better imagined than described. They went again to meet that enemy whom
they had so often encountered, and as invariably vanquished; to follow
that general, who, in a long course of years of command devoted to
the service and glory of his country, had never experienced a single
defeat; who had so lately led them from victory to victory, crossed,
in his triumphant march, the plains of Spain, fought his way over the
frozen heights of the Pyrenees, carried conquest and dismay in the very
heart of France, and whose rapid and unparalleled career of conquest
had only been checked by the angel of peace. As we saw the last of our
brave troops march out of Brussels, the recollection of their past
glory, the proud hopes of their present triumph, the greatness of the
contest, upon the issue of which the fate of Europe and the security
of the world depended; the dread of their encounter with the numerous
and formidable hosts of _that man_, whom no treaties could bind, no
adversity could amend, no considerations of justice or humanity could
soften, no laws, divine or human, could restrain, swelled our hearts
with feelings which language is too feeble to express: and our brave
countrymen were followed by our tears, our warmest wishes, and our most
fervent prayers for their safety and success.
Before seven in the morning, the streets, which had been so lately
thronged with armed men and with busy crowds, were empty and silent.
The great square of the Place Royale no longer resounded with the
tumult and preparations for war. The army were gone, and Brussels
seemed a perfect desert. The mourners they had left behind were shut up
in their solitary chambers, and the faces of the few who were slowly
wandering about the streets were marked with the deepest anxiety and
melancholy. The heavy military waggons, ranged in order, and ready to
move as occasion might require, were standing under the silent guard of
a few sentinels. The Flemish drivers were sleeping in the long tilted
carts destined to convey the wounded; and the horses, ready to harness
at a moment's notice, were quietly feeding on fresh-cut grass by their
side: the whole livelong day and night did these Flemish men and horses
pass in the Place Royale. A few officers were still to be seen, slowly
riding out of town to join the army. The Duke of Wellington set off
about eight o'clock, in great spirits, declaring he expected to be
back by dinner-time; and dinner was accordingly prepared for him. Sir
Thomas Picton, who, like ourselves, had only arrived in Brussels the
day before, rode through the streets in true soldier-like style, with
his reconnoitring glass slung across his shoulders, reining in his
charger as he passed, to exchange salutations with his friends, and
left Brussels--never to return.
We had a most agreeable surprise at our breakfast-table in the sight
of Major Llewellyn. He had ridden a few miles out of Brussels with
the regiment, and then galloped back with Sir Philip Belson, who also
wished to return. We spent a few hours together, and, embittered as
they were with the prospect of so near and dreadful a separation, there
was much consolation in thus meeting. No expectation was entertained
of any engagement taking place to-day. Sir Philip Belson and Major
Llewellyn, therefore, felt quite at their ease; "being certain," they
said, "of overtaking the regiment _at a place called Waterloo_, where
the men were to stop to cook." Little did any of us then suspect how
memorable to future ages "that place called Waterloo" was destined to
become! We denied ourselves to several idlers, but Sir Neil Campbell,
and Mr. and Mrs. H., succeeded in gaining admittance.
At last the moment of parting arrived; Sir Philip Belson called for
Major Llewellyn, and, after sitting a few moments, they got up to go
away, and we bade farewell to one who from childhood had been our
friend and companion, and whom we loved as another brother. We could
not but feel how probable it was that we might never see him more; and,
under this impression, some minutes after he had left us, which he had
spent in bidding farewell to my brother below, we ran to the window,
saw Sir Philip Belson and him mount their horses and ride away, and
caught the last glimpse of them as they passed under the gateway of the
Place Royale. Two hours afterwards they were in the thickest of the
battle!
Although we had not the smallest suspicion that any engagement
could take place to-day, our anxiety for news, both of the French
and Prussians, was extreme; but we could hear nothing but vague,
unauthenticated reports, upon which no reliance could be placed.
We dined, or rather sat down to dinner, at the table d'hôte, and
afterwards wandered restlessly about the streets, our minds too much
absorbed in the approaching contest, to see, hear, understand, think,
or talk about anything but what related to public events.
Our consternation may be imagined when we were told that a dreadful
cannonade had been heard from the Parc, in the very direction which our
army had taken, and that it was supposed they must have been attacked
by the French within a few miles of Brussels. At first I was utterly
incredulous; I could not, would not believe it; but, hurrying to the
Parc, we were too soon, too incontestably convinced of the dreadful
truth, by ourselves hearing the awful and almost incessant thunder of
the guns apparently very near to us. For many hours this tremendous
cannonade continued, while, unable to gain any intelligence of what was
passing, ignorant of everything, except of the fact, proclaimed by the
loud and repeated voice of war, that there was a battle, we listened in
a state of terrible uncertainty and suspense, and thought with horror,
in the roar of every cannon, that our brave countrymen were every
moment falling in agony and death.
Unable to rest, we wandered about, and lingered till a late hour in the
Parc. The Parc! what a different scene did its green alleys present
this evening from that which they exhibited at the same hour last
night! Then it was crowded with the young and the gay, and the gallant
of the British army, with the very men who were now engaged in deadly
strife, and perhaps bleeding on the ground. Then it was filled with
female faces sparkling with mirth and gaiety; now terror, and anxiety,
and grief were marked upon every countenance we met.
In addition to the general alarm and anxiety, which surpassed
anything it is in my power to describe, we had a particular subject
of solicitude. We had but too much reason to fear that it would be
impossible for Sir Philip Belson and Major Llewellyn to join their
regiment in time for the action. The idea, the very doubt was dreadful.
If _we_ listened to the cannonade with such heart-sinking apprehensions
for them, what must have been _their_ feelings, if, at a distance
from the army, absent without leave, they heard its sounds! After
years of service in various climates and countries, after six long and
glorious campaigns in the Peninsula, would they forfeit, by one act of
imprudence, all the distinction they had obtained by a life devoted
to their country, and be found absent from their post in the hour
of danger! Dear to us as was the life of our friend, his honour was
still dearer; and while every one else was anxiously dreading lest the
battle should be near, and trembling at the reports that prevailed of
its vicinity, I was secretly praying that it might not be distant, and
would have felt inexpressibly relieved to have been assured that it was
within a few miles of Brussels.
But it was in vain we attempted to discover where it really was. Some
people said it was only six, some that it was ten, and some that it was
twenty miles off. Numbers of people in carriages and on horseback had
gone out several miles on the road which the army had taken, and all
of them had come back in perfect ignorance of the real circumstances
of the case, and with some ridiculous report, which, for a time, was
circulated as the truth. No authentic intelligence could be gained; and
every minute we were assailed with the most absurd and contradictory
stories. One moment we heard that the allied army had obtained a
complete victory; that the French had been completely repulsed, and
had left _twenty thousand dead_ upon the field of battle. Gladly
would I have believed the first part of this story, but the _twenty
thousand dead_ I could not swallow. Then again we were told that the
French, 180,000 strong, had attacked the British, that the Belgians
had abandoned their arms and fled, that our troops were literally
cut to pieces, and that the French were advancing to Brussels. Then
an English gentleman stopped his carriage to tell us, that _he_ had
been out farther than anybody, and that he had actually _seen_ the
engagement, which was between the French and the Prussians, and that
old Blucher had given the rascals a complete beating. We had not gone
ten paces farther, before another man, in a great hurry, advised us to
set off instantly if we wished to make our escape; that he was on the
point of going, for that certain intelligence had been received "that
the French had won the battle, and that our army was retreating in the
utmost confusion." I never remember to have felt so angry in my life;
and I indignantly exclaimed, that such a report deserved only to be
treated with contempt, and that it must be false, for that the English
would never retreat _in confusion_. The man seemed a little ashamed of
himself, and Mr. H. advised him "by all means to take care of himself,
and set off directly." We hastened on. Presently we met another of
Mr. H.'s wise friends, who assured us, with a face of the greatest
solemnity, "that the day was going against us; that the battle was as
good as lost; that our troops had been driven back from one position
after another; and that the artillery and baggage had commenced the
retreat; that all the horses would be seized for the service of the
army; and that in two hours it would be impossible to get away." All
this time we could hear nothing of what was really passing; or these
idle tales and unfounded rumours were unworthy of a moment's attention,
and did not give us a moment's alarm; but the poor Belgians, not
knowing what to make of all this, and nearly frightened out of their
senses, firmly expected the French in Brussels before the morning;
for their terror of them was so great and so deeply rooted, that they
believed nothing on earth could stop their advance.
This dreadful uncertainty and ignorance of the truth made us truly
wretched. Nobody knew anything of the actual state of affairs. Nobody
could tell where our army was engaged, nor under what circumstances,
nor against what force, nor whether separately or conjointly with the
Prussians, nor which side was gaining the advantage. We knew nothing,
except that there was a battle, and that at no great distance from
us; for that the unceasing cannonade too certainly proved. Anxiously
and vainly we looked for news from the army--none arrived. The
consternation of the people was not to be described. "The cannonade is
approaching nearer!" they exclaimed. "Hark! how loud was that peal!
There, again! Our army must be retreating. Good heavens! what will
become of us!" On every side, in the tones of terror and despondency,
we heard these exclamations repeated. Heard through the density and
stillness of the evening air, the cannonade did, in fact, seem to
approach nearer, and become more tremendous. During the whole evening
we wandered about the Parc, or stood in silence on the ramparts,
listening to the dreadful thunder of the battle. At length it became
less frequent. How often did we hope it had ceased, and vainly flatter
ourselves that each peal was the last! when, again, after an awful
pause, a louder, a longer roar burst on our ears, and it raged more
tremendously than ever. To our great relief, about half-past nine, it
became fainter and fainter, and at last entirely died away.
After we had returned to the hotel, Sir Neil Campbell, who, in our
absence, had been twice at our rooms and in the Parc in search of us,
good-naturedly came again, to tell us that he had met Sir G. Scovell,
who had left the field with orders from Brussels about half-past
five, and that so far "all was well." The French army had encountered
our troops on their march, upon the high road, about fifteen miles
from Brussels. The 92nd and 42nd Highland regiments were the first
in order of march. These brave men immediately made a stand, formed
into squares, received the furious onset of the French with undaunted
intrepidity, and alone sustained the fight, until the Royal Scots,
the 28th, and some other regiments, came up to support them. Every
regiment, as it arrived, instantly formed and fought; and though
the English had been taken by surprise, unprepared, unconcentrated;
without cavalry, and with scarcely any artillery; and, though the enemy
outnumbered them far beyond all computation, they had not yielded an
inch of ground, and they were still fighting in the fullest confidence
of success. "There can be no doubt of their repulsing the French,"
said Colonel Scovell, "but nothing of any importance can be done till
the cavalry come up, which it is expected they will do this evening.
To-morrow the engagement will most probably be renewed, and I hope it
will prove decisive." The Duke, he said, who was in excellent spirits,
was to sleep to-night at Genappe.
Certainly no other troops but the English, without any cavalry, and
with very little artillery, would have thought themselves sure of
repulsing an enemy with both, and with an almost countless superiority
of numbers: and most certainly none but the English could have achieved
it. It is a perversion of words to call the troops engaged in the
battle of Quatre Bras the English army. During the greater part of the
day a few regiments only, a mere handful of men, were opposed to the
immense masses the French continually poured down against them; but
they formed impenetrable squares, which were in vain attacked by the
French cavalry, "steel-clad cuirassiers," and infantry; and against
which tremendous showers of shot and shell descended in vain.
The 92nd, 42nd, 79th, the 28th, the 95th, and the Royal Scots, were
the first, and most hotly, engaged.[9] For several hours these brave
troops alone maintained the tremendous onset, and the shock of the
whole French army, and to their determined valour Belgium owes her
independence, and England her glory. I do not, however, mean to give
them exclusive praise. I do not doubt that had the post of honour
fallen upon other British regiments, they would have acquitted
themselves equally well: but let honour be paid where it is so justly
due. Let England be sensible of the vast debt of gratitude she owes
them; and let the names of those who perished there be enrolled in the
long list of her noblest heroes! The 92nd, 42nd, and 79th Highland
regiments had suffered most severely. They had received the furious
and combined attack of the French cavalry and infantry, from first to
last, with undaunted firmness, till, after supporting this unequal
contest the whole day, after making immense havoc among their columns,
and repeatedly charging and driving them back in confusion, they had
themselves fallen, overpowered by numbers, and among heaps of the
slaughtered enemy, on the very spot where they first stood to arms;
and we were told that they were, almost to a man, cut to pieces. With
grief and horror, not to be described, we thought of these gallant
soldiers whom, in the morning, we had seen march out so proudly to
battle, and who were now lying insensible in death on the plains of
Quatre Bras. They had fought, and they had fallen, as became the
same noble spirits who had wrested from the same vaunting foe the
standard of the Invincibles on the sands of Egypt. They were gallantly
supported by the 28th, who, on the same soil, as well as in the long
campaigns of Spain, had gained immortal honour, and who particularly
distinguished themselves in this day's battle by their complete repulse
of the French cuirassiers, who, though clad in mail, and "armed at
all points precisely cap-à-pie," were driven back with immense loss
from every attack, and uniformly gave way before the dreaded British
charge with the bayonet. One regiment of raw Belgic troops had turned
and fled where they had the finest opportunity of charging. I confess
I was not sorry to hear that these recreant Belgians had, almost to a
man, been cut to pieces by the very French troops they had not courage
to face. The fate of cowards is unpitied. The consequences of their
misconduct had, however, been retrieved by part of Sir Thomas Picton's
division,[10] which regained the post they had lost, though with
considerable slaughter.
After hearing this account our spirits completely revived, I scarcely
knew why; for, except in the new proof we had just had of invincible
British valour and firmness, there was nothing to inspire satisfaction
or confidence. We had just learned, beyond all doubt, the truth of
the alarming report, that the Prussians were separately engaged with
another division of the enemy, which completely outnumbered them. Thus
the allied armies seemed to be effectually cut off, and prevented from
assisting each other, or acting in concert. The French then, whose
combined numbers report magnified to 180,000, were on two sides of
us, at the distance of only three hours' march from Brussels. Their
army was collected, combined, concentrated, and well-appointed. The
Prussians and the English were surprised, separated, dispersed, and
unprepared; the latter were destitute of cavalry, ill-supported by
artillery, and with an appalling inferiority even of infantry; and
these too partly composed of Belgians, who seemed to make a practice
of running away. Yet, in spite of all these disadvantages, they _had_
bravely stood the first brunt of the battle, and we felt the firm
assurance that they would eventually triumph.
Colonel Scovell had left the army at half-past five; the battle, or at
least the cannonading, had lasted till about ten; and our anxiety to
know its results, our impatience for further news from the army, may be
imagined; but no later intelligence arrived; we could hear nothing but
vague reports of defeat, disaster, and dismay, to which, as they were
founded upon no authority, we paid no attention. Sir Neil Campbell was
going to join the army, like many others who had no business there:--he
was to set off at one in the morning, so that we should see him no
more, and what was infinitely worse, receive no more, through him,
immediate and authentic intelligence of all that was known. In this
respect he was a great loss to us; for he was indefatigable in bringing
us news, and took unwearied pains to be of use to us in every possible
way.
Late as it was we went to see Mrs. H., whom we knew to be in great
alarm. We found her sitting surrounded by plate, which she was vainly
trying to acquire sufficient composure to pack up, with a face pale
with consternation, and quite overcome with agitation and distress.
We did all we could to assist, and said all we could to console and
reassure her. Mr. H. had gone out towards the army, and, late as it
was, had not yet returned. We stayed with her some time, and had the
satisfaction of leaving her in much better spirits than we found her.
My brother had engaged, and made an agreement to pay for, horses, upon
the condition of their being in readiness to convey us to Antwerp at a
moment's warning, by day or night, if required. We had not, however,
the smallest intention of leaving Brussels for some days to come,
unless some sudden and unexpected change in public events should
render it absolutely necessary. Thinking it, however, prudent to be
prepared, we had sent our valet de place to la blanchisseuse to desire
her to send home everything belonging to us early in the morning. La
blanchisseuse sent back a message literally to this effect,--"Madame,"
said the valet, addressing himself to me in French, "the blanchisseuse
says, that if the English should beat the French, she will iron and
plait your clothes, and finish them for you; but if, au contraire,
these vile French should get the better, then she will assuredly send
them all back quite wet--tout mouillé--early to-morrow morning." At
this speech, which the valet delivered with immoveable gravity, we
all, with one accord, burst out a laughing, irresistibly amused to find
that amongst the important consequences of Buonaparte's gaining the
victory, would be our clothes remaining unplaited and unironed; and
that the British were, in a manner, fighting, in order that the getting
up of our fine linen might be properly performed. The valet, as soon
as he could obtain a hearing, went on to say, that he sincerely hoped
we should get our clothes dried and finished, and that the English
would beat "ces diables de Français;" but this seemed quite a secondary
consideration with the valet, compared with ironing our clothes, and
we were again seized with an uncontrollable fit of laughter. Even the
valet's long face of dismay relaxed into something like a smile, and,
as he left the room, he said to himself, "Mais ces demoiselles sont
bien enjouées."
It was half-past twelve; and hopeless now of hearing any further news
from the army, we were preparing to retire to rest--but rest was a
blessing we were not destined to enjoy in Brussels. We were suddenly
startled by the sound of the rapid rolling of heavy military carriages
passing at full speed through the Place Royale:--a great tumult
instantly took place among the people below; the baggage waggons,
which we knew were not to set off, except in a case of emergency, were
harnessed in an instant, and the noise and tumult became every instant
more alarming. For some minutes we listened in silence: faster and
faster, and louder and louder, the long train of artillery continued to
roll through the town:--the cries of the affrighted people increased.
I hastily flew out to inquire the cause of this violent commotion. The
first person I encountered was a poor, scared fille de chambre, nearly
frightened out of her wits. "Ah, madame!" she exclaimed, "les François
sont tout près; dans une petite demi-heure ils seront ici.--Ah, grand
Dieu! Ah, Jésus! Jésus! que ferons-nous! que ferons-nous!" In vain
I eagerly asked how she knew, or why she believed, or from whence
this news came, that the French were near? She could only reiterate,
again and again, "Les François sont tout près--les François sont
tout près!" my questions were unanswered and unheard; but suddenly
recollecting herself, she earnestly besought us to set off instantly,
exclaiming, "Mais, mesdames, vous êtes Anglaises--il faut partir tout
de suite--_tout de suite_," she repeated, with great emphasis and
gesticulation, and then resumed her exclamations and lamentations.
As I flew down stairs the house seemed deserted. The doors of the rooms
(which in foreign hotels are not only shut, but locked) were all wide
open; the candles were burning upon the tables, and the solitude and
silence which reigned in the house formed a fearful contrast to the
increasing tumult without. At the bottom of the staircase a group of
affrighted Belgians were assembled, all crowding and talking together
with Belgic volubility. They cried out that news had arrived of the
battle having terminated in the defeat of the British; that all the
artillery and baggage of the army were retreating; and that a party
of Belgians had just entered the town, bringing intelligence that a
large body of French had been seen advancing through the woods to
take Brussels, and that they were only two leagues off. In answer to
my doubts and my questions, they all exclaimed, "Ah! c'est trop vrai;
c'est trop vrai. Ne restez pas ici, mademoiselle, ne restez pas ici;
partez, éloignez vous vîte: c'est affreux!"
"Mais demain matin----" I began.