the horses were eating their rye-bread, and the poor people of the
village crowded around us with faces of the greatest consternation and
distress, to inquire what had happened. They had heard such varying
and contradictory reports that they knew not what to believe, but
terror was the predominant feeling; and their horror of the approach
of the French, which they were convinced would happen sooner or later,
surpassed everything I could have imagined. In spite of all we could
say to inspire confidence, and to convince them that the English had
been, and would still be, victorious, and that the French would never
again be masters of Belgium, their apprehensions completely overpowered
their hopes; and their alarm and consternation were truly pitiable. I
asked them why they feared the French so much? With one accord they
immediately burst out into exclamations, that they would plunder and
destroy everything, and rob and murder them;--that they were monsters,
who had no pity, and would show no mercy:--"Oh! what will become
of us! what will become of us!" was the universal cry of these poor
affrighted peasants. They were anxious about the Duke of Brunswick,
and when they heard that he had really fallen (which we had learnt
from Major Wylie), their lamentations were great, and the certainty
of his fate seemed to increase their despondency. He must have been a
good prince whose fate could at such a moment be deplored. He had a
country seat in the neighbourhood of Lacken, and he was consequently
well known and much beloved in this part of the country. An officer
in a dark military great coat, whom I took for a German, hearing me
talk to some poor affrighted women with babies in their arms, whom I
was endeavouring to reassure, asked me in French if I had come from
Brussels, and what was the issue of yesterday's battle? I told him
all the particulars I knew, and after some minutes' conversation,
he said at last, with the air of a person paying a compliment, that
he understood _some_ of my countrymen had behaved most gallantly:
"comme braves hommes," was his expression. "Some of my countrymen!"
I indignantly exclaimed, feeling myself turn as red as fire at this
foreigner's degrading and partial praise of the British army--"they all
behaved most gallantly, they fought like heroes; how else should the
French have been repulsed: and when did the English behave otherwise?"
"The English! but you are not English surely, madame?" said the
officer. "Oui, monsieur," said I, proudly, "je suis Anglaise." "Et
moi aussi," said he, half laughing; and during the short time our
conversation lasted, we condescended to make use of our mother-tongue.
He proved to be an English officer going from Antwerp to join the army,
and I took him for a German, chiefly I think because he accosted me
in French, and because he did not look much like an Englishman. Why
he took me for a Belgian, heaven only knows: it was not likely that a
Belgic lady should be speaking in French to the Belgic people, rather
than in the common language of the country.
A party of Nassau troops, on their way to the army, were sitting
drinking in some long Flemish waggons at the door of the inn. A
Prussian hussar, whom we had passed on the road, arrived while we were
there. The moment he dismounted from his horse he was assailed by the
Nassau soldiers for news of the battle. While he was telling them his
story, anxiety for intelligence made me draw as near as I durst. The
loud voices of the soldiers, however, drowned the greater part of his
recital, and their language was so barbarous that I could only make
out that they were making a joke of Louis XVIII., and laughing at the
idea of the fright he would be in, and saying, that he was so fat and
unwieldy he would never be able to run away before Napoleon's long
legs overtook him. The hussar, seeing me, I suppose, gazing at him
very wistfully, respectfully took off his cap, which encouraged me to
ask him if I had not misunderstood him, that I thought I had heard him
say the French had beaten the Prussians. "No, madame," said he, with
an air of great concern, "it is really so; the French have beaten the
Prussians." "The French beat the Prussians!" I exclaimed: "Did you say,
sir, that the French had beaten the Prussians? are you sure of it?"
"Too sure, madame, for I was in the battle." I now perceived for the
first time that he was slightly wounded; his long blue cloak, which
nearly descended to his feet, had concealed it. He told us that, after
a desperate engagement, the Prussians had been repulsed and compelled
to retreat, and that the French were advancing in great force. We had
repeatedly heard this at Brussels; but, unwilling to believe bad news,
we had hoped it would prove false, and even yet we would gladly have
taken refuge in incredulity.
The garçon of this inn, a fine youth, with a most engaging countenance,
was in great anxiety and alarm at the approach of the French, and he
implored us to tell him the whole truth; for if they should come, it
would cost him his life, and he would fly to the end of the world to
avoid them. We assured him that the French had been repulsed yesterday
by the British, when our force was not half collected, and that, now
that the cavalry and all the troops had joined the army, there could
be no doubt that the English would be victorious. "Ah! je l'espère!"
said the garçon; "mais ils sont terribles, ces François." We assured
him that terrible as they were, they would never conquer the British
and Belgic army, nor regain possession of Belgium. The garçon fervently
prayed they never might:--"Mais, je ne sais quoi faire, moi," said this
poor youth in his Belgic French, with a face of extreme perplexity, as
we drove off.
Of the town of Malines I do not retain the smallest remembrance; but
the consternation of the people with whom it was crowded, and their
faces of terror and distress, I shall never forget. They were struck
with universal dismay, and so thoroughly convinced that Napoleon
would be victorious, that we might as well have talked to the winds
as have told them that he would be defeated. They only shook their
heads, and despondingly said: "Ah! he has so many soldiers, and he is
so desperate--and he cares not how many thousands he sacrifices; he
cares for nothing but his ambition:--Oh! he will be here, that is
too certain." The garçon of this inn had been a conscript, and served
two years in the French army. At the expiration of that period he had
procured a substitute for one thousand florins, which money, I suspect,
he had amassed by plunder. He was, however, a most intelligent man,
and his hatred of the French, and of Napoleon in particular, was so
strong, that he could not refrain from pouring out a most eloquent
torrent of invective against him: "And throughout the whole of Belgium
he is equally dreaded and detested in every place--except at Antwerp,"
added he, correcting himself; "there he has some adherents, for many
people grew rich by the public works, and by making the docks, and
building the ships, and supplying the arsenal; and many grew rich upon
the distresses of the people--and therefore they wish for him back
again." My brother observed that he had certainly done a great deal for
Antwerp, and made great improvements, and he particularly mentioned the
docks and the quays.
"Yes! he did a great many fine things, to be sure, at Antwerp, and
he took care to make us pay for them. Au reste," continued he, "the
people of Antwerp, that is, the merchants and the manufacturers, and
all the decent, industrious people, hate him with their whole hearts."
"And why do the Belgians hate him so much?" I asked. "Why! because he
stopped our trade; he ruined our manufactures and commerce; he took
our men to fight his battles, and our money to fill his pockets; and
he took from us the means to get money: here, in this very town, the
lace manufacturers were starved; the work-women had no employment;
our streets were filled with beggars; our priests were insulted: he
destroyed, he consumed everything." "Il a mangé tout," was the phrase
he frequently repeated, with an expression of hatred in his voice
and gesture so strong that I can give no idea of it. "But he cannot
live without war, nor can the French; it is their trade; they live
by it; they make their fortunes by it; they place all their hopes in
it; they are wolves that prey upon other nations; they live by blood
and plunder: they are true banditti (vrais brigands), and they are so
cruel, so wicked--ils sont si méchans." It is impossible to give the
force of this expression in a literal translation. When we asked him if
the Belgians did not dislike the Dutch, and if the government of the
House of Orange was not unpopular, he said, "Je vous dirai, monsieur:
Les Hollandais et les Belges never liked each other, and one great
reason is the difference of our religion. They think us Papists and
bigots, and we think them Puritans and Calvinists; besides, we were
always rivals, and always jealous of each other, and we think (c'est à
dire les Belges) that their king becoming our king, is, as if we had
fallen under their dominion. If we may not be an independent nation,
we would, perhaps, rather belong to the English, or to the Austrians;
but we would rather belong to anything--to the devil himself--than to
Napoleon Buonaparte."
The poor lace-makers whom we saw were in nervous trepidation at the
expected approach of the dreaded French, whom they reviled with all
the bitterness and volubility of female eloquence. The same sentiments
were written upon every countenance, and uttered by every tongue. In
every village and every hamlet through which we passed, the utmost
consternation seemed to reign. We met officers on horseback, and
detachments of troops marching to join the army. It was with difficulty
I refrained from beseeching them to hasten forwards: it seemed to me
that every man was of importance. At another time I might have been
interested with seeing the country; but now--I could not look at it--I
could not think of it; and as my eye rested with a vacant gaze upon
the waving fields of luxuriant corn through which we passed, I could
only feel the heart-sickening dread, that the harvests of Belgium,
though they had been sown in peace, would be reaped in blood. We had
every reason to think that the mortal struggle had been renewed;
Lord Wellington himself, the whole army expected it. How then was it
possible, believing, as we did, that, within a few leagues of us, the
battle was at that time raging that was to decide the fate of Europe,
and give or take from our gallant countrymen the palm of victory and of
glory--that we could for a single instant feel the smallest interest
about anything else?
At a distance, we saw the lofty spire of the cathedral of Antwerp,
without _then_ admiring its beauty, or even being conscious that it
was beautiful. We looked, we felt, indeed, like moving automatons. Our
persons were there, but our minds were absent. Every step we took only
seemed to increase our solicitude for all we left behind. Our thoughts
still to the battle
"turned with ceaseless pain,
And dragged at each remove a lengthening chain."
A tremendous storm of thunder and lightning and rain burst over our
heads. It was peculiarly awful. But what are the thunder and lightnings
of heaven to the thunder and lightnings of war, which, perhaps, at
this very moment, were sweeping away thousands! The thunderbolts of
God are merciful and harmless; those of men deadly and destructive. We
thought of this storm, as of everything else, only with reference to
our army--to those who were fighting, and those who were bleeding on
the field of battle, and who were exposed unsheltered to its rage.
We gazed with admiration at the threatening walls and ancient
battlements of Antwerp, which are encircled with a wooden palisade.
This seemed a complete work of supererogation, and struck me as
being something like putting a strong box of iron into a band-box of
pasteboard for further security.[15] Three walls of immense strength
and thickness, surrounded by three broad deep ditches or moats, lay
one behind another. To an ignorant, unpractised eye like mine, its
fortifications seemed to be impregnable; and as we passed under its
gloomy gates, and slowly crossed its sounding draw-bridges, I heartily
wished that the whole British army were safe within its walls.--This
was certainly more "a woman's than a warrior's wish." Antwerp was
already crowded with fugitives from Brussels; and with considerable
difficulty we got the accommodation of two very small rooms in the
hotel of Le Grand Laboureur, in the Place de Maire.
No later authentic intelligence than that which we had heard previously
to leaving Brussels had been received here; reports of all kinds
assailed us, as quick and varying as the tints of the evening clouds,
but we could learn nothing; the commandant knew nothing; we could not
even ascertain whether another engagement had taken place to-day, and
in miserable suspense we passed the remainder of the evening.
One of the apartments in our hotel was occupied by the corpse of the
Duke of Brunswick, which had arrived about two o'clock. It had been
already embalmed, and was now placed in its first coffin. My brother
went to see it: but the room was so crowded with guards and soldiers,
British and foreign military, and with people of every description,
that neither my sister nor I chose to go. My brother described the
countenance as remarkably placid and noble; serene even in death. It
was past midnight: my brother and sister had gone to rest, and I was
sitting alone, listening to the incessant torrents of rain which drove
furiously against the windows, and thinking of our army, who were lying
on the cold, wet ground, overcome with toil, and exposed to all "the
pelting of the pitiless storm." Everything was silent,--when I heard,
all at once, the dismal sounds of nailing down the coffin of the Duke
of Brunswick. It was a solemn and affecting sound; it was the last
knell of the departed princely warrior: when at length it ceased, and
all again was silent, I went down with the young woman of the house, to
look at the last narrow mansion of this brave and unfortunate prince.
Tapers were burning at the head and foot of the coffin. The room was
now cleared of all, excepting two Brunswick officers who were watching
over it, and whose pale, mournful countenances, sable uniforms, and
black nodding plumes, well accorded with this gloomy chamber of death.
It was but yesterday that this prince, in the flower of life and
fortune, went out to the field full of military ardour, and gloriously
fell in battle, leading on his soldiers to the charge. He was the first
of the noble warriors who fell on the memorable field of Quatre Bras.
But he has lived long enough who has lived to acquire glory: he dies
a noble death who dies for his country. The Duke of Brunswick lived
and died like a hero, and he has left his monument in the hearts of
his people, by whom his fate will be long and deeply lamented; and by
future times his memory will be honoured.
It seemed to be my invariable lot at the dead hour of the night to
be disturbed with some new and terrible alarm. I had not returned
many minutes to my room, after this visit to the remains of departed
greatness, and I was just preparing to go to bed, when I suddenly
heard the well-known hateful sounds of the rolling of heavy military
carriages, passing rapidly through the streets, which were instantly
succeeded by the trampling of horses' feet, the clamour of voices,
and all the hurry of alarm. The streets seemed thronged with people.
Concluding that some news must have arrived, I hastily went out to the
little apartment which the young woman of the house occupied, and where
she told me at any hour she was to be found--but she was gone, and the
noise below was so great, and the men's voices so loud, that I durst
not venture down stairs. I wandered along the passages, and hung over
the balustrades of the staircase, listening to this increasing noise in
a state of the most painful suspense. At last the girl returned with a
countenance of consternation, and pale as death. I eagerly inquired if
there was any news. She said that there was; the very worst;--that all
was lost; that our army had been compelled to retreat, and were falling
back upon Brussels: the French pursuing them. All the English had left
Brussels. People in carriages, on horseback, and on foot, were flying
into Antwerp in the greatest dismay. Baggage waggons, ammunition,
and artillery, were pouring into the town on all sides: and "enfin,
madame," said she, "tout est perdu!"
For a few minutes, consternation overpowered all my faculties.
The English retreating, pursued by the French, overwhelmed by a
tremendous superiority of numbers--our gallant countrymen vainly
sacrificed--the flower of our army laid low--Buonaparte and the French
triumphant!--the thought was not to be borne: till this moment I never
knew the bitterness, the intensity of my detestation of them. It never
occurred to me to doubt that there had been a battle, and it seemed
too probable that its result had been unfavourable to the British. I
hoped, however, that they were only retreating in consequence of their
extreme inferiority of force to the enemy, to wait until they were
joined either by the fresh reinforcements of our own troops which were
expected, or by the Russians. Some experienced officers had thought
this might probably happen, even when the troops first marched out of
Brussels. I recollected Lord Wellington entrenching himself in the
lines of Torres Vedras. I recalled with proud confidence the multiplied
triumphs of my countrymen in arms, and I firmly believed that, whatever
might be the temporary reverses, or appearance of reverse, they would
eventually prove victorious.
But in vain I endeavoured to reassure this poor terrified girl, or
inspire her with the conviction I felt myself, that though the English
might retreat before an overpowering force, against which it would be
madness to keep the field, they only retreated to advance with more
strength; and that when joined by fresh reinforcements they would give
battle, and beat the French; and that with such a general and such an
army, they never had been, and they never could be, defeated.
I succeeded much better in inspiring myself with hope and confidence
than this poor young woman; but all that I myself endured during this
long night of misery is not to be imagined or described. The uncertain
fate of our army, their critical situation, and the dread that some
serious reverse had befallen them, filled my mind with the most
dreadful apprehensions. Worn out as I had been with two successive
nights of sleepless alarm, this news had effectually murdered sleep;
and even when fatigue for a few minutes overpowered my senses, I
started up again with a sense of horror to listen to the beating of
the heavy torrents of rain, and the dismal sounds of alarm which
filled the streets; the rattle of carriages continually driving to the
door, crowded with fugitives who vainly solicited to be taken in, and
drove away utterly at a loss where to find a place of shelter; and
the deafening noise of the rolling of heavy military waggons which,
during the whole night, never ceased a single moment. So deep was the
impression these sounds made upon my senses, so associated had they now
become with feelings of dismay and alarm, that long after every terror
was ended in the glorious certainty of victory, I never could hear
the rattling of these carriages, and the thundering of their wheels,
without a sensation of horror that went to my very heart.
The morning--the eventful morning of Sunday, the 18th of June--rose,
darkened by clouds and mists, and driving rain. Amongst the rest of the
fugitives, our friends, the Hon. Mr. and Mrs. H., arrived about seven
o'clock, and, after considerable difficulty and delay, succeeded in
obtaining a wretched little hole in a private house, with a miserable
pallet bed, and destitute of all other furniture; but they were too
glad to find shelter, and too thankful to get into a place of safety,
to complain of these inconveniences; and overcome with fatigue, they
went immediately to bed. It was not without considerable difficulty
and danger that their carriage had got out of the choked-up streets
of Brussels, and made its way to Malines, where they had been, for a
time, refused shelter. At length, the golden arguments Mr. H. used
obtained for them admittance into a room filled with people of all
sexes, ages, countries, and ranks--French Princes and foreign Counts,
and English Barons, and Right Honourable ladies and gentlemen, together
with a considerable mixture of less dignified beings, were all lying
together, outstretched upon the tables, the chairs, and the floor; some
groaning, and some complaining, and many snoring, and almost all of
them completely drenched with rain. The water streamed from Mr. H.'s
clothes, who had driven his own carriage. In this situation, they, too,
lay down and slept, while their horses rested; and then, at break of
day, pursued their flight. A hundred Napoleons had been vainly offered
for a pair of horses but a few hours after we left Brussels, and the
scene of panic and confusion which it presented on Saturday evening
surpassed all conception. The certainty of the defeat of the Prussians;
of their retreat; and of the retreat of the British army, prepared the
people to expect the worst. Aggravated reports of disaster and dismay
continually succeeded to each other: the despair and lamentations of
the Belgians, the anxiety of the English to learn the fate of their
friends who had been in the battle the preceding day; the dreadful
spectacle of the waggon loads of wounded coming in, and the terrified
fugitives flying out in momentary expectation of the arrival of
the French:--the streets, the roads, the canals covered with boats,
carriages, waggons, horses, and crowds of unfortunate people, flying
from this scene of horror and danger, formed altogether a combination
of tumult, terror, and misery which cannot be described. Numbers, even
of ladies, unable to procure any means of conveyance, set off on foot,
and walked in the dark, beneath the pelting storm, to Malines; and the
distress of the crowds who now filled Antwerp, it is utterly impossible
to conceive. We were, however, soon inexpressibly relieved, by hearing
that there had been no engagement of any consequence the preceding day;
that the British army had fallen back seven miles in order to take up
a position more favourable for the cavalry, and for communication with
the Prussians; that they were now about nine miles from Brussels; and
that a general and, most probably, decisive action would inevitably
take place to-day.
Although it continued to rain, we set out, for to sit still in the
house was impossible, and after passing through several streets, we
went into the cathedral, where high mass was performing, and
"Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault
The pealing anthem swell'd the note of praise."
For a while its solemn harmony seemed to calm the fever of my mind; it
elevated my thoughts to that God, in whose unerring wisdom and divine
mercy I could alone at this awful moment put my trust, and to Him
"who is the only giver of victory," and at whose command empires rise
and fall, flourish and decay; to Him who alone has power to save and
to destroy, I breathed a silent prayer to bless the British arms, to
shield my brave and heroic countrymen in the hour of danger, and give
to them the success and glory of the battle. Intelligence arrived that
the action had commenced. We were told that the French had attacked the
British this morning at daybreak: the contending armies were actually
engaged, and the last, the dreadful battle was at this very moment
deciding.