suddenly darkened by masses of murky clouds, the flying shadows of which
were seen moving over the wide corn-fields and green woodlands.
Scudding and gathering, these gloomy precursors of a storm came hurrying
across the sky, until they closed over every part of it, obscuring the
face of heaven, and rendering the earth dark as when viewed by the grey
light of a winter day at three o'clock, and the spirits of the
retreating soldiers became more saddened and depressed as the black
shadows of the forest of Soignies deepened around them. Red, blue, and
yellow streaks of lightning, vivid and hot, flashed across the whole
sky, lighting it up like a fiery dome from the eastern to the western
horizon, and the stunning peals of thunder roared every instant as if to
rend the world asunder. Rain and hail descended in torrents, while the
tempests of wind, which arose in angry gusts, tore through the forest of
Soignies like the spirit of destruction, scattering leaves, branches,
trees, and the affrighted birds in every direction. Oh! the miseries of
the 17th of June! The oldest soldiers in the army declared that the
storm of that day surpassed any thing they had ever suffered or beheld.
The whole army, from the front to the rear-guard, were drenched to the
skin. The roads, in some places, were flooded with water, till they
looked like winding canals, with their surface broken into countless
wrinkles by the splashing rain; in other places the mud was so deep,
that the soldiers, loaded with their heavy accoutrements, sank above the
ankles at every step, and the weight of the thick clay which adhered to
their feet, added greatly to their misery. Hundreds of those in the
Highland regiments lost their shoes on withdrawing their feet from the
soil, and as no time was given to take others from their knapsacks, if
they had any there, they were obliged to tread out the rest of the march
in their red-striped hose. Many of the officers wore their thin-soled
dress boots, their white kid gloves, &c., having been suddenly summoned
to the field from the gaiety of the ball at Brussels, and some were
almost bare-footed before the order was given to halt. Their boots, of
French kid, wore away like brown paper in the mud and rain.
Without tents or any covering, save their greatcoats or cloaks, the
troops passed the miserable night of the 17th June in bivouac,--exposed,
unsheltered, to all the fury of the storm, which lasted until eight
o'clock next morning. For nearly four-and-twenty hours the wind had
blown and the rain fallen without intermission.
Though their spirits were considerably depressed, the officers and their
soldiers bore all with that perfect patience and endurance, which the
British army possesses in a greater degree than any other in Europe.
They can bear stoically alike the fury of the elements, and the
exasperating insults of a petulant mob.
Not a murmur of discontent was heard that night in the British bivouac;
no man repined, as the utmost confidence and reliance were placed in the
great leader, under whom, on the morrow, they were to engage in such a
struggle as the world has rarely witnessed.
*CHAPTER XII.*
*THE 18TH OF JUNE.*
"And wild and high the Cameron's gathering rose!
The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn's hills
Have heard--and heard, too, have her Saxon foes.
How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills,
Savage and shrill! But with the breath which fills
Their mountain pipe, so fill the mountaineers
With their fierce native daring, which instils
The stirring memory of a thousand years;
And Evan's, Donald's fame, rings in each clansman's ears."
_Lord Byron._
About eight o'clock on the morning of the 18th the storm suddenly
abated, the rain ceased, the wind died away, the grey clouds began to
disperse, and the sun broke forth in his glory. His warm glow was
delightful after the chill of such a tempestuous night; and the wan
faces of the soldiers brightened as they watched the dispersion of the
vapoury masses, and beheld the morning sky assuming a pure and serene
blue. Alas! it was a morning sun which thousands were doomed never to
behold setting at eve.
Immense masses of white mist were rising on all sides,--from the green
woodlands of the Bois de Soignies,--from the swamps, the fields, and the
puddles formed in the night; and as the vapour became exhaled, and
floated away to mingle with the clouds, the grass grew more green, and
the fields of flattened corn rose, and waved their yellow harvest to and
fro in the morning breeze. Fires were lighted by the soldiers, to dry
their clothes and cook a ration of beef, which had been hastily supplied
to some corps of the army. An allowance of grog was also served out by
the commissariat to every man, without distinction. It was swallowed
gladly and thankfully, and the former cheerfulness of the troops began
to revive, and they became as merry as men could be who had marched so
far, passed such a night, and had yet their shirts sticking to their
backs.
This was the morning of the eventful 18th of June, 1815.
Sir Dennis Pack's brigade had scarcely finished their wretched meal of
beef, broiled on bayonets and ramrods amid the smoky embers of green
wood, before the pipers of the Royal Highlanders, who were bivouacked on
the right, were heard blowing their regimental gathering with might and
main, summoning the old _Black Watch_ to battle.
"Stand to your arms! The enemy are coming on!" was the cry on every
side; and aides-de-camp, majors of brigade, and other officers were seen
galloping in every direction, clearing hedge and wall at the risk of
their necks. The trumpets of the cavalry, the drums and bugles of the
infantry, were soon heard sounding in concert over every part of the
position, as the army got under arms to meet their old hereditary foe.
"_Vive l'Empereur!_" A hundred thousand soldiers,--brave men as France
ever sent forth, loaded the morning wind with the cry; and the hum of
their voices, sounding from afar over the level country, was heard--like
the low roar of a distant sea--murmuring and chafing, long before they
came within range of musket shot.
The soldiers of the allied army stood to their arms with their usual
willingness and alacrity, but with that degree of gravity and calmness
which always pervades a body of men before an engagement. It is a
serious reflection that one may be in eternity in five minutes, and one
feels rather sedate in consequence,--till the blood is up, and the true
British mettle fairly roused. A battle was about to be fought, and that
it would be a bloody one was evident; for it was between two splendid
armies, equal in arms, in discipline, and in courage, and led by two of
the greatest generals the world ever produced. But it is not my
intention to recount a history of the battle of Waterloo. Generally, I
will confine myself to the motions of the 9th brigade, commanded by the
brave Sir Dennis Pack.
It consisted of four regiments; namely, the third battalion of the 1st
Royal Scots, the 42nd or Royal Highlanders, the 2nd battalion of the
44th or East Essex regiment, and the 92nd or Gordon Highlanders, with
whom, I trust, the reader is tolerably well acquainted. The fighting at
Quatre Bras on the 16th had considerably thinned their ranks, but they
yet mustered five hundred bayonets.
Aides-de-camp, general and other staff-officers, were seen galloping on
the spur over banks and ditches, through copse-wood and corn fields,
bearing orders, instructions, and hasty despatches to those commanding
corps and brigades; the cavalry looked to their girths and bridles, the
infantry to their locks and pouches; the artillery-guns, tumbrils, and
caissons were dragged at full gallop among ripe fields of wheat and
barley, through hedges and slough ditches, with matches smoking, the
gunners on the boxes, the drivers on the saddle, rammers and sponges
rattling and clanking, and the cavalry escort galloping in front and
rear. Bustle and noise, but with perfect steadiness and coolness,
prevailed, as the army of Lord Wellington formed in position on that
memorable field, and awaited the approach of their enemy, who came on
flushed with the success of the recent battle of Ligny.
"There goes Buonaparte!" cried Ronald to his friend Louis Lisle, who at
that moment came up to him.
"There goes Napoleon! the Emperor and all his staff!" burst from many a
tongue.
The whole attention of the British line was attracted by the appearance
of Buonaparte, who rode along the ridge occupied by the French army. He
wore his great-coat unbuttoned, and thrown back to display his epaulets
and green uniform, and had on his head the little cocked hat by which
all statues of him are so well known. A staff, brilliant and numerous,
composed of officers wearing a hundred different uniforms, followed him,
but at the distance of seventy or eighty paces, riding like a confused
mob of cavalry. He passed rapidly along the French line towards La Belle
Alliance; but the fire of a few twelve-pound field-pieces, which had
been brought to bear upon his person, compelled him to retire to the
rear.
The right of the allied army rested on Braine la Leude, the left on the
farm of Ter la Haye, and the centre on Mont St. Jean, thus extending
along a ridge from which the ground descended gently to a sort of vale;
on the other side of which, at the distance of about twelve hundred
yards from the allies, the long-extended lines of the French army were
formed in battle array, with eagles glittering, colours waving, and
bayonets gleaming above the dark battalions of infantry.
The celebrated chateau of Hougoumont was in front of the right centre of
the allies; the woods, the orchard, and the house were full of troops.
Arms glanced at every window, bayonets bristled everywhere around it,
and the tall grenadier-caps of the Coldstream Guards, and the schakoes
of the Belgians and Brunswickers, were visible above the green hedges of
the garden, and the parapet walls which enclosed the park and orchard.
The farmhouse of La Haye Sainte, on the Charleroi road at the foot of
the eminence, had also been converted into a garrison, loop-holed and
barricaded, with brass-muzzled field-pieces peeping through the
honey-suckle and the rails of the garden around it.
All around the spot where these dire preparations had been made the land
was in a beautiful state of cultivation, and the bright yellow corn
waved ripe in every field; but the passage of cavalry, brigades of
artillery, and sometimes dense masses of infantry in close column of
companies or sub-divisions of five-and-twenty men abreast, the continual
deploying on point and pivot as new alignements were taken up, made sad
havoc among the hopes of the husbandman and farmer.
The Belgian and Hanoverian battalions were checkered as equally as
possible with the British, and thus many different uniforms varied the
long perspective of the allied line; while the French army presented one
long array of dark uniforms, blue, green, or the grey great-coat, an
upper garment worn almost invariably, in all weathers, by the French
troops when on service.
Near a tree, which grew on a bank above the Charleroi road, and which
formed, or denoted, the very centre of the British position, Lord
Wellington could be seen sitting motionless on horseback, observing,
with his acute and practised eye, the motions of his mighty antagonist.
His cavalry were, generally, posted in rear of the right, the centre,
and left of the position, the artillery behind a hedge on a ridge which
rises near Ter la Haye; and this screen of foliage concealed them from
the enemy, who commenced the battle about half-past eleven o'clock.
A movement was seen taking place among the French, and in a few minutes
the division commanded by Jerome Buonaparte attacked the chateau of
Hougoumont. As they advanced upon it, Lord Wellington's artillery
opened on them, and did considerable execution; but they pressed
heedlessly on and assaulted the ancient chateau, which was resolutely
defended, and soon became shrouded in a cloud of smoke as the volleying
musketry blazed away from hedge and wall, barricade and window. Every
bullet bore the fate of a human being; the French were strewed in heaps,
and the chateau, into which they showered grape and musketry with
unsparing diligence, seemed not likely to surrender soon. The foreign
troops gave way, but the brave Guards maintained the defence of the
house and garden alone, and with the unflinching determination and
courage of British soldiers.
Under cover of a formidable cannonade, which Napoleon's artillery opened
from the crest of the ridge where his line was formed, three dense
masses of infantry, consisting each of four battalions, moving in solid
squares, poured impetuously down on the left and centre of the allied
line. They rent the air with cries of "_Vive la France! Vive
l'Empereur!_" and on they came double-quick, with their sloped arms
glittering in the sun. They were enthusiastically encouraged by their
officers, whose voices were heard above even the mingled din of the
battle-cry, cheering them on as they waved their eagles and brandished
their sabres aloft. One of these columns poured its strength on La Haye
Sainte, where it experienced a warm and deadly welcome; while the other
two attacked that part of the position which was occupied by Sir Dennis
Pack's brigade.
As they advanced, Campbell made a signal with his sword, and the eight
pipes of the regiment commenced the wild pibroch of Donald-dhu,--the
march of the Islesmen to Lochaber in 1431. It was echoed back by the
pipes of the Royals and 42nd on the right, and the well-known effect of
that instrument was instantly visible in the flushing cheeks of the
brigade. Its music never falls in vain on the ear of a Scotsman, for he
alone can understand its wild melody and stirring associations. The
ranks, which before had exhibited all that stillness and gravity which
troops always observe--in fact, which their feelings compel them to
observe--before being engaged, for fighting is a serious matter, became
animated, and the soldiers began to cheer and handle their muskets long
before the order was given to fire. A brigade of Belgians, formed in
line before a hedge, was attacked furiously by the French columns, who
were eager for vengeance on these troops, whom they considered as
deserters from the cause of the "great Emperor," whose uniform they
still wore. The impetuosity of the attack compelled the Belgians to
retire in rear of the hedge, over which they received and returned a
spirited fire.
Pack's brigade now opened upon the foe, and the roar of cannon and
musketry increased on every side as the battle became general along the
extended parallel lines of the British and French. The fire of the
latter on Pack's brigade was hot and rapid, for in numerical force they
outnumbered them, many to one, and made dreadful havoc. The men were
falling--to use the common phrase--in heaps, and the danger, smoke,
uproar, and slaughter, with all the terrible concomitants of a great
battle, increased on every side; the blood of the combatants grew
hotter, and their national feelings of hatred and hostility, which
previously had lain dormant, were now fully awakened, and increased
apace with the slaughter around them. Many of the Highlanders seemed
animated by a perfect fury,--a terrible eagerness to grapple with their
antagonists. Captain Grant, an officer of the Gordon Highlanders,
became so much excited, that he quitted the ranks, and rushing to the
front, brandished his long broad sword aloft, and defied the enemy to
charge or approach further. Then, calling upon the regiment to follow
him, he threw up his bonnet, and flinging himself headlong on the
bayonets of the enemy, was instantly slain. Poor fellow! he left a young
wife at home to lament him, and his loss was much regretted by the
regiment.
"This is hot work, Chisholm," said Ronald with a grim smile to his smart
young sub, who came towards him jerking his head about in that nervous
manner which the eternal whistling of musket shot will cause many a
brave fellow to assume.
"Hot work,--devilish!" answered the other with a blunt carelessness
which, perhaps, was half affected. "But I have something good to
communicate."
"What?"
"Blucher, with forty thousand Prussians, is advancing from Wavre. Bony
knows nothing of this, and the first news he hears of it will be the
twelve-pounders of the Prussians administering a dose of cold iron to
his left flank, upon the extremity of the ridge yonder."
"Good! but is the intelligence true?"
"Ay, true as Gospel. I heard an aide-de-camp, a rather excited but
exquisite young fellow of the 7th Hussars, tell old Sir Dennis so this
moment."
"Would to God we saw them!--the Prussians I mean. We are suffering
dreadfully from the fire of these columns."
"Ay, faith!" replied the other, coolly adjusting his bonnet, which a
ball had knocked awry, and turning towards the left flank of the
company, before he had gone three paces, he was stretched prostrate on
the turf.
He never stirred again. A ball had pierced his heart; and the bonnet,
which a moment before he had arranged so jauntily over his fair hair,
rolled to the feet of Ronald Stuart.
"I kent he was _fey_! Puir young gentleman!" said a soldier.
"I will add a stone to his cairn," observed another, figuratively; "and
give this to revenge him," he added, dropping upon his knee and firing
among the smoke of the opposite line.
Stuart would have examined the body of his friend, to find if any spark
of life yet lingered in it, but his attention was attracted by other
matters.
The Belgians at the hedge gave way, after receiving and returning a most
destructive fire for nearly an hour. The 3rd battalion of the Scots
Royals, and a battalion of the 44th, (the same regiment which lately
distinguished itself at Cabul,) took up the ground of the vanquished men
of _Gallia Belgica_, and after maintaining the same conflict against an
overwhelming majority of numbers, and keeping staunch to their post till
the unlucky hedge was piled breast high with killed and wounded, they
were compelled also to retire, leaving it in possession of the enemy,
who seized upon it with a fierce shout of triumph, as if it had been the
fallen capital of a conquered country instead of the rural boundary of a
field of rye.
It was now three o'clock in the afternoon. The strife had lasted
incessantly for four hours, and no word was yet heard of the Prussians.
For miles around, the plains were involved in smoke; and whether they
were approaching or not no man knew, for a thick war-cloud enshrouded
the vale of Waterloo. Three thousand of the allies had been put to the
rout, and the dense mob-like columns of the enemy came rolling on from
the ridge opposite to Lord Wellington's position, apparently with the
determination of bearing all before them.
When they gained possession of the hedge before mentioned, Sir Dennis
Pack, who had been with its defenders till the moment they gave way,
galloped at full speed up to the Gordon Highlanders,--a corps reduced
now to a mere skeleton, and barely mustering two hundred efficient
bayonets.
"Highlanders!" cried the general, who was evidently labouring under no
ordinary degree of excitement and anxiety, "you must charge! Upon them
with the bayonet or the heights are lost, for all the troops in your
front have given way!"
"Highlandmen! shoulder to shoulder," cried Campbell, as the regiment
began to advance with their muskets at the long trail, and in silence,
with clenched teeth and bent brows, for their hearts were burning to
avenge the fall of their comrades. "Shoulder to shoulder, lads! close
together, like a wall!" continued the major, as, spurring his horse to
the front, he waved his sword and bonnet aloft, and the corps moved down
the hill. "Remember Egypt and Corunna,--and remember Cameron, though
he's gone, for his eye may be upon us yet at this very moment!
Forward--double quick!"
The column they were about to charge presented a front, more than equal
to their own, on _four_ faces, and formed a dense mass of three thousand
infantry. Heedless of their numbers, with that free and fearless
impetuosity which they have ever displayed, and which has always been
attended with the most signal success, the bonneted clansmen rushed on
with the fury of a torrent from their native hills, equally regardless
of the charged bayonets of the French front ranks, the murderous fire of
the rear, and of ten pieces of cannon sent by Napoleon to assist in
gaining the height occupied by Pack's shattered brigade.
It was a desperate crisis, and the regiment knew that they must be
victorious or be annihilated.
A body of cuirassiers were coming on to the assistance of the vast mass
of infantry,--all splendid troops, glittering in a panoply of brass and
steel; and the slanting rays of the sun gleamed beautifully on their
long lines of polished helms and corslets and the forest of swords,
which they brandished aloft above the curls of eddying smoke, as they
came sweeping over the level plain at full gallop. The advance of the
little band of Highlanders made them seem like a few mice attacking a
lion,--the very acme of madness or of courage. Their comrades were all
defeated, themselves were threatened by cavalry, galled by ten pieces of
cannon, and opposed to three thousand infantry; and yet they went on
with the heedless impetuosity of the heroes of Killiecrankie, Falkirk,
and Gladsmuir.
The front rank of the enemy's column remained with their long muskets
and bayonets at the charge, while the rear kept up a hot and destructive
fire, in unison with the sweeping discharges from the field-pieces
placed at a little distance on their flanks.
The moment was indeed a critical one to these two hundred eagle hearts.
They were in the proportion of one man to fifteen; and notwithstanding
this overwhelming majority, when the steady line of the Highlanders came
rushing on, with their bayonets levelled before them, and had reached
within a few yards of the enemy, the latter turned and fled! The huge
mass, which might with ease have eaten them, broke away in a confusion
almost laughable, the front ranks overthrowing the rear, and every man
tossing away musket, knapsack, and accoutrements. The Highlanders still
continued pressing forward with the charged bayonet, yet totally unable
to comprehend what had stricken the foe with so disgraceful a panic.
"Halt!" cried Campbell. "Fire on the cowards! D--n them, give them a
volley!" and a hasty fire was poured upon the confused mob.
A cry arose of "Here come the cavalry!"
"Hoigh! hurrah!" cried the Highlanders. "The Greys--the Greys--the
Scots Greys! Hoigh! our ain folk--hurrah!" And a tremendous cheer
burst from the little band as they beheld, emerging from the wreaths of
smoke, the squadrons of their countrymen, who came thundering over the
corpse-strewed field, where drums, colours, arms, cannon and
cannon-shot, killed and wounded men, covered every foot of ground.
The grey horses--"those beautiful grey horses," as the anxious Napoleon
called them while watching this movement through his glass,--came on,
snorting and prancing with dilated nostrils and eyes of fire, exhibiting
all the pride of our superb dragoon chargers, while the long
broad-swords and tall bear-skin caps of the riders were seen towering
above the battle-clouds which rolled along the surface of the plain.
They formed part of the heavy brigade of the gallant Sir William
Ponsonby, who, sabre in hand, led them on, with the First Royal English
dragoons, and the Sixth, who came roaring tremendously, and shouting
strange things in the deep brogue of merry "ould Ireland."
From the weight of the men, the mettle of their horses, and their fine
equipment, a charge of British cavalry is a splendid sight; I say
British, for our own are the finest-looking as well as the best troops
in the world,--an assertion which few can dispute when we speak of
Waterloo. Those who witnessed the charge of Ponsonby's brigade will
never forget it. The Highlanders halted, and the dragoons swept on past
their flank, towards the confused masses of the enemy. The Greys, on
passing the little band of their countrymen, sent up the well-known cry
of "Scotland for ever!"