WITH WELLINGTON AT WATERLOO
(_June 18, 1815_)
In vain did cuirassiers in clouds surround them,
When, cannon thundering as the ocean raves,
They left our squares unmoved as they had found them,
Firm as a rock amidst the ocean’s waves.
NORMAN MACLEOD.
Many have been the explanations of Napoleon’s failure at Waterloo. It
has been said that his star was on the wane and his health undermined,
that he entrusted his fortunes to incompetent generals such as Ney and
Grouchy, that his troops were not the soldiers of the early campaigns.
But the truth of the matter is that Napoleon was beaten here as his
troops had been beaten in the Peninsular simply by the dogged front of
the British infantry. We have seen how the Highlanders withstood the
cavalry at Quatre Bras, how they stormed the French position at
Toulouse, how they were the better men at Fuentes de Oñoro. They were
not alone in that quality of endurance and nerve. Throughout the whole
British Army there was a confidence in itself that has remained till
this day, and which is possessed by no other soldiers in the world. A
remarkable testimony to this was made by General von Müffling, a
Prussian officer, who in the curious changes of time was attached to
Wellington’s staff. “For a battle,” he says, “there is not perhaps in
Europe an army equal to the British; that is to say, none whose
discipline and whole military tendency is so purely and exclusively
calculated for giving battle. The British soldier is vigorous, well-fed,
by nature both brave and intrepid, trained to the most rigorous
discipline and admirably armed. The infantry resist the attacks of
cavalry with great confidence, and when taken in flank or rear, British
troops are less disconcerted than any European army.”
“Marshal Bugeaud,” says Captain Becke in his _Napoleon and Waterloo_,
“has left it on record that ‘the British infantry are the best in the
world,’—however, he was careful to add this significant statement—‘But
fortunately there are not many of them.’”
It is probable that Napoleon was misinformed regarding the strength of
Blücher’s forces, or else he underrated the efficiency of the Prussian
army. At any rate he was satisfied with instructing Marshal Grouchy to
occupy himself in the pursuit of Blücher while he dealt with Wellington.
It has been stated that Grouchy failed in his duty, and that had he
carried out the Emperor’s instructions Wellington might have been unable
to withstand the furious assault of Napoleon’s veterans. But the French
offensive was fairly checked before ever Blücher arrived.
In the meantime Wellington prepared for battle, having as implicit a
trust in Blücher as had long ago existed between Marlborough and Eugene.
Throughout the long day at Waterloo he maintained his ground in perfect
composure and confidence, knowing that the Prussians were nearing him at
every hour.
The strength of the army under Wellington was 50,000 infantry, 12,000
cavalry, 5000 odd artillery, with 156 guns. But of this number only
24,000 were British, and to quote from Napier: “A French soldier would
not be equal to more than one English soldier, but he would not be
afraid to meet two Dutch, Prussians, or soldiers of the Confederation.”
In the Military and Naval Museum in Whitehall there is a most admirable
plan of the field of Waterloo of considerable size and drawn to scale,
and more instructive than pages of explanatory notes. But to put the
matter quite simply, there was a valley some three miles long, varying
in breadth here and there, while in close proximity to this valley ran a
chain of hills in parallel direction on each side. The British forces
were ranged on the north with the French army on the southern range,
where their artillery confronted each other, while the advances of horse
and foot were made over the valley underneath. The village of Mont St.
Jean was behind the centre of the northern hills, and the other village,
La Belle Alliance, behind the southern range. Then there was a broad
highway—a very important feature of the battle—leading from Charleroi to
Brussels, and passing through both these villages, thus bisecting the
English and the French lines. This road was the proposed route by which
Napoleon hoped to reach Brussels, but was in reality to be the line of
his retreat.
There were also some other important hamlets which were taken and
retaken in the course of the day, on the right wing the Flemish
farmhouse of Hougoumont, with its outbuildings, affording cover to
whichever force was in possession. In the centre lay La Haye Sainte.
Napoleon has criticised Wellington for occupying the position he did.
Strategically he believed that it was a treacherous one, as it could not
afford him any retreat. On the other hand, it was a protection for
Brussels, and in after years Wellington himself remarked: “They never
could have beaten us so that we could not have held the wood against
them.” He referred to the forest of Soignes, which certainly would have
afforded cover for artillery against overwhelming forces.
On the morning of the 17th the 42nd marched from Quatre Bras to the
undulating height of Mont St. Jean. On arriving there Wellington said,
“We shall retire no farther.” This was the first occasion on which the
English Commander had come into personal contact with Napoleon. Not
since Scipio and Hannibal at Zama had two such military giants met face
to face—Napoleon, who had swept victorious over Europe; Wellington, who,
on a lesser scale, had, upon the fields of Spain, driven the greatest
French marshals before him. And now, upon the eve of this great battle,
Wellington stood upon high ground perfectly imperturbable, while not so
far away Napoleon passed along his line, receiving tumultuous cheers,
inspiriting his soldiers to carry the English position by assault, firm
in the belief that if his veteran troops by their very prestige could
fling back the English lines, the victory was as good as won. Certainly
it was a manœuvre that had always, or nearly always proved successful
against the armies of other nations, but had always failed in the
Peninsular against the British soldier. The French formation on this
occasion can best be compared to and was inspired by the same motive as
the Prussian formation a hundred years later—it relied upon the
discipline of men advancing in mass to carry a position at the point of
the bayonet. The British army was in line.
Much has been made in recent years of the part that the Belgians played
at Quatre Bras and Waterloo, and it is only fair to a nation so closely
associated with us to-day to point out that had not the Dutch-Belgian
forces withstood Ney’s first furious attack at Quatre Bras, British aid
might have come too late to stem a disaster.
Upon the field of Waterloo the Dutch-Belgian brigade went into the
action 18,000 strong, and lost 90 officers and 2000 odd men. The
Dutch-Belgian troops were placed in front of Picton’s division, a
hopeless position to withstand the full weight of the French bombardment
and d’Erlon’s attack. That they failed is no reflection upon their
gallantry. After their retirement past Picton’s division they returned
to take an important share in the action.
The battle commenced at noon on June 18, 1815, after a night of terrible
rain, and Napoleon opened the engagement by despatching his brother
Jerome to attack the farmhouse of Hougoumont. The French poured down the
southern heights, moving forward in unbroken regularity, only to find—as
the Prussian Guard were to find long after at Ypres—that the British
Guards were invincible. Meanwhile, under Sir Denis Pack were the Black
Watch and the Gordons, holding the line to the left of the road to
Brussels. Following the attack launched on Hougoumont came the second
attack, which was directed against Picton’s division. The story of how
the comparatively small force under his command managed to withstand
this attack, and how the Scots Greys poured like a river upon the
confused French soldiery is an immortal incident in the history of the
British Army. After beating back the enemy, the command was given to the
Highlanders to open ranks, and a few minutes later the Greys passed
through, leaped the hedges, and prepared to charge the enemy. Presently
a galloper rode up with the command, “92nd, you must charge, for all the
troops on your right and left have given way.”
The Gordons, though exhausted with hard fighting, prepared to advance,
and the Scots Greys assembled with them. The bagpipes struck up as the
Greys passed into the ranks of the 92nd, and with one accord, and
shouting “Scotland for ever!” the Gordons gripped the stirrups of their
comrades and swept into the mad charge. Horse and man together, nothing
could withstand that—for the glory of Scotland they were ready to win
through or die in the thick of the fight.
The French column was struck to the ground. Two French eagles and 2000
prisoners were within a few minutes in the hands of the British. Sir
Denis Pack rode up with the memorable words, “Highlanders, you have
saved the day!”
But the Highlanders had not matters all their own way. For hours they
stood under a harassing fire, and to quote General Foy: “We saw those
sons of Albion formed up on the plain between the woods of Hougoumont
and the village of Mont St. Jean. Death was before them and in their
ranks, disgrace in their rear. In this terrible situation neither the
cannon-balls of the Imperial Guard, discharged almost at point-blank,
nor the victorious cavalry of France, could make the least impression on
the immovable British infantry.”
At last, upon the far horizon to his right, were seen the dim moving
columns of the Prussians coming to the aid of Wellington. Grouchy did
not appear, and Napoleon, knowing that he must achieve success now or
never, opened a furious artillery fire upon the opposing lines. It was
now 3.30 in the afternoon, and no part of the British position had been
lost. The French Cuirassiers were advanced against the English guns, and
were decimated in their fruitless attacks on the right. Meanwhile the
Prussians had attempted to carry by assault the village of Planchenoit,
an important strategical position in the line of Napoleon’s retreat
towards the frontier. A terrific conflict was waged here, for which
Napoleon was compelled to devote some of his finest troops. It became
all along the line a question of who could stand the hardest pounding.
At last Napoleon, mounting his white horse, Marengo, started out from
the farmhouse, in which he had remained studying his maps, and rode to
the spot where his veteran Guard were to march past on their way into
action. It was one of the most, if not the most dramatic moment in
military history. Standing upon a hillock, a figure beloved by all the
war-worn troops of France, he merely pointed his arm towards the distant
lines of the enemy, as though he would point to them the place of
honour. It was enough. They passed him with thunderous tread and loud
shouts of “Vive l’Empereur!” and so marching down the slope, formed up
for their famous assault. Just as the Coldstreams received in silence
and flung back again the furious onslaught of the Prussian Guard at
Ypres, so Maitland’s Brigade and the British Guards awaited the attack.
The Frenchmen passed perfectly steadily across the open, shelled
unceasingly by the British guns, and fired upon by the British infantry.
They were quite unshaken. When Ney’s horse crashed to the earth beneath
him he pointed the way on foot. It was like the tramp of a deathless
army.
The British Guards were lying down to avoid the fire of the French
artillery, but when the French came within some fifty yards one of the
British officers cried, “Up, Guards, and at them!” at which historic
words the British leapt to their feet and poured a round upon the French
column. The Old Guard, unbroken, undismayed, advanced at a charge, but
Maitland’s men never ceased pouring volley after volley into their
crowded ranks. In an attempt to form into open column, the enemy became
disorganised. The opportunity was not missed by their opponents. With a
loud cheer the British charged, driving the exhausted Frenchmen back.
Their position was tragic. All this time their left flank was receiving
an unremitting fire from the English infantry. It was impossible under
such circumstances for even veteran troops, such as Napoleon’s Guard, to
remain in action, and the sight of the broken ranks of the flower of the
French Army created more panic amongst the other troops than almost any
feature of the battle. They were beaten but not dishonoured. How great
then must their reverse have been!
Napoleon hastily advanced his remaining battalions, and shortly after
Wellington knew the moment had dawned for the advance. The whole British
line moved forward, having endured a ceaseless artillery fire for nine
long hours, having repelled the impact of cavalry, and repulsed the
French Guard. Wellington himself headed the advancing troops, and when
warned of the danger replied, “Never mind, let them fire away; the
battle’s won, and my life is of no consequence to me now.”
The pipes struck up, the bugles sounded, the drums rolled above the
noise of feet. Away went the English Guards, the Black Watch, the
Camerons, the Gordons, the Rifles—the triumphant British Army. The whole
French line was swept back in confusion. The Old Guard still rallied,
protecting Napoleon himself in one of its squares. But the day was lost,
and soon the Emperor joined the rabble of fugitives and set his face
towards Paris. The hour of his destiny had struck.
It was near La Belle Alliance that Wellington met Blücher. It was
decided that, as the Prussians were not so exhausted as the British,
they should follow up the flying French. Anton has given a little
picture of the end of the day. “Night passes over the groaning field of
Waterloo, and morning gives its early light to the survivors of the
battle to return to the heights of St. Jean, on purpose to succour the
wounded, or bury the dead. Here may be seen the dismounted gun, the
wheels of the carriage half sunk in the mire; the hand of the gunner
rests on the nave, his body half buried in a pool of blood, and his eyes
open to heaven whither his spirit has already fled. Here are spread
promiscuously, heaps of mangled bodies—some without head, or arms, or
legs: others lie stretched naked, their features betraying no mark of
violent suffering. The population of Brussels, prompted by a justifiable
curiosity, approach the field to see the remains of the strangers who
fell to save their spoil-devoted city, and to pick up some fragment as a
memorial of the battle, or as a relic for other days.”
Well might little Peterkin ask then as now, “But what good came of it at
last?”
Another passage I cannot resist quoting. It is from the narrative of a
soldier in Dr. Fitchett’s _Wellington’s Men_, and relates to the march
on Paris following Waterloo. “At noon arrived in the neighbourhood of
Mons, where we overtook the Greys, Inniskillings, Ross’s troop of horse
artillery, and several other corps, both of cavalry and infantry.... The
Greys and the Inniskillings were mere wrecks—the former, I think, did
not muster 200 men.... We crossed after the Greys, and came with them on
the main road to Maubeuge at the moment a Highland regiment, which had
come through Mons, was passing. The moment the Highlanders saw the Greys
an electrifying cheer burst spontaneously from the column, which was
answered as heartily; and on reaching the road the two columns became
blended for a few minutes—the Highlanders running to shake hands with
their brave associates in the late battle....”
The battle of Waterloo was the culmination of many years’ conflict
between the English and the French, and the final struggle between
Napoleon and Wellington. We have seen how the rivalry with France was
fought to a finish in Canada and the West Indies, in India, in the
Peninsular, and on the Continent. After Waterloo there was peace for
many years. Napoleon, banished to St. Helena, was soon to die, and
remain as a deathless memory amongst the old veterans of the armies he
had led to victory. Wellington was to win new triumphs, though
infinitely less enduring, in political life, and to lose the fickle
popularity of an English mob, dying long after in 1852. The Highlanders,
who had fought almost unceasingly for many years and in many parts of
the world, and whose gallantry at Waterloo brought them new laurels,
were mainly engaged upon home service until a new generation heard in
the far Crimea the melancholy beating of the drums of war.