TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
Footnote anchors are denoted by [number], and the footnotes have been
placed at the end of the book.
Some minor changes to the text are noted at the end of the book.
JOURNAL
OF THE
WATERLOO CAMPAIGN
JOURNAL
OF THE
WATERLOO CAMPAIGN
KEPT THROUGHOUT THE CAMPAIGN OF 1815
BY THE LATE
GENERAL CAVALIÉ MERCER
COMMANDING THE 9TH BRIGADE ROYAL ARTILLERY
IN TWO VOLUMES
VOL. II.
WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS
EDINBURGH AND LONDON
MDCCCLXX
_The Right of Translation is reserved_
CONTENTS OF THE SECOND VOLUME.
CHAPTER XV.
PAGE
Passage of the Army--The Road blocked up--Preparing to
Bivouac--The Nassauers--The White Flag--Reception at
Forêt--The Peasantry--Village of Montay--Ordered to
Return--A Night Alarm--A Halt--Visit to Cateau--Our
Allies Plundering--The German Bocks--Wretched Fare--Return
to Forêt--Female Costumes--Louis XVIII.--Again
on the Move--Difficulties of our March--Aspect of the
Country--Lose our Way--Our Destination at Last--Rejoin
the Main Army--Caulincourt’s Country House--Comfortable
Quarters--A Warm Welcome--Our Sleeping-Quarters--French
Cultivateurs--Their Characteristics--Our Dinner, 1
CHAPTER XVI.
Passage of the Somme--Indifference of the Natives--Our
Quarters--French Deserters--A French Chaussée--Mortemer and
its Miseries--Improved Aspect of the Country--First Traces
of the Prussians--Prussian Revenge--A Deputation--Valley
of the Oise--Its Scenery--Our March unopposed--Preparation
to Bivouac--Again in Advance--Beauty of the Scenery
at Verneuil--Our Bivouac--Plundering--Senlis--Feelings
of the Population--Prussian Lancers--Devastation by the
Prussians--Chenevière--Our Night-Quarters, 33
CHAPTER XVII.
The Cumberland Hussars--Warlike Rumours--Expectation and
Excitement--A Quiet Morning--Orders to Advance--We come on the
Enemy--Our Dilemma--In Sight of Montmartre--First Glimpse of
Paris--Prussian Devastations again--Comfortless Bivouac--Progress
of the Prussians--A Halt--Davoust’s Country Seat--Devastation
in it--Destruction of the Library--Churlishness of our
Allies--Rumours of Peace--St Denis--An Excursion--Aspect of the
Country--Revolting Destruction--The Destroyers at Work--Visitors
for Paris--Inconstancy of the People--Aspect of the Crowd--At
Arnouvilles--The Royal Cortège--Louis XVIII., 60
CHAPTER XVIII.
On the March--The Seine--Beauty of the Country--Passage of
the Seine--Colombes--Drawbacks--My Quarters--The Garden
and Grounds--View from my Window--My Chateau--Its
Furnishings--State of our Horses--An Excursion--The
Country round Paris--View of Paris--A Wet Day--My
Landlord--Country Pleasures--My Occupations--Our Fare--A
Fracas--Our Brunswickers Mutinous--Their Complaints--My
Answer to them--Harvesting--French Peasantry--The
Women--Food of the Peasantry--Inn Signs--A Lady of the Old
Régime--A Ride to Paris--The Seine and its Banks--First Visit
to Paris--Aspect of the Streets--Parisian Equipages--The
Champs Elysées--The Place Louis Quinze--The Austerlitz
Column--London and Paris--The Streets of Paris--The Boulevard
des Italiens, 94
CHAPTER XIX.
Our Major Domo--Inspection of Troops--Prospect of Change--Prussian
Bivouac--The Louvre--The Venus de Medici--The Laocoon and the
Apollo--The Paintings--The Tuileries--The Gardens--The Palais
Royal--Habitués of the Palais--Road to Malmaison--Malmaison--A
Panic--A Farmhouse--Versailles--Sevres and St Cloud--Hôtel Dieu
and Nôtre Dame--The Invalides--Models of Fortresses--A Sunday, 138
CHAPTER XX.
My New Quarters--Their Desolate Aspect--First Night in
them--Change of Abode--My New Residence--Ma’amselle Rose--A
She-Dragon--Our Fare--The Villagers--The Maire and
his Complaints--More Grievances--The Postmaster of St
Denis--Insolence of the Villagers--The Allied Sovereigns--A
Review--Difficulties--Order from Headquarters--A
Complaint--A Visitor--Rascalities--The French Police--Pertinacity
of my Persecutor--Church Reopened--Sunday in France--Review
of Prussians--A Scene--A Craven--Our Artillery--Positions
of Troops--Scenes of Battles--View from Montmartre--The Works
on Montmartre--Belleville and Vincennes--Aspect of
Country--Washerwomen--Village Gossip, 166
CHAPTER XXI.
Sisters of Charity--New Messroom--A House-warming--The Bond
Street of Paris--The Boulevards--Their Frequenters--Street-
Beggars--Street-Vendors--Street-Scenes--News-Rooms--Open-Air
Loungers--An Exquisite--A Parisian Restaurant--Waiters--Parisian
Cookery--Paris by Night--Torment of Flies--Amicable Relations--The
Peasantry--Again at Paris--A Russian Equipage--A Picturesque
Coachman--A Russian Boy--Russian Soldiers--The Austrians, 206
CHAPTER XXII.
My First Ride to Paris--The Aristocratic Quarters--Different
Quarters of the City--Differences in these--The Boulevards--The
Quays--The Squares of London and Paris--An Excursion--Again
in Paris--Numbering the Streets--The Jardin des Plantes--The
Menagerie--The Hothouses--Released from Arrest--An Unfortunate
Accident--A Comrade’s Quarters--Cabriolet-Drivers--The
Fountains--A Street-Lecturer--Itinerant Violinist--A Suicide--The
Change of Dynasty--The Luxembourg--The Chamber of Peers--The
Poultry and Flower Market--Marauding Neighbours--A
Capture--Bibliothèque Royale--Cabinet des Gravures--Shop-Signs
in Paris--The Palais Royal--Café Aux Milles Colonnes--A
Shoeblack’s Establishment--The Jardin du Prince--The Place
des Innocens--The Vegetable Markets--The Louvre once more--The
Statuary, 233
CHAPTER XXIII.
Admiral Rosily’s Villa--The Duke and the 5th Division--Views
in the Neighbourhood--Our Patron Saint--Village Amusements--The
Fauigny Affair--M. Fauigny and the Duke--Injustice
of the Duke--Indifference as to Dress--A General
Order--An Affray--Russian Review--The Allied Sovereigns--The
Russian Artillery--The Artillery Horses--Leave of Absence
at last--Regrets at Leaving--My Portmanteau--Departure--Our
Journey--We take the Wrong Road--At Amiens--The Hôtel
d’Angleterre--A Caravan Journey--A Cabriolet--A John Bull
Astray--Montreuil--An English Party--A Misadventure--England
once more, 273
CHAPTER XXIV.
Our Fellow-Passengers--From Dover to Calais--For Paris once
more--Montreuil again--Abbeville and its Cathedral--A
Bridal Party--Hotel at Breteuil--A Race--Arrival at
Clermont--The Stables at Chantilly--Our Old Quarters at
Stain--Attempts at Comfort--A Dreary Winter--Our
Occupations--Outbreaks of Fire--Preparations for
Departure--Preparations for a Start--Leave-Takings--Our
Quarters at Beaumont--Noailles and Beauvais--A Scene with our
Hostess--The Theatre at Beauvais--Major Dyas--A Cheerless
Day’s March--Grandvilliers--An Altercation with our Host--Quarters
at Poix--The Village and its Scenery--A Proposal--Comfortless
Quarters--Difficulties at Airaines--Our Amusements--The Town
Shepherd--A Court-Martial--At Boulogne--At Guines--Kindness
of Our Hosts--En Route for Calais--Our Stay there--Embarkation
and its Evils--Our Difficulties--Embark at last--England
once more, 304
JOURNAL
OF THE
WATERLOO CAMPAIGN.
CHAPTER XV.
_22d._--Morning fine, and things look more cheerful. March, according
to order, at four. Troop turned out of its wet bivouac; did not look
very brilliant; moreover, there had been no time for cleaning. The
village street such a perfect slough that even the riding-horses
struggled through with difficulty, and our carriages stuck fast
several times ere they could be brought to the hard ground beyond.
Immediately on emerging from the orchards, we entered on the same
cheerless uninteresting country as before: interminable fields of
corn, without enclosures, only broken here and there by small
patches of coppice or young timber. Through this sort of country
marched to Bavay; and here we formed up in the fields by the roadside
and dismounted, whilst an officer was sent to summon the garrison
of Maubeuge--the first word of an enemy since quitting Waterloo.
As the infantry continued moving on, we were somewhat at a loss to
conjecture what was to be done should the answer to our summons be
unfavourable. The whole army--cavalry, infantry, and artillery,
English and allies, all appeared to be marching along this one line
of road. We heard nothing of any columns moving parallel on our
flanks, and for about three hours that we halted here this incessant
passing afforded us some amusement. The crowd was endless, though
varied--regiments of infantry or cavalry following each other in
constant succession, intermingled with, and striving to pass, the as
endless file of waggons, baggage-carts, baggage-animals, led horses,
batteries of artillery, and convoys of stores. All struggled to get
ahead to choose a bivouac, or get the first-fruits of any village
or farm on or near the road, which was sure to be left quite bare
the moment the first corps passed--I mean bare of provisions; for
I believe our people did not otherwise plunder. It might truly be
said that a torrent of men and animals rolled along the road. Even
when we resumed our march there was no cessation, no diminution of
the crowd. The numbers of servants, sutlers, stragglers, and women
were incredible, and added not a little to the general confusion. As
far back, too, as I could see, the same swarm covered the road--the
troops seemed to form the smallest part of the crowd. What the
answer was to our summons we have not yet heard, but suppose all
went on smoothly; for, after a wait of three or four hours, we
again got under way, and made an attempt to penetrate the throng,
but in vain--we got jammed and stuck fast. Lord Edward, seeing our
case hopeless, abandoned us as soon as he could get his dragoons
disengaged from the crowd, and took across the fields, leaving me
directions to make the best of my way to Cateau Cambresis, and
bivouac there if I did not find him and the brigade. In this state
we were obliged to give up all thoughts of pushing on, and rest
contented to swim with the stream. This swept us in due time into
one end of Bavay (pleasingly situated on a rising ground) and out
at the other, leaving just time to see that the place had a clean
and cheerful appearance, and that the street we passed through was
well built and had many genteel-looking houses in it. Quitting the
town by a steepish hill, we entered the forest of Mormal; and the
road was bordered on both sides by a thick coppice of hazel, young
ash, &c., over which the larger timber-trees reared their heads.
Many corps of infantry had drawn off the road, and were busy cutting
down the coppice to prepare their bivouacs by constructing huts of
leaves and branches. Fires were made, and cooking already going on.
Officers, divested of swords and sashes, were strolling amongst
the thickets, or listlessly lolling under their leafy bowers. All
this would have been very pretty, but that a heavy shower, which
fell as we struggled through Bavay, had left everything dripping,
consequently deteriorated the scene much. Still the grouping of the
figures round the fires, or interspersed among the thickets, was very
good. Emerging from the woods, we again entered on the ocean of corn;
but here the features of the ground were bolder, and the view more
extensive, though not less cheerless.
At some distance ahead, in a deep valley, of which the heights all
descended by fine bold slopes, stood the little town of Cateau
amidst flat alluvial meadows, the lively verdure of which, and
that of a few trees, contrasted strikingly with the golden hue of
all the country around it. The road along the plateau on which
we now travelled was hard and excellent, so that, by watching
our opportunity and pushing in whenever an opening in the crowd
permitted, we managed, with some considerable wrangling, to get
ahead. This was rather a dangerous operation, for the Belgic, and
particularly the Nassau troops, were so savage, and so constantly
threatening us with their bayonets, that I feared every minute we
should come to blows. In this manner we had struggled on to the crest
of the hill descending toward Cateau, where, to lessen the descent,
it had been cut down, consequently was confined between high banks.
Now, as the devil would have it, we got into this gully at the same
time with a battalion of Nassau, and as both parties pressed on to
head the other, some jostling ensued. Our wheels were too formidable
to be resisted when in motion; but at last we got completely
entangled, and then they turned upon us, striking our horses, and
even pricking them with their bayonets. Our men, of course, resented
this, and a serious affray was likely to take place; but at last,
assisted by their officers, we disengaged ourselves without any
one being materially hurt, although many had bruises, scratches,
and slight bayonet-stabs. In this affair one fellow was very
deliberately going to give me a _coup de bayonette_ in the side, but
old Quartermaster Hall knocked up the point with his sabre, and could
scarcely be prevented from splitting his skull. The English, with
whom we also occasionally crossed and jostled, contented themselves
with abusing us. For some days after, we were constantly falling in
with these very people, and our so doing resembling the approach of
two angry dogs. I was constantly alarmed lest some serious affray
should take place. But they have led me ahead of my march. Somewhat
more than a mile before we came to the descent above mentioned, we
passed through Forêt, a pretty large village, surrounded as usual
by orchards, with a few small woods scattered about the vicinity,
which diversified agreeably the otherwise monotonous scenery. On
approaching this village, a dirty sheet or table-cloth, attached to a
pole, and projected from a window of the church-tower, attracted our
attention. It was the first time we had seen the immaculate _pavillon
blanc_ since entering the French territory; and one could not but
admire the wisdom and foresight which had established as a national
standard what could be readily furnished at any moment by every,
even the most humble, _ménage_. A tall, thin, venerable-looking
old man in the clerical habit stood by the roadside amidst several
peasants, male and female. His countenance was radiant with joy,
and he appeared quite elated in contemplating the column as it
passed along. Pinch after pinch he took from a little tortoise-shell
snuff-box in his left hand, whilst with earnestness he pointed out
to, or seemed describing, something in our column. As I came up,
followed by my trumpeter, the old man, uncovering his white head,
made me a profound obeisance. This opened the interview, and I was
soon master of his history. He had been driven from his _curé_ by
the Revolution; returned on the abdication of Napoleon last year;
but the return from Elba had again nearly caused a second flight. He
had, however, ventured to remain, upon the affectionate assurances
of his parishioners, and after suffering during the Hundred Days
most horrid anxiety and even indignities, had at last been restored
to security and tranquillity by the battle of Waterloo. He was now
come out not only to witness the passage of the brave English, to
whom his country and himself stood so much indebted, but also to meet
and do homage to his beloved monarch, who he understood would pass
through Forêt on his way to his capital. Nothing could exceed the
good man’s joy; his spirits quite ran away with him, and his tongue
ran nineteen to the dozen. At parting we cordially shook hands, and
he tendered me the little tortoise-shell box with the most amiable
_bonhommie_. How the rustics gazed! They seem a very ignorant, simple
people, the peasantry of this country. Hitherto, since passing the
frontier, we have found them everywhere pursuing their rural labours
with as much tranquillity as in the most profound state of peace:
quite undisturbed by, and exhibiting very little curiosity about, the
continued passage of foreign troops along their roads and through
their villages. The village of Forêt presented a cheerful rustic
aspect--such as a village should. Thatched barns and farmhouse in
the usual style of such buildings in England, standing detached and
retired from the broad street, if so it might be termed, embosomed
in apple or cherry orchards;--quite unlike what one so often meets
with in other parts of France, where the villages, of stone houses
three or four storeys high, with large windows, &c., appear more like
pieces of towns cut out and popped down here than what is consonant
to our ideas of villages.
From the place where our scuffle with the Nassau men took place we
descended into the valley by a long winding hill, at the bottom of
which the little village of Montay lay like an oasis in the desert;
verdant meadows overshadowed by numerous pine-trees, a pretty rivulet
winding along amongst them, here passed by a narrow stone bridge;
the place itself consisting of one large farm, several cottages, and
a small church;--altogether offering a refreshing variety in this
ocean of corn. The heights rising abruptly above it on either side
make this a sort of pass, which, had the retiring French thought fit
to defend, would have cost us some trouble and many lives, no doubt.
As it was, although we understood their outposts were not far, not a
man was in sight; and we were allowed to pass as quietly as our own
internal dissensions would allow, for the narrowness of the bridge
produced here a fearful struggle. The road along which the army was
marching, passing through Montay, immediately ascended the opposite
heights. A road branching from this led to Cateau along the foot of
these heights and through the meadows about a mile or rather more
higher up the stream. We took this road, and thus, for the first
time since leaving Nivelles, enjoyed the indescribable pleasure of
having the road to ourselves. From the heights on this side of Forêt,
whence the view was very extensive, I could distinguish nothing of
the brigade; and now, finding ourselves quite alone, and seeing no
symptoms of troops about Cateau, I began to be rather uneasy. In
this dilemma I was about to establish my bivouac on a piece of turf
just without the town--for the evening was fast closing in--when our
lieutenant-major-general of cavalry, Lord Greenock, rode hastily up,
and demanded why we were here. “My orders were to march to Cateau, my
lord, and bivouac, with which I am complying. I expect Lord Edward
will join us here;” and I gave him an account of their taking to the
fields, &c. “There is some mistake in this,” replied Lord Greenock.
“Your brigade has halted at Forêt, and you must return thither, for
you are now in a very dangerous position, and at all events ought not
to have crossed the river. The enemy’s outposts are on the heights;
and should they attempt anything during the night, which is probable,
you could never recross the bridge. Return, therefore, without
delay.” This was comfortable, to have to grope our way to Forêt, and
when there pick out a bivouac; and the alternative that of remaining
and being caught in this _coupe gorge_. The idea was not a pleasant
one. Disobeying orders, too! We countermarched, however; but on
reaching Montay the stream of people and carriages sweeping over
the narrow bridge made it evidently useless attempting to move in a
contrary direction. I gave up the idea, and established my bivouac in
the little churchyard close to the bridge. I felt less compunction
at doing this, because several regiments of Hanoverian infantry had
extended themselves in bivouac along the meadows, both up and down
the stream, on the same side; and, moreover, I had learned from Lord
Greenock that two or three troops of horse-artillery and a large
corps of hussars were occupying the plateau in front, between us and
the enemy. Under the impression of security, therefore, I laid myself
down after our evening meal was finished, expecting a good sleep; but
my eyes were scarcely closed ere the never-to-be-mistaken sound of
a distant cannonade caused me to start up again. Everything around
was perfectly still; the Hanoverians seemed to be all asleep; and no
stir or bustle of any kind in our immediate neighbourhood indicated
an alarm. The cannonade, too, though sometimes more distinctly heard
than at others, did not, on the whole, seem to approach. After
listening for a time, sleep got the better of me, and I sank down in
spite of the distant cannonade and the more immediate concert of
thousands of frogs in the adjoining ditch.
_23d._--A fine day. Uneasy at hearing nothing of the brigade being
in motion. The cannonade during the night proceeded from Sir Charles
Colville and the 4th division attacking Cambray.
About noon Sir Augustus Frazer, with Sir Julius Hartman of the K. G.
Legion horse-artillery, paid us a visit. From them I learned that
headquarters are established in Cateau, and that the Duke intends
halting in our present position for a day or two to give time for
the rear of the army to close up, since, from the rapidity of our
march, and from the whole marching in a single column, many corps
are still a long way in the rear. At the same time, Cambray on our
right and Landrecy on our left are to be secured before we advance
further. Moreover, we are likely, it seems, to have another battle
immediately, for the French army has rallied in considerable force,
and is in position not far in front of us. Upon this intelligence
I decided on remaining at Montay until the brigade should come up;
therefore, leaving my second captain to inspect ammunition, and
forward cleaning, repairing, shoeing, &c., I set off with our two
visitors on their return to Cateau. This place, which is very small,
is situated in a rich alluvial bottom amongst fine, well-irrigated
meadows. The only trees, however, in this bottom are at Montay.
The town is surrounded by a simple wall, perhaps only for excise
purposes; and I was at a loss to conjecture the use of a single
battery of two or three pieces near the gate leading to Montay. On
entering this gate I was struck by the dismal aspect of the street
within--narrow, dirty, and composed of mean-looking houses built
of sombre-coloured stone, and scarcely a human being visible; for
although headquarters were here, none of the members of it were to
be seen in the streets. Priests in their black cassocks and band
strode solemnly along from time to time. The house in which the Duke
lodged was the only decent-looking one in the place. It stood at the
extremity of the street, crossing at right angles the one we entered
by--large, and pierced with numerous windows, apparently new, and
having the advantage of a row of three or four fine trees in front.
Some pretensions there were, too, to architectural decorations in
the façade, which was of stucco, painted buff. Cateau was soon
seen, and I returned to Montay, where I found the poor farmer (the
farm adjoined the church) in great distress. The Hanoverians were
plundering barns, farmyard, and all. “Ah, monsieur, tout sera
abimé!” cried the poor fellow, wringing his hands, and presenting
the very picture of despair. Yesterday evening he complained to
me, and I did what I could to prevent it, but without much effect.
The bivouac of these marauders in the adjoining meadows was only
separated from his garden by a sort of willow hedge; and although I
planted sentries for the protection of it, everything disappeared.
This morning, becoming bolder, they have plundered his barns, &c.,
and even threatened the house itself. As we draw our own supplies of
eggs, milk, &c., from the farm, I did what I could to save him from
further plunder, and sent Breton to remonstrate with their commanding
officer, and give him to understand that, unless he kept his men
under better discipline, I would report him to the Duke. Got nothing
by this, for he persisted in not understanding English. Thus we have
been obliged to be constantly on the alert, and to keep them out by
main force. The poor farmer is very grateful, and loud in praise of
_les bons Anglais_, whilst he _sacrés_, &c., their allies down to
the bottomless pit--“aux enfers.” He admits the truth of what I said
about retaliation, and turned up his eyes in horror at the account
I gave him of the ravages committed by French troops in other
countries. “Mais, monsieur, je le crois bien, les soldats Français
sont de vrais brigands; ils pillent partout même dans la patrie; oui,
monsieur, ici même;” and he related how a detachment of cuirassiers
had quartered on him for three days, having only departed the morning
of that in which we arrived. They had treated him cruelly; and not
content with living on him all that time, were on the point of
destroying everything that was left and burning the premises, when
the unexpected appearance of some of our advanced corps obliged them
to make a precipitate retreat. In the evening, a general parade of
the Germans. They have formed a sort of diminutive tents for the
night by striking two ramrods into the ground, crossed, to form each
end; I forget how they form the ridge. A blanket is laid over, and
the other two serve to lie under and over the three men the tent
just holds. The different bands, all good, continued playing until
after dusk, which we enjoyed sitting in the willow hedge smoking our
cigars. The scene was remarkably pretty. Groups of men scattered
about amongst the little tents, some preparing supper, &c.; the
bands, with officers in picturesque costumes hovering about them; the
town of Cateau in the background; and on either hand the picture
shut in by bold naked slopes of the neighbouring heights.
_24th._--Fine warm morning, but day promises to be rather too hot.
Not a gun to be heard to-day by the sharpest ear; the business at
Cambray must be settled somehow or other. Getting accustomed to our
churchyard. To be sure, none of the graves are recent; it seems long
since any one has been buried here. Hitchins and I have decided on
breakfasting together; and as he is more at leisure than I am, he has
undertaken the foraging department. This morning our repast consisted
of bread (sour as vinegar), cheesy butter, and hard eggs, washed down
with weak grog (Hollands)--table a grave. Ever since we passed Mons
good bread is not to be had--all is of this horrid sour description.
To the eye it is well enough. The peasantry make their bread in large
flat loaves, 2 or 2½ feet in diameter--no mistake!--nearly circular.
Sometimes the loaves are annular, and of the above diameter. Enter
Lieutenant and Adjutant Bell, R.H.A., and I can write no more, for he
no doubt brings news.
9 P.M.--Here we are, then, back again in Forêt. Bell brought us the
order to return forthwith, as the brigade was to march without delay
on Landrecy, the commandant of which place refuses to surrender.
We lost no time in obeying the order, and the road being now quite
clear--indeed solitary--marched here in a very short time; and
instead of finding the brigade ready to move, were surprised on
reaching the village at seeing the Life Guardsmen quietly grooming
their horses in front of the barns and stables of their billets.
The place being already full, we were directed to bivouac, and
accordingly I pitched upon this orchard, which is high and dry;
but the trees are too young and too far apart to afford us much
shade, which we want just now. The arrival of strangers attracted a
concourse of villagers to our bivouac, many old women and young girls
bringing quantities of very fine cherries for sale. The former were
remarkably coarse and ugly, the latter generally pretty, and all
had sparkling, speaking eyes. These, of course, sold their cherries
first; but the article was too grateful in such a roasting day as
this has been not to insure the sale of all. The costume of these
women--who, by the way, seemed quite at home with us--was rather
picturesque. Lofty white caps, with long flaps hanging down to the
shoulders, their naked stays sometimes not very closely laced, bosom
covered with a coloured handkerchief put on with a degree of taste,
coarse woollen petticoats of a blue stuff striped with white or pink
and reaching only to the calf of the leg, coarse woollen stockings,
and clumsy wooden shoes (_sabots_). Most of them wore large gold or
silver rings in their ears, and many a little golden cross suspended
from the neck by a black riband or a strip of black velvet. The Duke
has published a manifesto from Cateau. Several copies are stuck up
in the village, and the people here seem very much pleased with it;
and well they may, for it assures them they shall be treated like
gentlemen, and not get the punishment which France, as a nation,
so richly deserves. It calls upon the people to remain quietly at
home, as we make no war on them, but ought rather to be considered
as their allies; further, it goes on to assure them that the
strictest discipline will be maintained in the Allied army, and that
everything required by the troops must be paid for at its full value.
The Forêtiens, and particularly the Forêtiennes, actually express
astonishment at our generosity.
Louis XVIII., &c., passed through the village this evening on his
way to Cateau. Leathes and I rode a little way out to meet him,
which we did about a quarter of a mile off. The cortège consisted
of several Berlines, escorted by about two squadrons of the Royal
Garde de Corps--fine young men (all gentlemen), dressed in a
very becoming uniform, blue turned up with red, and silver lace
tastefully disposed, with Grecian helmets, silver, with a golden
sun on the front, the most elegant I ever saw. The king was in the
last carriage, on each side of which rode the Duc de Berri and that
General whose acquaintance I made on the drill-ground near Alost.
We had drawn up on the roadside as the cortège passed. The moment
the Duc de Berri and the General saw us, they came up, and, offering
us their hands, poured forth such a torrent of compliments and
congratulations as made even our horses blush. His Royal Highness
could never sufficiently testify his gratitude to the English nation,
&c. &c.; was impatient to see us in Paris, for then and there indeed,
&c. &c. The General was equally profuse in compliments and promises,
so that, forgetting the adage, “Put not your trust in princes,”
Leathes and I have ever since been feeling the Croix de St Louis
dangling at our breasts--_nous verrons_! The monarch was detained
from his dinner more than half an hour by my worthy friend Mons. le
Curé, who, in full pontificals, and followed by his congregation
_en habits de Dimanches_, met him at the entrance of the village,
and, standing on a little bank at the coach-door, delivered a long
harangue, set off by Mandarine-like bobs of the head at the end of
every period, and a most profound bow at the conclusion, all which
were received and returned by his Majesty with exemplary patience and
punctuality. At length the cortège moved on, and we returned to our
orchard.
_25th._--Here we are, another day’s march in advance, not only
without the expected battle, but also without having either seen or
heard of an enemy. Nor have we seen any traces of one, having found
the peasantry everywhere as peaceably occupied as if no war existed.
Nothing more have we heard of Landrecy, which, I suppose, must have
surrendered, since Lord Edward sent us orders this morning to march
on Sequehart, where the brigade halts to-night. Accordingly I marched
immediately towards Montay in a thick drizzling rain, which made this
dismal country appear ten times more dismal. The cavalry regiments
marched at the same time (about five A.M.?) and we kept company as
far as Montay; but there they left us, for we found the road again
so choked with baggage, &c., that although we succeeded in passing
the bridge, yet the deep hollow road (_encaissé_ between very high
steep banks), ascending to the opposite heights, was so inextricably
crammed with carriages, and the unctuous soil so slippery, that I
feared we should bivouac in the churchyard again. We attempted the
ascent, and being better horsed than the others, succeeded in getting
ahead wherever an opening offered. Our column was broken into as many
fractional parts as we had carriages. At length, after a most arduous
struggle, we mustered our whole force on the plateau, and pushed
forward in the old way--sometimes getting along pretty smoothly by
keeping one side of the road; then a choke would stop us for a time,
until, an opportunity offering, the head of our column would make a
dash and break the file of waggons; but occasionally in doing this,
if the rear carriages did not keep close up, the waggoners would
dash in their turn, and cut them off. Then again we got foul of our
Nassau friends, and the old quarrel was revived; cursing, swearing,
and bayoneting followed as matter of course. The road itself was
execrable, and in places a complete slough. It appears that our
march has been so conducted as to avoid the main avenues, and thus
turn the fortresses; consequently, with the exception of some little
bits of chaussée, we have been travelling on the cross-roads--in
France always execrable. On gaining the plateau we saw everywhere
around us again those interminable fields of wheat--not a hedge
nor a dividing wall; the only relief a few small woods here and
there. A hamlet we occasionally met with, and sometimes a solitary
cabaret of the meanest appearance--“Ici on loge à pied et à cheval,”
scrawled on a board in black letters, on a dirty-white ground,
invited the traveller to enter. Sometimes a longer inscription set
forth other inducements. I pity the luckless wight who trusts to
their hospitality. A remarkable feature in the cheerless scenery of
these oceans of corn is the row of apple-trees so frequently seen
skirting the horizon. The by-roads here are frequently bordered by
apple or pear trees, which accounts for this. As we advanced on
the plateau, and still found no concentration of troops, or other
indication of the neighbourhood of the enemy, our expectation of
another battle vanished. Insensibly we had deviated from the general
route, and found ourselves only accompanied by Major Bull’s troop
of horse-artillery. Bull had got the same discretionary orders from
his general as myself, and was also making his way to Sequehart,
where his brigade was to halt. The country had become prettier and
more interesting, and the rain had ceased. Woods were more frequent
and larger, and at last we marched through what might strictly be
termed a wooded country. The ground, too, became more undulating,
and pastures of green meadows occurred to relieve most agreeably the
tiresome sameness of the corn crops. Occasionally, also, openings
between the woods would give us glimpses of distant and pretty
country. But where dwell the husbandmen who cultivate those lands? In
this district we saw not a single habitation, and only here and there
met a solitary peasant--not working, but in the road--moving from
one place to another. Of these we incessantly demanded “Où se trouve
Sequehart?” and the response was invariably “_N’sais paw, Monsire_,”
or a shake of the head. Bull and I began to be uneasy as the evening
drew on, whilst we were surrounded by woods, and not the slightest
appearance of a village to be seen. Our own people were now the only
troops visible, and we began to suspect what proved to be true--we
had lost ourselves!
We were so enclosed by woods that it was impossible to see to any
distance; and cross-roads branching off right and left became very
frequent, so that we were puzzled how to proceed. Every peasant we
met persisted in knowing nothing of Sequehart, nor had met any other
troops. We were evidently astray. At last an old man, to whom the
usual questions were put, after puzzling over it for a few minutes,
begged we would repeat the name. “Sequehart!--Sequehart!” said he,
two or three times. “_Monsire, n’le connois paw_; mais, ma foi, ce
sera sans doute Escars que vous cherchez.” We stared in our turn,
but the old man was positive, and insisted that we were leaving it
behind us. After some little irresolution, Bull and I made up our
minds to follow his directions; and accordingly, after a few miles
threading our way between woods, arrived here a little before sunset.
The village is already full of Life Guards, and therefore we are
obliged to bivouac again; but that is of little moment, for we have
an excellent spot on a rising ground, covered with short velvety
turf, close to the chaussée leading to St Quentin, on the other side
of which, about two or three hundred yards distant, is the village of
Sequehart, or Escars, so buried in the foliage of fine walnut-trees,
and of the hedges enclosing the gardens and some fields, that
scarcely a roof is to be seen; and it is only through the ascending
columns of blue smoke from amongst the trees that the site of the
village is to be detected. From the swelling hills up which the St
Quentin road runs in front of us, the short clean turf, and the chalk
(or gypsum) that appears in patches where this has been removed, we
might fancy ourselves on the South Downs, in Sussex. It is a sweet
rural spot, and, what is better, we see few signs of war about us;
for except Walcott’s troop (rocket), which has just come up, no other
soldiers whatever are to be seen. Bull left us at the other side of
the village, and our cavalry are, like it, buried in the foliage
and invisible to us. We understand headquarters are at Joncour, a
village not far off, and that Lord Hill’s division is at Belleglise,
somewhere in front, so that we may sleep securely to-night. Lovely
evening.
_26th._--Fine morning. Marched early, and, crossing the downs,
traversed beyond them a pretty well-wooded country, diversified very
agreeably by several large sheets of water, formed by embankments,
and regained the route of our army, which we had deviated from
yesterday at Belleglise, just as the bustle commenced. Plunged once
more into the torrent, with all its _désagrémens_ and vexations,
and swam along with it as before. The wooded country gave place
to the dismal sea of corn a little beyond Belleglise; but after
travelling about four or five miles through this tiresome region, we
once more came amongst trees, and crossed a deep ravine, or rather
wooded valley, in which was situated a most respectable-looking
country-house, brick, with stone angles, window-cases, &c., standing
upon a terrace, with an old-fashioned garden divided into rectangular
beds, with stone vases, &c., sheltered in the rear by the woods,
and to the south looking upon a fine sheet of water--artificial,
no doubt--most probably formed by damming up the stream which we
crossed in the bottom. The country people told us this place belongs
to Caulaincourt, Duc de Vicenza, which is no doubt the truth, since
in my map I find it called Caulaincourt. The hanging woods and shady
winding paths of this ravine appeared to us heavenly when contrasted
with the dreary exposed plain above; and this, if possible, was more
hideous than ever when we again debouched upon it--a dead flat,
unrelieved by the slightest undulation--a sea of wheat extending to
the horizon, with here and there a few clumps of beggarly pines,
and the usual straggling lines of apple-trees fringing the horizon.
I forget where, but it must have been just before crossing the
valley at Caulaincourt that we left the direct route, together with
Bull’s and Whinyate’s troops, as we were directed to halt for the
night at Etreillers. After marching two or three miles more over
this uninteresting plain, on passing one of these circular pine
clumps we suddenly came in sight of fine trees bounding the horizon,
intermixed with buildings, which, on approaching it, proved to be
Etreillers. The village is a very large one, composed principally of
large farms, with a few dwellings of an inferior description, all,
however, standing back in gardens, or in their large straw-yards,
which are separated from the broad avenues constituting the village
street by high walls, with a great gateway of entrance, and generally
surrounded on three sides by orchards. Such quarters are quite a
luxury; for although we are three troops in the village, yet all
get under cover, man and horse, in houses, barns, stables, &c.
The appearance of the place is not gay, and may truly be said to
harmonise in tone with the dreary but fruitful plain around. The
buildings are generally of a dark stone, with enormous thatched
roofs, which, if not lively, has at least an air of substantial
comfort that makes ample amends for everything else.
I have established myself in a most comfortable farmhouse of the
first class, and, to complete my good fortune, have an exceedingly
pretty and most obliging hostess. Instead of the black looks an
intruder like myself might have expected, I was received with smiles,
and a welcome which sounded sincere. I was shown into their best
room (the one which I now write in), my horses into the best stable,
and everything done to make me most comfortable. My fair friend has
let out one reason for all this, although I still believe genuine
hospitality has a great share in it--she is delighted at having
English instead of Prussians quartered on her; all the country are
in dread of the latter. As may be supposed, we were soon quite at
home--I say we, for my second captain (Newland) was with me. In the
stable, men and boys have been at work helping our men to clean their
horses, whilst in the house the women busied themselves in arranging
our room, cooking dinner, and even asking for our dirty linen, which
they are in the act of washing for us, so that to-day I can afford a
clean shirt and still start to-morrow with a clean kit. The room we
occupy is large and rather dark, for there are only two small windows
looking out to the farmyard, and these rather obscured with the white
draperies with which they are ornamented. The furniture is coarse and
clumsy, made of walnut, and is as black as ebony. One side of the
room is occupied by two sleeping-places, let into the wall, exactly
like the berths on shipboard. The bedding in these, though coarse
also, is very good, and, like everything else, scrupulously clean;
the sheets have just been put in. Our servants have comfortable beds
allotted to them, and have become as much at home in the kitchen
as if they were old acquaintances. Whilst dinner was preparing, I
sallied forth to see how my people were put up, and had scarcely
left the yard when I encountered an old peasant wearing an enormous
cocked-hat, and having a drum suspended from his neck by a broad
band, on which he occasionally gave a sort of roll or flourish. His
grotesque figure, as well as his employment, attracted my attention,
and I was somewhat mystified on observing that every flourish on
the drum was responded to by an opening of doors and the sallying
out of old ladies, each bearing under her arm one of those enormous
loaves already mentioned. What can all this mean, thought I? Is it
possible that in this most military of all nations even women are
subject to regulations, and obliged to conduct the _ménage_ by tap
of drum or sound of bugle? One old lady, with a huge annular loaf,
whom I questioned, soon solved the query. The commissary had ordered
the inhabitants to feed the troops, and this drumming hero was the
crier, who gave notice to that effect, and was likewise collecting
all the ready-baked bread at the church for distribution. The thing
seemed perfectly well understood, each roll of the drum producing
precisely the same effect as the crier moved along the great rambling
street. The old women, as they trotted towards the church, made a
clatter with their _sabots_ like so many horses. Many of the people I
found had, on our first arrival, concealed everything; but the dread
of being plundered was soon removed, and all is now confidence. As
far as I can judge, these people seem to live well enough in their
own way; and in every house one is sure to find good beds, very high,
being raised upon an enormous palliasse. There is no want of silver
spoons, and even forks, in many of them; and their stock of household
linen (good) is really astonishing, many small _cultivateurs_
possessing as much as would set up two or three of our middling
farmers. I use the term “_cultivateur_” to designate a class quite
common in France, but scarcely known in England. They are proprietors
of small estates (perhaps only a few acres), fractions of large ones
sold in lots during the Revolution. These, of course, they cultivate
themselves, with the assistance of their families, and are thence
styled “_cultivateurs_” by the Government, and are obliged to put
this, coupled with their number (they are all numbered), upon their
carts, &c.--for example, “Joachim Laroque, cultivateur, No. 3755;” or
“Jean Baptiste Amand,” &c. &c. &c.
We find them a simple, obliging, but very ignorant race; and their
_patois_ is to me almost unintelligible. Some with whom I conversed
this evening either were, or pretended to be, quite ignorant of what
has been taking place in the great world. They had heard that France
was at war with England, Russia, and Prussia, but that was all. They
had never heard of Wellington, nor of Nelson, nor even Louis XVIII.
They had, however, heard enough to inspire them with some dread of
the Cossacks and Prussians. I asked them if they knew Buonaparte?
“Non, monsieur--non y pas!” “Napoleon?--aw mais oui, monsieur, c’est
l’Empereur que ça--n’est ce paw vrai, monsieur?” They had heard of
him because he made them pay taxes; but of his wars they were as
ignorant as all the rest, and did not speculate the least in the
world as to how and why we are here.
Returned _home_ (conceive being _at home_ in a French farmhouse!)
just as the good woman was placing a most inviting fricasseed fowl
and _omelette aux herbes_, smoking hot, upon our table, to which,
with a good bottle of _vin du pays_, we lost no time in doing
justice. We have passed a most comfortable evening; and if we may
judge by the laughing and chattering in the kitchen, our servants
and the rustics have not passed it badly. As their door is opposite
to ours, we have occasionally peeped in upon them, and been much
amused at seeing the ploughmen equipped in our men’s helmets, belts,
&c.; but their chief source of amusement appeared to be reciprocally
teaching each other English and French words--the attempt at
pronouncing which causes infinite fun.