_19th._--The cool air of the morning lasted not long; the rising sun
soon burst in all his glory over our bloody bivouac, and all nature
arose into renewed life, except the victims of ambition which lay
unconscious of his presence. I had not been up many minutes when
one of my sergeants came to ask if they might bury Driver Crammond.
“And why particularly Driver Crammond?” “Because he looks frightful,
sir; many of us have not had a wink of sleep for him.” Curious! I
walked to the spot where he lay, and certainly a more hideous sight
cannot be imagined. A cannon-shot had carried away the whole head
except barely the visage, which still remained attached to the torn
and bloody neck. The men said they had been prevented sleeping by
seeing his eyes fixed on them all night; and thus this one dreadful
object had superseded all the other horrors by which they were
surrounded. He was of course immediately buried, and as immediately
forgotten. Our first care after this was to muster the remaining
force, to disentangle our carriages from each other, and from the
dead and dying animals with which they were encumbered. Many sound
or only slightly-wounded horses, belonging to different corps of
both armies, were wandering about the field. Of these we caught
several in the course of the morning, and thus collected, with what
remained of our own fit for work, sufficient to horse four guns,
three ammunition-waggons, and the forge. Of men we had nearly enough
for these at reduced numbers, so we set to work equipping ourselves
without delay. Although supplies of ammunition had been sent to us
during the action, yet little remained. The expenditure had been
enormous. A return had been called for yesterday evening just as
we were lying down to rest, but, fatigued as we all were, it was
impossible to give this correctly. As near as I could ascertain, we
must have fired nearly 700 rounds per gun. Our harness, &c., was so
cut to pieces, that but for the vast magazines around us from which
we could pick and choose, we should never have got off the field.
Soon after daybreak an officer came from headquarters to desire
me to send all my superfluous carriages to Lillois, where a park
was forming, and to inform me that a supply of ammunition would be
found in the village of Waterloo. Accordingly the carriages were
sent without delay; but this requiring all the horses, they were
obliged to make a second trip for the ammunition. Whilst this was
doing I had leisure to examine the ground in our immediate vicinity.
Books and papers, &c., covered it in all directions. The books at
first surprised me, but upon examination the thing was explained.
Each French soldier, it appeared, carried a little accompt-book of
his pay, clothing, &c. &c. The scene was now far from solitary;
for numerous groups of peasants were moving about busily employed
stripping the dead, and perhaps finishing those not quite so. Some of
these men I met fairly staggering under the enormous load of clothes,
&c., they had collected. Some had firearms, swords, &c., and many had
large bunches of crosses and decorations; all seemed in high glee,
and professed unbounded hatred of the French.
I had fancied we were almost alone on the field, seeing only the
remains of Major Bull’s troop of horse-artillery not far from us (the
Prussians had gone forward about, or a little before, daybreak);
but in wandering towards the Charleroi road I stumbled on a whole
regiment of British infantry fast asleep, in columns of divisions,
wrapped in their blankets, with their knapsacks for pillows. Not a
man was awake. There they lay in regular ranks, with the officers and
sergeants in their places, just as they would stand when awake. Not
far from these, in a little hollow beneath a white thorn, lay two
Irish light-infantry men sending forth such howlings and wailings,
and oaths and execrations, as were shocking to hear. One of them had
his leg shot off, the other a thigh smashed by a cannon-shot. They
were certainly pitiable objects, but their vehement exclamations,
&c., were so strongly contrasted with the quiet resolute bearing of
hundreds, both French and English, around them, that it blunted one’s
feelings considerably.
I tried in vain to pacify them; so walked away amidst a volley of
abuse as a hardhearted wretch who could thus leave two poor fellows
to die like dogs. What could I do? All, however, though in more
modest terms, craved assistance; and every poor wretch begged most
earnestly for water. Some of my men had discovered a good well of
uncontaminated water at Hougoumont, and filled their canteens; so I
made several of them accompany me and administer to the most craving
in our immediate vicinity. Nothing could exceed their gratitude,
or the fervent blessings they implored on us for this momentary
relief. The French were in general particularly grateful; and those
who were strong enough, entered into conversation with us on the
events of yesterday, and the probable fate awaiting themselves.
All the non-commissioned officers and privates agreed in asserting
that they had been deceived by their officers and betrayed; and, to
my surprise, almost all of them reviled Buonaparte as the cause of
their misery. Many begged me to kill them at once, since they would
a thousand times rather die by the hand of a soldier than be left
at the mercy of those villanous Belgic peasants. Whilst we stood by
them, several would appear consoled and become tranquil; but the
moment we attempted to leave, they invariably renewed the cry, “Ah,
Monsieur, tuez moi donc! Tuez moi, pour l’amour de Dieu!” &c. &c.
It was in vain I assured them carts would be sent to pick them all
up. Nothing could reconcile them to the idea of being left. They
looked on us as brother soldiers, and knew we were too honourable to
harm them: “But the moment you go, those vile peasants will first
insult, and then cruelly murder us.” This, alas! I knew, was but too
true. One Frenchman I found in a far different humour--an officer
of lancers, and desperately wounded; a strong square-built man,
with reddish hair and speckled complexion. When I approached him
he appeared suffering horribly--rolling on his back, uttering loud
groans. My first impulse was to raise and place him in a sitting
posture; but, the moment he was touched, opening his eyes and seeing
me, he became perfectly furious. Supposing he mistook my intention,
I addressed him in a soothing tone, begging he would allow me to
render him what little assistance was in my power. This only seemed
to irritate him the more; and on my presenting him the canteen
with water, he dashed it from him with such a passionate gesture
and emphatic “_Non!_” that I saw there was no use in teasing, and
therefore reluctantly left him. Returning towards our position, I
was forcibly struck by the immense heap of bodies of men and horses
which distinguished it even at a distance; indeed, Sir Augustus
Frazer told me the other day, at Nivelles, that in riding over the
field, “_he could plainly distinguish the position of G troop from
the opposite height by the dark mass which, even from that distance,
formed a remarkable feature in the field_.” These were his very
words. One interesting sufferer I had nearly forgotten. He was a
fine young man of the grenadiers à cheval, who had lain groaning
near us all night--indeed scarcely five paces from my bed; therefore
was the first person I visited as soon as daylight came. He was a
most interesting person--tall, handsome, and a perfect gentleman in
manners and speech; yet his costume was that of a private soldier.
We conversed with him some time, and were exceedingly pleased with
his mild and amiable address. Amongst other things he told us that
Marshal Ney had led the charges against us. In this, however (if
we understood him rightly), he must have been mistaken, since that
Marshal is an infantry general. Be that as it may, we all felt deeply
interested for our unfortunate prisoner, and did all in our power for
him, which consisted in kind words and sending two careful men to
lead him to the village--a most painful undertaking, for we now found
that, besides one ball in the forehead, he had received another in
his right thigh, which, together with his being barefooted, could not
but render his journey both tedious and painful.
I now began to feel somewhat the effects of my long fast in a most
unpleasant sense of weakness and an inordinate craving for food,
which there were no means of satisfying. My joy, then, may be
imagined when, returning to our bivouac, I found our people returned
from Lillois, and, better still, that they had brought with them a
quarter of veal, which they had found in a muddy ditch, of course in
appearance then filthy enough. What was this to a parcel of men who
had scarcely eaten a morsel for three days? In a trice it was cut
up, the mud having been scraped off with a sabre, a fire kindled and
fed with lance-shafts and musket-stocks; and old Quartermaster Hall,
undertaking the cooking, proceeded to fry the dirty lumps in the lid
of a camp-kettle. How we enjoyed the savoury smell! and, having made
ourselves seats of cuirasses,[25] piled upon each other, we soon
had that most agreeable of animal gratifications--the filling our
empty stomachs. Never was a meal more perfectly military, nor more
perfectly enjoyed.
We had not yet finished our meal, when a carriage drove on the ground
from Brussels, the inmates of which, alighting, proceeded to examine
the field. As they passed near us, it was amusing to see the horror
with which they eyed our frightful figures; they all, however,
pulled off their hats and made us low bows. One, a smartly-dressed
middle-aged man, in a high cocked-hat, came to our circle, and
entered into conversation with me on the events of yesterday. He
approached holding a delicately white perfumed handkerchief to his
nose; stepping carefully to avoid the bodies (at which he cast
fearful glances _en passant_), to avoid polluting the glossy silken
hose that clothed his nether limbs. May I be pardoned for the
comparison: Hotspur’s description of a fop came forcibly to my mind
as we conversed; clean and spruce, as if from a bandbox, redolent of
perfume, he stood ever and anon applying the ’kerchief to his nose.
I was not leaning on my sword, but I arose to receive him from my
seat of armour, my hands and face begrimed and blackened with blood
and smoke--clothes too. “I do remember when the fight was done,” &c.
&c. It came, as I said, forcibly to my mind as I eyed my friend’s
costume and sniffed the sweet-scented atmosphere that hovered round
him. The perfumed handkerchief, in this instance, held the place of
Shakespeare’s “pouncet-box”--the scene was pleasant to remember! With
a world of bows my man took leave, and proceeded, picking his steps
with the same care as he followed the route of his companions in the
direction of Hougoumont.
Having despatched our meal, and then the ammunition-waggons to
Waterloo, and leaving the people employed equipping as best they
could, I set off to visit the Château likewise; for the struggle that
had taken place there yesterday rendered it an object of interest.
The same scene of carnage as elsewhere characterised that part of the
field over which I now bent my steps. The immediate neighbourhood
of Hougoumont was more thickly strewn with corpses than most other
parts of the field--the very ditches were full of them. The trees
all about were most woefully cut and splintered, both by cannon-shot
and musketry. The courts of the Château presented a spectacle more
terrible even than any I had yet seen. A large barn had been set on
fire, and the conflagration had spread to the offices, and even to
the main building. Here numbers, both of French and English, had
perished in the flames, and their blackened swollen remains lay
scattered about in all directions. Amongst this heap of ruins and
misery many poor devils yet remained alive, and were sitting up
endeavouring to bandage their wounds. Such a scene of horror, and one
so sickening, was surely never witnessed.
Two or three German dragoons were wandering among the ruins, and
many peasants. One of the former was speaking to me when two of the
latter, after rifling the pockets, &c., of a dead Frenchman, seized
the body by the shoulders, and, raising it from the ground, dashed
it down again with all their force, uttering the grossest abuse, and
kicking it about the head and face--revolting spectacle!--doing this,
no doubt, to court favour with us. It had a contrary effect, which
they soon learned. I had scarcely uttered an exclamation of disgust,
when the dragoon’s sabre was flashing over the miscreants’ heads,
and in a moment descended on their backs and shoulders with such
vigour that they roared again, and were but too happy to make their
escape. I turned from such scenes and entered the garden. How shall I
describe the delicious sensation I experienced!
The garden was an ordinary one, but pretty--long straight walks
of turf overshadowed by fruit-trees, and between these beds of
vegetables, the whole enclosed by a tolerably high brick wall. Is
it necessary to define my sensations? Is it possible that I am not
understood at once? Listen then. For the last three days I have
been in a constant state of excitement--in a perfect fever. My eyes
have beheld nought but war in all its horrors--my ears have been
assailed by a continued roar of cannon and cracking of musketry, the
shouts of multitudes and the lamentations of war’s victims. Suddenly
and unexpectedly I find myself in solitude, pacing a green avenue,
my eyes refreshed by the cool verdure of trees and shrubs; my ear
soothed by the melody of feathered songsters--yea, of sweet Philomel
herself--and the pleasing hum of insects sporting in the genial
sunshine. Is there nothing in this to excite emotion? Nature in
repose is always lovely: here, and under such circumstances, she was
delicious. Long I rambled in this garden, up one walk, down another,
and thought I could dwell here contented for ever. Nothing recalled
the presence of war except the loopholed wall and two or three dead
Guardsmen;[26] but the first caused no interruption, and these last
lay so concealed amongst the exuberant vegetation of turnips and
cabbages, &c., that, after coming from the field of death without,
their pale and silent forms but little deteriorated my enjoyment.
The leaves were green, roses and other flowers bloomed forth in all
their sweetness, and the very turf when crushed by my feet smelt
fresh and pleasant. There was but little of disorder visible to tell
of what had been enacted here. I imagine it must have been assailed
by infantry alone; and the havoc amongst the trees without made by
our artillery posted on the hill above to cover the approach to
it--principally, perhaps, by Bull’s howitzer battery.
I had satisfied my curiosity at Hougoumont, and was retracing my
steps up the hill, when my attention was called to a group of wounded
Frenchmen by the calm, dignified, and soldier-like oration addressed
by one of them to the rest. I cannot, like Livy, compose a fine
harangue for my hero, and, of course, I could not retain the precise
words, but the import of them was to exhort them to bear their
sufferings with fortitude; not to repine, like women or children,
at what every soldier should have made up his mind to suffer as the
fortune of war, but, above all, to remember that they were surrounded
by Englishmen, before whom they ought to be doubly careful not to
disgrace themselves by displaying such an unsoldierlike want of
fortitude. The speaker was sitting on the ground, with his lance
stuck upright beside him--an old veteran, with a thick bushy grizly
beard, countenance like a lion--a lancer of the Old Guard, and no
doubt had fought in many a field. One hand was flourished in the air
as he spoke, the other, severed at the wrist, lay on the earth beside
him; one ball (case-shot, probably) had entered his body, another had
broken his leg. His suffering, after a night of exposure so mangled,
must have been great: yet he betrayed it not. His bearing was that
of a Roman, or perhaps of an Indian warrior, and I could fancy him
concluding appropriately his speech in the words of the Mexican king,
“And I too; am I on a bed of roses?” I could not but feel the highest
veneration for this brave man, and told him so, at the same time
offering him the only consolation in my power--a drink of cold water,
and assurances that the waggons would soon be sent round to collect
the wounded. He thanked me with a grace peculiar to Frenchmen, and
eagerly inquired the fate of their army. On this head I could tell
him nothing consolatory, so merely answered that it had retired last
night, and turned the conversation to the events of yesterday. This
truly brave man spoke in most flattering terms of our troops, but
said they had no idea in the French army we should have fought so
obstinately, since it was generally understood that the English
Government had, for some inexplicable reason, connived at Napoleon’s
escape from Elba, and therefore had ordered their army only to make
a show of resistance. After a very interesting conversation, I
begged his lance as a keepsake, observing that it never could be of
further use to him. The old man’s eyes kindled as I spoke, and he
emphatically assured me that it would delight him to see it in the
hands of a brave soldier, instead of being torn from him, as he had
feared, by those vile peasants. So I took my leave, and walked away
with the lance in my hand.[27] Ever since my groom (Milward) has
been transformed into my lancer-orderly; and I propose, if ever I
return to England, consecrating it to the memory of the interesting
old hero. In passing Bull’s bivouac it was my fate to witness another
very interesting scene. A wounded hussar had somehow or another found
his way there from another part of the field, and, exhausted by the
exertion, had just fainted. Some of those collected round him cried
out for water, and a young driver, who, being outside the throng, had
not yet seen the sufferer, seized a canteen, and ran away to fill
it. Whilst he was absent the hussar so far recovered as to be able
to sit up. The driver returned at this moment, and, pushing aside
his comrades, knelt down to enable the hussar to drink, holding the
canteen to his lips, and in so doing recognised a brother whom he had
not seen for years! His emotion was extreme, as may be supposed.
On regaining my own bivouac I found the ammunition arrived, and,
what was still more satisfactory, Mr Coates with his whole train of
Flemish waggons--our baggage and provisions. He had got intelligence
in time of the battle of Quatre Bras and its results, and therefore
altered his route to meet us on our retreat. On approaching the
Charleroi road he had been swept away by the torrent of fugitives,
and actually carried, _malgré lui_, beyond Brussels, some way on
the road to Antwerp, before he could succeed in disentangling his
train from the rabble rout, which he described as exceeding all
imagination. As he brought the wherewithal, &c., of course his
joining was hailed with joy by every one.
Since the order to send away my carriages I had received none; but
as my diminished troop was completed as far as could be done here,
I resolved to move off this horrid place; and accordingly, at three
P.M., we joyfully took to the Nivelles road--by instinct, perhaps,
for I knew nothing of the movements of the army, nor by what road
they had gone forward.[28] About a mile or so from the field I formed
our bivouac for the night in a sweet and wholesome orchard near the
road, with a turf-like velvet, and perfectly dry. This in itself was
a luxury; it was a luxury to breathe pure uncontaminated air; it was
a luxury to be out of hearing of groans, cries, and lamentations.
This was not all. Mr Coates brought us a ham and a cheese; the
neighbouring farmhouse supplied us with eggs, milk, and cider: so
that in due time we sat down to an excellent dinner, seasoned with
that sauce which no cook, however _scientific_, has yet learned to
equal--hunger. Hilarity reigned at our board--if we may so term the
fresh turf at the foot of an apple-tree; and over our grog and cigars
we managed to pass a most pleasant evening. Previously, I had caused
my servant to bring me a bucket of water, and prepared myself for
our repast by the enjoyment of that first of luxuries, a thorough
wash and clean clothes. This was the first time I had undressed
since leaving Strytem--four whole days and three whole nights. It
may be imagined with what joy I got rid of my bloody garments. Like
the birds, we all retired to rest with the close of day, and the
delicious sleep I enjoyed it is impossible to describe.
_20th._--Awoke early, and at first could not imagine where I was.
The cheerful sunbeams were playing amongst the leaves and branches
overhead. The farmer’s people were moving out with their cattle to
commence their daily labours. All was peace and rural tranquillity.
The events of the last four days passed across my recollection,
and I could for a moment scarcely believe them other than a
troubled dream; but I raised myself on my elbow, and there was the
battle-field, still encumbered with the slain. Ah! there it lay,
bathed in the full blaze of sunshine. Starting up, I roused our
people, and would have immediately recommenced the march, but upon
inquiry, found that, although the farriers had worked throughout the
night, they had not yet completed the shoeing. It was ten o’clock
before they did so; and then we put ourselves in movement on the road
to Nivelles, amidst crowds of stragglers, sutlers, &c., all pushing
forward to overtake the army. It was like the highroad to some great
fair. Every one appeared light-hearted, and it was delight to leave
_that_ field behind one.
Arrived at the gate of Nivelles, we found such a throng that there
were no hopes of passing for at least some hours. I therefore drew
up my troop in a pretty meadow by the roadside, where, besides
being out of the dust, we could enjoy the cool shelter of the fine
umbrageous elms by which it was surrounded, and water and feed our
cattle. Mr Coates had preceded us and procured a fat cow, which one
of our men slaughtered and cut up; and the meat being distributed,
we were provided with the needful wherever we might bivouac. Up
to this point I had no orders, nor did I know anything of the
armies--English, Prussian, or French. We knew, to be sure, that the
latter had been defeated on the 18th, and retired, followed by the
other two; but we had no notion of the extent of the defeat, and
therefore expected to find them again in position. Here I expected
to get some information when I could get into the town; but the gate
still continued so choked with waggons that it was impossible even
for an individual to enter except in turn.
An order overtook us here to send back an officer to take charge
of the guns and carriages we had left behind, until they could be
rehorsed and forwarded to us again. Lieutenant Hincks, who rejoined
us yesterday, being far from well, and suffering much from his
contusion, I with some difficulty persuaded him to take this duty.
On the opposite side of the road was a neat house, standing in a
shrubbery, apparently deserted. Some of my men, wandering into the
yard, discovered here three privates of the Guards. I forget what
account they gave of themselves, but remember they complained of
having eaten nothing for three days. We gave them a lump of beef and
some bread, not reflecting at the time on the strange circumstance
of their being thus left behind. I have since thought they remained
here with the intention of deserting as soon as the coast was clear.
At length I effected my own entrance into the town, hoping to gain
some information, or even meet some one who could give me orders.
The first thing that struck me on passing the gates was the contrast
the present aspect of the streets presented to that when we passed
through on the evening of the 16th. Then all was sadness, despair,
and lamentation; now all joy, confidence, and revel. The countenance
of every one you met beamed exultation and triumph, Belgians as
well as English. Men came up with frankness, took our hands, and
paid us some compliment. The women, by smiles and kind looks,
testified their sympathy; whilst the lower orders, in the joy of
their hearts, would slap one on the thigh, _en passant_, with an
emphatic “Bon!” “Brave garçon!” “Brave Anglais!” “Bon!” Or, if a
number were collected at some corner, they would demonstrate their
feelings by a cheer of “Vivent les Anglais!” The numerous cafés
and cabarets (of which every door and window was open on account
of the oppressive heat) were crammed with officers and soldiers of
every arm and of every nation, eating, drinking, swearing, singing,
and smoking. Music of some sort increased the _bouhara_ in most of
them. In many private houses, too, of the first appearance, large
parties of officers were regaling themselves; and even in the streets
many little assemblages of soldiers were to be seen enjoying their
pipes and their beer in some shady corner. It was one complete
scene of festivity. The streets were, moreover, crowded almost to
suffocation with scattered soldiery: columns on their march; long
files of country waggons laden with forage or provisions; together
with the pretty little, low, light baggage-waggons of the German
infantry, with their snow-white tilts. Here quartermasters and their
attendants were running about chalking the doors of the houses (the
headquarters were here to-night) with the names of those who were to
take up their temporary abode in them. “Lieutenant-Colonel ----” on
one; “Deputy-Assistant-Adjutant-General” on another; “1st company of
such a regiment” on another, and so on. Then several commissaries
(followed by a swarm of Flemish waggoners) hurry along in search of
the Magazin des Fourrages. Further on, officers of the general staff
are arranging the march of troops. Suddenly a loud shout announces
something extraordinary even on this day of excitement. Every one
hurries to the spot, pushing each other, jumping, shouting. “What
can it mean?” I inquired. “Monsieur l’Officiere, c’est un convoi
des prisonniers que vient d’arriver,” replied my man, doffing at
the same time his _bonnet de nuit_ and making a most respectful
salaam. I stopped to see the convoy pass. The prisoners, dressed in
grey _capôtes_ and _bonnets de fourrage_, march steadily on. Some
_vieux moustaches_ look very grave, and cast about furious glances
at the noisy crowd which follows them with the perseverance of a
swarm of mosquitoes, _sacréeing_ and venting all kind of illiberal
abuse on them and their b---- of an Emperor. Many, however, younger
men, laugh, joke, and return their abuse with interest, whilst the
soldiers of the escort (English) march doggedly along, pushing aside
the more forward of the throng, and apparently as if only marching
round a relief. The crowd passed on, and so did I, until, meeting
some of our own people, I learned that Sir Augustus Frazer was here,
and soon after found out his billet. To find one’s self in a quiet,
genteel, well-furnished room, after such scenes of bustle, &c., as
had occupied our last few days, is a pleasing change. Exactly such
was that in which I found Sir Augustus engaged with his adjutant.
He was in his slippers; his writing materials were arranged on the
table, and on another were some books and maps. The open windows
looked into a little shady garden gay with flowers and flowering
shrubs. There was an air of cheerfulness, of home and home’s comfort,
about the place that was quite refreshing. My visit was necessarily
a short one. I learned much more of our battle and its consequences
than I had known before, and that I had better push on with the crowd
until I got orders, or fell in with Lord Edward Somerset’s division.
Frazer and Bell told me many flattering things about G troop, and
considered it a certainty that I should get the brevet--_nous
verrons_!
Quitting them, I plunged again into the crowd and fought my way
towards the gate by which I had entered, but was agreeably surprised
at meeting my people in the street, Newland having pushed on the
moment he observed the crowd at the gate get somewhat thinner.
Traversing the town with our carriages proved a tedious operation;
for in addition to what I before found to struggle with, we now fell
in with an endless column of Belgic infantry marching the same route
as ourselves--a most annoying obstruction. The march of these people
was a sort of triumphal procession: colours displayed; bands, with
their clattering jangling cymbals, making a most martial noise;
officers and men prancing along with short quick steps, bended knees,
and stamping the pavement as if they wished to break holes in it,
swaggering like turkey-cocks, and trying to appear indifferent,
which was belied by the frequent upward glances at the fair dames in
the windows, who certainly were doing all they could to blow up the
vanity of these their brave countrymen by throwing out flowers on
them, waving of handkerchiefs, clapping of hands, and faintly crying
“Viva!”
We crept along the flank of this column of heroes, unnoticed and
unknown, and soon after, clearing the Porte de Binche, got ahead
and clear of them. The road was almost as much crowded as the
streets of Nivelles, and I found it useless to expect to make rapid
progress. For the first few miles the country was prettily wooded
and interspersed with villages and neat houses; but then it began
to get less wooded, less thickly inhabited, and in every way less
interesting. Continued struggling on until towards evening, when our
adjutant (Bell) overtook me with a little scrap of paper, on which
was an order for me to bivouac either at Rœulx or Binche; but as we
could not very well learn where these places were, and no guide was
to be procured, and the evening began to close in, I determined on
halting on a high and rather exposed piece of ground where we then
happened to be. The bivouac was badly chosen--no water near, no house
near, no wood near, no shelter of any kind near, and we were somehow
all cross and out of humour. Set the men to work, scrubbing and
cleaning appointments, this being the first opportunity of so doing.
Went to sleep at nightfall. I think the nearest village to us was
Haine. Some rustics who came to gape at us from a neighbouring farm
told us that the King of Westphalia and another French general had
passed the night of the 18th there with a few attendants, but that
early on the morning of the 19th they had departed in a great hurry,
evidently afraid of being overtaken.
_21st._--Paraded early, and, considering all things, tolerably
clean and neat. Descended to a lower country, equally dismal
and uninteresting, without the one advantage which the other
possesses--viz., that of commanding a distant prospect, always
more or less pleasing. At noon arrived in the neighbourhood of
Mons, where we overtook the Greys, Inniskillings, Ross’s troop
of Horse-Artillery, and several other corps, both of cavalry and
infantry. We had, in short, now rejoined the army. The Greys and the
Inniskillings were mere wrecks--the former, I think, did not muster
200 men, and the latter, with no greater strength, presented a sad
spectacle of disorganisation and bad discipline; they had lost more
than half their appointments. Some had helmets, some had none; many
had the skull-cap, but with the crest cut or broken off; some were
on their own large horses, others on little ones they had picked up;
belts there were on some; many were without, not only belts, but
also canteens and havresacks. The enemy surely had not effected in
a single day so complete a disorganisation, and I shrewdly suspect
these rollicking Paddies of having mainly _spoilt_ themselves. The
other corps all looked remarkably well, although they, too, had
partaken in the fight. We overtook these corps about a mile from
Mons, on a hill, whence that place, with its old fortifications,
looked venerable and picturesque. Descending thence, the road crossed
a broad, flat, marshy piece of ground, which appeared nearly, if
not entirely, to surround the place. Here our further progress was
obstructed by a number of trees felled across the road, and forming
a sort of abatis, and we were consequently obliged to make a detour
through the meadows, and cross a rivulet by (I think the Trouille) a
mill-dam, over which the cavalry were obliged to file. This rendered
it a very tedious operation; and that part where at the mill we had
to pass our guns, &c., over a bridge of planks barely broad enough,
was a rather ticklish one. We crossed after the Greys, and came with
them on the main road to Maubeuge at the moment a Highland regiment
(perhaps the 92d), which had come through Mons, was passing. The
moment the Highlanders saw the Greys an electrifying cheer burst
spontaneously from the column, which was answered as heartily;
and on reaching the road the two columns became blended for a few
minutes--the Highlanders running to shake hands with their brave
associates in the late battle. This little burst of feeling was
delightful--everybody felt it; and although two or three general
officers were present, none interfered to prevent or to censure this
breach of discipline. A few hundred yards further on I found Lord
Edward Somerset, with his brigade, formed in a field of clover by
the roadside; and now, for the _first time_, I reported myself to
him, and requested orders. These were simply to proceed straight to
Malplaquet, and there bivouac for the night. Accordingly I continued
my route independent as heretofore of my brigade. Nothing could be
more horridly uninteresting than this country. Well cultivated, yet
no habitations, or very few--no enclosures, or rather no hedges,
there being banks to some of the fields; no trees, and hills just
high enough to prevent an extended view, without adding one jot
of beauty to the landscape. Most dismal country! To add to our
wretchedness, the clouds which had been collecting all the morning
began to drop their contents, so, snugging ourselves under our
cloaks, on we jogged sulkily enough. We had left the great Chaussée
de Maubeuge, and had been marching some time on a cross-road,
occasionally confined between bare banks--not such ramparts as one
sees in the county of Cork, but low clay banks about knee-high, with
the ditch whence the material has been taken. In this way we had
reached a point where a greater elevation of the ground allowed some
scope of vision; and when emerging from between the banks, we came on
something like a heath, bordered on one side by a large wood. Here an
assemblage of rustics appeared awaiting us. Their principal object,
no doubt, was to gaze at the strangers; but they gave themselves
infinite trouble to make us comprehend that we were about to cross
the frontier and enter on the soil of France. Drawing a long line in
the mud, right across the road, and vociferating altogether, “Ici,
monsieur!” “Voila, monsieur!” “Regardez, monsieur!” “C’est ici,
monsieur, que vous entrez en la France!” and when we crossed their
line, they grinned and jumped about like so many monkeys. I could
not divine what pleasure they derived from seeing strangers violate
the sacred territory, nor what could induce the energetic “Voici,
monsieur, la France, voilà la Belgique!” which they roared in chorus.
How different would have been the feelings and actions of Englishmen
on a similar occasion! Frenchmen, however, draw amusement from
everything--even misfortune. But did they look upon our invasion as
a misfortune? From what I have seen of these people, it appears very
doubtful whether they care a farthing who reigns over them. Be that
as it may, we undoubtedly entered France amidst cheers and greetings
of the populace.
Soon after this we arrived at Malplaquet without being able to see
it--the truth is, that it consists of a number of large farm-houses,
&c., all standing isolated, and surrounded by thick orchards. In
one of these we established our bivouac. A beggarly-looking old
house, built of wattles, plastered with clay (which in many places
had fallen off), windows without glass, and doorways without doors,
stood in one corner of our orchard, and as this was very cheerless
from the heavy rain, we agreed to do comfortable and dine in the
_house_. Accordingly, our prog and materials were conveyed thither,
and the dame was desired to make a fire in her best _salon_; yet,
after all, it was a matter of doubt whether we should not have been
more comfortable under the apple-trees, barring the droppings. The
place was a perfect picture of misery; rooms disgustingly filthy, and
besides, blackened with smoke; floor of earth, broken into all sorts
of holes and inequalities; ceiling of loose planks and full of large
holes, as were the partitions; furniture--a rickety table, two or
three as rickety chairs, and a sort of chest of walnut, serving the
place of a chest of drawers, black as ebony from age and dirt. The
mistress, a grown-up daughter, and three or four young children, were
the only inmates of this wretched mansion we saw--filthy as their
dwelling, their clothes all in rags, and without shoe or stocking.
These poor creatures were so alarmed at us that they scarcely seemed
to know what they were doing. Our dinner, of course, was none of the
most comfortable; but some hot grog and cigars afterwards put us all
in good-humour, and we passed the evening admirably. In due time we
retired to the nests our servants had provided for us in the orchard,
and I was soon sound asleep, but was aroused about two o’clock by the
sergeant-major, with a lantern in one hand and a paper in the other,
which a dragoon had just brought from headquarters. This was an order
to march at four A.M. Raining hard.
END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.
PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS, EDINBURGH.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] The port of Ostend is what people usually term a “dry harbour.”
It is dry at low tide, but the flood brings in about 16 or 18 feet
water.
[2] _Ghistel_, according to the map of Maillart, &c.
[3] The Church of Notre Dame ceased to be a cathedral 1801, when it
was united to the diocese of Ghent.
[4] M‘Donald’s troop had arrived ten days before us.
[5] La Folle Marguerite (?), 18 feet long and 3 feet in diameter,
near the Marché de Vendredi; it is called the Mannekens Aert. It is
named after a Countess of Flanders celebrated for the violence of
her temper. It is also designated the Wonder of Ghent, is made of
malleable iron, and, according to another account, was used by Philip
Van Arteveldt at the siege of Oudenarde in 1382.--Quin’s ‘Moselle,’
&c., vol. i. p. 160.
[6] The moat supplied us daily a dish of very fine carp, and the
gardener’s sons occasionally shot us a hare or two.
[7] Such crops I never before saw, particularly those vividly-green
crops of _trèf_, which really appeared so thick that one might walk
on them without sinking to the ground. But to me the height attained
by the rye was most astonishing. In one field which I rode through
nearly every day, it was as high as my head, when mounted on my
little horse Cossack, about 14¾ hands high, so that it could not have
been less than 7 or 8 feet, the ears remarkably full and looking well.
[8] The _captains were_--viz., Lieutenant-Colonel Sir Hew D. Ross,
Major Bull, ---- Ramsay, Lieutenant-Colonel W. Smyth, Major M‘Donald,
Captain Mercer.
[9] The Duke of Wellington was so indifferent to the manner in which
officers dressed, that they indulged in all sorts of fancies. I
remember, at this inspection, Ramsay wore the light-cavalry belt
instead of a sash; Bull wore beard and mustache; so did Newland;
I wore the mustache. The usual dress of hussars was frock-coat
open, with a red waistcoat richly laced with gold. At that time our
regimental pantaloons were _pepper-and-salt_, with straps of brown
leather inside the legs and round the bottom, and a red stripe down
outside seam.
[10] A report _was_ sent to Brussels, but it never reached the Duke,
for the simple people went in the first instance to Sir G. Wood, and
there it was strangled.
[11] We had been ordered nearly a fortnight ago to keep this quantity
ready, and the hay rolled, &c. &c.
[12] I believe this is the Bois de la Houssier.
[13] Sir Hussey Vivian’s, I believe.
[14] These appear to have been the cuirassiers of Milhaud, together
with the light cavalry of the corps commanded by Count Lobau, sent to
assist Ney in his attack on Quatre Bras.--See O’Meara’s ‘Translation
of Memoir of Napoleon,’ lib. ix. cap. v. p. 109.
[15] That this was Napoleon we have the authority of General
Gourgand, who states that, irritated at the delay of Marshal Ney,
he put himself at the head of the chasseurs (I think), and dashed
forward in the hope of yet being able to catch our rear-guard.
[16] This was the spot where Picton fell on the morrow, and in this
hedge was the so well-known Wellington Tree.
[17] The light cavalry of the 2d Corps formed in three lines across
the causeway from Nivelle, &c., nearly at the height of the first
woods at Hougoumont, scouring all the plain by the left, and having
main guards near Braine le Leude, and its battery of light artillery
on the causeway of Nivelle.--‘Memoir of Napoleon,’ lib. ix. cap. vi.
p. 134; O’Meara’s Translation.
[18] I believe Jägers of the Hanoverian corps.
[19] One day, on the Marine Parade at Woolwich, a battalion coming up
in close column at the double march, Lieutenant-Colonel Brown, who
stood near me, remarked, “That puts me in mind of your troop coming
up at Waterloo, when you _saved_ the Brunswickers.” Until this moment
I never knew that our having done so had been remarked by anybody;
but he assured me it was known to the whole army; and yet the Duke
not only withheld that praise which was our due, but refused me the
brevet rank of major; and, more than that, actually deprived me of
that troop given to me by Lord Mulgrave, the then Master-General,
_for_ that action, as recommended by my commanding officer, Sir G.
Adams Wood.
That the Duke was not ignorant of their danger I have from Captain
Baynes, our Brigade-Major, who told me that after Sir Augustus Frazer
had been sent for us, his Grace exhibited considerable anxiety for
our coming up; and that when he saw us crossing the fields at a
gallop, and in so compact a body, he actually cried out, “Ah! that’s
the way I like to see horse-artillery move.” Another proof.
[20] The following extract, from a related account of a conscript,
translated from the French and published by Murray, is so true and
exact as to need no comment:--“Through the smoke I saw the English
gunners abandon their pieces, all but six guns stationed under the
road, and almost immediately our cuirassiers were upon the squares,
whose fire was drawn in zig-zags. Now, I thought, those gunners would
be cut to pieces; but no, the devils kept firing with grape, which
mowed them down like grass.” It is pleasant, after all, to find we
were observed and spoken of as we deserved, though not by those who
ought to have done it. I may here mention that Sir James Shaw Kennedy
in his book is, I think, mistaken in saying that the Brunswickers
were saved by Major Bull’s and Captain Mercer’s batteries, since
after the usual interval on the right of the Brunswick square
occurred one of English and then Major Bull’s battery, and the front
of the French attacking column was only equal to our own.
[21] These grenadiers à cheval were very fine troops, clothed in blue
uniforms without facings, cuffs, or collars. Broad, very broad buff
belts, and huge muff caps, made them appear gigantic fellows.
[22] Gourgand says:--“Cette division de deux mille grenadiers à
cheval, et dragons tous gens d’élite, s’étaient engagés sur le
plateau, sans l’ordre de l’Empereur,” &c. &c.--P. 88., ed. London.
He speaks of the cavalry of reserve of the Guard. Could these be the
people?
[23] “The field was so much covered with blood, that it appeared
as if it had been flooded with it,” &c.--Simpson’s ‘Paris after
Waterloo,’ &c., p. 21.
[24] At one time I thought this a French _ruse de guerre_. I remember
the man perfectly, with his silver arrow and chain attached to his
black shoulder-belt. In Sir John Sinclair’s ‘Translation of Baron
Muffling’s Account,’ London, 1816, and at p. 29, I find that about 4
P.M., whilst the cuirassiers, after charging through the 1st British
line, were roaming over the interval between it and the 2d, “the
enemy advanced a battalion on the plain of the platform, at hardly
500 yards’ distance from the position, so as, perhaps, to establish
his infantry on this side of the little wood of Hougoumont and in
La Haye Sainte.” Could this have been the one? At p. 35 he says,
“The shot from Bulow’s artillery reached the British, and the Duke
was obliged to send notice of it.” Query--Did the Duke observe this
himself, or was it communicated to him by my black hussar?
[25] Here were more cuirasses than men; for the wounded (who could
move), divesting themselves of its encumbrance, had made their
escape, leaving their armour on the ground where they had fallen.
[26] In some accounts of the battle, and visits to the field, &c., it
has been stated that this garden was a scene of slaughter. Totally
untrue! As I have stated in the text, I did not see above two or
three altogether. There certainly might have been more concealed
amongst the vegetation, but they could not have been many.
[27] During the remainder of the campaign Milward carried it; and
on returning to England I even rode into Canterbury followed by my
lancer--a novelty in those days. Whilst in retirement on half-pay,
it was suspended in my library; but on going to America in 1823
I deposited it in the Rotunda at Woolwich. On my return in 1829
the lance was gone. In 1823 or 1824 it seems Lieutenant-Colonel
Vandaleur, of the 9th Lancers, came to Woolwich to look for a model.
Mine pleased him, and he took it to St John’s Wood Riding-House,
where it was tried against others in presence of the Duke of York,
and approved of as a model for arming the British lancers. After
a long hunt I at last found it at the Enfield manufactory, spoilt
completely, the iron-work and thong taken off, and flag gone. It cost
me a long correspondence with the Board before I succeeded in getting
it restored and put together. When I received it from him who had
so long wielded it, the flag was dyed in blood, the blade notched,
and also stained with blood; inside the thong was cut Clement, VII.,
probably the number of his troop. [It is now in the possession of Dr
Hall, an old Waterloo man, and sincere friend of my father.--ED.]
[28] Sir George Wood incurred the Duke’s extreme displeasure for not
securing and parking the French guns immediately after the action,
for the Prussians got hold of many of them; and it was only through
the indefatigable activity of Sir Augustus Frazer that they were
regained--partly by coaxing, partly by blustering. However, they were
all recovered.
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TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE
Obvious typographical errors and punctuation errors have been
corrected after careful comparison with other occurrences within
the text and consultation of external sources.
Some hyphens in words have been silently removed, some added,
when a predominant preference was found in the original book.
Except for those changes noted below, all misspellings in the text,
and inconsistent or archaic usage, have been retained.
Pg x: ‘Lokern--A Village’ replaced by ‘Lokeren--A Village’.
Pg xi: ‘Allée-Vert’ replaced by ‘Allée-Verte’.
Pg 55: ‘des Logemens’ replaced by ‘des Logements’ (twice).
Pg 87: ‘These good poople’ replaced by ‘These good people’.
Pg 123: ‘had in no wise’ replaced by ‘had nowise’.
Pg 140: ‘in abunance amongst’ replaced by ‘in abundance amongst’.
Pg 147: ‘Jan Evanpoel, the’ replaced by ‘Jan Evenpoel, the’.
Pg 155: ‘Schandelbeke and’ replaced by ‘Schendelbeke and’.
Pg 155: ‘Lerbeke, &c.’ replaced by ‘Lebbeke, &c.’.
Pg 160: subtotal ‘214’ replaced by ‘215’.
Pg 165: ‘of the _trèfe_’ replaced by ‘of the _trèfle_’.
Pg 186: ‘there waters and’ replaced by ‘their waters and’.
Pg 207: ‘allée-vert’ replaced by ‘allée-verte’.
Pg 208: ‘happy, consequenty’ replaced by ‘happy, consequently’.
Pg 213: ‘picturesqe costume’ replaced by ‘picturesque costume’.
Pg 217: ‘beautful battery’ replaced by ‘beautiful battery’.
Pg 255: paragraph ends unexpectedly with ‘... to peep of the’.
This has been left unchanged.
Pg 255: ‘fire of musquetry’ replaced by ‘fire of musketry’
(all seventeen other occurrences are ‘musketry’ ).
Pg 256: ‘began to dose’ replaced by ‘began to doze’.
Pg 283: ‘as we we could see’ replaced by ‘as we could see’.
Pg 306: ‘came in collison’ replaced by ‘came in collision’.
Pg 312: ‘and to enconomise’ replaced by ‘and to economise’.