deferred feeding until our bivouac should be
established--another folly, for an officer in campaign should never
lose an opportunity of feeding, watering, or resting his horses, &c.
Attracted by the novelty of the scene and the fineness of the day,
we had numerous gay visitors here--ladies and gentlemen--who had
stationed themselves within the park, enhancing by their presence
the gaiety of the scene, for we had halted immediately under the
park wall, and at the point where the road to Braine le Comte by
Steenkerke branched off from the one we were on. All the corps as
they arrived, I observed, took this road, and continued onwards,
which made me somewhat impatient lest I should have halted short
of my destination. Having waited a good half-hour, and no Major
M‘Donald appearing, I began to look about for some one who could
give me information, but no staff-officer was to be seen, and no
one else knew anything about the matter. Corps after corps arrived
and passed on, generally without even halting, yet all professing
ignorance of their destination. Pleasant situation this! Sir Ormsby’s
dragoons were by this time bridling up their horses and rolling up
their nosebags, evidently with the intention of moving off. Seeing
this, I sought out the general, whom I found seated against the bank,
that, instead of a hedge, bordered the road. Whether naturally a
savage, or that he feared committing himself, I know not, but Sir
Ormsby cut my queries short with an asperity totally uncalled for. “I
know nothing about you, sir! I know nothing at all about you!” “But
you will perhaps have the goodness to tell me where you are going
yourself?” “I know nothing at all about it, sir! I told you already
I know nothing at all about _you_!” and starting abruptly from his
seat, my friend mounted his horse, and (I suppose by instinct) took
the road towards Steenkerke, followed by his brigade, leaving me
and mine alone in the road, more disagreeably situated than ever.
I now began to reflect very seriously on the “_to stay_” or “_not
to stay_.” In the former case I bade fair to have the ground all to
myself, for although everybody I spoke to denied having any orders,
yet all kept moving in one and the same direction. In the latter
case, my orders in writing certainly were to stay; but circumstances
might have occurred since to change this, and the new order might not
have reached me. Moreover, it was better to get into a scrape for
fighting than keeping out of the way, so I made up my mind to move
forward too. Accordingly I had already mounted my people when Sir
H. Vivian’s brigade of hussars, followed by Major Bull’s troop of
our horse-artillery, passed. Bull I found was, like myself, without
orders, but he thought it best to stick close to the cavalry, and
advised me to do the same, which I did, following him and them on
the road to Steenkerke. The country about this place appeared more
bare and forbidding than any I had yet seen in the Pays Bas. Just as
we moved off, the column of Household troops made its appearance,
advancing from Ninove, and taking the same direction.
It was now that the recollection of my absent waggons began to
torment me, and I actually feared never to see them again. However,
there was no help for it now, and I continued onward.
A few miles farther we crossed the Senne by an old stone bridge,
and about four in the afternoon arrived at Braine le Comte, almost
ravenous with hunger, and roasted alive by the burning sun under
which we had been marching all day. The country had improved and
become more wooded, so that the town looked pretty, surrounded as it
is by gardens and trees. We were not allowed (why, I know not) to
see more; for on arriving at one end of it we turned into a road on
the left, and so, making a circuit round the back of the gardens,
came out at the other end on a piece of bare ground, where we found
several regiments drawn up in close columns, dismounted and feeding.
It was somewhere between Enghien and Braine le Comte that we met an
aide-de-camp (I believe one of the Duke’s) posting away as fast as
his poor tired beast could get along, and dressed in his embroidered
suit, white pantaloons, &c. &c., having evidently mounted as he left
the ball-room. This, I remember, struck us at the time as rather odd,
but we had no idea of the real state of our affairs.
We had formed up, and were feeding also, but the nosebags were
scarcely put on the poor horses’ heads than the cavalry corps,
mounting again, moved off, one after the other, and we were
constrained to follow ere the animals had half finished. Here, as
before, I could obtain no intelligence respecting our march, the
direction and meaning of which all I spoke to professed a profound
ignorance. Whilst halting, Hitchins, slipping into the town, brought
us out a couple of bottles of wine, the which we passed round from
one to the other without any scruple about sucking it all out of
one muzzle. This renewal of our march was a sad disappointment, for
on finding the cavalry assembled here, we made sure they were only
waiting until the different bivouacs could be arranged, when we
should settle ourselves for the night.
In marching round the town, many of the houses had a sort of gallery
behind them, which were filled with spectators, particularly many
priests. The gardens were very pretty, and I could not but contrast
the comparative luxury of these people, snug and comfortable, and
sure of their bed when night came on, with our own vagabond situation.
The country beyond Braine le Comte was pretty, the usual rich and
wooded champaign extending to the foot of an abrupt ridge of hills,
covered with forest to the summit, and toward which our road lay.
A little hamlet (Long Tour, I think) lay at the foot of the
hills, the straggling street of which we found so crowded with
baggage-waggons of some Hanoverian or other foreign corps, that for
a long while we were unable to pass. The cavalry, therefore, left
us behind, for they broke into the adjoining fields until they had
cleared the impediment. Although annoyed at being thus hindered,
I could not but admire the lightness, and even elegance, of the
little waggons, with their neat white tilts, and as neat and pretty
_jungfrauen_ who were snugly seated under them. We found the ascent
of the hills more difficult than we expected, the road, which went up
in a zigzag (indeed, it could not have been otherwise), little better
than a woodman’s track, much cut up, and exceedingly steep--so much
so, that we found it necessary to double-horse all our carriages,
by taking only half up at once. This delayed us considerably; but,
impatient as I was to get on, I was pleased at not being hurried
through this charming forest-scenery. The hills, as I said, rose
abruptly, and with a very steep acclivity, their sides being covered
with noble forest-trees, amongst the boles of which the eye ranged
without impediment--there being little or no underwood--occasionally
catching glimpses through the foliage of the rich and varied plain
which we had left, and of the grey buildings of Braine le Comte
embosomed in verdure. Groups of dragoons and hussars, mingling with
our guns, &c., all scrambling up the steep ascent, seen amongst the
gigantic trunks of the trees and by the softened light of the forest,
presented delicious pictures. Nor were these less interesting from
the accompanying sounds--the dull tramp of the horses, the rattling
of sabres, and the voices of command, all magnified by the echo
of the forest, which was such that one might have fancied himself
speaking under a vault.
At length the whole of our carriages were on the summit, but we
were now quite alone, all the cavalry having gone on; and thus we
continued our march on an elevated plateau, still covered with
forest,[12] thicker and more gloomy than ever--here and there passing
a farm and small clearing of a few fields, and then again plunging
into the cool dark woods. At one of these farms I got a draught of
new milk--very grateful after such a hot march and long fast. At
length we had crossed the forest, and found ourselves on the verge of
a declivity which stretched away less abruptly than the one we had
ascended, consequently presenting a more extensive slope, down which
our road continued. A most extensive view lay before us; and now for
the first time, as emerging from the woods, we became sensible of
a dull, sullen sound that filled the air, somewhat resembling that
of a distant water-mill, or still more distant thunder. On clearing
the wood, it became more distinct, and its character was no longer
questionable--heavy firing of cannon and musketry, which could now
be distinguished from each other plainly. We could also hear the
musketry in volleys and independent firing. The extensive view below
us was bounded towards the horizon by a dark line of wood, above
which, in the direction of the cannonade, volumes of grey smoke
arose, leaving no doubt of what was going on. The object of our march
was now evident, and we commenced descending the long slope with an
animation we had not felt before.
It was here that Major M‘Donald overtook us, and without adverting to
the bivouac at Enghien, of which probably he had never heard, gave me
orders to attach myself to the Household brigade, under Lord Edward
Somerset, but no instructions where or when. I took care not to tell
him they were in the rear, lest he might order us to halt for them,
which would have been a sore punishment to people excited as we now
were by the increasing roar of the battle evidently going on, and
hoped that by marching faster they might soon overtake us. Just at
this moment a cabriolet, driving at a smart pace, passed us. In it
was seated an officer of the Guards, coat open and snuffbox in hand.
I could not but admire the perfect _nonchalance_ with which my man
was thus hurrying forward to join in a bloody combat--much, perhaps,
in the same manner, though certainly not in the same costume, as he
might drive to Epsom or Ascot Heath. The descent terminated in a
picturesque hollow, with a broad pool, dark and calm, and beyond it
an old mill, perfectly in keeping with the scene. The opportunity of
watering our poor brutes was too good to be missed, and I accordingly
ordered a halt for that purpose. Whilst so employed, an aide-de-camp,
descending from a singular knoll above us, on which I had noticed a
group of officers looking out with their glasses in the direction of
the battle, came to summons me to Sir Hussey Vivian, who was one of
them.
On ascending the knoll, Sir Hussey called to me in a hurried manner
to make haste. “Who do you belong to?” said he. I told him, as also
that the brigade was yet in the rear. “Well,” he replied, “never
mind; there is something serious going on, to judge from that heavy
firing, and artillery must be wanted; therefore bring up your guns
as fast as you can, and join my hussars: can you keep up?” “I hope
so, sir.” “Well, come along without delay; we must move smartly.” In
a few minutes our people, guns and all, were on the hill. The hussars
mounted, set off at a brisk trot, and we followed. Alas! thought I,
where are my ammunition-waggons? Neither this anxiety, however, nor
the excitement of the moment, were sufficient to shut my eyes to the
beautiful picture on that knoll. Conceive a point of ground standing
forth with precipitous slopes over the hollow already mentioned, with
its picturesque mill and calm glassy pool; on this ground, happily
grouped, a band of warriors, in dresses not less picturesque, beneath
a huge cross of the rudest workmanship; a few Salvator-like trees
complete the foreground, the distance presenting a rich and varied
scene of corn-fields (now yellow), and pastures of the liveliest
green, and sombre wood--the whole extending away till in the distance
all the features are massed and mellowed into indistinctness and
purply vapour. Such was the scene. The hussars, to lighten their
horses, untied the nets containing their hay, and the mouths of their
corn-bags, which falling from them as they trotted on, the road was
soon covered with hay and oats. We did not follow their example, and,
although dragging with us 9-pounders, preserved our forage, and also
our place in the column.
By-and-by a large town appeared in front of us, and the increasing
intensity of the cannonade, and volumes of smoke about the trees, led
us to suppose the battle near at hand, and on the hill just beyond
the town. This town was Nivelle.
Another beautiful scene, and one full of excitement, now presented
itself. We were descending by a gentle slope toward Nivelle, which
lay spread out before us--its towers and masses of building,
especially what appeared to be the ruins of an ancient castle,
sweetly touched by the golden light of the setting sun, whilst the
greater part lay in deep-toned purple obscurity. Fine trees, with
dark overhanging foliage, bordering the road, formed a foreground and
frame, as it were, to this picture. Beyond the town the ground rose,
also in shadowy obscurity, crowned with sombre woods, over which
ascended the greyish blue smoke of the battle, now apparently so near
that we fancied we could hear the shouts of the combatants--a fancy
strengthened by crowds of people on the heights, whom we mistook for
troops--inhabitants of Nivelle, as we soon discovered, seeking to
get a sight of the fearful tragedy then enacting. Before entering
the town we halted for a moment, lighted our slow matches, put shot
into our leathern cartouches, loaded the guns with powder, and stuck
priming wires into the vents to prevent the cartridges slipping
forward, and, thus prepared for immediate action, again moved on.
On entering the town what a scene presented itself! How different
from the repose of the country we had been traversing all day! There
all was peace and tranquillity, undisturbed--absolutely undisturbed,
except by the hurried march of successive columns along the highroad.
There the rustic pursued his wonted labours as in profound peace,
the mill went its rumbling round, the birds carolled on the spray.
True, the sounds of battle came borne on the evening breeze--the
brattle of musketry and the boom of cannon shook the air; but it
was distant--very distant--and might be heard, and the ascending
smoke seen, with that sort of thrilling sensation with which we
witness the progress of the storm when we ourselves are secure from
its effects. Here, on the contrary, all was confusion, agitation,
and movement. The danger was impending; explosion after explosion,
startling from their vicinity, and clattering peals of musketry, like
those lengthened thunder-claps which announce to us so awfully the
immediate neighbourhood of the electric cloud. The whole population
of Nivelle was in the streets, doors and windows all wide open,
whilst the inmates of the houses, male and female, stood huddled
together in little groups like frightened sheep, or were hurrying
along with the distracted air of people uncertain where they are
going, or what they are doing. The scene was strangely interesting.
In a sort of square which we traversed, a few soldiers, with the air
of citizens (probably a municipal guard), were drawn up in line,
looking anxiously about them at the numerous bleeding figures which
we now began to meet. Some were staggering along unaided, the blood
falling from them in large drops as they went. One man we met was
wounded in the head; pale and ghastly, with affrighted looks and
uncertain step, he evidently knew little of where he was, or what
passed about him, though still he staggered forward, the blood
streaming down his face on to the greatcoat which he wore rolled over
his left shoulder. An anxious crowd was collecting round him as we
passed on. Then came others supported between two comrades, their
faces deadly pale, and knees yielding at every step. At every step,
in short, we met numbers, more or less wounded, hurrying along in
search of that assistance which many would never live to receive, and
others receive too late. Priests were running to and fro, hastening
to assist at the last moments of a dying man; all were in haste--all
wore that abstracted air so inseparable from those engaged in an
absorbing pursuit. There were women, too, mingling in this scene of
agitation. Ladies, fair delicate ladies, stood on the steps at the
doors of several handsome houses, their hands folded before them, as
if in the agony of suspense, and with an air of deprecation, their
eyes wandering over the excited crowd, whilst ever and anon they
would move their lips as if in prayer. I thought as we passed along
they looked at us, and prayed for our safety and success. I gave
them credit for it, at least, and the very idea had the effect of
inspiration. Strange that the sight--nay, often the recollection--of
all that is tender and compassionate, of woman, should have the
effect of stimulating us to martial deeds. The little knots of
excited citizens assembled on our route would cease their energetic
declamations, and turn to look at us as we passed along. Many would
run up, and, patting our horses’ necks, would call down benedictions
on us, and bid us hasten to the fight ere it were yet too late, or
utter trembling and not loud shouts of “Vivent les Anglais!” A few
there were who stood apart, with gloomy discontented looks, eyeing
their fellow-citizens with evident contempt, and us with scowls, not
unmixed with derision, as they marked our dusty and jaded appearance.
Through all this crowd we held our way, and soon began to ascend
the hill beyond the town, where we entered a fine chaussée bordered
by elms, expecting every moment to enter on the field of action,
the roar of which appeared quite close to us. It was, however, yet
distant.
The road was covered with soldiers, many of them wounded, but also
many apparently untouched. The numbers thus leaving the field
appeared extraordinary. Many of the wounded had six, eight, ten, and
even more, attendants. When questioned about the battle, and why they
left it, the answer was invariably, “Monsieur, tout est perdu! les
Anglais sont abimés, en déroute, abimés, tous, tous, tous!” and then,
nothing abashed, these fellows would resume their hurried route. My
countrymen will rejoice to learn that amongst this dastardly crew not
one Briton appeared. Whether they were of Nassau or Belgians, I know
not; they were one or the other--I think the latter. One red-coat
we did meet--not a fugitive though, for he was severely wounded.
This man was a private of the 92d (Gordon Highlanders), a short,
rough, hardy-looking fellow, with the national high cheek-bones, and
a complexion that spoke of many a bivouac. He came limping along,
evidently with difficulty and suffering. I stopped him to ask news
of the battle, telling him what I had heard from the others. “Na,
na, sir, it’s aw a damned lee; they war fechtin’ yat an I laft ’em;
but it’s a bludy business, and thar’s na saying fat may be the end
on’t. Oor ragiment was nigh clean swapt off, and oor Colonel kilt
jist as I cam awa.” Upon inquiring about his own wound, we found
that a musket-ball had lodged in his knee, or near it; accordingly
Hitchins, dismounting, seated him on the parapet of a little bridge
we happened to be on, extracted the ball in a few minutes, and,
binding up the wound, sent him hobbling along towards Nivelle,
not having extracted a single exclamation from the poor man, who
gratefully thanked him as he resumed his way. A little further on,
and as it began to grow dusk, we traversed the village of Hautain le
Val, where a very different scene presented itself. Here, in a large
cabaret by the roadside, we saw through the open windows the rooms
filled with soldiers, cavalry and infantry; some standing about in
earnest conversation, others seated round tables, smoking, carousing,
and thumping the board with clenched fists, as they related with loud
voices--what?--most likely their own gallant exploits. About the door
their poor horses, tied to a rail, showed by their drooping heads,
shifting legs, and the sweat drying and fuming on their soiled coats,
that their exertions at least had been of no trivial nature.