(_From the Private Correspondence of a Woman of Fashion._)
Bruxelles, June 24, 1815.
On the first day we had so little idea of the vicinity of the
engagement, that I drove out with a Belgian family in an open carriage
towards the Bois de Soignies. But we were obliged to retreat
precipitately, and take another direction across the country, and pass
through a different _barrière_ through the town to my residence. They
wished me to accept an instant asylum with them. The house of Monsieur
D'H---- was built over part of the old palace; and he had prepared one
of the extensive _caves_ for his family, in the event of the town
being given up to the sword and rapine. I promised to avail myself of
their kind offer, should the peril become more urgent; but I resolved
to remain another day in our villa. Towards five the following
morning, I was roused from the sofa on which I had thrown myself, by
the trampling of horses, and the cries of the people of the suburbs. I
flew to the window and beheld a troop of Belgians in full flight,
covered, not with glory, but with dust, galloping towards the town! I
heard the gates close against them, and saw them scamper over the
plain towards Lacken. The mob increased; their shrieks of terror rent
the air,--"Les François sont ici! Ils s'emparent de la porte de la
ville!" mingled with the cries of the women, and with those of my
little household, who all rushed into my chamber, expecting me to save
them. In the midst of this terror, I heard the well-known voice of the
commander of the town, Colonel Jones, vociferating with all the energy
and passion of a Welchman. In my distraction, I ran out to him; he
_stormed_, and explained in no gentle terms, that it was a false
alarm, caused by the _sudden nervous affection_ of the troop of
Belgians I had seen in flight. He commanded me to quit my house, and
kindly sent me a carriage to secure my entrance into the town. We were
cheered in the hurry of quitting our rural abode, by the arrival of
some thousands of British troops; many of the poor fellows, heated and
languid, entered asking for water to quench their thirst. From them I
learnt that they had returned to England from America, and, without
being permitted to land, were immediately ordered to Ostend. I felt
what might be their influence on the fate of that day, and selfishly
partook of their impatience to arrive on the field of battle. The
whole of Saturday we believed the battle lost; and _there are those_
who think that it _was, but_ for the mysterious conduct of Grouchy, or
the treason of the estafettes sent to summon him to advance.
The English families continued to fly towards Ostend: the roads and
inns were crowded; the living bewailing their temerity, close to the
chambers of the dead! Your brother and sister were at Antwerp, in the
next room to the unfortunate Duc de Brunswick. The awful hours passed
tardily with me, in pangs for the soldier and his chiefs. On Saturday
the 17th, to add to the accumulating horrors of our critical
situation, the very elements vented forth their wrath, in the most
tremendous thunder and lightning; the rain poured in torrents; all
nature was at fearful strife, and God's anger was apparent; for it
seemed as if the very heavens were warring against man's quarrel; and
in my agony I exclaimed with Macbeth--
"'Twas a rough night--"
as I listened to the pelting storm, crouching on a mattress by the
side of my weeping _émigrée_, imploring me for words of comfort.
Towards morning the rain abated, but gloomy clouds ushered in that
eventful day. At two o'clock I dined with Monsieur D'H----, whose
daughter-in-law, la Comtesse de P----'s first-born son, had seen the
light of this world only a few hours before--while at dinner, the
servants rushed into the room in disorder, exclaiming, "All is over!"
A detachment of dragoons, which passed a few hours ago to join the
enemy, are returned! We rose precipitately; Mr. D'H---- took a key
from a drawer, and commanded us to follow him. We traversed rapidly
the chamber of the invalid lady, each inconsiderately repeating to
her--"All is lost!" We ascended a dilapidated staircase, and passing
through a small trap-door, what was my astonishment, when I found
myself in the Park! There we beheld the said detachment of
dragoons--an affrighted mob; and many sinister-looking persons, who
seemed well satisfied at the evidence of our fears. The gentlemen
rushed out of the adjoining _café_, the English calling for their
servants and horses, (many of whom, by the way, who had never
possessed any;) one of these _fainted_--no heart of oak was _he_, when
our ancient Briton, the commandant, Colonel Jones, again presented
himself, _vif et emporté_. The spectators exclaimed--"que cela venoit
de la trop rapide circulation de son sang." _N'importe_: the choleric
Colonel, blustering, restored us to comparative tranquillity, as he
brandished on high his sword, giving it an after-sweeping movement, as
if to _moissonner nos têtes_; my valiant compatriot extended on the
pavement was the only head in security. The Colonel commanded the
misled dragoons to return; and it appeared that they had encountered
some miscreants, disguised as British officers, who gave them a forged
official order to retreat "the battle being lost!" We descended
through our trap-door, and re-assured our friend the Comtesse, who
seemed to have received our intelligence (_en passant_) with as
perfect calmness as that in which lay her new-born babe.
To add to my discomfort, deep and loud were the murmurs on Sunday
against the Duke. The merchants said his Grace ought not to have
lingered in the _salons_ of amusement one instant after he had been
apprised that Napoleon had quitted Paris, whose gigantic strides all
Europe had experienced during many long years. They even denounced his
life; while others, more moderate but equally incensed, had commenced
a written remonstrance to the British Government: in such an excited
state were men's minds!--Victory silenced these despairing
murmurers--success casts its vivid radiance over the hero's fame; what
so potent as its influence!
I took leave of my Belgian friends, who promised to come for me (in
case of a fatal termination), to share their safety, and partake of
the good cheer they had prepared for our seclusion in the devastated
_caves_ of that palace, which in olden time were filled with the
finest produce of Rhenish vintages. At three o'clock entered the good
Abbé Bernard, holding up to view a paper with large characters
imprinted--"The French flying!--the City saved!--Victory!" Never shall
I forget my sensations at that joyful, yet awful moment of restored
peace to mankind! The bells of the different churches chimed the
exhilarating note of victory! The good priest announced that _Te Deum_
was celebrating, and invited me to accompany them to the noble
cathedral, St. Gudule. "What signify forms?" the good man said: "let
us lift up our hearts in grateful thanksgiving to the only true God!"
That noble temple of the Almighty was already thronged. Voices, so
late stricken in terror, now soared aloft in celestial sounds to the
throne of Heaven!--all was congratulation. But, alas, profound regrets
soon mingled with my joyful sensations, as I cast my eyes around, and
encountered only mangled objects, who, chilled and exhausted, were
crowding into the town (and are still arriving on _this_, the 6th
day). We were addressed, with solicitations, by enfeebled heroes, to
be shown to hospitals. We found it impossible to return to our villa,
from the confusion of military baggage, &c. &c., while the English,
even females of rank, with eager curiosity were hastening to the scene
of carnage! The noise of their chariot-wheels, mingling with the moans
of the dying, and the cries of parents and relatives in search of
their sons and their kindred, formed a scene that must have moved the
coldest heart, and that _never_ can be _effaced_ from my memory!
In traversing La Grande Place, I was attracted to a kind of military
vehicle, by the voice of plaintive distress appealing for my succour,
reiterating the word _compatriote_. On approaching, I beheld a
handsome and interesting-looking female, in equestrian costume;--by
her side were two servants, and two very fine saddle-horses. A tent,
and some baggage-wagons, belonging to some regiment, appeared to be
included in her train. She announced herself to me as the wife of
Captain ----, aid-de-camp to General C----: by some mistake of orders,
fatal to her peace of mind, the baggage of her husband's regiment had
not been included in the general orders for following the army.
Anguish was expressed on her fine countenance. She knew only that we
were victorious; but she knew not whether her husband was to be
numbered with the dead, or with the living. She was without resource,
and unacquainted with the French language. She appealed to my
protection, and pointed to her servants to corroborate her statement.
Fatigued in mind as I was, yet how impossible to hesitate an instant!
I immediately conducted her to the librarian, who gave me a room; and
I sent for refreshments, and fain would have persuaded her to attempt
seeking some repose; but her mental sufferings were too great to
permit her to remain tranquil. She declared that nothing should
prevent her following the army to Paris, beseeching me to obtain
permission for her to ride on with the first detachment that quitted
the city. I was obliged to comply, for there is no reasoning with the
anxious mind of an attached wife! and I presented myself before our
choleric commandant. Being in black, I was mistaken for a hapless
widow, and all pressed to offer me service. I found Captain W----, who
immediately interested himself, and I had the supreme pleasure of not
only obtaining an escort, but of receiving the certain assurance of
her gallant husband's safety. She spent the evening with us, and
created a general interest. She had accompanied her husband in the
campaigns in Spain, soon after a marriage _purement d'inclination_.
Captain ---- had been brought up to the Bar; but the mania of war
seized him, and he preferred figuring in the _Army List_, and
practising military tactics, to studying _Burn's Justice_ and
_Blackstone's Commentaries_. She would not lose sight of her new
friend; and at four o'clock on Tuesday morning I conducted her to the
Porte de Namur, where I found the promised escort with two officers,
to whom I could assign her with confidence. She sprang into her saddle
with an alacrity, that expressed she was going to join the husband of
her affection; and she promised to present him to me in Paris.
Old C----, one of the "all-talented Whigs," who you know is half a
buffoon, was a torment to us during the fearful period of the three
days--running to and fro, standing in every body's way, seeking and
reporting news, exclaiming, "but the battle cannot be lost--I do not
see the army in retreat," &c. &c. At length, the battle over, England
victorious, the Duke on Monday rode quietly into Bruxelles, to make
arrangements for the wounded, &c. C---- rushes to his apartment to
make his compliments.
"Thirty thousand men lost!" replied the Duke.
"But what a victory!"
"Thirty thousand men killed!--hard case!"--still answered the Duke,
with his usual simplicity of expression when speaking of his own
exploits. C----, who knew not what diffidence was, nor could discover
its merits in another, retreated in evident disappointment at his
compliments of felicitation having the appearance of being so little
appreciated; almost doubtful, whether Wellington was in truth a hero,
or whether the battle was really gained!
The interiors of the churches are divided in stalls, the wounded
placed in them on layers of straw, and women and surgeons are seen
administering to their ills. The Belgians have thrown open their
houses, and officers and soldiers are promiscuously placed in their
decorated _salons_, and served with equal assiduity. The French seemed
to have fought with redoubled rancour on these terrible days; even the
nature of the wounds are without parallel in history. The light carts
I saw preparing some weeks since, were sent off to the frontiers;
therefore, to add to the sufferings of these brave men, they are
brought in upon the rough wagons employed in agriculture. This is the
sixth day, and they are still arriving in all kinds of conveyances.
Our carriage was stopped in la Rue de Montagne last evening; the cause
originated in two wagons filled with the wounded and the dying,
recently discovered! Some of the inhabitants, with candles, were
groping anxiously, in search of their relations, and administering
various restoratives to those they knew not, until another church
could be hastily prepared to receive them. Hundreds of French
prisoners are brought in,--many of them quite boys, and in peasants'
habits, apparently forced by cruel conscriptions to become warriors
_malgré eux_, and forming a remarkable contrast to those hardy and
athletic frames, who seem destined by nature for the military career.
Here were these poor recruits, a few weeks since dragged from their
native hearths, constrained by regal power to illustrate themselves by
the sword--when their hearts and characters were formed for domestic
cares, and those agricultural labours which sweetened their rustic
meal, and only trying to evade their direst enemy--the recruiting-sergeant
of Napoleon!
But there is another distinctive mark in those veteran French
soldiers, whom we see conveyed into Bruxelles, wounded and prisoners.
They seem to retain a ferocious expression, even at the moment of
sinking into the feebleness of death, and while every human succour is
rendering to them. They cast a furtive glance around, and their
countenances indicate all the horror of their minds at their late
reverses, and to be thinking less of the bodily pains they are
enduring, than of their incapability to revenge themselves upon their
victors! Such was the scene exhibited this morning on the steps of the
hotel opposite to my apartment.
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