woman belonging to the hotel--"demain matin il n'y aura pas plus le
tems--une autre heure peut-être, et il ne sera pas plus possible de
partir." "Ecoutez, mademoiselle, écoutez!" they cried, turning paler
and paler as the thundering noise of the artillery increased. At this
moment several people, among whom were some English gentlemen and
servants, rushed past us to the stables, calling for their carriages
to be got ready instantly. "Apprêtes les chevaux, tout de suite--Vite!
vite! il n'a pas un moment!" was loudly repeated in all the hurry of
fear. These people confirmed the alarm. I sent for our côcher, and most
reluctantly we began to think that we must set off; when we found, to
our inexpressible joy, that the long trains of artillery, which still
continued to roll past with the noise of thunder, were not flying from
the army, but advancing to join it. It is impossible to conceive the
blessed relief this intelligence gave us. From that moment we felt
assured that the army was safe, and our fears for ourselves were at
an end. My brother, who had been roused from his sleep, and who, like
many other people, had been running about half-dressed, and was still
standing in his nightcap, in much perplexity what to do, now went to
bed again with great joy, declaring he was resolved to disturb himself
no more about these foolish alarms.
We were now perfectly incredulous as to the whole story of the French
having been seen advancing through the woods to take Brussels; but the
Belgians still remained convinced of it; and though they differed about
how it would be done, they all agreed that Brussels would be taken.
Some of them said that the British, and some that the Prussians, had
been defeated, and some that both of them had been defeated, and
that the French, having broken through their lines, were advancing
to take Brussels; others believed that Buonaparte, while he kept the
allies employed, had sent round a detachment, under cover of night,
by a circuitous route, to surprise the town; but it seemed to be the
general opinion, that before morning the French would be here. The
town was wholly undefended, either by troops or fortifications; it
was well known to be Napoleon's great object to get possession of it,
and that he would leave no means untried to effect it. The battle had
been fought against the most fearful disparity of numbers, and under
the most disadvantageous circumstances to the British. Its event
still remained unknown; above all, no intelligence from our army had
arrived. Under such circumstances it was not surprising that the
general despondency should be so great; while continual rumours of
defeat, disaster, and dismay, and incessant alarms, only served to
confirm their worst fears. As the French, however, had not yet come,
this panic in some degree subsided, and comparative quietness seemed
to be restored. Great alarm, however, continued to prevail through
the whole night, and the baggage waggons stood ready harnessed to
set off at a moment's notice. Several persons took their departure,
but we quietly went to bed. My sister, however, only lay down in her
clothes, observing, half in jest, and half in earnest, that we might,
perhaps, be awakened by the entrance of the French; and overcome with
fatigue, we both fell fast asleep. Her prediction seemed to be actually
verified, for at six o'clock we were roused by a violent knocking at
the room-door, accompanied by the cries of "Les François sont ici! les
François sont ici!" Starting out of bed, the first sight we beheld from
the window was a troop of Belgic cavalry galloping from the army at the
most furious rate, through the Place Royale, as if the French were at
their heels; and instantly the whole train of baggage waggons and empty
carts, which had stood before our eyes so long, set off, full speed,
by the Montagne de la Cour, and through every street by which it was
possible to effect their escape. In an instant the whole great square
of the Place Royale, which had been crowded with men, horses, carts,
and carriages, was completely cleared, as if by magic, and entirely
deserted. The terrified people fled in every direction, as if for
their lives. While my sister, who had never undressed, flew to rouse
my brother, and I threw on my clothes I scarcely knew how; I heard
again the dreadful cries of "Les François sont ici! Ils s'emparent de
la porte de la ville!" My toilet, I am quite certain, did not occupy
one minute; and as I flew down stairs, in the hope that it might yet
be possible to effect our escape, I met numbers of bewildered-looking
people running about half-dressed in every direction, in all the
distraction of fear. The men with their nightcaps on, and half their
clothes under their arms; the women with their dishevelled hair
hanging about their shoulders, and all of them pale as death, and
trembling in every limb. Some were flying down stairs loaded with all
sorts of packages; others running up to the garrets sinking under
the accumulated weight of the most heterogeneous articles. The poor
fille de chambre, nearly frightened out of her senses, was standing
half-way down the stairs, wringing her hands, and unable to articulate
anything but "Les François! les François!" A little lower, another
woman was crying bitterly, and exclaimed, as I passed her, "Nous
sommes tous perdus!" But no language can do justice to the scene of
confusion which the court below exhibited: masters and servants, ladies
and stable-boys, valets and soldiers, lords and beggars; Dutchmen,
Belgians, and Britons; bewildered garçons and scared filles de chambre;
enraged gentlemen and clamorous coachmen; all crowded together,
jostling, crying, scolding, squabbling, lamenting, exclaiming,
imploring, swearing, and vociferating, in French, English, and Flemish,
all at the same time. Nor was it only a war of words; the disputants
had speedily recourse to blows, and those who could not get horses by
fair means endeavoured to obtain them by foul. The unresisting animals
were dragged away half-harnessed. The carriages were seized by force,
and jammed against each other. Amidst the crash of wheels, the volleys
of oaths, and the confusion of tongues, the mistress of the hotel, with
a countenance dressed in woe, was carrying off her most valuable plate
in order to secure it, ejaculating, as she went, the name of Jesus
incessantly, and, I believe, unconsciously; while the master, with a
red nightcap on his head, and the eternal pipe sticking mechanically
out of one corner of his mouth, was standing with his hands in his
pockets, a silent statue of despair.
Amidst this uproar I soon found out our côcher, but, to my utter
consternation, he vehemently swore, "that he would neither go himself,
nor let his horses go; no, not to save the King of Holland himself; for
that the French were just at hand, and that they would take his horses,
and murder him:" and neither entreaties, nor bribes, nor arguments,
nor persuasions, had the smallest effect upon him; he remained
inexorable, and so did numbers of the fraternity. While my brother,
who had now come down stairs, was vainly and angrily expostulating
with him, I inquired on all sides, and of all people, if there was no
possibility of procuring other horses. The good-natured garçon of the
house exclaimed, "That if there were horses to be had in Brussels, I
should have them;" and away he ran in quest of them, while I continued
my fruitless inquiries. In a little while he returned disappointed and
unsuccessful, exclaiming, with a face of horror that I shall never
forget, "Il n'y a pas un seul cheval, et les François sont tout près
de la ville." At this moment in rushed Mr. H., in an agony of terror,
panting, breathless, and exhausted, crying to us "that his carriage
was ready, that they could carry one of us, and that we must come away
instantly." It was to no purpose both he and I implored my sister to
accompany them, but she was inflexible. Nothing could induce her to
go without us, and, finding she was immoveable, Mr. H. ran off with
the good-natured intention of taking Lady W., since we refused to go
singly. With incredible expedition, one English carriage after another
drove off at full speed, and we were left to our fate. Of the rapid
approach of the enemy we could not entertain the smallest doubt. To
say I was frightened is nothing: I honestly confess I never knew what
terror was before. Never shall I forget the horror of those moments.
Our own immediate danger, and all the dreadful list of uncertain,
undefined evils to which we might be exposed, in the power of those
merciless savages; the anxiety, the distress, and despair of our
friends at home, joined to the dreadful idea that the English army had
been overwhelmed by numbers, defeated, perhaps cut to pieces, agonised
my mind with feelings which it is impossible to describe. Escape
seemed, however, impossible: like Richard, I would have gladly given my
kingdom (if I had had one) for a horse, or at least for a pair; but no
horses were to be had, neither for love, money, nor kingdoms.
In the midst of this state of terror and suspense, I suddenly beheld
Major Wylie. If an angel had descended from heaven I could not have
welcomed him with more transport. Hope revived: and, springing
forward to meet him, I exclaimed: "Oh! Major Wylie, is it true?" His
countenance inspired little comfort; he looked pale, and struck with
horror and consternation. "God forbid!" he exclaimed: "I hope not. I
do not believe it; but I am going to inquire, and I will come back
to you immediately." He wrung my hand, and hurried away. In the mean
time I flew up-stairs to collect all our things, and bundle them
together, to be ready for instant departure, if we should be able to
procure horses. Never was packing more expeditiously performed: I am
certain it did not occupy anything like three minutes. With the help
of the valet de place, I crammed them all together, wet and dry, into
the travelling-bags, trunks, and portmanteaus, without the smallest
ceremony.
Every minute seemed to be an age, till at last Major Wylie returned
with the blessed assurance that it was a false alarm; "that for the
present, at least, we were in no danger." It is quite impossible to
give the smallest idea of the transport we felt when we found that
the enemy were not at hand, that our army was not defeated, and that
we ourselves were not in the power of the French. I never can forget
the ecstasy of that moment--the bliss of that deliverance, and the
inexpressible comfort of those feelings of safety which we now enjoyed.
No fabled spirit, emerging from the dark and dismal regions of Pluto
to the brightness and beauty of the Elysian Fields, could feel more
transporting joy than we did when "the spectre forms of terror" fled,
and we felt secure from every danger. From two English gentlemen, and
lastly from Lord C., we received a confirmation of these happy tidings.
The alarm had been raised by those dastardly Belgians whom we had seen
scampering through the town, and who had most probably been terrified
by the same foraging party of the enemy which, as we were afterwards
told, had come up even to the gates of the city, insolently summoning
it to surrender. They were supposed to have come from the side of the
Prussians; and, knowing the defenceless state of Brussels, amused
themselves with this bravado. Their appearance had confirmed the alarm
beyond all doubt, and given rise to the dreadful cry that the French
were seizing on the gates of the town. The panic had indeed been
dreadful, but it was now happily over.
Major Wylie again attempted to go to the Place Royale, but he was
instantly surrounded by a clamorous multitude, who, knowing him by his
dress to be an aide-de-camp of the Duke, angrily exclaimed, "What is
the reason that nothing is done for our security? Are we to be left
here abandoned to the enemy? Are we to be given up to the French in
this way? Why is not the City Guard ordered out to defend the town?"
(The City Guard to defend the town from the French!) We could not
help laughing at the idea of the excellent defence the City Guard of
Brussels would make against the French army. But the frightened and
enraged Belgians could not be pacified, and they beset poor Major
Wylie so unmercifully that he was fain to retreat again within the
Hôtel de Flandre.
He told us that the battle of yesterday had been severe, and most
obstinately contested. The French, whose superiority of force was so
great as to surpass all computation, had borne down with dreadful
impetuosity upon our little army. "During all his campaigns, and all
the bloody battles of the Peninsula," Major Wylie said, "he had never
seen so terrible an onset, nor so desperate an engagement. The British,
formed into impenetrable squares, received the French cavalry with
their bayonets; drove them back again and again; stood firm beneath
the fire of their tremendous artillery; and, after many hours' hard
fighting, completely repulsed the enemy, and remained masters of the
field of battle." Our cavalry had come up in the evening, but too late
to take any part in the action. A French general and colonel had come
over to the British during the battle, crying "Vive le Roi!" Their
names I heard, but they have since escaped my memory:[11] indeed, the
names of men who were base enough treacherously to desert the cause
even of a rebel and a tyrant in the hour of danger, which they had
openly espoused, ought only to be stamped with everlasting infamy.
These men must have been doubly traitors, first to Louis XVIII., and
then to Napoleon Buonaparte.
The French were commanded by Marshal Ney,[12] who, with three
divisions of infantry, a strong corps of cavalry (under the command of
General Kellerman), and a powerful artillery, could make no impression
on one division of British infantry, without any cavalry, and with
very little artillery. It was but too true that the greatest part of
the brave Highlanders, both men and officers, were amongst the killed
and wounded. They fought like heroes, and like heroes they fell--an
honour to their country: and on many a Highland hill, and through many
a Lowland valley, long will the deeds of these brave men be fondly
remembered, and their fate deeply deplored! The 28th had particularly
distinguished themselves, and gallantly repulsed the French in every
attack. Our friend Major Llewellyn was safe; and I scarcely knew
whether the assurance of his safety, or that he and Sir Philip Belson
had been in time for the battle, gave me the most heartfelt pleasure.
Our loss had been severe, but that of the enemy much greater; but
though our loss was less in actual numbers, it was much more important
to us than that which the enemy had sustained was to them. From their
great superiority of force, the killed and wounded fell proportionably
heavier on our small army, while theirs was scarcely felt among their
tremendous hosts.
When Major Wylie came away, about half-past four in the morning, the
Duke had made every disposition for battle, in the full expectation
that a general engagement would take place this day.[13] "The Prussians
had fought like lions," Major Wylie said; not, however, like British
lions, for it was but too true that they had been defeated and
repulsed, though we could scarcely at the time give entire credit
to this disagreeable news. Waggon-loads of Prussians now began to
arrive. Belgic soldiers, covered with dust and blood, and faint with
fatigue and pain, came on foot into the town. The moment in which I
first saw some of these unfortunate people was, I think, one of the
most painful I ever experienced, and soon, very soon, they arrived in
numbers. At every jolt of the slow waggons upon the rough pavement we
seemed to feel the excruciating pain which they must suffer. Sick to
the very heart with horror, I re-entered the hotel, and, in answer
to something Major Wylie said to me, I could only exclaim that the
wounded were coming in. "Good God! how pale you look! For God's sake
do not be alarmed," said the good-natured Major Wylie, compassionately
laying his hand upon my arm; "I do assure you there is nothing to fear.
The wounded must come here at any rate--it has nothing to do with a
defeat." Long familiarised himself to such scenes, they now made no
impression upon him, and it never occurred to him to imagine that we
could be shocked by seeing anything so common as waggons filled with
wounded soldiers. He thought it was the victory or the approach of the
French that I feared.
Again, however, he strongly recommended us to set off immediately.
If the army should have to retreat, and fall back upon Brussels,
which, considering the immense force of the enemy, he said, was not
improbable, the confusion in Brussels would be dreadful, and escape
impossible. The French might even take the town, and then our situation
would be horrible indeed. Of the prudence and wisdom of this advice
there could be no doubt. We had experienced the utter impracticability
of getting away in the moment of danger; we knew not how soon that
moment might return. Had we ourselves possessed the means of escape,
like Mr. and Mrs. H. and others, who had horses of their own, nothing
could have induced us to have left Brussels to the last; but to remain
exposed to incessant alarm and to imminent danger, in an open town,
which before night might be in possession of a merciless enemy, whose
formidable armies were threatening it in two separate divisions, at
the distance of a very few leagues, seemed certainly little less than
madness. With extreme reluctance we at last determined to set out for
Antwerp. The Wilsons, though they had carriage-horses, were on the
point of setting off; the carriages of Lady F.S. and Lady C. were also
at their doors, the trunks and imperiales were tying on with the utmost
dispatch, though they had at all times the means of escape within their
power.
Our faithless côcher now declared he was willing to go with us, as the
French, he said, were not _yet_ come--and to Antwerp accordingly we
consented to repair. We had had no breakfast all this time, nor would
it ever have occurred to us to procure any, had not the sight of Major
Wylie's breakfast-tray reminded us of our own famishing state. We
swallowed some coffee and bread, sitting on one of the window-seats of
the staircase of the Hôtel de Flandre, and then with great regret set
off, casting "many a longing, lingering look behind," with feelings of
anxiety so deep and overwhelming for the fate and success of our army,
that it engrossed all our faculties. Upon the event of the impending
battle, which we fully believed this very day was to decide, depended
not only the present as well as the future peace and security of
Belgium and of Europe; but, what I confess was to us even yet more
dear, the safety and the glory of our gallant army. Absorbed in these
reflections, as we slowly made our way out of the town, we witnessed
many a melancholy sight; crowds of afflicted people were assembled
round their poor wounded countrymen who had been brought in from the
field. One soldier was dying at the door of his own house: the sobs
and lamentations of some of the crowd who were collected round him,
and the grief marked on their countenances, proclaimed them to be near
relations of the unfortunate sufferer. Quite in the suburbs, some
poor people were hanging over the insensible corpses of two soldiers
who had died of their wounds. The streets were crowded so as to be
scarcely passable: carriages were driving past each other as fast as
the horses could go. All Brussels seemed to be running away; and the
only competition appeared to be who should run the fastest. The road
was thronged with people on horseback and on foot flying from the
battle, while scattered parties of troops, British, Belgic, Hanoverian,
Nassau, and Prussian, were hurrying to the scene of action. A great
number of Prussian Lancers, with their black mustachios, high caps,
long pikes, and little horses, were pushing forwards to the field. Long
trains of commissariat waggons were rolling along with a deafening
clatter; overturned carts, and the remains of broken wheels, were
lying in the ditches. By the wayside, and beneath the shade of some
tall trees, there was a large rude sort of encampment, consisting of
men and women, horses and waggons, amongst which universal uproar
seemed to prevail. I could have fancied them a Tartar settlement in
the act of suddenly decamping at the approach of some horde of savage
enemies. Farther on, parks of artillery were drawn up in the peaceful
verdant meadows. Droves of oxen were going up to be slaughtered for
the army, and the poor beasts, amazed at the horrid objects and noises
which they encountered, took fright, and ran about in every direction
except the right one, entirely blocking up the road, where confusion
reigned unbounded: while the barking of the dogs, the blows and halloos
of the drivers, the curses of the soldiers, and the vexation of the
passengers, only served to increase the turbulence of the unruly
cattle. The canal, by the side of which the road is carried, was
covered with boats, and trackschuyts, and côches d'eau, and vessels
of every description, and presented a scene of tumult and confusion
scarcely inferior to that upon land.
About three miles from Brussels, situated upon an eminence above the
road, we passed the magnificent palace of Lacken. I shuddered as I
looked up to its lofty dome, and recollected that Napoleon had made the
boast that this very night he would sleep beneath its roof. Uncertain,
as we then were, how the day that had risen might terminate, believing
as we did that the eventful battle was even now begun which was to
decide the fate of Europe, my heart swelled with the proud confidence,
that unprepared, unconcentrated, outnumbered as they were; leagued
with foreigners who could not be depended upon, and with allies who
had been defeated, yet that under every disadvantage British valour
would still be triumphant, as it had ever been in every contest, and at
every period. Great numbers of wounded stragglers from the field were
slowly and painfully wandering along the road, pale and faint from loss
of blood, and with their heads, arms, and legs bound up with bloody
bandages. We spoke to several of them, but they were all either Belgic
or Prussian, and did not understand a word of French. Two of the most
severely wounded we took upon our carriage and carried into Malines,
where they told the côcher their friends lived. From him we learnt
that they had been wounded in the battle yesterday morning. I saw--I
am sorry to say--one young English gentleman, who was travelling quite
alone in his own carriage, sternly order down two of these unfortunate
wounded men from his carriage.
The wounded, however, whom we saw, were able to move. In time they
would reach a place of safety and shelter; but, if even their
sufferings were so great that the very sight of them was painful,
what must be the state of those who were left bleeding on the field
of the lost battle, deserted by the retreating Prussians, passed by,
unpitied and unaided, by the advancing French, and abandoned to perish
in sufferings from the bare idea of which humanity recoils![14] The
day was unusually sultry; but if we felt the rays of the sun beneath
which we journeyed to be so oppressive, what must be the situation of
the poor unsheltered wounded, exposed to its fervid blaze in the open
field, without even a drop of water to cool their thirst? What must be
the sufferings of our own unfortunate men, above all, of those who
were not only wounded but prisoners, and at the mercy of the merciless
French? Never--never till this moment, had I any conception of the
horrors of war! and they have left an impression on my mind which no
time can efface. Dreadful, indeed, is the sight of pain and misery
we have no power to relieve, but far more dreadful are the horrors
imagination pictures of the scene of carnage; the agonies of the
wounded and the dying on the field of battle, where even the dead who
had fallen by the sword, in the prime of youth and health, are to be
envied!--the thought was agony, and yet I could not banish it from my
mind.