CHAPTER XII

THE PENINSULA

PART I.—DEFENSIVE

The French Revolution gave the signal for a long series of wars, in

which France, thanks to the great military genius of Napoleon, got the

better of all the nations of Europe, except England. At the end of the

year 1807 Napoleon was at the height of his power; all central Europe

was at his feet, and he had concluded with Russia the treaty of Tilsit,

by which the two emperors agreed to support one another, at least

passively, in further schemes of aggression. England alone was hostile,

and England, though absolutely supreme at sea, was helpless on land,

having not only no allies, but no field of action. Napoleon proceeded

to give her both by his interference in the Spanish peninsula. First

he made the Spanish government co-operate with him in a wolf-and-lamb

quarrel with Portugal, occupied that little country with French troops,

before whom the royal family fled to Brazil, and cheated Spain out

of her share of the spoils. Then by a series of perfidious intrigues

he insinuated a French army into the heart of Spain, got into his

power the weak old king and his foolish heir, made them both renounce

the Spanish crown, and ordered a few fugitive courtiers to salute

his own brother Joseph as king of Spain. He knew that Spain had no

trustworthy army; he had military possession of the capital, and took

for granted that Spain would acquiesce. But the Spaniards, proud of

past glories, intensely ignorant, and caring very little for the

capital, where alone a few partisans of the new king could be found,

broke out into insurrection everywhere. The French forces, which were

but small, had to retire behind the Ebro, one little army that had

penetrated into Andalusia being actually surrounded and compelled to

surrender. Simultaneously an English army landing in Portugal defeated

the French at Vimiero, and obliged them to evacuate Portugal under a

convention. Napoleon, more irritated than alarmed, poured vast armies

into Spain, with the utmost ease defeated the Spanish levies that tried

to stop him, and entered Madrid in triumph with his puppet brother in

his train. Sir John Moore, who commanded the small English army in

Portugal, made a brilliant march into the heart of Spain, threatening

to cut Napoleon's communications with France; but he was far too weak

to do more than trouble the emperor's repose. French forces of full

double his numbers were sent to drive him into the sea, and succeeded,

though Moore, turning to bay when he reached Corunna and found his

ships not ready, inflicted on them a sharp repulse, of which his own

life was the glorious price. Napoleon fondly dreamed that Spain was

conquered, and returned to France, leaving Joseph as titular king, and

several French armies to complete the work.

Had Spain been left unsupported, a real conquest would still have been

impossible, so long as the endurance of the people lasted. The Spanish

armies, if such they can be called, were defeated and dispersed in

fifty battles. Their generals on very few occasions showed any judgment

or capacity. But the panic-stricken runaways of to-day enlisted again

none the worse in two or three weeks; the generals discomfited to-day

were ready to try again with a serene self-confidence that was not

quite a step beyond the sublime. Guerilla bands spread everywhere,

sometimes serving in a so-called regular army, sometimes behaving

as brigands. A despatch could not be sent to France without a large

escort: the duty of convoying supplies was incessant, harassing and

often unsuccessful. French armies could march where they pleased, but

could not permanently conquer a single square mile. On the other hand

the Spaniards unaided could have achieved no definite success against

the French armies, and the strain on Napoleon's resources, though

real, would not have been ruinous. It was the English intervention

which converted the Spanish ulcer, as Napoleon himself termed it,

into a deadly disease eating into the very vitals of his power. A

treaty of alliance was concluded between England and Spain, signed,

as it happened, on the very day of the battle of Corunna (January 19,

1809). The English government did not then know how ignorant, how

presumptuous, how untrustworthy, was the knot of self-chosen incapables

who styled themselves the Spanish Junta. Nevertheless they took the

wise resolution of basing their operations on Portugal and not on

Spain. There was a very old alliance with Portugal, which had made the

smaller power for a century almost a satellite of the greater one: the

Portuguese royal family was in America, and it was hence comparatively

easy to rule in its name. But though political considerations dictated

this step, it entailed also great military advantages. England having

complete command of the sea, the French had to derive all supplies,

except such food as the country afforded, from France, which was

rendered very difficult by the guerillas. Spain, as a glance at the

map shows, is greatly cut up by mountain chains: of these the Sierra

de Guadarrama, south of the Douro basin, and the Sierra Morena, north

of Andalusia, are serious barriers, though not impassable. The country

between them is mostly barren, Andalusia (except parts of the east

coast which do not enter into account) being the only very fertile

region. Moreover the roads were few and bad. Hence it followed that

large armies could not long hold together for want of subsistence,

except in Andalusia; while even there a French army could not stay, if

an enemy in the centre of Spain intercepted its supplies of ammunition,

clothing, reinforcements, coming from France. Moreover in Portugal the

English army, with an excellent harbour at Lisbon through which to draw

its supplies and reinforcements, was on the flank of Spain. This was

clearly the position most favourable[64] for dealing effective blows at

the French power in Spain, taken as a whole.

On these facts, added to the necessity of sparing his men to the

utmost, for the English government could not supply large numbers,

and by no means realised the importance of their opportunity,

Wellington[65] based his general plan. He was convinced, as his

Correspondence shows, that sooner or later the nations of Europe would

combine to overthrow Napoleon's domination, and that meanwhile to

keep alive resistance in the Peninsula would be a steady drain on his

resources and would set an example to other nations. Hence his first

object was to hold his ground in Portugal; his second was to trouble

the French hold on Spain when opportunity offered. Finally he hoped,

when pressure elsewhere compelled Napoleon to weaken his Spanish

armies, to drive them altogether from the Peninsula. Thus the first,

and by far the longest, portion of the war is defensive, the battles

being only fought when a paramount object is to be gained; the latter

portion is offensive.

Wellington landed in Portugal on April 22, 1809. Promptly marching

northwards, he forced the passage of the Douro at Oporto with a cool

audacity difficult to surpass, and drove Soult into the mountains

with the loss of his artillery. Then returning to Lisbon he planned

the defensive works which were to protect him whenever, as was sure

to happen, the French pressed him with overwhelming strength. The map

shows that Lisbon stands at the end of a broad tongue of land between

the estuary of the Tagus and the sea. The city itself was not beyond

the range of guns on the opposite shore; but ships could be trusted in

case of need to keep at bay any enemy who might come dangerously near

in this quarter. Across the tongue of land, some twenty-five miles

north of Lisbon, a system of forts was constructed, taking advantage

of the heights of Torres Vedras, and other inequalities of the ground.

Another line, stronger both in form and armament, was drawn ten miles

nearer Lisbon; thus even behind the inner line there was ample room for

an army.

Having ordered these works, Wellington concerted measures with the

Spanish Junta for an advance into Spain. The plan agreed on was that

Wellington in combination with Cuesta, who commanded the largest

Spanish army, should move towards Madrid up the valley of the Tagus,

while Venegas, with another Spanish army, approached Madrid from the

south. He soon found out, by bitter experience, what the Spaniards

were worth. The supplies promised to his army were never forthcoming,

though the commissaries unblushingly asserted afterwards that the

English had had double rations all the time. Cuesta was alternately

foolhardy and timid, his men ready to yield to unmeaning panic; Venegas

was incredibly dilatory: no trustworthy information could be obtained

as to the French armies in the north. Marshal Victor, who faced the

allied armies, retired at first to a point where he could prevent

Venegas from joining Cuesta: then when he found that the English had

halted (Wellington had positively refused to advance any further

without supplies), and that Cuesta alone was following him, he turned

to fight. The Spanish advanced guard broke and fled, and the whole army

was soon in such a state of confusion and terror that Victor might

have dispersed it, had not the nearest English division (Sherbrooke's)

interposed. Wellington in vain urged Cuesta to retreat a few miles to

the position at Talavera which he had already selected: the old man

took a mulish delight in rejecting advice. When at dawn next morning

the French approached, and Sherbrooke began to retire, Cuesta yielded

to necessity, but solaced his insane pride by saying to his staff that

he had first made the Englishman go down on his knees. He yielded

however so completely as to take up the position Wellington assigned to

him, though during the retreat a large part of Cuesta's army fled in

wild panic on the near approach of some French horse.

The valley of the Tagus being but narrow, the allied armies were able

to cover the whole space between the river and the northern hills.

The Spanish troops had their right resting on the Tagus, close to the

little town of Talavera, and their front was covered by buildings,

ditches, and other obstacles, so that it could hardly be assailed.

The left of the Spaniards and right of the English was protected by a

large redoubt; from this the English divisions stretched across the

plain, their left on a little hill, separated by a deep and narrow bit

of valley from the boundary hills. Victor, coming up before evening,

saw that the hill on the English left was but slightly occupied (by

some mistake General Hill had not taken up his position), and tried

to seize it by a _coup de main_. The attack might have succeeded, had

not some of the French troops gone astray in the failing light and

intricate ground; it was not without some hard fighting that it was

repulsed. Another attempt was made early the next morning (July 28)

with an even worse result: for Wellington was led by it to strengthen

his left, and render any turning movement much more unpromising than

before. King Joseph, who was on the field in person, was advised by

his military tutor, Marshal Jourdan, to retreat. It was known to the

French, though not as yet to Wellington, that Soult's army from near

Salamanca would come into the valley of the Tagus behind the allies in

a very few days, and the English must either decamp promptly, or be cut

off from Portugal. Thus the game would be won without risk, whereas

a third attack on Wellington might well end like the others. Victor

however was urgent for a renewal of the battle, and Joseph foolishly

assented. During this interval the Spaniards were in great confusion,

and one of the few generals who were worth anything sent word to

Wellington that Cuesta was betraying him. The message was delivered to

the commander of an English brigade who conveyed it to Wellington. "The

latter, seated on the summit of the hill which had been so gallantly

contested, was intently watching the movements of the advancing enemy;

he listened to this somewhat startling message without so much as

turning his head, and then drily answering: 'Very well, you may return

to your brigade,' continued his survey of the French.[66]" Cuesta did

not in fact signify, though it required coolness as well as ability to

discern it at such a moment. The renewed French attack was directed

as before against the British half of the position, a single brigade

of cavalry being placed to watch the Spaniards. About two o'clock the

French advanced against the whole line, the great object being as

before to break or turn the left. Victor had sufficient advantage of

numbers over the English alone to engage them on about equal terms on

the right, and send a division to turn the left, while attacking with

some superiority of force the centre and left. The hill on the left

was as before the key of the position, but Victor, had his movements

succeeded, would have compelled its abandonment by easier means than

mere direct attack. The French left came on with great impetuosity,

but Campbell's division advancing in line to meet the columns drove

them back with severe loss, and then resumed its position, while the

artillery played on the French, and prevented their renewing the

attack. In the centre things followed at first much the same course:

but there the English guards in repulsing the assault followed up their

enemies too far, and were driven back, the French being able to bring

overwhelming artillery fire to bear on them; the German legion which

formed the rest of Sherbrooke's division was also shaken. The centre

seemed broken; but Wellington had drawn down the 48th from the hill on

the left. With his usual tactical insight he had seen that the hill

would be of no use if he were beaten in the centre; the left must for

the moment take care of itself. As on the right, the line showed its

superiority over column: after wheeling back to let the retiring crowds

pass, the 48th resumed its advance, and pushing the victorious French

back, gave time and space for the guards and the Germans to rally,

which they quickly did.

Before this, there had occurred on the left one of those heroic feats

which military theorists truly say are contrary to all rules of

tactics, but which experience shows to be high above rules. On seeing

the French division making its way through the narrow valley to his

left, Wellington ordered Anson's cavalry brigade to charge them. As

they neared the French, who formed squares, they suddenly came on

a slight but steep-sided ravine. The veteran colonel of the German

hussars stopped short, as he had a perfect right to do, exclaiming,

"I will not kill my young men;" but the 23rd light dragoons plunged

headlong into the ravine, scrambled up the opposite bank, naturally

in great confusion, rallied, dashed between the French squares, and

fell furiously on a cavalry regiment in rear. More enemies coming up

when they were overmatched already, the 23rd was utterly broken, and

only half their number escaped to the protection of their own lines.

The advance of the French was however stopped: after this experience

they had no mind to press forward into the plain where masses of fresh

cavalry stood in reserve; and the repulse of the centre taking place

just afterwards, the whole French army returned, foiled but by no means

routed, to their original position. Had the Spaniards been trustworthy,

Wellington might even yet have won a great victory; but then had they

been so, there would have been no battle of Talavera at all. The

Spanish troops engaged amounted to three or four regiments and a few

guns. The rest did no more for Wellington than what a natural obstacle

might have done, in preventing his right flank being turned. In nominal

force the advantage was with the allies, who gained also by standing on

the defensive, the numbers being under 50,000 French, against at least

54,000, though the French had great superiority in cavalry; but then

34,000 of these were Spanish. The losses on both sides were severe,

Wellington losing over 6000 killed and wounded, the French a thousand

more.[67]

The day after the battle, when the French were retreating and

Wellington was not attempting to pursue them, he was joined by

Craufurd's brigade, consisting of the 43rd, 52nd, and 95th. These

troops, halting on their way to join the army, were met by crowds

of the Spanish fugitives of the 27th, telling the wildest tales of

disaster. Craufurd was then fully four ordinary days' march from

Talavera, but he resolved not to halt again, and "in 26 hours they

crossed the field of battle in a close and compact body, having in the

time passed over 62 English miles, and in the hottest season of the

year, each man carrying from 50 to 60 pounds weight upon his shoulders."

Wellington had not yet fully learned what the Spaniards were good for.

Not content with putting every obstacle in the way of the English

obtaining provisions in Talavera, and accommodation for the wounded, of

which Cuesta had hardly any himself, the Spanish general obstinately

refused till too late to take any steps to observe and delay Soult's

approach, of which the allies had now somewhat vague information.

Wellington, who could on no account allow his retreat on Lisbon to

be cut off, was obliged to move himself towards Soult, and left his

wounded in care of Cuesta, whose line of retreat being to the south was

not endangered, and who solemnly promised to provide transport for all

who could be moved. Wellington soon found that Soult's force had been

much underrated, and that he must retire towards Portugal, whereupon

Cuesta abandoned the English wounded, all of whom, except those who

died of neglect and starvation, fell into the hands of the French. It

is no wonder that after his experience of Cuesta, Wellington steadily

refused to combine operations with any Spanish general.

The campaign of Talavera may in some sense be called a failure; it

was too soon to attempt to shake the French hold on Spain, though

Wellington may be excused for the mistake. The magnificent defence

of Saragossa had created a great sensation; there was no doubt

Spaniards could fight. No one could have imagined the ignorance and the

irrational pride of their commanders, or the amazing assurance with

which government and generals alike gave elaborate undertakings which

they never meant to fulfil. At the same time the slaughter of Talavera

was not wasted: the victory gave the English cabinet, and still more

the nation, confidence alike in their general and in his troops.

Talavera was the first distinct defeat sustained by a French army of

any size since Napoleon had appeared on the scene.[68] Wellington had

two long years of severe struggle before the tide began to flow in his

favour, contending at once with the far superior strength of the French

and with half-heartedness at home; it may be doubted whether, without

Talavera to his credit, he would have successfully overcome these

difficulties.

In 1810 Napoleon gave the chief command to Massena, the ablest of his

marshals with one possible exception, the only one who had gained

distinction at the head of an independent army. Massena's instructions

were, in one of Napoleon's pet phrases, to drive the English into

the sea, and the emperor, who could estimate no forces that could

not be expressed in battalions, had every reason to expect that he

would achieve his task. Wellington's scheme of defence was based on

the geographical conditions. Three important rivers flow out of Spain

across Portugal into the Atlantic. Where the Guadiana crosses the

frontier stands the great fortress of Badajos on the Spanish side,

faced by Elvas on the Portuguese. As both were at this time in the

hands of the allies (Elvas indeed remained so throughout) they formed a

serious obstacle to an attack on Portugal from this direction. Moreover

it was obviously absurd for Massena to base his attack on the south,

lengthening his communications by hundreds of miles: all that was

possible was a subsidiary attack from the French army in Andalusia,

already fully occupied with the hopeless siege of Cadiz. The Tagus

valley is narrow, and barren of supplies, and almost as circuitous a

route from France as the Guadiana. North of the Tagus, the Sierra de

Estrella, which is a sort of continuation of the Sierra de Guadarrama,

though at an angle to it, lies behind the frontier between Spain and

Portugal. The roads across it into the Tagus basin were few and bad,

and Wellington took care to render them worse. Thus the only route that

needed serious defence was the northern one by the broad valley of the

Douro, the natural and obvious course for an invader based on France,

the easiest for an army, though not the shortest, between Lisbon and

Madrid. Here also two fortresses faced each other across the frontier,

Ciudad Rodrigo in Spain on the Agueda, Almeida in Portugal on the Coa,

both rivers tributaries to the Douro. Strong as Massena was, he could

not spare troops effectually to blockade these, and yet have sufficient

superiority to drive Wellington before him. As a necessary preliminary

therefore the two fortresses must be taken. Wellington took up his

position near the frontier, so as to harass[69] Massena wherever it was

possible without fighting a battle, and waited. Ciudad Rodrigo, weakly

garrisoned by Spaniards, cost Massena forty days; the commandant, who

did his best manfully, was naturally loud in his appeals for help, but

Wellington turned a deaf ear. It would have been quixotic to fight a

great battle against heavy odds to save a small garrison; as well might

a chess-player sacrifice his queen to save a pawn. The turn of Almeida

followed, though in consequence of an accidental explosion the siege

did not last long. The way was now open for Massena to invade Portugal,

though, thanks to Ciudad Rodrigo and to Craufurd, September had been

reached. He resolved, as Wellington had hoped, to follow the course of

the Mondego.

Sixteen months had now elapsed since Wellington assumed the command.

During that time the lines of Torres Vedras had been completed, though

no outsiders seem to have understood them, and the Portugese troops,

largely officered by Englishmen, had been gradually organised and

disciplined. Moreover Wellington had obtained from the Portuguese

government authority to order the withdrawal of the inhabitants, and

the destruction of mills, barns, everything that could aid the invader.

This policy, though not effectually carried out, caused serious

difficulty to Massena, and striking the imagination of the Czar of

Russia, furnished the model for the defence of that country against

Napoleon in 1812. Before the superior force of the French, Wellington

had no choice but to retreat, as he had always intended to do: but the

Portuguese government, a prey at this time to absurd faction, raised a

violent clamour, obstructed his measures for clearing the country, and

inspired a general panic among the inhabitants of Lisbon, including

even the English civilians. Wellington found it necessary to risk a

battle, against his military judgment, in order to prove how irrational

was the panic dread of the French, in order also to gain a little more

time for clearing the country in front of the lines of Torres Vedras.

Fortunately Massena, who was very badly informed, played into his

hands: instead of making his way across towards the coast, into the

great road from Oporto to Lisbon, he took the direct but very bad road

down the Mondego, which, besides other disadvantages, gave his opponent

the chance of turning to bay in a most formidable position. Not only

so, he did not press his advance, and so allowed time for Wellington

to draw to him the English divisions which had been left to guard the

Tagus until it was certain that the French were not coming that way.

The position of Busaco, somewhat too large even for the whole army,

would not have been tenable without these troops. It is a mountain

ridge, one end abutting on the Mondego, the other joining high, more

difficult mountains, with a road running along its crest, and its

northern face falling very steeply into a deep ravine, whence an

equally steep ascent led up to lower uneven ground over which the

French line of approach lay. Moreover projecting masses afforded

positions for artillery to sweep a great part of the face. Nothing but

infantry could obviously be used to assail such a position. Marshal

Ney, who was with the French advanced guard, perceived that it was

only partially occupied, and would have attacked at once; but Massena

was ten miles in rear, and refused his consent. Two days later all

Wellington's divisions had joined him; the peculiarities of the ground

had been made the most of, and it was too late. On September 27 the

French came on in two great columns with their usual dash and rapidity.

The left column, directed a little to the right of the English centre,

for a time succeeded in breaking a gap in the English line, till Hill's

division, hastening along the ridge from the right (it was in this

quarter that the excessive length of the position had caused part to

be unoccupied), drove them down again. The other attack, much further

towards the English left, had a still more disastrous fate. Craufurd,

taking advantage of a hollow on the face of the slope, had drawn up two

regiments in line, out of sight of the ascending French, which, as the

head of the enemy's column reached the edge of the hollow, suddenly

advanced and hurled them back with terrible slaughter. A similar fate

befell the smaller and less serious efforts made by the assailants: the

attack was doomed to certain failure, if only the defending army stood

steady. How disastrous was the repulse may be estimated from the fact

that while Wellington lost about 1300 men, Massena lost considerably

over three times that number. One advantage Wellington gained from

the battle: his Portuguese troops had been given their fair share of

the fighting, and learned by the victory that they need not regard the

French as their superiors.

Busaco is an instructive battle in more ways than one. From

Wellington's side it is an instance of a political battle, as Napier

calls it, of political motives, not military ones, determining a

general's action. On Massena's side it illustrates the important lesson

that faulty information may easily be ruinous. Not only had he taken

the wrong route, believing it to be the best; he also engaged under

the impression that the only other alternative was a retreat nearly to

Almeida, whereas all the time there was a road over the mountains to

his right, which would have enabled him to turn Busaco. On the night of

the battle he found this out, and masking the movement next day with

a skirmishing attack on the position, he threw his whole army into

this narrow cross-road. Had the English general been less hampered

by the political conditions, he might well have made Massena rue his

audacity in trying so proverbially dangerous a thing as a flank march

in presence of the enemy. As it was he felt bound simply to resume

his retreat, of which, once in the open country, there could be no

cessation, until the lines of Torres Vedras were reached. Massena had

never even heard of the lines till a short time before he came in sight

of them; it is strange that so little was known about them, seeing that

no such elaborate works had been constructed in Europe since the days

when the Romans, in the decline of the empire, built their great walls

in Northumberland and elsewhere to keep out the barbarians. Massena

reconnoitred them from end to end, in the hope of finding a weak spot;

but the more he looked at them, the more hopeless the prospect of an

assault appeared, for every day in fact added to their strength. After

a month he withdrew to Santarem, high up the Tagus, where subsistence

was procurable, and there remained all the winter. Wellington was far

too severely hampered by politics to attack him. The Portuguese nation

was as a whole sound in its patriotism, and the troops only wanted to

be taught; but the politicians were selfish, narrow-minded and factious

to an incredible extent, and Wellington found it harder to master the

politicians than to stop Massena. Moreover the English government was

all this time in a state of perplexity and weakness,[70] and gave the

army in Portugal nothing which could on any pretence be withheld.

Thus March arrived before reinforcements reached Wellington; and then

Massena, whose army was greatly diminished through sickness, began

his retreat, despairing of reinforcements reaching him in time, or of

any effective diversion being caused by the French army of Andalusia.

Massena's retreat was conducted with great skill, and it was not till

he was nearing Almeida that the pursuing army was able to gain any

great advantage over him. Wellington was in truth at the beginning

anxious to relieve Badajos, which Soult was besieging with an army

from Andalusia, and which was at first gallantly defended by the

Spanish garrison. But the commandant having been killed, his successor,

traitor or coward, instantly surrendered. The disaster having happened,

Wellington followed up Massena more vigorously, and when he had pushed

him far enough, detached Beresford with a considerable English force

to combine with the Spaniards, and attempt to recover Badajos. He

himself pressed Massena back to Ciudad Rodrigo, and blockaded Almeida,

accepting battle rather than abandon the prey which had nearly fallen

into his hands. The battle of Fuentes d'Onoro, fought on May 5, 1811,

was not particularly creditable to either of the rival generals.

Tactically it was a drawn battle, strategically it was a distinct

victory for Wellington; for Massena, probably piqued at hearing of his

supercession by Marmont, retired after the action, leaving Almeida to

its fate. The commandant however was equal to the occasion; blowing

up the works as completely as he could, he led the garrison out, and

with a mixture of skill and good fortune made his way in safety through

the besieging lines. Almeida was of no immediate use, but it remained

in Wellington's hands, something at least of a barrier against a fresh

invasion of Portugal.

Meanwhile Beresford had commenced on the very day of the battle of

Fuentes d'Onoro a so-called siege of Badajos. He had no proper siege

train, and must have failed in any case: but within a week Soult was

approaching, and the attempt had to be abandoned. Beresford very

unwisely yielded to the eagerness of his own troops and the wish of

the Spanish generals, and agreed to accept battle—very unwisely, for

nothing could be gained, and much might be lost. Even victory would be

contrary to Wellington's principle of not expending a British soldier

unless for an adequate end. It is true that he had 30,000 infantry,

while Soult had only 19,000; but a very large majority of these were

Spanish troops, nearly starved and miserably led: on the other hand

Soult was superior in guns, and had double the number of cavalry.

Moreover Beresford mismanaged his position. He occupied a line of high

ground with the fordable stream of the Albuera in front of it. As the

road which formed his line of retreat led away in rear of his left

centre, he perhaps naturally placed his English and Portuguese on the

left, leaving the Spanish general Blake, over whom he had no authority,

to occupy the centre and right, which was posted on the famous hill

for which the battle of Albuera will ever be remembered. So far he had

perhaps done wisely, but he neglected to occupy a detached hill on the

other side of the stream opposite his right; and behind this hill Soult

was able to mass his troops unobserved. The battle (May 16, 1811) began

as Beresford expected, with an attack on the bridge and village of

Albuera in front of his left; but this was only a feint. Simultaneously

more than half the French army moved out from under cover of the hill

that Beresford had ignored, and were soon in line across his right

flank. Blake refused to believe the evidence of his senses until too

late; the Spaniards were only beginning to form a new front to the

right when the French were upon them. Naturally they were thrown into

confusion. Stewart coming up with a British division to their support

was in so great a hurry that he did not form line until he reached the

summit level of the hill. A mass of French cavalry, their approach

unseen in the obscurity of a heavy storm, charged the leading brigade

as it was forming, and nearly destroyed it. Fortunately the same

darkness concealed this blow from Soult, and the rest of the division

had time to reach the hill and renew the fight; part of the Spanish

troops also were brought into action. Both sides fought desperately,

but the line formation of the English gave them some little advantage

over the close columns of the French. Beresford for a moment wavered,

but recovered himself, and acquiesced in the order already given in his

name, to bring up practically the last reserves to sustain the conflict

on the hill. The chief stress fell on the fusileer brigade, consisting

of the 7th and 23rd regiments under General Myers, and led into action

by General Cole commanding the division, which mounted the hill just in

the nick of time.

"At this time six guns were in the enemy's possession, the whole of

Werlé's reserves were coming forward to reinforce the front column of

the French, the remnant of Houghton's brigade could no longer maintain

its ground, the field was heaped with carcases, the lancers were riding

furiously about the captured artillery on the upper parts of the

hill, and behind all, Hamilton's Portuguese and Alten's Germans, now

withdrawing from the bridge, seemed to be in full retreat. Soon however

Cole's fusileers, flanked by a battalion of the Lusitanian legion under

Colonel Hawkshawe, mounted the hill, drove off the lancers, recovered

five of the captured guns and one colour, and appeared on the right of

Houghton's brigade precisely as Abercrombie passed it on the left.

"Such a gallant line, issuing from the midst of the smoke and rapidly

separating itself from the confused and broken multitude, startled the

enemy's heavy masses, which were increasing and pressing onwards as to

an assured victory: they wavered, hesitated, and then vomiting forth

a storm of fire, hastily endeavoured to enlarge their front, while a

fearful discharge of grape from all their artillery whistled through

the British ranks. Myers was killed, Cole, the three colonels, Ellis,

Blakeney, and Hawkshawe, fell wounded, and the fusileer battalions,

struck by the iron tempest, reeled and staggered like sinking ships.

But suddenly and sternly recovering they closed on their terrible

enemies: and then was seen with what a strength and majesty the British

soldier fights. In vain did Soult with voice and gesture animate his

Frenchmen; in vain did the hardiest veterans break from the crowded

columns and sacrifice their lives to gain time for the mass to open

out on such a fair field; in vain did the mass itself bear up, and

fiercely striving, fire indiscriminately upon friends and foes, while

the horsemen hovering on the flank threatened to charge the advancing

line. Nothing could stop that astonishing infantry. No sudden burst

of undisciplined valour, no nervous enthusiasm weakened the stability

of their order, their flashing eyes were bent on the dark columns in

their front, their measured tread shook the ground, their dreadful

volleys swept away the head of every formation, their deafening shouts

overpowered the dissonant cries that broke from all parts of the

tumultuous crowd, as slowly and with a horrid carnage it was pushed by

the incessant vigour of the attack to the farthest edge of the height.

There the French reserves mixed with the struggling multitude and

endeavoured to sustain the fight, but the effort only increased the

irremediable confusion, the mighty mass gave way and like a loosened

cliff went headlong down the steep: the rain flowed after in streams

discoloured with blood, and eighteen hundred unwounded men, the remnant

of six thousand unconquerable British soldiers, stood triumphant on the

fatal hill."

Soult was defeated: he had lost a third of his army, and did not see

his way to renew the conflict, though his still formidable cavalry

and artillery would have enabled him to do so with good prospects.

Beresford deserves credit for holding his ground boldly, though he was

well aware that his crippled army was incapable of fighting again: to

retreat was to render inevitable the destruction which a confident

attitude might and did avert.

Wellington, relieved from any further anxiety in the north, came to

Beresford's support. During the rest of the year he continued his

system of remaining practically on the defensive, while giving the

French as much annoyance as possible. He attempted a fresh siege of

Badajos, which had the effect of bringing Marmont down from the Douro

basin, and Soult back from Andalusia. Then retiring to a position to

cover Elvas he awaited attack, which the French marshals, hampered by

various difficulties, declined to make. Later in the year he blockaded

Ciudad Rodrigo, compelling the French armies to concentrate for its

support, and again retiring before superior force. His political

difficulties, strictly so called, were as great as ever, perhaps

greater: for the Portuguese authorities took advantage of his successes

to assume that the war was over and that the British army might be got

rid of, and the home government supported him but feebly. But his army

was more and more inured to war, and his Portuguese well worthy to

stand in line with the English. Moreover Napoleon was already beginning

to withdraw troops from Spain for the huge army he was organising

against Russia. It was practically certain, when 1811 closed, that 1812

would see Napoleon engaged in a gigantic contest with Russia. The day

for which Wellington had been waiting patiently was beginning to dawn.

CHAPTER XIII

THE PENINSULA

PART II.—OFFENSIVE

During the year 1811 the French arms made considerable progress on the

east side of Spain: this did not however give them any real additional

advantage as against Wellington. They had more fortresses to garrison,

more territory to occupy, and the Spanish armies went on causing much

the same trouble to them as before. Moreover Napoleon's system of

giving the various generals independent spheres of action, with no

common control except his own, worked in Wellington's favour. If he

made a threatening movement against Marmont, who commanded what was

called the army of Portugal, occupying the basin of the upper Douro,

or against Soult in Andalusia, neither marshal could order the other

to assist him by a diversion. There was an obvious difference between

combined action ordered by a chief who controlled the whole, and

co-operation arranged between equals who had each his own separate ends

in view. Napoleon should either have come to Spain in person—he was

too far off in point of time to direct from Paris—or have given one

marshal[71] command throughout the country. When towards the end of

1811 Wellington judged that the time was come for operations no longer

merely defensive in purpose, he formed his plans to take advantage of

this want of union among his enemies.

It has been pointed out that the ways into Spain from Portugal are

practically three: but the central one by the valley of the Tagus

being ill suited for the movements of armies, there are but two

really advantageous. That by the basin of the Douro is guarded at

the frontier by two fortresses, Almeida and Ciudad Rodrigo; that by

the Guadiana is guarded by Elvas and Badajos. Without possession of

the pair of fortresses commanding one route or the other, invasion

is scarcely feasible: with both pairs in his hands Wellington could

choose, and he already held both Almeida and Elvas. Accordingly he

resolved during the winter season, when the French would have serious

difficulty in moving, to besiege first one and then the other of the

Spanish border fortresses. He began with Ciudad Rodrigo, partly because

it was the easier task to prepare for, as he had a battering-train in

Almeida of which the French knew nothing (the guns were supposed to

have been brought there to arm the fortress), partly because he then

purposed to move against Soult if he succeeded in capturing Badajos.

The preparations for the siege were very quietly made in Almeida, and

on January 8, 1812, the first British troops appeared before Ciudad

Rodrigo. That very evening a detached fort to the north of the town

was suddenly stormed, which enabled the trenches to be begun much

nearer to the walls than could otherwise have been done. Wellington

had calculated that he should require twenty-four days, but the

uncertainties were great, for besides the prospect of Marmont coming to

its relief, there was always the risk that heavy rain might raise the

river Agueda in flood prematurely, which would have stopped the siege

by intercepting communication across it. On the 19th the walls were

sufficiently breached to make storming them possible, though according

to the ordinary rules of siege warfare much remained to be done before

an assault was made. Wellington however knew as well how and when to

make a sacrifice in order to attain an adequate object, as how to

spare his men: he issued orders for the assault to take place that

night, ending with the emphatic words: "Ciudad Rodrigo must be stormed

this evening." There were two breaches near together on the north

face of the fortress, both of which were directly assailed, besides

minor attacks on other points. The fighting at the main breach was

desperate, for the French were well prepared: possibly the attack there

might not have succeeded, but the conflict was ended by the success of

the light division at the smaller breach.

"The bottom of the ditch was dark and intricate, and the forlorn hope

took too much to their left; but the storming party went straight to

the breach, which was so contracted that a gun placed lengthwise across

the top nearly blocked up the opening. Here the forlorn hope rejoined

the stormers, but when two-thirds of the ascent were gained, the

leading men, crushed together by the narrowness of the place, staggered

under the weight of the enemy's fire; and such is the instinct of

self-defence, that although no man had been allowed to load, every

musket in the crowd was snapped. The commander, Major Napier, was at

this moment stricken to the earth by a grape-shot which shattered

his arm, but he called on his men to trust to their bayonets, and

all the officers simultaneously sprang to the front, when the charge

was renewed with a furious shout, and the entrance was gained. The

supporting regiments, coming up in sections abreast, then reached the

rampart, the 52nd wheeled to the left, the 43rd to the right, and the

place was won."

The loss of life was great, the English having nearly as many killed

and wounded as the whole garrison: General Craufurd, the brilliant

commander of the light division, was killed. The officer who led the

forlorn hope at the lesser breach was the man to whom the governor of

Ciudad Rodrigo surrendered, an incident probably unique in the annals

of siege warfare. The advantage gained, which was attainable in no

other way, was well worth the cost. It was henceforth impossible for

Marmont seriously to invade the north-east of Portugal: and the capture

in Ciudad Rodrigo of Marmont's battering-train made it certain that he

would not even try.

Wellington's calculations were nicely adapted to the season of the

year, as well as to the other conditions. He felt sure that in the

rains of February and March, with all the rivers in flood, Marmont

could not practically move at all, and that therefore he might be

watched by a very small force, while he himself went south to continue

the scheme he had formed. Elvas served, as Almeida had done, for a

convenient place to make siege preparations within a short distance

of Badajos, and on March 16 the famous siege was begun, ten days at

least later than Wellington had intended, through the default of the

Portuguese in providing transport. This was a much more serious task

than the capture of Ciudad Rodrigo, the garrison being three times as

large, the defences stronger, and the governor, Phillipon, a man of

great energy and fertility of resource. Two of Soult's divisions were

near at hand; but Wellington, having decided that he might practically

ignore Marmont, had plenty of men to spare for covering the siege, at

least until Soult should approach with his whole army. He had also

arranged, so far as it was possible to arrange anything with the

Spanish armies, that one of them should be in a position to march on

Seville if Soult denuded Andalusia too completely of troops.

Badajos is situated on the south bank of the Guadiana, with a strong

fort on the north bank. The castle was at the north-east corner of the

town, close to the river: along the east face a rivulet flowing into

the Guadiana had been artificially extended into a complete defence

for nearly half the length. A small outwork covered the northern end

of this piece of water, and outside its southern end, on an isolated

hill, stood a work called the Picurina. The plan was to breach, at

the south-eastern corner of the town, the two great bastions known

as the Trinidad and the Sta. Maria, and the curtain uniting them. In

order that this might be done effectually, the Picurina must first be

taken, and after the siege works had made sufficient progress, on the

night of March 25, this work was stormed, and batteries constructed on

its ruins. As the siege progressed, Soult drew near, and arrangements

were actually made for leaving two divisions to hold the trenches,

and marching with the rest of the army to give him battle. On April 6

however the breaches were reported practicable, Soult being still some

way off; Badajos could therefore be assaulted with adequate force.

Three separate attacks were arranged, besides minor ones merely to

distract attention, all to begin at ten p.m. The third division,

Picton's, was to cross the rivulet on the east side and scale the

castle walls; the fifth was to attack the west face of the town; to the

fourth and light divisions was assigned the frightful task of storming

the breaches. A fireball thrown by the French however disclosed to them

the third division ready formed and awaiting the signal: the assault

was consequently begun half-an-hour sooner on the east and south-east,

and the perfect concert with the other distant attacks was lost. After

one failure, the third division succeeded in scaling the castle and

driving the French out of it, but were unable for some time to advance

any further. The assault on the breaches was one of the most terrible

scenes on record. Nothing could exceed the determination of the

stormers, but the French had made preparations for defence which were

simply insuperable.

"Now a multitude bounded up the great breach as if driven by a

whirlwind, but across the top glittered a range of sword-blades,

sharp-pointed, keen-edged on both sides, and firmly fixed in ponderous

beams, which were chained together and set deep in the ruins; and for

ten feet in front, the ascent was covered with loose planks, studded

with sharp iron points, on which the feet of the foremost being set the

planks moved, and the unhappy soldiers, falling forward on the spikes,

rolled down upon the ranks behind. Then the Frenchmen, shouting at the

success of their stratagem, and leaping forward, plied their shot with

terrible rapidity, for every man had several muskets; and each musket

in addition to its ordinary charge contained a small cylinder of wood

stuck full of leaden slugs which scattered like hail when they were

discharged.

"Again the assailants rushed up the breaches, and again the

sword-blades, immovable and impassable, stopped their charge, and the

hissing shells and thundering powder-barrels exploded unceasingly.

Hundreds of men had fallen, and hundreds more were dropping, but still

the heroic officers called aloud for new trials, and sometimes followed

by many, sometimes by a few, ascended the ruins; and so furious were

the men themselves, that in one of these charges, the rear strove to

push the foremost on to the sword-blades, willing even to make a bridge

of their writhing bodies, but the others frustrated the attempt by

dropping down; and men fell so fast from the shot, that it was hard to

know who went down voluntarily, who were stricken, and many stooped

unhurt that never rose again. Vain also would it have been to break

through the sword-blades, for the trench and parapet behind the breach

were finished, and the assailants, crowded into even a narrower space

than the ditch was, would still have been separated from their enemies,

and the slaughter would have continued.

"Two hours spent in these vain efforts convinced the soldiers that

the breach of the Trinidad was impregnable; and as the opening in the

curtain, although less strong, was retired, and the approach to it

impeded by deep holes, and cuts made in the ditch, the troops did not

much notice it after the partial failure of one attack which had been

made early. Gathering in dark groups and leaning on their muskets, they

looked up with sullen desperation at the Trinidad, while the enemy

stepping out on the ramparts, and aiming their shots by the light of

the fire-balls which they threw over, asked, as their victims fell,

'_Why they did not come into Badajos?_'"

Meanwhile the attack on the west face of the town had succeeded, after

one or two attempts, and soldiers of the fifth division were making

their way into the empty streets. Wellington, ignorant of this, and

perceiving no movement from the castle, the capture of which had been

reported to him, ordered the assailants of the breaches to withdraw and

re-form for a fresh attack. This however was not necessary: the French,

taken in flank both from the castle and from the west, abandoned the

defence. The relics of the garrison which had withdrawn to the outlying

fort north of the Guadiana surrendered next morning. Over the frightful

expenditure of life in this storm, and over the horrors of the sack of

Badajos, it is better to draw a veil. Wellington's Peninsular veterans

were capable of any deeds of desperate courage, or of steady endurance,

but they were also capable of great atrocities on the rare occasions

when their officers lost control over them.

The Spaniards, to whom Ciudad Rodrigo had been handed over, had so

grossly neglected the duty of repairing the fortifications, and the

Portuguese government was so dilatory, to use no stronger word, in

supplying all four fortresses, that Wellington's plan for invading

Andalusia, to fight Soult there, was necessarily abandoned. The

defensive side of his duty was obviously the essential one. Still

he had it now in his power to choose his own route and his own time

for entrance into Spain: and he utilised the interval to render the

communications of the French circuitous and difficult. Soult's bridge

train having been captured in Badajos, a stroke of good fortune which

matched the capture of Marmont's siege train in Ciudad Rodrigo, they

could only cross the Tagus at permanent bridges. The lowest bridge

on the Tagus, a boat bridge protected by three small forts, was at

Almaraz; and General Hill by a brilliant dash seized the forts and

destroyed the bridge. Almost simultaneously the bridge over the Tagus

at Alcantara, down in Portugal, was skilfully repaired. The combined

result of the two operations was to make the communication between

Hill, who was left to watch the Guadiana, and Wellington when he moved

to the Douro region, a fortnight shorter than the distance between

Marmont and Soult's northernmost division.

[Illustration:

_Map XIV._

Battle of Salamanca.

22^{nd} July 1812]

On June 13, the spring rains being over, Wellington, having

concentrated his immediate army near Ciudad Rodrigo, marched on

Salamanca. His motives for deciding to operate against Marmont rather

than in Andalusia seem to have been various, some embracing the whole

area of the Peninsula, one at least the practical consideration that

his supplies, brought by water up the Douro, could more quickly

and easily be conveyed to the army. He had no intention of running

serious risks, or of fighting a great battle unless he could do so

under favourable conditions. If successful, he could greatly shake

the French hold on Spain: if he found Marmont too strong, his retreat

into Portugal was insured by possession of the fortresses. Marmont

retired at once, leaving garrisons in the forts round Salamanca. These

forts offered unexpectedly long resistance, and Wellington, encamped

on the high ground north-east of the city, did not think it prudent

to risk a battle until they were in his hands, though Marmont's

somewhat rash manœuvres, undertaken in the hope of saving them,

gave him more than one opportunity. On the 27th the forts fell, and

Marmont, having no longer any motive for lingering near Salamanca, and

expecting reinforcements from the north, promptly retreated behind

the Douro. Wellington followed, but could not pass the river, of

which the enemy held or had destroyed the bridges, except by deep and

dangerous fords. He could only wait for his antagonist to make the

next move, which soon came. On receiving his reinforcements, Marmont

re-crossed the Douro, and a series of complicated movements ensued, in

which Marmont out-manœuvred Wellington, compelling him to retire on

Salamanca again, and seizing passages over the river Tormes above the

city. That river, after flowing northwards for some distance, makes a

great bend to the westward from a point about east of Salamanca, and

then after passing the town, which is on its right bank, flows away

north-westwards into the Douro. It was in the space enclosed by this

curve of the Tormes, south-east from Salamanca, that the great battle

was fought. Marmont's purpose in crossing the river into this space

was to threaten the Ciudad Rodrigo road, and so compel Wellington to

retreat or lose his one line of communication. Wellington naturally

also crossed the Tormes by the fords near Salamanca: being aware that

further reinforcements, especially of cavalry, in which Marmont was

relatively deficient, would arrive in a day or so, he had made up his

mind to retreat at night unless something unexpected should happen. And

the unexpected did happen: Marmont, who had hitherto carried off the

honours of the campaign so far as manœuvring went, for there had

been no important fighting, suddenly committed a gross tactical blunder.

Early on the morning of July 22, Wellington's army occupied a position

three or four miles from Salamanca, the left resting on the ford of

Santa Marta above the town, with Pakenham's division beyond the river,

and the right extending nearly to two small rugged hills, called the

Arapiles. Marmont, whose object was to turn the English right, and

so cut them off from the Ciudad Rodrigo road, and compel them to

fight with their backs to the Tormes, made a demonstration towards

Wellington's right front, driving in the cavalry occupying posts in

front, while the mass of the French army marched in a direction to

bring them across the flank of the English line. The possession of

the Arapiles would have enabled him to form line across Wellington's

flank unopposed, if not undiscovered: accordingly he sent forward a

detachment to seize them. A staff officer saw this movement beginning,

and informed Wellington, who hitherto had neglected the little hills,

apparently not expecting Marmont's movement. Just in time a Portuguese

regiment occupied the northernmost of the two Arapiles, but the French

could not be prevented from seizing the other. Marmont had thus secured

part of the advantage he aimed at, on the other hand Wellington was

now fully aware of his adversary's purpose. Accordingly he formed his

army on a new front facing southwards: what had been his right became

the left resting on the Arapiles hill, the main body massed on the

slopes behind the hill, while the right occupied the little village of

Arapiles. Pakenham's division, with its attendant brigade of cavalry,

was at the same time brought across the Tormes, and posted at Aldea

Tejada, two or three miles off, where it covered the Ciudad Rodrigo

road, and was completely out of sight of the French. Wellington had

thus gone far towards neutralising the advantage which he had allowed

Marmont to gain in turning his right: he held a strong position,

difficult to assail, and it was open to him to retreat under cover of

the darkness, though it would have been more than dangerous to do so in

the day-time.

Several hours passed away, for a great part of Marmont's army had

far to march before coming into position. The marshal at last grew

impatient, and in order to draw Wellington from his position, ordered

his left, Thomière's division of infantry with a quantity of cavalry

and guns, to move westwards so as to threaten the Ciudad Rodrigo road.

Marmont was of course totally ignorant that Pakenham's division was

ready to stop any such movement: but anyhow the mistake was flagrant,

as gross as the blunder of the allies at Austerlitz. Wellington

instantly poured his troops down from behind the Arapiles hill on to

the lower ground about the village of the same name, and formed in

two lines, the right flanked by cavalry. At the same time he ordered

Pakenham to advance against the line of march of the French left.

Marmont saw too late that he had been over hasty: the divisions which

were to form his centre were not yet on the ground. Wellington's

advance had brought him under a heavy fire from the enemy's artillery

ranged opposite him, and Marmont hoped that this might serve to check

the English until he could retrieve his mistake. It was too late:

suddenly he saw Pakenham's troops come into view and meet Thomière's

long column of march, while two English batteries took it in flank.

Marmont personally was spared further effort, for a shell struck him

down with a broken arm and other wounds as he descended from the

Arapiles. The fall of the commander increased the confusion, the

more so as the next in command was soon also wounded. The rout of

Thomière's division was soon complete, and its commander was killed.

Wellington had only waited for Pakenham to come well into action before

advancing in the centre, at the same time sending a brigade to assail

the Arapiles hill held by the French. The battle raged fiercely for

a short time along the front, where Clausel, on whom the command had

devolved, had now come up into line. The French left was to all intents

and purposes destroyed, partly by Pakenham, partly by a grand charge of

Le Marchant's cavalry, which dashed forward from the right of the main

body. The centre and right kept up the conflict for some time longer,

all the better because the English attack on the Arapiles had been

heavily repulsed. The battle however was lost, and Clausel had only to

retreat as best he could. This he managed with great skill, covering

his rear with clouds of skirmishers, until gradually his troops gained

the shelter of the forest from which they had emerged in the forenoon

with every prospect of victory. The oncoming darkness prevented direct

pursuit, but Wellington was little concerned at this, for he had pushed

forward on his left the divisions that had formed his reserve towards

the fords by which alone the French could cross the Tormes, assuming

that the castle of Alba de Tormes was held by the Spanish troops which

he had placed there. The Spanish commander had however evacuated the

place on Marmont's approach the previous day, and had carefully omitted

to inform Wellington. Hence the French were able to escape by Alba with

much less loss in prisoners than well might have been. The French loss

however was very serious: out of about 42,000 men nearly 12,000 were

killed, wounded, or taken prisoners. Wellington had to pay the heavy

price of 6000 men out of 46,000 for his victory; but by it he shook

the French hold on Spain in every corner of the country.

Though the defeated army was seriously disorganised beyond its heavy

losses, Clausel nevertheless tried to make a stand beyond the Douro, in

the expectation that king Joseph, with the small army at his immediate

disposal, would there join him. Joseph was distracted between many

counsels, and consequently did not act promptly. Wellington however

decided the question for him. Forcing Clausel from the Douro, he

entered Valladolid, seizing the French stores there. Then leaving a

small force to face Clausel, who had retreated towards Burgos, and who

could not be in a condition to resume offensive operations for some

time, Wellington turned upon Joseph, and easily drove him from Madrid.

The intruding king, after much hesitation, retired eastwards, and sent

positive orders to Soult to evacuate Andalusia and bring his army to

the east side of Spain. The occupation of Madrid by Wellington involved

the capture of a vast quantity of French material of war, which they

found it difficult to replace; but the moral effects were incomparably

greater, as an encouragement to the Spanish people. A great part of

the north was already in a state of insurrection, in spite of the

presence of French troops: this stroke stimulated them by the hope of

speedy success, besides setting the whole south free from the invaders.

Wellington was perfectly aware that his hold on Madrid could be but

temporary: as soon as Soult and Joseph were united, they would have

strength enough to compel him to retire. This could not however take

place immediately: so Wellington, leaving Hill at Madrid, marched

northwards, hoping to inflict another blow on Clausel's army, now

commanded by Souham, in the time at his disposal. At Burgos he allowed

himself to be drawn into a siege of the castle, which was bravely and

skilfully defended, and proved impregnable to field artillery, which

was all that Wellington had with him. The concentration of the enemy's

armies in the east rendered it impossible for him to maintain his

position much longer. Accordingly on October 21 he began for the last

time a retreat into Portugal, Hill also abandoning Madrid. The latter

part of the retreat had to be conducted in frightful weather, and was

marked by more disorder in the British army than occurred at any other

time during the war; thus the losses were severe, out of all proportion

to the pressure which the French were able to exercise.

Just at the time when Wellington turned his back on Burgos, Napoleon's

retreat from Moscow began. Before the end of the year he was driven

out of Russia, having lost nearly half-a-million of men: Prussia also,

hitherto his nominal ally, rose in arms against him. In order to

make head against Russia and Prussia on the Elbe, he had to withdraw

troops from Spain, besides directing to Germany reinforcements and

supplies which otherwise might have been devoted to the Spanish

armies. Hence when the campaign of 1813 began, Wellington had the

superiority of strength, though his enemies were now less widely

scattered than before the evacuation of Andalusia. There could be no

doubt that to invade Spain once more in the same general direction

as in 1812 would be the most effective. Even Sir John Moore's small

force, boldly plunging into Spain by that route at the end of 1808,

had made Napoleon fear for his line of communication with France, and

compelled him to detach overwhelming forces against the English. _A

fortiori_ Wellington, advancing by that line with an army equal to all

that king Joseph could bring together, must compel him to evacuate

Madrid, and retreat sufficiently far northwards to guard the main road

to France. Wellington knew by his experience of the last year that the

line of the Douro beyond Salamanca was difficult to force in the face

of a fairly equal enemy. He therefore resolved that a large portion

of his army should cross the Douro down in Portugal, and then move

eastwards, while he himself advanced _viâ_ Salamanca. The pressure of

his left wing would compel the French in his front to retire, for fear

of being completely outflanked. And here came in the advantage which

he derived from the English command of the sea. Instead of dragging

behind him an ever-lengthening chain, in the shape of communication

with Lisbon, which had hitherto been his base for supplies, he could,

if confident of having the upper hand in the north-west of Spain, have

his supplies brought to the northern ports, and conveyed thence by

comparatively short journeys. And he was confident, so thoroughly so

as to let it be seen; it is told that when he passed the frontier

into Spain, he rose in his stirrups, and looking round waved his

hand, exclaiming: "Farewell, Portugal!" During four weary years he

had stood substantially on the defensive, guarding the frontier if he

could, retreating if he could not, obliged to withdraw behind it after

incursions into Spain. Now at last his turn was come, and he knew it.

[Illustration:

_Map XV._

Battle of Vittoria.

21^{st} June 1813.]

Wellington's movements were at the beginning so far concealed that the

French did not penetrate his purpose. King Joseph did not understand

that the game was substantially lost, and hoped to concentrate the

French armies behind the Douro, and stop Wellington, if he could not

force him back to Portugal once more. Graham's divisions appearing

north of the Douro, and steadily pushing forwards, undeceived him.

The French retreated first to Burgos, protecting as long as possible

the vast amount of property of all kinds which was being poured along

the great high-road to Bayonne, from the reserve artillery to the

pictures robbed from Spanish churches and palaces, all the treasure and

apparatus of the usurping government and court, all the military stores

which had accumulated during five years of war, all the non-military

persons who had so identified themselves with the invaders that they

dared not stay in Spain. Wellington continued moving in the same

manner, pushing his left forward while with his right he followed up

the French, thus ever threatening to cut their communications, ever

securing the command of more and more of the north coast. King Joseph

found it necessary to retreat still further, till at Vittoria he had

to choose between abandoning Spain altogether, and risking a battle.

That he could have fought with at least equal chances of success two

or three times, at earlier stages of the retreat, seems clear: but

there was no sound directing head at the French head-quarters. Joseph

was always incompetent, his military adviser, Marshal Jourdan, was

either over-ruled or failed even less excusably because he had more

experience; the subordinate generals received vacillating orders. The

whole machine in fact was out of gear; though in the various combats,

large and small, generals and soldiers fought as well as ever, the army

as a whole expected to be beaten and was beaten.

The basin of Vittoria is about twelve miles in length, from the defile

of Salinas, where the river Zadorra enters it on the east, to the

defile of Puebla, where the river quits it to flow towards the Ebro.

The great royal road, the only one good enough for the enormous convoys

with which the French army was burdened, traversed these defiles,

running through the town of Vittoria on the south side of the river.

The basin is more or less completely surrounded with hills, crossed

by rough and difficult roads. To the west is the valley of the small

river Bayas, which converges towards the Zadorra, joining the Ebro just

above it. From the Bayas there is a way into the basin of Vittoria by

a gap in the hills behind the village of Subijana de Morillos, four or

five miles from the Puebla defile. A dozen miles higher up the Bayas

the road from Bilbao crosses that stream, and threading the defiles of

the northern hills comes down straight on Vittoria. The French, who

were in fact to fight for the plunder of Spain and the accumulated

material of the army, had been already weakened by large detachments

sent forward in charge of convoys. Outnumbered in fact, outweighed

still more in imagination, they were massed, except Reille's divisions,

at the western end of the basin, the plain behind them being full of

waggons of all descriptions. Reille was posted north of Vittoria,

facing the Bilbao road, so far from the rest of the army that he could

not possibly be supported if attacked by superior numbers, though it is

obvious that if Reille were overpowered the great road would be lost.

Nothing could better illustrate the extreme unwisdom of not standing

to fight earlier: defeat at Vittoria meant the loss of everything, and

the dispositions made invited defeat. Wellington fully realised his

advantage: he sent Graham with some 20,000 men up the Bayas, to cross

into the basin of Vittoria by the Bilbao road and attack Reille, while

the rest of the army attacked the main body of the French posted behind

the Zadorra at the west end of the basin.

At daybreak on June 21 Wellington's immediate right under Hill moved

forwards and slowly crossed the Zadorra just below the defile of

Puebla. There was no occasion for haste, rather it was expedient to

be leisurely, so as to give time for Graham to accomplish his much

longer march. Then a brigade of Spanish infantry was sent to scale the

heights which form the eastern side of the defile, and push along

them so as to threaten to turn the French left. The remainder of the

right wing passed through the defile and attacked the French left in

front. Meanwhile Wellington with his centre had made his way through

and over the hills separating the Bayas from the Zadorra, part by

the gap of Subijana de Morillos, so as to converge on Hill's force,

part some distance further to the northwards. By this time it was

one o'clock, and the distant sound of cannonading told that Graham

was already engaged. The French main army began to retreat, pressed

steadily in front by Wellington, till they were driven back to within

a mile of Vittoria. By this time Graham, who had considerably larger

forces than those immediately opposed to him, had obtained command of

the royal road. Carrying out on a small scale in action the same idea

which had inspired Wellington's movements on the large scale, he had

pushed forwards his left, winning possession of the village of Gamarra

Mayor on Reille's extreme right. The French here held their ground

with admirable tenacity, and Graham could seize neither the bridge

at Gamarra, nor that directly in his front by which the Bilbao road

enters Vittoria, though his guns could sweep the great road towards

France. Reille thus saved the French army from annihilation: if he had

been driven over the Zadorra a comparatively small part would have

been able to escape at all. Thanks to him, the bulk of the soldiers

were able to retire by the Pampeluna road; but it could scarcely be

called an army. The losses in the battle, or rather in the pair of

simultaneous battles, had not been exceptional, and had been tolerably

equal, about 6000 killed and wounded on each side; but nothing escaped

except the men. To quote the words of a French officer who took part in

the action: "They lost all their equipages, all their guns, all their

treasure, all their stores, all their papers, so that no man could

prove how much pay was due to him: generals and soldiers alike were

reduced to the clothes on their backs, and most of them were barefoot."

The deliverance of Spain was not yet complete, but it was virtually

achieved by the battle of Vittoria. Before Wellington could capture

San Sebastian, the fortress which guarded the Spanish side of the

frontier at the extreme south-west corner of France, Soult had been

sent by Napoleon to reorganise the disordered fragments of several

separate commands which had escaped from Vittoria. As soon as he could

move, Soult crossed the passes of the western Pyrenees, trying to break

up the scattered parts of the English army, which had to besiege San

Sebastian and Pampeluna, besides its other duties. Wellington was able

to concentrate just in time, and after some very complicated warfare in

the mountain country, involving serious losses on both sides, Soult was

driven back into France. Before the end of the year Wellington was in

France; he had stormed San Sebastian, converted the siege of Pampeluna

into a blockade, driven Soult successively across the two little rivers

beyond the frontier, and surrounded Bayonne. The fall of Napoleon

early in 1814 put an end to the war, not without two more battles,

in the latter of which Soult was driven from a very strong position

close to the city of Toulouse, while inflicting very great loss on his

assailants. Wellington had contributed largely to the overthrow of

Napoleon by his direct efforts, by his caution and foresight so long as

was necessary, by his daring at the right moment, by his skilful and

bold offensive strategy. How much he contributed indirectly, by keeping

up resistance to the universal conqueror in one corner of Europe, it

would be difficult to estimate.

[Illustration:

_Map XVI._

Campaigns of

Waterloo (1815) & Marlborough.

(a.) General Map.

(b.) Battle of

~Waterloo~.

(18^{th} June 1815)]

CHAPTER XIV

WATERLOO

[NOTE.—Controversy has raged over almost every point of the Waterloo

campaign. Matters of fact have been disputed, whether or not given

things happened, and if they did happen, when and how. Still more

naturally have questions of inference and judgment been disputed,

under the influence of partisanship, or supposed patriotism, or

preconceived ideas. I have deemed it unnecessary to enter into any

of these controversies. I have narrated the facts as I believe

them to have occurred, without citing evidence, and have left

doubtful inferences to the reader. To have done more would have been

inconsistent with the scope of this book.]

The combined efforts of the great powers of Europe overthrew Napoleon

early in the year 1814. In spite of amazing efforts on his part, the

allied armies marched to Paris; and the emperor, finding himself almost

deserted, was compelled to abdicate. The allied powers made the great

mistake, as events proved, of allowing him to take possession in full

sovereignty of the little island of Elba. A man of more chivalrous

spirit would probably have felt that it was a mockery to call him

emperor of so minute an empire, and would have preferred to disappear

entirely from the observation of a world in which he had risen to

so vast a height and fallen so decisively. Napoleon took his small

kingdom seriously, and seems to have been contented for a time, until

reports of the state of affairs in France led him to think that he

might recover his throne. The legitimate line of the Bourbon kings had

been restored on Napoleon's overthrow, in the person of Louis XVIII.,

brother of the king executed in 1793. How far this restoration was

acceptable at the time to the French nation as a whole it is difficult

to judge. Certainly the knot of selfish politicians who seized the

opportunity of speaking in the name of France desired it for their

own ends. Certainly also the allied sovereigns, who for the moment

held the fate of France in their hands, most or all of them thought it

the most desirable course in the interests of Europe generally. But

the Bourbons, like their English forerunners in disaster, had learned

nothing and forgotten nothing. The great mass of Frenchmen had no wish

to lose the great fruits of the Revolution, abolition of aristocratic

privilege, limitation of the royal authority, curtailment of the vast

influence of the clergy. Still less were they willing to see the crown

and the royalist exiles resume possession of the lands of which they

had been deprived, and which had mostly been sold to new owners. Least

of all were they inclined to allow the rejection, in favour of the

Bourbon white flag, of the tricolour which was the emblem alike of the

liberty and equality won by the Revolution, and of the military glories

won by Napoleon. The king himself seems to have been at least willing

to abide by the constitution he had proclaimed, and to accept the

great social results of the Revolution; but his brother and destined

successor, and many of the restored exiles, made no secret of their

desire to revert to the _ancien régime_. Naturally a large amount of

discontent was engendered, and of this Napoleon took advantage to try

his luck once more. On March 1, 1815, he landed near Cannes with a

few hundred followers. The population of the provinces through which

his way to Paris lay were on the whole favourable, more so probably

than the average of the whole of France. The soldiers could nowhere be

induced to fight against the emperor; and many of the officers, though

by no means all, set them the example of defection. The king fled into

Belgium, and Napoleon marched to Paris in triumph, and resumed the

government without a blow.

The allied powers however were in no mind to see their vast

sacrifices thrown away, and to allow Napoleon the chance of once more

consolidating his power in France, and beginning a fresh series of wars

of aggression. Their representatives were still assembled in congress

at Vienna, occupied in the difficult task of resettling Europe after

the universal removing of landmarks which had been produced by the

recent wars. They at once declared Napoleon a public enemy, and began

preparations for launching enormous hosts against him. Months must pass

before, in the then state of roads and modes of locomotion, a single

Russian soldier could be seen on the French frontier. A shorter, but

still considerable, interval must elapse before the Austrian armies

could take the field. But England was only across the narrow seas,

and Prussia held great territories on the Rhine. Accordingly these

two powers, acting in concert, poured their troops, one army under

Wellington, the other under Blucher, into the new kingdom of the

Netherlands, which had but recently formed part of Napoleon's empire.

From the Belgian frontier starts the easiest and shortest line of

invasion of France, assuming invasion to be directed at the capital.

And the intention was that the English and Prussian armies should

take this route, when the Austrians had reached the eastern frontier,

and the Russians were getting within supporting distance. Napoleon no

doubt realised that his game was lost if his enemies once gathered

in their irresistible numbers. At any rate he saw plainly enough

that his best chance lay in defeating his opponents piecemeal. Could

he succeed in destroying the Anglo-Prussian army, the other powers

might be intimidated, or possibly bribed, into letting him alone.

The indications are that this would never have happened; the Czar

would probably have receded before nothing but overwhelming defeat,

and the overthrow of Wellington and Blucher would not have meant the

annihilation of the power of Prussia, still less of Great Britain.

Nevertheless Napoleon had a chance in this way, and in no other, and he

proceeded to try it with characteristic vigour and resolution, though

with less than his usual skill and care when the actual stress came.

In order that the campaign may be understood, of which Waterloo was the

climax, it must be always remembered that political reasons rendered

it essential for Napoleon to assume the offensive in spite of inferior

numbers, and offered every inducement to the allies to await attack,

and also that this gave Napoleon the great strategical advantage of

the initiative. The allies had to guard the Belgian frontier; he could

select his own point for invasion. Accordingly the allies occupied a

line from east to west, some thirty miles south of Brussels, and a

little north of the actual frontier. The Prussians on the eastern half

lay chiefly on the north side of the Meuse and its tributary the Sambre.

Wellington's army was only a third English, another third being

Dutch-Belgians of very poor quality and doubtful fidelity,[72] the

remainder Germans, some of them excellent troops, the rest mere

recruits. He covered the western part of the frontier, as was natural,

seeing that he drew his supplies from England by the Belgian ports of

Ostend and Antwerp. The two armies met just south of Brussels, near

Charleroi, where a main road crosses the Sambre. The allies could not

of course know by what route Napoleon, if he assumed the offensive,

as was probable, would enter Belgium. They therefore had to watch the

whole line; and partly for this reason, partly for convenience of

subsistence, they quartered their forces over a space of country fully

100 miles in length from east to west. On the Prussian side, where the

rivers formed a protection, and where there was less reason to expect

attack, the troops were comparatively near the frontier line. On the

English side none except outposts were close to the frontier, and some

were at least thirty miles behind it.

Napoleon could bring into the field about 125,000 men, practically

all veterans commanded by excellent officers, though the successive

re-organisations after his first overthrow and on his restoration had

left it lacking in the perfect mutual confidence of officers and men

which makes a veteran army so formidable. Of these nearly 24,000 were

cavalry; and there were 344 field guns. The Prussians under Blucher

were not much inferior in numbers to the French, about 121,000, but

their proportion of cavalry (12,000) and guns (312) was lower, and the

quality of part at least of the army inferior. Wellington had about

94,000 men, of whom over 14,000 were cavalry, with 196 guns, but, as

has been said before, barely half[73] of them were really trustworthy

troops. Thus Napoleon was nearly equal to his opponents in number of

cavalry, but was outmatched in guns in the proportion of about three

to two, and in infantry by at least seven to four, though the superior

quality of his troops went some way towards compensating for this

inequality. He had the further advantage of unity of command, while the

armies of the allies not only were separate, with no further concert of

action than what the voluntary accord of the chiefs might establish,

but drew their supplies from opposite directions, the Prussians from

the Rhine, the English from the Belgian ports. Both sides seem to have

been fairly well informed as to the strength of the other. Napoleon

also had information as to the position of the allied troops, nor

were Wellington and Blucher quite in the dark when the French troops

concentrated on the frontier, skilfully as Napoleon had arranged their

movements, though they could not at first be certain what was real

attack, what feint.

Napoleon had practically a choice between two plans. He might invade

Belgium on the west, opposite the right of Wellington's widely

divided army, and by advancing northwards cut Wellington off from his

communication with the sea. This was what Wellington expected; he was

very anxious about his supplies, being probably more than doubtful

whether his army would find subsistence if compelled to depend on the

Prussians, who had quite enough to do in supplying their own army.

A corresponding movement on the left of the Prussians was obviously

possible, but for many reasons not worth Napoleon's while. The

alternative plan, which he adopted, and which all critics consider to

have been the best open to him, was to concentrate his army due south

of Brussels, at the nearest point to that capital, and cross the Sambre

at Charleroi, which would bring him on the point where the English and

Prussian armies met. Napoleon knew that the Prussian forces were less

dispersed, and generally nearer the frontier than those of Wellington.

He therefore calculated that if, as was probable, Blucher concentrated

his army for battle, it would be at a point comparatively near to

Charleroi, and that Wellington could not be in time to give him serious

assistance. He further calculated that Blucher, if defeated, would

retreat eastwards in the direction of his proper line of communication,

and that then Wellington ought to be an easy prey to the French army,

superior in both numbers and quality.

Accordingly Napoleon issued orders that his whole army should move at

dawn on June 15, and cross the Sambre at or near Charleroi. At the

same time he ordered slight demonstrations to be made much further

west, in the neighbourhood of Mons, in order that Wellington might be

kept as long as possible in doubt as to what Napoleon's real purpose

was. Ziethen, who commanded the Prussian corps nearest to Charleroi,

had unaccountably taken no steps to destroy the bridges over the

Sambre, which would have delayed the French greatly: but he disputed

their advance with much skill and pertinacity, and slowly retired

north-eastwards to Fleurus. Blucher had on the night of June 14, on

receiving certain tidings that the French were in great force beyond

the Sambre, ordered his whole army to concentrate at Sombref, four or

five miles behind Fleurus, at the point where the road from Charleroi

crosses the great high-road that runs a little north of west from Namur

to Nivelles, and thence towards the coast. It was at this point that

it had been agreed between the allies, some weeks before, that the

Prussians should concentrate in case of an advance by Napoleon, which

they then thought improbable. One of the four Prussian corps, that of

Bulow, was at a great distance, and failed to arrive in time; but those

of Pirch and Thielemann duly joined Ziethen. On the 16th Blucher, with

nearly 90,000 men, took up a position at Ligny, a mile or so south

of the great Namur road, and awaited attack. Napoleon's intention

had been to bring his whole army across the Sambre on the 15th, to

occupy Fleurus in force, in anticipation of battle with Blucher, and

to send a detachment to Quatre-Bras, where the Charleroi-Brussels

road crosses the Namur-Nivelles road, in order to intercept the main

line of communication between Wellington and Blucher. This was only

approximately carried out: at nightfall, some French divisions were

still on the wrong side of the Sambre. Quatre-Bras was found to be

occupied, and the French left therefore did not go beyond Frasne,

two or three miles to the south; and Ziethen's rear-guard still held

Fleurus. The difference was of no serious consequence, the less so

as the allied generals played into Napoleon's hands, Blucher by

committing himself to battle with only three-fourths of his army and

with no assurance of assistance from his colleague, Wellington by his

slowness in concentrating his army. The English general, ill served

as to intelligence, only heard the news of the French advance in the

afternoon: even then, slow to abandon his belief that Napoleon would

try to cut him off from the sea, he only warned his troops to be ready.

In the evening he ordered concentration on Nivelles, and not till the

morning of the 16th did he direct movements on Quatre-Bras.[74]

On the morning of June 16 Napoleon was in no hurry to move. He had

entrusted Ney with the command of his left wing, and given him orders

to attack the English at Quatre-Bras. There was much delay, which

seems attributable partly to Ney's doing nothing to hasten the march

(he had only joined the army on the 15th and had no staff), and partly

to the remissness of the corps commanders, Reille and D'Erlon. About

two o'clock however he began, with Reille's corps only, the battle of

Quatre-Bras. It was extremely fortunate for Wellington that Ney had

not moved earlier, for the position at daybreak was only held by one

brigade, and it was but slowly that fresh troops came up. At first

the French seemed likely to carry all before them: the Dutch-Belgian

troops suffered severely, and some of them fled. No reader of _Vanity

Fair_ can have forgotten Thackeray's description of the panic caused

in Brussels by the arrival of these fugitives, reporting that the

allied army was cut to pieces. The Brunswick division was also broken

for the time, and their duke killed.[75] But reinforcements came up

in succession, and Wellington, who was on the field in person, grew

relatively stronger as evening approached, and foiled every effort Ney

made. Why Ney did not make greater efforts, why especially he made so

little use of his cavalry, of which arm Wellington had very few on

the field, is hard to say. Possibly his Peninsular experiences made

him feel convinced that Wellington would not risk a battle without

adequate strength. Certainly the woods interfered with his seeing

fully the amount of Wellington's force. The absence of D'Erlon's corps

was, as will appear presently, no fault of his, except so far as he

was responsible for not having brought D'Erlon up to the front in the

morning. At any rate he failed: at nightfall on the 16th the French

were at Frasne, the English at Quatre-Bras, as they had been on the

night of the 15th; only each side had lost between 4000 and 5000 men,

the English rather more than the French.

Meanwhile Napoleon had taken for granted that Ney would be able to

dislodge the English,[76] and had not only told him how far to advance

on the Brussels road, but had also ordered him to despatch part of his

troops, as soon as Quatre-Bras was occupied, down the Namur road, to

co-operate in his own attack on the Prussians. He had waited until Ney

was engaged before beginning his own battle, which he did not doubt

winning, and hoped by Ney's aid to render decisive. On the Prussian

left Thielemann's corps covered the road to Namur: the centre and

right, formed by Ziethen's corps, with Pirch in second line, were

thrown forward almost at a right angle to the left, behind the villages

of Ligny and St. Amand, so as to cover the same road further west, by

which communication was to be kept up with Wellington. The duke had

seen Blucher in the morning, and had promised to assist the Prussians

if not himself attacked. Thus both French and Prussians were hoping at

least for help from Quatre-Bras, which neither combatant there was in

any condition to afford. Napoleon decided to begin by assailing the

Prussian right: for this he had every motive, as it was unprotected by

any natural obstacle, and success there would not only tend to separate

Blucher from Wellington, but would also drive Blucher to retreat

towards Namur, which Napoleon naturally desired. His plan however aimed

at a much more decisive stroke. He had determined, after the Prussian

right had been shaken by some hours of fighting, to assail the centre

with his reserve. If that attack succeeded, and one of Ney's corps took

the Prussians in rear, as was to be done when Quatre-Bras had been

won, half of the Prussian army would be virtually surrounded, and must

either be destroyed or surrender. The fighting all through was of a

most desperate character, but the French had, on the whole, the best

of it, and Napoleon was preparing for his attack on the centre, when

the news that a considerable body of troops were in sight a couple of

miles or so on his left, naturally caused him to wait. They might be

Wellington's, in which case caution was obviously expedient: they might

be Ney's expected succour appearing in the wrong place, in which case

time would be needed for them to work round the flank of the Prussians.

It had just been ascertained that the approaching troops were French,

when they suddenly halted and began to return the way they had come.

They were D'Erlon's corps, which had been on their way to join Ney, and

had been directed towards the field of Ligny, apparently by a staff

officer who thought he was rightly interpreting Napoleon's wishes.

Ney, on hearing what had happened, very properly recalled D'Erlon:

his orders were to dislodge the English from Quatre-Bras, which he

could not do without D'Erlon's troops, and then, but not till then, to

reinforce Napoleon. The result however was that D'Erlon's corps wasted

the day in marching to and fro, and took part in neither battle, though

its active co-operation ought to have been decisive on either field.

Sunset was approaching, and Napoleon, seeing that it was too late to

send effective orders after D'Erlon, made his attack on the Prussian

centre as before arranged. Its success gave him an undoubted victory,

but dearly bought, and not overwhelming. The Prussians were able to

retreat unmolested under cover of the darkness, leaving behind them

over 20,000 men, killed, wounded and prisoners, or about a third of the

two corps, Ziethen's and Pirch's, on which the stress of the fighting

had fallen. The French army bivouacked on the field how they could:

their loss had amounted to 11,000 or 12,000 men.

Thus up to nightfall on June 16 Napoleon had gained considerable

success. He had attained his first object, of engaging and defeating

Blucher before Wellington could come to his assistance, and might

reasonably expect to attain his second object, of attacking Wellington

with his main force while separated from the Prussians, in which case

with a superior army he ought to win a decisive victory. That more

had not been achieved was due to the delay on the French left, which

neutralised the advantage resulting from Wellington's undue slowness

in concentrating his army. As often happens in war, one mistake but

cancelled the other. On the 17th most part of the advantage which the

French possessed over the allies was lost, largely by Napoleon's own

fault, partly by the loyal co-operation of Blucher and Wellington.

Critics who treat war like a game of chess, and forget that soldiers

are men who must eat and sleep, say that Napoleon ought to have started

at daybreak, to take Wellington at Quatre-Bras in flank, while Ney

renewed the attack in front. But the emperor himself was exhausted by

two extremely long and fatiguing days: nor could even the troops that

had taken but little part in a battle ending at 9.30 p.m. be expected

to be in marching order again in six hours. Napoleon made the grievous

mistake of taking for granted two things, both of them likely, but

neither of them in fact true. First he more or less assumed that

Wellington, informed of the result of the battle of Ligny, would have

retreated, leaving only a rearguard at Quatre-Bras; if this were so,

there was no use in Napoleon's trying to attack him. As a matter of

fact, Wellington did not receive the news of Ligny till the morning of

the 17th, and he then waited to exchange communications with Blucher

before ordering a retreat, for which there was no immediate hurry,

unless the French resumed the offensive. Napoleon's other and far more

disastrous mistake was taking for granted that Blucher had retreated on

Namur, that is to say straight away from his ally. As a matter of fact

the Prussians were retreating northwards on Wavre, true to the general

agreement between Blucher and Wellington that they would co-operate

as thoroughly as possible; and since that movement was ordered, news

had come from Wellington that he was on the point of retreating on

Waterloo, and would stand to fight there if assured of assistance from

one Prussian corps. Napoleon had plenty of cavalry available, for Ligny

was essentially an infantry battle, and certainly ought to have pushed

cavalry along every road by which the Prussians could possibly have

retreated. If they were gone eastwards, as he hoped and believed, all

was plain sailing: if they were gone north, they might still unite with

Wellington, and the game was by no means won. As it was, he contented

himself with one reconnaissance along the Namur road, which confirmed

him in his error by capturing a few stragglers, and so threw away the

advantages gained already by his skilfully-devised plan of campaign.

In the course of the morning of the 17th, Wellington withdrew his

forces from Quatre-Bras, and retreated to the position at Waterloo

which he had noted the year before, as an excellent one for a defensive

battle to protect Brussels. In the afternoon heavy rain came on, which

lasted all night, soaking the ground, seriously injuring the roads,

and thus interfering with the march of the French, who followed at

some distance. By nightfall the French were in front of Wellington's

position; and both armies bivouacked on the wet ground, no very

favourable preparation for the work of the morrow. Before moving

from Ligny with the guard and Lobau's corps, to unite them to the

troops under Ney, and with the whole body follow up the retreating

English, Napoleon had given his orders for the pursuit of the defeated

Prussians. Marshal Grouchy was put at the head of the two corps,

Vandamme's and Gérard's, on which the stress of the fighting at Ligny

had fallen, which with some cavalry amounted to about 33,000 men.

Napoleon after the event attempted to make Grouchy entirely responsible

for the loss of the battle of Waterloo, and Napoleon's partisans have

followed his example. A few writers have exempted Grouchy from all

blame: the majority of reasonably impartial critics blame him more or

less severely, though without holding Napoleon faultless. In any case

the absence of Grouchy at Waterloo, without his thereby preventing

Blucher from participating, was a decisive fact, however it was

brought about. Hence it is necessary to understand clearly what his

intentions were, and what was the discretionary power left to him. In

personal conversation Napoleon told Grouchy that he was himself going

to fight the English "if they will stand on this side of the forest

of Soignies," and ordered him to pursue the Prussians and complete

their defeat by attacking them as soon as he came up with them: and it

is clear that he then still supposed the Prussians to have retreated

on Namur, and therefore that the pursuit of them was not a matter

of primary importance. Afterwards he heard news which implied the

probability that part at least of the Prussian army might have gone

further north: and he sent Grouchy written orders to take his forces

to Gembloux (N.E. from Ligny), explore in the direction of Namur and

of Maestricht (still further to N.E.), and find out what the Prussians

were doing, whether they were or were not intending to unite with the

English, to cover Brussels or Liège,[77] and try another battle. These

orders still treat as most probable the separation of the Prussians

from Wellington, but they contemplate the other possibility—they

do not however tell Grouchy what to do in that event. Unfortunately

for Napoleon, Grouchy was without experience in independent command,

of rather limited range of ideas, and sharing the abject dread of

disobeying Napoleon which cramped the energy and clouded the judgment,

at times if not always, of most of his generals. He was capable

enough, as he showed when left altogether to himself after the rout

of Waterloo; but so long as he was under Napoleon's orders, he dared

not think for himself. Grouchy accordingly marched to Gembloux: and

having ascertained beyond further doubt that the Prussians had not gone

to Namur, but that part of them had gone north to Wavre, and the main

body as he believed north-eastward towards Maestricht, he reported this

late at night to Napoleon, adding his intention to follow the enemy, if

it turned out after all that they were moving on Wavre, "in order to

prevent their gaining Brussels and to separate them from Wellington."

As a matter of fact, the whole Prussian army had gained Wavre, in

accordance with the agreement between Blucher and Wellington, in order

to be able to support Wellington on the next day. That there existed

between the two allied generals a substantial and hearty accord is

certain enough, though Gneisenau, who was Blucher's chief of staff,

always suspicious of Wellington, was inclined to doubt his sincerity,

and to take care of the Prussian army only, not of the common cause.

These suspicions were in fact groundless, and were very bad policy

also; Gneisenau reminds one of a whist-player who plays for his own

hand and will not co-operate with his partner, a style of play which is

equivalent to giving the other side odds. That Gneisenau was overruled,

that the co-operation was carried through to a triumphant end, was

due to Marshal Blucher personally, a man far inferior to Gneisenau in

military ability, but stanch to the backbone, and moreover hating the

French with a keen personal hatred.

On the morning of the 18th Grouchy moved on Wavre: the hour named for

starting was not a very early one, as it would have been if Grouchy

had deemed time of great importance; and the troops, doubtless still

feeling the effects of Ligny, in spite of an easy day's work on the

17th, were slow to get into motion. About eleven o'clock, while Grouchy

was halting to eat at Walhain, about one-third of the way to Wavre,

the opening cannonade of the battle of Waterloo was heard. General

Gérard at once urged him to "march towards the cannon," and a vehement

discussion arose, which ended in Grouchy deciding to obey what he

averred to be the emperor's orders, and continue his march on Wavre.

That Grouchy ought to have crossed the Dyle at once, cannot reasonably

be doubted: if Blucher gave large assistance to Wellington, the emperor

must be overwhelmed, and there was no means of preventing this, if

Grouchy failed in achieving it. True, Blucher might not be sending

any large force across from Wavre to Waterloo, but if he were not,

Grouchy would have discovered this eventually, and might have pushed

on Wavre as easily from the south-west as from the south. If however,

as was actually the case, the bulk of the Prussian army was moving to

support Wellington and take the French in flank, there would be little

compensation for Napoleon's total defeat to be derived from a slight

success of Grouchy at Wavre. The marshal however could not rise to the

opportunity, he dared not depart from what he understood to be the

purpose of his master. And it may pretty confidently be conjectured

that in a different case, had Napoleon beaten Wellington before Blucher

could come up, and had Grouchy's march towards the cannon left it

feasible for Blucher to unite with Wellington before Brussels, Grouchy

would have been blamed without mercy.

It remains to be seen whether Grouchy, acting on Gérard's advice,

could have saved the defeat of Waterloo. He had to take 33,000 men

with all their guns and ammunition waggons across the river Dyle, by

two bridges, one narrow and steep, the other of wood and presumably

not strong enough for artillery. He had to march fourteen or fifteen

miles by very bad country roads, rendered much worse by the rain. The

Prussians from Wavre had a shorter distance to go with no river to

cross, and the foremost corps, Bulow's, had considerably the start:

the head of his column was in sight of the battle-field when Grouchy's

resolution was taken. Moreover one corps, Ziethen's, took a parallel

road further to the north, entirely out of Grouchy's reach. It is

pretty certain that if Grouchy had marched on Waterloo, he would have

prevented Pirch's corps, which followed Bulow's, from taking part in

the battle, and so would have rendered the rout a little less absolute.

It is pretty certain also that Bulow need have taken no notice of

him, but it is not so clear that he might not have been sufficiently

disquieted by Grouchy's appearance to think it expedient to turn

back and encounter him. Blucher however was with Bulow's corps, and

he was eager to press forward, at whatever cost. If Napoleon had

been in Blucher's place, he would have seen that the defeat of the

enemy's main army was of primary importance, and would have taken his

chance of Grouchy achieving some success against the Prussians left

behind. It is however unprofitable to conjecture what might have been.

Happily for Wellington and for Europe, Grouchy was afraid to face the

responsibility, and marched on Wavre. Here, to finish his story, he

encountered Thielemann's corps, left to play against him the very game

which Napoleon intended him to play against the whole Prussian army, to

detain and occupy as much as possible a superior force. There was some

fighting on the evening of the 18th, and again on the next morning, to

the advantage of the French. But when Grouchy heard of the total defeat

of the emperor, he naturally thought only of regaining France. His

retreat was conducted with skill and audacity, and ended, thanks to the

protection afforded him in crossing the Meuse by the fortifications of

Namur, in his reaching French territory with his army unbroken.

When Napoleon and Wellington stood at length face to face on the night

of June 17, both were naturally anxious about the morrow, but in

singularly different ways. The emperor, justly believing that his army

was the better of the two, was only afraid that Wellington might yet

rob him of victory by decamping in the dark; and this fear haunted him

so obstinately that in the middle of the night, and again at daybreak,

he rode out to satisfy his own eyes that the English army was still

in position. Strangely enough he does not seem to have been at all

apprehensive of the contingency which in fact happened to his ruin:

he still supposed the Prussian army out of reach. On the morning of

the 18th he sent a despatch to Grouchy, which accepted as the right

thing to be done that general's intention of marching on Wavre. Not

till eleven a.m., when the battle was on the point of beginning, did

he send a regiment[78] of cavalry towards the bridges by which Grouchy

would have had to cross the Dyle, as if that were a chance worth taking

account of. But he took no steps to secure Grouchy's coming, till the

first Prussian troops were in sight,[79] as he certainly would have

done had he seriously feared Blucher taking him in flank. And this

reduplication of the grievous mistake he had made on the field of Ligny

was absolutely fatal.

Wellington on the other hand had fully made up his mind to fight,

in spite of the great risk he ran of being overwhelmed before the

Prussians could reach him, assuming always that Blucher would come to

his assistance. How great that risk was, it is a little hard to realise

after the event. He could have no knowledge of the amount of Grouchy's

army, though he may well have guessed that Napoleon had detached some

troops to observe the Prussians. For all he knew the French might

be outnumbering him considerably, the more so as he still deemed it

necessary to guard his right by leaving a large force at Hal, some ten

or twelve miles off. Napoleon made a miscalculation, as most critics

think, in giving Grouchy so large a force. If Grouchy was merely to

follow up the Prussians retreating eastwards, less would suffice: if

the emperor was to encounter at Waterloo the allied armies united,

he needed every man. And Wellington made a similar miscalculation

in leaving 18,000 men at Hal: if he was beaten at Waterloo, there

would be no longer a flank to guard; if he was successful, a French

detachment sent to turn his flank would have great difficulty in

escaping destruction. Even on the assumption that Wellington knew the

strength of the army facing him, he was outmatched so long as he stood

alone: and what was his security for being supported? It has been said

already that he and Blucher acted cordially together, but there was

not, and could not be, a common plan of action worked out in detail.

The very fact that they had to await attack, wherever Napoleon might

assail them, rendered any such elaborate concert impossible. Moreover

Wellington was doubtless aware that Gneisenau would be slow to take a

course that endangered the Prussians. If after all the Prussians were

not coming, there was yet time to retreat from an untenable position.

Under the pressure of this anxiety, Wellington is said to have spent a

great part of the night in riding over to Wavre and back, in order to

see Blucher and make sure. Whatever passed at that interview,[80] the

duke was satisfied, and on the fateful morning of the 18th, his troops

stood to their arms in the stations already assigned to them.

The field of Waterloo has probably been visited by more travellers than

any other battle-field in the world: but its aspect has been changed

in some respects since 1815, so that the description to be given of

it will not be found to tally exactly with what is to be seen to-day.

Wellington's army was posted on a slight ridge, running about east and

west, and occupied a front of over two miles. The ridge is crossed

about the centre of the position by the high road from Charleroi to

Brussels, and a country road runs along it, a little below the top on

the southern side. Less than three miles to the northward the Brussels

road enters the forest of Soignies; and Wellington calculated that

this would protect him in case of defeat. There were roads enough to

withdraw the artillery, &c.; and the forest, being thick but free of

underwood, would present no obstacle to infantry retiring, and would

assist them in keeping off pursuit. At the extreme western end of the

ridge lies a small village called Merbe Braine, somewhat sunk in a

hollow: this protected Wellington's extreme right from being easily

turned. The front of his right was covered by the château of Hougomont,

a good-sized country house with gardens and orchard, enclosed by a

wall. This lay down in the valley separating the two armies; and it

is obvious that no attack could be made on Wellington's right unless

the assailants had first seized this château, while on the other hand

their possession of Hougomont would have given them great facilities

for further advance. Similarly, in advance of Wellington's left, lay

two farms, La Haye and Papelotte, and a little hamlet called Smohain,

but the ground gave no protection to the left flank of the position.

Close to the Charleroi-Brussels road, near the bottom of the slope lies

the farm of La Haye Sainte; this also formed some little protection to

the centre. The ground was practically all open, and the slope down

into the little valley that divided the two armies before the battle

not very steep, but still an unmistakable descent. The slope up the

opposite side was at about the same inclination, so that the fronts of

the two armies, a little over three-quarters of a mile apart, lay on

two roughly parallel ridges. The English ridge was narrow enough for it

to be feasible to place the troops, when not actually standing to repel

attack, on the reverse or northern slope leading towards the village

of Waterloo, so that they were partially sheltered from the French

artillery. To complete the picture of Wellington's position, it is

necessary to add that the road which runs along it leads to Ohain and

thence to Wavre: this was one of the routes by which Prussian succour

might come, and was in fact the road by which Ziethen arrived shortly

before the close of the battle. The shortest way from Wavre, by which

the first Prussians came, leads through the valley and up against the

eastern end of the French line.

The position was an excellent one for defence, considering the range

of artillery and infantry fire of that date, and would have fully

compensated for the slight advantage of numbers which Napoleon

possessed, had the quality of the two armies been equal. They were

substantially equal in infantry, a little under 50,000 each: but

Napoleon had 15,000 cavalry as against 12,000, and many more guns,

246 to 156. Wellington however could not place much reliance on the

Dutch-Belgian contingent, nearly 18,000 strong. The sympathies of

many of them were with the French, and none of them had seen service,

unless perchance in the emperor's army before his first abdication.

Consequently the duke thought it expedient to distribute these troops

among the English and Germans: he would obviously have done better,

assuming that he was convinced of the necessity of leaving a strong

body at Hal, to have posted none but Dutch and Belgians there, the more

so as the command at Hal was entrusted to a Dutch prince, and to have

had Colville's English on the field of Waterloo.

Wellington's army was distributed as follows, the front being generally

behind the country road from Wavre. On the extreme left, which was

unprotected by any natural features, were two brigades of light

cavalry, Vivian's and Vandeleur's. Next came two Hanoverian brigades,

Vincke's and Best's: then, a little further back, Pack's brigade

consisting of the 1st, 42nd, 44th and 92nd British regiments. To the

right of Pack, extending as far as the high road, was Kempt's brigade,

comprising the 28th, 32nd, 79th and 1st battalion 95th. A Dutch-Belgian

division was posted in front of this, the left half of the line. One

brigade occupied the hamlet and farms that partially protected the

front: the other, Bylandt's, was posted on the slope facing the south,

where it was exposed to crushing fire from the French artillery, which

so shook it that early in the battle it gave way, retired in confusion

over the ridge, and could be used no more. This was almost the only

mistake made by Wellington in the actual tactics of the battle: one

other only can be cited against him, and that as it happened was in the

same part of the field. The farm of La Haye Sainte, a large courtyard

with solid walls and buildings round it, just on the high road and

protecting the very centre of the whole position, was garrisoned but

slightly, and was not prepared for defence, nor were the troops in it

supplied, as they should have been, with ample stores of ammunition. La

Haye Sainte was garrisoned from one of two German brigades, Ompteda's

and Kielmansegge's, which lay immediately to the right of the high

road. Next to them came Sir Colin Halkett's English, these three

brigades forming Count Alten's division. To the right, more or less

behind Hougomont, and furnishing a great part of its garrison, was

posted General Cooke's division, consisting of Maitland's and Byng's

brigades of guards. To the right of the guards, Mitchell's English

brigade lined the cross road which runs north-west from near Hougomont

to Braine-la-Leud, a couple of miles off, where a Belgian division

was posted; they thus guarded the right of the position. In rear of

the guards lay Clinton's division, one brigade of which, Adam's,

played a very important part in the last stage of the battle: this

division was well placed to act as a reserve for any part of the line.

The regular reserve of about 10,000 men, of which over one-third were

cavalry, was placed a mile or so in rear of the centre. The rest of the

cavalry formed a second line in rear of the right and centre, the heavy

cavalry, Somerset's brigade of guards and Ponsonby's Union brigade (the

Royal Dragoons, Scots Greys, and Inniskillings), being close to right

and left of the high road. The artillery was not massed together after

the fashion which has generally prevailed in recent wars; the field

batteries were distributed along the front, in the proportion of about

one battery to each brigade, and the horse artillery was similarly

joined to the cavalry. It remains to add that Hougomont had been very

fully prepared for defence. The entire property, about one-third of a

mile square, was generally enclosed only with hedges: but the farmyard

and garden adjoining the house in the north-west corner had good walls:

and the orchard at the north-east had also a wall on the north, which

enabled the defenders to drive the French out of the orchard again,

when once they penetrated to it.

As the French army were the assailants, it is needless to describe with

any particularity their original formation. The first line, consisting

of D'Erlon's corps on the right, and Reille's on the left, faced the

English on rather a longer extent, with their powerful artillery ranged

in front of the infantry, their left being thrown rather forward so

as to enwrap Hougomont. Behind were the cavalry in a double line. On

the Charleroi road, in rear of the centre, Lobau's corps was drawn up

in close columns. Further back again was Napoleon's guard of all arms

to serve as the last reserve. About half a mile to the east of the

position of the guard, nearly a mile behind the right front of the

French, is the village of Planchenoit: it is obvious that when late in

the battle the Prussians reached Planchenoit, they were attacking the

French at a most dangerous point, as they threatened to cut off nearly

the whole army, for which the Charleroi road was the only line of

retreat.

If Napoleon had even surmised that one Prussian corps had started at

daybreak to join Wellington, and that two others were to follow, he

would assuredly have begun the battle of Waterloo some hours earlier

than he in fact did. The rain had ceased in the night, but the ground

was soaked, and the artillery could hardly move until it had dried a

little. The emperor, confident of victory, was in no hurry. To quote

his own account given at St. Helena—At eight o'clock, during his

breakfast, the emperor said: "The enemy's army is superior in numbers

by at least one-fourth;[81] nevertheless we have at least ninety

chances in a hundred in our favour." Ney at this moment came up to

announce that Wellington was in full retreat.[82] "You are mistaken,"

replied the emperor, "he has no longer time, he would expose himself

to certain destruction." About nine o'clock the French army began to

take up its position for the coming battle. Every movement was visible

to the English line, and formed a superb spectacle: indeed it is

suggested that Napoleon expected by this display, which continued for

some two hours before the signal was given, to impress the Belgians in

Wellington's army, already half-hearted to say the least. There was

always a touch of the theatrical in Napoleon's character, and it came

out conspicuously before this, his last battle. To Wellington, who

relied for victory on the co-operation of the Prussians, still a long

way off, every minute's delay must have been an additional reason for

trusting that his bold venture would succeed.

The battle began at 11.30 with a cannonade along the whole line, and

an attack on Hougomont made by a division of Reille's corps commanded

by Napoleon's brother Jerome. It is obvious that, whatever the general

plan of the battle might be, Hougomont, which projected like a bastion

from Wellington's line, must be attacked, if only to prevent its

garrison from firing into the flank of any columns that might assail

the English centre. But it is also obvious that Hougomont, unless

weakly held, could not be taken except at very great cost, and that

success there would not be nearly so valuable as elsewhere. Every man

lost in assailing Hougomont, beyond what was necessary for keeping

the English right employed, was wasted. But Reille, and the generals

under him, failed to realise this, and the whole of the corps was drawn

into the conflict. The fighting was of the most desperate character,

especially at first, and was renewed at intervals, but the French never

succeeded in penetrating the house or walled garden. Hougomont was in

fact worth many thousands of men to Wellington.

The map shows plainly that the part of Wellington's line where a

successful attack would be most ruinous was near the centre. A

comparatively small part of his army stood east of the high-road: if

the centre could be pierced, the left might be destroyed, and the

right, cut off from the great road, would have to retreat how it could,

leaving the way to Brussels open, and losing all chance of connection

with Blucher. Wellington's reserves were naturally behind the centre:

but it was here if anywhere that the French could gain the battle, and

it was here, as it happened, that Wellington had failed to utilise La

Haye Sainte. During the first two hours of the battle the French merely

cannonaded this part of the line: their artillery was half as strong

again as the English, but the infantry were partially protected by

lying down on the northern side of the ridge they held, and were not

seriously shaken, except Bylandt's brigade.

About 1.30 began the first great attack on the English centre, the

whole of D'Erlon's corps advancing together. Durutte's division on the

right succeeded in getting temporary possession of Papelotte. Donzelot

on the left seized the orchard and garden of La Haye Sainte, and a

body of heavy cavalry on his left flank nearly destroyed a Hanoverian

battalion that attempted to reinforce the farm. The two centre

divisions, with Donzelot's second brigade on their left and a little

ahead, advanced in columns of unusually close and cumbrous formation.

Bylandt's brigade gave way in confusion, but Kempt's and Pack's stood

firm in their places. As the French halted close to the English line,

and attempted to deploy, Picton, who commanded the English division,

ordered Kempt's brigade to fire a volley, and charge. Picton was shot

dead, but the left column of the French was driven back in utter rout.

Meanwhile Marcognet's division was pressing Pack hard, and Alix's was

forcing its way between Kempt and Pack. At this juncture Lord Uxbridge

ordered forward the English heavy cavalry. The household brigade

charged the French cuirassiers as they came up the slope from La Haye

Sainte, and completely defeated them. The Union brigade charged and

drove back with great loss the French divisions which were pressing

on, but which in their crowded formation were almost helpless against

cavalry well led. Continuing its career, Ponsonby's brigade attacked

the French artillery on the opposite slope (74 guns were here massed

together), and inflicted considerable loss, but being charged in

its turn by fresh French cavalry, was badly cut up. The defeat of

the central columns carried with it the repulse or withdrawal of

the flanks, so that this great attack attained absolutely nothing.

Wellington however found it necessary to order up a brigade from his

reserve, to fill the gap in his front formed by the flight of the

Belgians and the losses in Kempt's and Pack's brigades.

Meanwhile Blucher had been doing his best. The country between Wavre

and the battle-field is formed in rounded hills and deep hollows,

traversed by mere lanes, and the soil was soft and miry from the heavy

rain. At noon Bulow's leading division reached St. Lambert, the highest

point on the road, whence the battle-field was visible at some four

miles' distance: Napoleon within an hour ascertained that they were

Prussians, and too late recognising his danger, sent off a useless

despatch to summon Grouchy to his aid. He also sent some cavalry to

meet the Prussians, but it was not for at least two hours more that

the latter came into action. The roads naturally grew worse with use,

and the artillery could scarcely be moved at all. It needed all the

energy of hatred which inspired the whole Prussian army, it needed

all the pressure Blucher in person could put on the soldiers, for

the task to be accomplished. "Kinder, ihr wollt doch nicht dass ich

wortbrüchig werden soll," was the old marshal's often repeated appeal:

and Englishmen ought never to forget it. At length Bulow was strong

enough to push down into the valley, and occupy the wood of Pâris,

whence he could assail Planchenoit. If he succeeded in this, the French

would be defeated in a most ruinous fashion. Hence Napoleon not only

sent Lobau's corps to face the Prussians, but himself attended to the

new danger.

After the repulse of D'Erlon the main action languished, only the

cannonade and the fighting before Hougomont continuing, till about

four o'clock, when the second main attack began. Forty squadrons

of heavy cavalry charged up between Hougomont and La Haye Sainte,

against Alten's division, which formed promptly in squares, placed in

a double line chess-board fashion, so that the maximum of fire[83]

could be poured into the charging horsemen. The guns in front of the

English line were necessarily abandoned, but the French could make no

impression on the squares, and when in confusion were driven off by

cavalry from the English reserves. Again and again the attempt was

renewed with the same result, till even the English privates saw how

hopeless it was. "Here come these fools again," some of them called

out, as a new charge was made. And indeed it is hard to see why they

were made: Wellington's line was not broken, or even shaken as yet.

Probably the impatience of Ney was to blame, Napoleon being then at a

distance engaged with the Prussians. At any rate the net result was

the destruction of a great part of the French cavalry, at some cost

to Wellington's cavalry, but not much to his infantry, except from

the French guns which told with deadly effect on the squares in the

intervals of the cavalry charges.

Almost before the first repulse of the French cavalry, a new infantry

attack on the British centre was arranged, which was to be directed

primarily on La Haye Sainte. Ney it is said asked the emperor for

reinforcements, seeing how badly D'Erlon's corps had been cut up in

the first attack. "Where am I to get them?" replied the emperor,

"voulez-vous que j'en fasse?" In fact not only Lobau's corps, but a

part of the guard, Napoleon's last reserve, had been already required

to keep Blucher at bay, who assailed Planchenoit again and again,

though without success. Nevertheless this attack on Wellington's centre

attained a greater measure of success than any other during the day.

La Haye Sainte was seized after a desperate struggle: and the French

infantry, and still more their artillery, established there, nearly

destroyed the third division on the left and Kempt's brigade on the

right, opening a most dangerous gap in the English line. Wellington's

coolness and judgment had never failed him for a moment; to demands for

reinforcements he had replied again and again, "It is impossible, you

must hold your ground to the last man," and nobly had the English and

Germans responded to the demands made on them. Hence at this dangerous

crisis there were still infantry reserves in rear of the centre, which

Wellington brought up in person to restore the line, simultaneously

drawing in to the centre Chasse's Belgians from behind the right, and

the two light cavalry brigades from the extreme left, where Blucher's

right was now in touch with Wellington through Smohain, and Ziethen's

corps, coming by the upper road from Wavre, was rapidly approaching.

Napoleon's last reserve, his famous old guard, must be used to make the

last bid for victory. If this had been directed on the same point, for

the sake of the protection afforded by La Haye Sainte, some further

success might have perhaps been achieved, but by this time nothing

could have saved the French from defeat. Pirch was up in rear of Bulow,

who was again pressing hard on Planchenoit, and Ziethen inflicted a

crushing blow on D'Erlon's corps, which advanced to attack Wellington's

left by way of supporting the charge of the guard in the centre. The

guard was formed in two columns: the right, somewhat in advance of

the left, came up the slope to the left of La Haye Sainte, against

Maitland's brigade of guards, which had hitherto had no fighting to

do, and was lying down for shelter from the cannonade, which had been

continued to the last moment over the heads of the advancing infantry.

The crushing fire of the English guards swept away the head of this

column; it fell into confusion in attempting to deploy, and an advance

of Maitland drove it back in disorder. Maitland had only just time to

recover his position before the left column of the old guard was upon

him. Their defeat however was to come not from him, but from his right

flank. Adam's brigade, originally placed in rear of the guards, had

been brought forward to fill the place of Byng's brigade, which had

been nearly destroyed in the defence of Hougomont during eight hours of

almost incessant fighting against very superior numbers. The slope of

the ground threw their line somewhat forward at an angle to Maitland's

front; and Colonel Colborne, commanding the famous 52nd, wheeled his

regiment a little further, so that it took the French guard in flank,

stopping its advance, and throwing it into great disorder. Then was

seen an illustration almost more marked than that at Albuera, of what

line can do against column. Claiborne's line advancing routed the four

battalions of the French guard; then continuing diagonally across the

slope to the high-road came upon the other part of the guard, which

had been formed up there in columns after its repulse by Maitland.

Wellington, who was on the spot, having just ordered a general advance

of the whole line, told Colborne to charge them, saying they would not

stand. In a few minutes more the last remnants of the French arrayed

against Wellington were flying in confusion. Bulow about the same time

finally succeeded in seizing Planchenoit, whence his guns swept the

high road that was the sole line of retreat for the French. Under the

merciless pressure of the Prussian cavalry, which had not yet fought,

the whole French army melted into a mob of fugitives. History hardly

records so complete a dissolution of an organised army.[84] What the

French loss was has never been ascertained. Nearly 15,000 killed and

wounded in Wellington's army, and 7000 in Blucher's, the great majority

of them taken from Bulow's corps, are sufficient evidence of the

severity of the conflict.