Napoleon had returned to France. He had landed at Cannes with but a few
soldiers as a guard; but he had been swept up to the imperial throne of
Paris upon a mighty wave of popular enthusiasm. All Europe had arisen in
arms against the choice of the nation. The campaign of the Hundred Days
had commenced. At the head of a hundred and twenty thousand men, the
Emperor had advanced to attack Wellington and Blucher, with two hundred
and fifty thousand.
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[Illustration: BATTLE OF WATERLOO. Page 434.]
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In order to escape from the danger which might result from too great an
inferiority of numbers, Napoleon strove, from the commencement of the
campaign, to separate the English from the Prussians, and manœuvred
actively to throw himself between them. His plan was strikingly
successful on the 16th at the battle of Ligny; Blucher, being attacked
alone, was completely beaten, and left twenty-five thousand men on the
field of battle. But this enormous loss did not materially enfeeble an
army which had such masses of soldiers in line, and behind, still more
numerous reserves. In the position in which the Emperor found himself,
he required a more decisive advantage, a victory which should annihilate
the army of Blucher, and allow him to fall upon Wellington next, in
order to crush him in his turn. This successive defeat of the English
and Prussians had been most skilfully prepared by the orders and
instructions he dispatched on all sides. But, we cannot too often repeat
it, his destiny was accomplished; and fatal misunderstandings deceived
the calculations of his genius. Moreover, he had himself a presentiment
that some unforeseen incident would disarrange his combinations, and
that fortune had more disasters in store for him. “It is certain that in
these circumstances,” he said to his suite, “I had no longer in myself
that definitive feeling; there was nothing of former confidence.” His
presentiments were too soon realized.
At daybreak on the 17th, Grouchy, at the head of thirty-four thousand
men, was dispatched in pursuit of the enemy, who had fled in two columns
by way of Tilly and Gembloux, with orders to proceed to Wavres. About
seven in the morning, the Emperor galloped forward with Count Lobau’s
cavalry towards Quatre-Bras, which place he expected to find in
possession of Ney; the latter, however, had not been able to retrieve
his error of the 16th, and remained facing the position of the British,
although now occupied only by their rear-guard, which made off as soon
as its commander perceived the approach of Lobau’s horsemen. Pursuit was
immediately given, Napoleon hoping that he might yet be able to overtake
and defeat the English. In consequence of the state of the roads, from
the heavy rains, it was near four o’clock before the retreating column
reached the plain of Waterloo, and nearly seven before the troops were
in position on the rising ground in front of Mount St. Jean.
That night the English bivouacked on the field they were to maintain in
the battle of the morrow. Between six and seven, Napoleon reached
Planchenois; and perceiving the enemy established in position, fixed his
head-quarters at the farm of Cailloux, and posted his followers on the
heights around La Belle Alliance. The reinforcements received by the
Duke of Wellington during the 16th and 17th, had raised his army to
seventy-five thousand men, who were supported by two hundred and fifty
pieces of cannon. Napoleon’s forces have been estimated at seventy
thousand men, and about two hundred and forty pieces of cannon; it must,
however, be borne in mind, that the Duke could not depend on the
Belgian, Nassau, and Hanoverian troops.
“Never,” says Alison, “was a more melancholy night passed by soldiers
than that which followed the halt of the two armies in their respective
positions on the night of the 17th of June, 1815.
“The whole of that day had been wet and cloudy; but towards evening the
rain fell in torrents, insomuch that, in traversing the road from
Quartre-Bras to Waterloo, the soldiers were often ankle deep in water.
When the troops arrived at their ground, the passage of the artillery,
horse, and wagons over the drenched surface had so completely cut it up,
that it was almost every where reduced to a state of mud, interspersed
in every hollow with large pools of water. Cheerless and dripping as was
the condition of the soldiers, who had to lie down for the night in such
a situation, it was preferable to that of those battalions who were
stationed in the rye-fields, where the grain was for the most part three
or four feet high, and soaking wet from top to bottom. The ground
occupied by the French soldiers was not less drenched and uncomfortable.
But how melancholy soever may have been their physical situation, not
one feeling of despondency pervaded the breasts either of the British or
French soldiers. Such was the interest of the moment, the magnitude of
the stake at issue, and the intensity of the feelings in either army,
that the soldiers were almost insensible to physical suffering. Every
man in both armies was aware that the retreat was stopped, and that a
decisive battle would be fought on the following day. The great contest
of two-and-twenty years’ duration was now to be brought to a final
issue: retreat after disaster would be difficult, if not impossible, to
the British army, through the narrow defile of the forest of Soignies:
overthrow was ruin to the French. The two great commanders, who had
severally overthrown every antagonist, were now for the first time to be
brought into collision; the conqueror of Europe was to measure swords
with the deliverer of Spain. Nor were sanguine hopes and the grounds of
well-founded confidence wanting to the troops of either army. The French
relied with reason on the extraordinary military talents of their chief,
on his long and glorious career, and on the unbroken series of triumphs
which had carried their standards to every capital in Europe. Nor had
recent disasters weakened this undoubting trust, for the men who now
stood side by side were almost all veterans tried in a hundred combats:
the English prisons had restored the conquerors of Continental Europe to
his standard, and for the first time since the Russian retreat, the
soldiers of Austerlitz and Wagram were again assembled round his eagles.
The British soldiers had not all the same mutual dependence from tried
experience, for a large part of them had never seen a shot fired in
battle. But they were not on that account the less confident. They
relied on the talent and firmness of their chief, who they knew, had
never been conquered, and whose resources the veterans in their ranks
told them would prove equal to any emergency. They looked back with
animated pride to the unbroken career of victory which had attended the
British arms since they first landed in Portugal, and anticipated the
keystone to their arch of fame from the approaching conflict with
Napoleon in person. They were sanguine as to the result; but, come what
may, they were resolute not to be conquered. Never were two armies of
such fame, under leaders of such renown, and animated by such heroic
feelings, brought into contact in modern Europe, and never were
interests so momentous at issue in the strife.”
The field of Waterloo, rendered immortal by the battle which was fought
on the following day, extends about two miles in length from the old
chateau, walled garden, and inclosures of Hougoumont on the right, to
the extremity of the hedge of La Haye Sainte on the left. The great
_chaussee_ from Brussels to Charleroi runs through the centre of the
position, which is situated somewhat less than three quarters of a mile
to the south of the village of Waterloo, and three hundred yards in
front of the farm-house of Mount St. Jean. This road, after passing
through the centre of the British line, goes through La Belle Alliance
and the hamlet of Rossomme, where Napoleon spent the night. The position
occupied by the British army, followed very nearly the crest of a range
of gentle eminences, cutting the high road at right angles, two hundred
yards behind the farm-house of La Haye Sainte, which adjoins the
highway, and formed the centre of the position. An unpaved country road
ran along this great summit, forming nearly the line occupied by the
British troops, and which proved of great use in the course of the
battle. Their position had this great advantage, that the infantry could
rest on the reverse of the crest of the ridge, in a situation in great
measure screened from the fire of the French artillery; while their own
guns on the crest swept the whole slope, or natural glacis, which
descended to the valley in their front. The French army occupied a
corresponding line of ridges, nearly parallel, on the opposite side of
the valley, stretching on either side of the hamlet of La Belle
Alliance. The summit of these ridges afforded a splendid position for
the French artillery to fire upon the English guns; but their attacking
columns, in descending the one hill and mounting the other, would of
necessity he exposed to a very severe cannonade from the opposite
batteries. The French army had an open country to retreat over in case
of disaster; while the British, if defeated, would in all probability
lose their whole artillery in the defiles of the forest of Soignies,
although the intricacies of that wood afforded an admirable defensive
position for a broken array of foot soldiers. The French right rested on
the village of Planchenois, which is of considerable extent, and
afforded a very strong defensive position to resist the Prussians, in
case they should so far recover from the disaster of the preceding day
as to be able to assume offensive operations and menace the extreme
French right.
This is an admirable picture of the position and condition of the
respective armies which were to decide the fate of Europe. It could not
be improved.
The farm-house of Cailloux, in which the Emperor was busy with his maps
and plans, and surrounded by his celebrated marshals, was surrounded
with the meagre fires which the guard had kindled; but the rain
frequently extinguished them and drove many of the veterans to seek the
shelter of sheds.
Napoleon displayed all his usual activity and dispatch. He dictated
orders to be conveyed to the different commanders of columns with the
rapidity of lightning. Every body near him was kept in a state of
feverish excitement, except the calm and steady Soult, whom it seemed
impossible to move. There, too, was the stalwart Ney, whom the storms of
battle could not even scar—ready for any duty, no matter how hopeless
the performance. There also was the brave but reckless Jerome, who was
destined to earn a high fame on the morrow. Berthier, who had so long
been a fixture by the side of Napoleon, was not there, he had deserted
the man from whose glory he had borrowed beams. But there was Maret,
Bertrand, the steady Drouot, of the Old Guard, Gorgaud and Labedoyere—a
galaxy of bravery and talent—such as was wont to surround the Emperor.
All were busy noting down instructions, and replying to the swift
questions of the tireless man whom they obeyed. Without, the rain was
heard dripping incessantly. Drouot let fall an expression of opinion
that, in consequence of the deluge, the ground would be impracticable
for artillery.
“We shall see, it is not yet morning,” replied the Emperor. Then he
leaned his head upon his hand, and thought—perhaps in the way of
presentiment of disaster—but no expression of apprehension escaped his
lips. Grouchy would keep Blucher in check, and Wellington would be
crushed. Fortune might yet be favorable. But the heavens had quenched
the last camp-fire of Napoleon.
About ten o’clock at night, Napoleon sent a dispatch to Grouchy, to
announce that the Anglo-Belgian army had taken post in advance of the
forest of Soignes, with its left resting on the hamlets of La Haye and
Ohain, where Wellington seemed determined on the next day to give
battle; Grouchy was, therefore, required to detach from his corps, about
two hours before daybreak, a division of seven thousand men, and sixteen
pieces of artillery, with orders to proceed to St. Lambert; and, after
putting themselves in communication with the right of the grand army, to
operate on the left of the British.
Meanwhile, the Duke of Wellington being in communication with Blucher,
was promised by him that the Prussian army should advance to support the
British on the morning of the 18th.
The rain, which had not ceased during the night, cleared off about five
o’clock in the morning; and at eight it was reported by the officers who
had been sent to inspect the field, that the ground was practicable for
artillery. The Emperor instantly mounted his horse, and rode forward
towards La Haye Sainte, to reconnoitre the British fine.
By half-past ten o’clock the two armies were arrayed, and impatient for
orders to commence the battle. The Emperor proceeded to the heights of
Rosomme, where he dismounted to obtain a clear view of the whole field;
and there stationed his guard, as a reserve, to act where emergency
might require. Meanwhile, the English remained silent and steady,
waiting the commands of their chief; who, with telescope in hand, stood
beneath a tree, near the cross-road, in front of his position, watching
the movements of his opponents.
The village clock of Nivelles was striking eleven when the first gun was
fired from the French centre. Then followed a tremendous rattle of
musketry, as the brave Jerome led the column on the left to the attack
on Hougomont, and drove the Nassau troops before him. The chateau and
gardens, however, were bravely defended by a division of English guards,
who were not to be dislodged. The fight, raged here more or less during
the day, till at length the chateau was set on fire by the shells of the
French, and it was found necessary to abandon it.
Napoleon, who was anxiously watching the first movement of his troops,
was interrupted by an aid-de-camp, sent by Ney, who had been charged to
attack the enemy’s centre, arriving at full gallop to announce that
every thing was in readiness, and the marshal only waiting the signal to
attack. For a moment the Emperor glanced round the field, and perceived
in the direction of St. Lambert, a moving cloud advancing on the left of
the English: pointing it out to Soult, he asked whether he conceived it
to be Grouchy or Blucher? The marshal being in doubt, Generals Domont
and Subervie were dispatched with their divisions of light cavalry, with
orders to clear the way in the event of its being Grouchy, and if
Blucher, to keep him in check.
Ney was then ordered to march to the attack of La Haye Sainte; after
taking that post with the bayonet, and leaving a division of infantry,
he was to proceed to the farms of Papelotte and La Haye, and place his
troops between those of Wellington and Bulow. With his usual
promptitude, the Prince of the Moskowa had in a few moments opened a
battery of eighty cannon upon the left centre of the English line. The
havoc occasioned by this deadly fire was so immense, that Wellington was
obliged to draw back his men to the reverse slope of the hill on which
they had stood, in order to screen them from its effects. The Count
d’Erlon, under cover of the fire, advanced along the Genappe road; but
as they ascended the position of La Haye Sainte, the Duke of Wellington
directed against them a charge of cavalry, which speedily drove one
column back into the hollow.
The English guards were in turn repulsed by a brigade of Milhaud’s
cuirassiers, and galloping onwards, attacked the infantry; the horsemen
not being able to make an impression on the squares formed for their
reception, while they were themselves exposed to an incessant fire of
musketry. One of D’Erlon’s unbroken columns pushed forward, meanwhile,
beyond La Haye Sainte, upon which it made no attack, and charging one
Belgian and three Dutch regiments, drove them from their posts in
disorder, and took possession of the heights. Sir Thomas Picton was now
sent to dislodge the enemy, and being supported by a brigade of heavy
cavalry, the French, after firing a volley, paused, wheeled, and fled in
confusion. Many were cut down by the guards; while seven guns, two
eagles, and about two thousand prisoners were taken. The British,
however, pursued their success too far; and becoming involved among the
infantry, were attacked by a body of cuirassiers, in their turn broken,
and forced to retire with great loss.
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[Illustration: THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON. Page 444.]
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Although for the time, Ney was deprived of his artillery, he continued
to advance upon La Haye Sainte. For three hours, this important
position, and the part of the field which it commanded, was hotly
contested by both parties, the hill being now held by the English, and
now by the French. The contest, which shortly extended itself along the
whole front of the British line, became of the most desperate character.
Whole battalions fell as they stood in line; and the cries and groans of
the wounded and dying were heard even above the incessant roll of the
musketry, and the thunder of the artillery.
Napoleon, who had returned to the rising ground to watch the progress of
the battle, fancying he beheld indications of the enemy’s retreat,
ordered Kellerman to advance with all his cuirassiers immediately, to
support the cavalry between Mount St. Jean and La Haye Sainte. The
dragoons galloping forward, drove the English from their guns, and
furiously charged the squares of infantry behind. Notwithstanding the
deadly shower which thinned their ranks, the cuirassiers appeared
determined to succeed in their purpose; and returned again and again,
riding round the squares, and penetrating even to the second British
line; the infantry, however, was immovable: and after sustaining
frightful carnage, the cuirassiers were compelled to retire. The
conflict now rather abated, until near six o’clock, and the chiefs of
each army were anxiously expecting reinforcements. Domont, Lobau, and
Subervic had effectually checked Bulow on the French right; but there
was no sign of Grouchy making his appearance, and it was soon discovered
that Blucher had come up with the main body of his army, and that the
French opposed to him could not long maintain their ground. News was
received from Grouchy, that instead of leaving Gembloux at day-break,
according to his previously stated intentions, he had delayed there till
half-past nine, and then pursued the road to Wavres, being unacquainted
with the Emperor’s engagement at Waterloo. The crisis of the battle now
approached, and Napoleon saw that nothing but the most consummate skill
and desperate valor could save his army from ruin. His preparations
were, therefore, commenced for the final struggle. A series of
movements, changing the whole front of his army, so as to face both
Prussians and English, was the result of his first orders. Napoleon next
formed the infantry of the Imperial Guard, which had not yet been
brought into action, at the foot of the position of La Belle Alliance,
into two columns, and led them forward in person, to a ravine which
crossed the Genappe road, in front of the British lines. Here he
relinquished the command to Ney, at the entreaty of his officers; the
Marshal, who had had five horses shot under him during the day, advanced
on foot. A heavy discharge of artillery announced that they were in
motion; the British guns soon commenced a most destructive firing on the
troops, which committed dreadful havoc. Although their numbers were
thinned at every step, the guards continued to advance, and soon gained
the rising ground of Mount St. Jean, where the English awaited their
assault. The French hands played the Imperial march, and the troops
rushed on with loud shouts of “_Vive l’Empereur!_” The Belgian, Dutch,
and Brunswick troops gave way instantly, and the Duke of Wellington was
compelled to rally them in person. Before the Imperial Guard could
deploy, he gave the word for the British infantry to advance; the men,
who had been lying prostrate on the hill, or resting on their arms on
the slope, sprang forward, and closing around Ney, and his gallant
followers, poured into their ranks a continuous stream of bullets. The
guard attempting to deploy, were thrown into confusion, and rushed in a
crowd to the hollow road in front of La Haye Sainte, whence they were
speedily driven. In this desperate charge, Ney’s uniform and hat were
riddled with balls. In the meantime, Blucher had pressed forward, and
driven the few French from the hamlet of La Haye; and his advanced guard
already communicated with the British left. Bulow, who had been repulsed
from Planchenois, but was now reinforced, was again advancing.
Wellington, having assumed the offensive, was advancing at the head of
his whole army. It already grew dusk; the French had every where given
way: the guard, never before vanquished, had been routed by the stern
troops of Britain; and night brought with it terror and despair. It
having been reported that the Old Guard had yielded, a panic suddenly
spread throughout the French lines, and the fatal cry of “_Sauve qui
peut!_” was raised, and becoming universal discipline and courage were
forgotten, and a wild flight ensued. The cavalry and artillery of the
English and Prussians now scattered death on all sides. The vengeance of
the latter was unsatiated, and these scoured the field, making fearful
carnage, and giving no quarter. The Old Guard was yet unbroken, and
Napoleon lingered on the ground. Prince Jerome, who had fought bravely
throughout the day, urged him to an act of desperation. “Here, brother,”
said he, “all who bear the name of Bonaparte should fall!” Napoleon, who
was on foot, mounted his horse, but his soldiers would not listen to any
proposal involving his death: and at length, an aid-de-camp seizing his
bridle, led him at a gallop from the field. He arrived at Genappe
shortly before ten o’clock at night, where he again attempted to rally;
but the confusion was so great as to be utterly irremediable.
The pursuit of the French was continued far into the night by the
Prussians. Nine times, the wearied fugitives halted, kindled fires and
prepared to bivouac. Nine times they were startled by the dreadful sound
of the Prussian trumpet, and obliged to continue their flight. The star
that had arisen at Toulon, and shone resplendent over Lodi, Marengo,
Jena, Wagram, Borodino, and a throng of other sanguinary fields—had sunk
forever. It is painful to trace the career of fallen greatness. We will
not follow the Emperor, shorn of his purple, to his prison at St.
Helena, where a deadly climate did the work that the leaden storms of a
hundred fights had refused to perform. We will not go to that bed of
death, from which, while the elements were at terrible war, that stormy
spirit was carried away. Leave Hannibal at Zama, and Napoleon at
Waterloo.
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[Illustration: DEATH OF NAPOLEON. Page 448.]
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