Gray, as one of the party of dragoons who attended the Duke of Wellington,
proceeded onward at a sharp pace through the marching columns, which his
grace examined, with a close but quick glance, as he passed on, and after
a march of seven leagues, came up with the Belgian troops under the Prince
of Orange, who had been attacked and pushed back by the French. It was
about seven o'clock; none of the British troops had yet arrived within
some hours' march of the duke. The party of dragoons were ordered to
remain in readiness for duty in a cornfield near the road, on a rising
ground, which commanded a full view of the country in front, while the
duke and his staff proceeded to the left.
The four biscuits which had been served out to each man at Brussels the
night before, with some cold beef, and the contents of their canteen,
helped to regale the dragoons after their long and rapid march, while the
stout steeds that had borne them found a delightful repast in the high rye
that waved under their noses. Here they beheld passing on the road beside
them many wounded Belgians, and could see before them, at the distance of
a quarter of a mile, the French bayonets glistening over the high fields
of corn, and hear distinctly the occasional discharges of musketry from
tirailleurs. Gray's heart leaped with joy, and he thought no more of
Brussels.
"What's this place called?" inquired one of the dragoons, generally of his
comrades.
"Called!--Oh, some jaw-breaking Dutch name of a yard long, I suppose,"
replied another. "Ax Gentleman Gray--he'll tell you."
"Well, Mr. Gray, do you know the name of this here place?"
"I believe," replied Gray, "we are near a point called _Quatre Bras_, or
the four roads."
"Well," rejoined the other, "if there were half-a-dozen roads, it wouldn't
be too much for these here Flemingers--yon road's not wide enough for
them, you see. Look, here's a regiment o' them coming back!"
"Ah! poor fellows--we might be in the same situation," observed Gray;
"remember that their force is not strong in comparison with the French, by
the accounts that have been received; better to fall back at the first of
a fight than at the last."
"I say, Jack," said another, with his mouth full of biscuit, "did you ever
meet with such a devil of a roadster as the _carpolar_ there with the
glazed cocked hat?"
"Who do you mean?" said Jack.
"Why the dook, to be sure--how he _did_ give it us on the long road
through the forest."
"Ay--he's the lad; well, here's God bless his jolly old glazed hat any
way," cried the trooper, swallowing a horn of grog; "he's the boy what has
come from the Peninsula just to gi' 'em a leaf out of his book. He was a
dancing last night--riding like a devil all the morning--and I'll warrant
he'll be fighting all the afternoon by way of refreshing himself."
"He look'd serious enough this morning though, Master Tom, as he was
turning out."
"Serious! and so did you; hasn't he enough to make him look serious? Bony,
and all the flower of the French before him. I like to see him look
serious; he's just a thinking a bit, that's all. Look, look, look! where
he is now pelting away up the hill there. My eye! but he's a rum on'."
"Ay, just as he was in the ould ground," cried an Hibernian. "'Pon my
sowl, I think I'm in Spain agin. There he is, success to him!--an' the
smell o' the powther too so natural."
"The light troops are pushing on towards that wood," said Gray, fixing his
eyes on a particular spot.
"Sure enough they are. Ah! we'll soon have the boys up who will set them
off with a flea in their ear."
"Look--on the rising ground there, about half a mile away, how they are
moving about--that is a train of artillery--see the guns--there is a
regiment of infantry going to the left--do you see their bayonets? A fine
open place here for a battle."
"Not so good as that which we passed--the plain fields we crossed
immediately after we left the forest of Soignes," said Gray: "however,
that little wood on our right, in front, which runs along the road, is a
good flank, and the village before us is a strong point."
"Ay, but you see the Belgian troops couldn't keep it; the French have
pushed them out of it."
"We'll soon have it again, I'll warrant; our men have a fine open ground
here, to give the French a lesson in dancing," cried the corporal of the
party, throwing himself down on his back in the corn. "Here I'll lie and
rest myself; and I don't think I shall be disturb'd by the buzzing of the
blue flies! I'll have a snooze, until the Highlanders shall come up."
The party remained undisturbed, as the last speaker had intimated, until
about half-past one o'clock; nothing having been done in the way of attack
by the French. During the interval, Gray employed himself in watching
closely the scene around him, and mentally discussing the chances of the
now inevitably approaching fight.
The hour of struggle was near--the pibroch burst upon the ears of the
troopers, and up they started.
"Here they come," cried one.--"Here they come," cried another--"the
gallant 42nd; look at the petticoat-devils, how they foot it along!"
All stood on the highest part of the ground, to witness the arrival of the
troops, who were now within a quarter of a mile of them on the main road.
A hum arose. Belgian officers galloped down the road, and across the
fields in all directions; the duke was seen riding towards his expected
soldiers, and the scene was life at all points. The pibroch's sound grew
louder; and now the bands of the more distant regiments were heard; and
the harmonious bugles of the rifle corps, mingled their sounds with the
others. The long red line of Britons is fully before the sight, like a
giant stream of blood on the ripe and mellow bosom of the earth. Picton is
at its head, and the duke greets the heroic partner of his glory. The
first of the regiments passes close to the troopers, and receives a cheer
from them, which found a return in the relaxing muscles of the hardy
Scots.
"What corps is that?" inquired one of the group.
"The Royal Highlanders, the 42nd--don't you see they are turned up with
blue and gold?" replied another.
"And what's this with the yellow facings?"
"The old 92nd."
"And the other Scotch regiment, with the green and gold?"
"The 79th; three as good kilted corps as ever crossed the Tweed. And
there's the 95th rifle boys, as green as the wood they are going to take.
And there see the 28th,--and the 44th,--and the 32nd;--that's Picton's
division; a glorious set of fellows as ever slept."
"And who are the fellows all in black?"
"The bold Brunswick corps, with death's head on their caps--the
_undertakers_ of the French," cried the corporal.
Never did a young hero gaze on a gallant army with more enthusiastic
feelings, than did Gray upon the troops before him--the sight stirred his
heart-strings. They were within shot of their foe, and half an hour should
see them in the bloody contest. He sighed to think that his own regiment
was not yet come up, with which he might share the glory of the fight.
One after the other, the corps entered the fields, across the high corn,
from the road, to take up their positions for the battle. Neither cavalry
nor artillery had they to support them--their bayonets were their hopes;
and their wise general placed them accordingly in squares, and at such
distances as that one might support the other, while each would protect
itself, independently, if necessary. The rifle corps now advanced, to open
the business of the day by firing into a field of tirailleurs. The French
were not idle at this time; they advanced in masses--cavalry and infantry;
while a roar of cannon, that almost deafened every ear, covered the
attack.
"They are coming on the centre," cried Gray: "see the cuirassiers--what a
body of men! Oh! where is our cavalry?"
"Ay," cried a trooper; "and look, what columns of infantry!"
All now remained in breathless anxiety, gazing on the approaching masses
of the enemy; not a word was spoken amongst the well-planted squares of
the British. The French are within fifty yards of them, and the battle
begins.
"There," cried a trooper; "how our men give it to them!--there's a
volley!--look how the horses fall!--see, they can't stand it--hurra!--the
rascals are staggered--the 27th are after them--they deploy into line;
there the French go, with the bayonet at them, helter-skelter. But
observe, at a little distance from them, the enemy's dragoons are at the
42nd--the Scotch open and let them pass; but now they get it right and
left. Down they go; bravo! old Scotland."
"By heaven!" cried Gray, "here come the Brunswick horse in confusion,
pursued by the cuirassiers along the road, near the village."
All turned to gaze at the point: it was too true: their leader had fallen;
they had advanced too incautiously, and were therefore obliged to fall
back.
"Here they come, and the French cavalry are close upon them. But see the
Highlanders in the ditch. Hark! there--they give them a volley. Down
tumble the horsemen!--look! they are in a heap on the ground."
A shout from the troopers acknowledged the glorious truth. It was the fire
from the 92nd that achieved the triumph.
The artillery, the musketry, and the shouting of the combatants, became so
deafening, that even the group of troopers unoccupied in the fight, and in
the rear, could scarcely hear each other's voice. Gray's party mounted
their horses now, in order to have a better view of the battle, and from
the situation of the ground on which they were standing, they beheld, in
awful anxiety, rush after rush made against the British infantry, whose
duty was evidently that of firm defence; they beheld wave after wave of
blue ranks advance over the rising bosom of the ground, and saw them
successively battered by the rocks they assaulted--the ground covered with
men and horses by the well-directed fire of the squares. The other
divisions of the English army were fast arriving, and taking up ground on
the left, in spite of the efforts of the French to prevent it, and thus
divide them from their comrades engaged. A "lull," (as the sailors say,
when the storm pauses a little,) took place, and both armies stood, as it
were, looking at each other. But another and more desperate attack soon
followed; the tempest returned with double violence. The mouths of Ney's
numerous cannon opened again; the smoke drifted over on the English, and
under its cover were seen advancing an immense force, for another struggle
with the right of the duke's line, in order to turn it, and possess
themselves of the village. The duke and his staff were in front of the
92nd regiment, and the balls playing on them had knocked down several of
his aides-de-camp. As the foe came near, the artillery ceased, the close
fight began, and several regiments at once poured in their fire: both
sides kept their ground, and hundreds fell at every discharge of musketry.
The duke now, in the pithy and familiar language of the soldier, cried out
to the Scots, "Ninety-second, you must charge these fellows."
The word was magic; the kilts rushed against the blaze of the tirailleurs!
Their leader and their officer fell amongst them: but, alas! their blood
only enraged the men; fiercely as tigers they rush, and their bayonets
sink into the mass before them. The whole fly before them, while the
victorious Highlanders pursue them almost out of sight of their general.
Alas! many of these heroes fell in their gallant work.
This glorious charge was beheld by Gray and his comrades with delight;
their shacos waved over their heads, and their cries of exultation fully
showed what a catching thing is the fever of the fight. One of the
dragoons now turned his eyes to the wood on the right, which the French
had possessed themselves of, and exclaimed, "But look, the guards have
come up, and are in the wood. Where did they come from? I didn't see them
before. Hark! how they shout; they are all amongst the trees."
"Yes, and they'll not soon come back; they'll keep their ground, I'll
warrant," cried the corporal.
At this moment the troopers were somewhat disarranged by a part of the
earth suddenly flying upwards in a cloud; it was the effect of a
cannon-ball which had struck the ground. They started a few paces
backwards, wiped their faces, and having all passed their jocular
sentiments on the occasion, coolly united again to view and comment on the
action.
They continued to gaze on the busy and bloody scene, with but few
observations. Mass after mass was advancing against the steady squares of
infantry, and received with roars of musketry; the cavalry of the enemy,
desperate and disappointed, galloped about the close and well-guarded
Britons, cutting at the ranks, and dropping as they cut. Artillery
bellowed upon the unyielding heroes, whose ranks closed up at every point
where the dead had opened them; they cried aloud for the order to advance;
but received the cool and prudent negative of the watchful chief, who,
during the action, was moving from rank to rank, encouraging and elevating
the energies of his men.
The repeated unsuccessful attacks of the French wore out the patience of
their general, and so thinned his ranks, that he at length ceased to
contend, and drew off his troops from the field, leaving the English
masters of it, and holding every point of the position which they had
taken up in the early part of the day.--_Tales of Military Life_.
* * * * *