But at this crisis the Iron Duke himself rode up; and the arrival of a Dutch-Belgian brigade and of Picton's division of British infantry, about 3 p.m., sufficed to snatch victory from the Marshal's grasp.[493] He now opened a destructive artillery fire on our front, to which the weak Dutch-Belgian batteries could but feebly reply. Nothing, however, could daunt the hardihood of Picton's men. Shaking off the fatigue of a twelve hours' march from Brussels under a burning sun, they steadily moved down through the tall crops of rye towards the farm and beat off a fierce attack of Pire's horsemen. On the allied left, the 95th Rifles (now the Rifle Brigade) and Brunswickers kept a clutch on the Namur road which nothing could loosen. But our danger was mainly at the centre. Under cover of the farmhouse, French columns began to drive in our infantry, whose ammunition was already running low. Wellington determined to crush this onset by a counter-attack in line of Picton's division, the "fighting division" of the Peninsula. With threatening shouts they advanced to the charge; and before that moving wall the foe fell back in confusion beyond the rivulet.

Still, the French drove back the Dutch in the wood, and the Brunswickers on its eastern fringe, killing the brave young Duke of Brunswick as he attempted to rally his raw recruits. Into the gap thus left the French horsemen pushed forward, making little impression upon our footmen, but compelling them to keep in a close formation, which exposed them in the intervals between the charges to heavy losses from the French cannon.

So the afternoon wore on. Between 5 and 6 o'clock our weary troops were reinforced by Alten's division. A little later, a brigade of Kellermann's heavy cavalry came up from the rear and renewed Ney's striking power—but again too late. Already he was maddened by the tidings that D'Erlon's corps had been ordered off towards Ligny, and next by Napoleon's urgent despatch of 3.15 p.m. bidding him envelop Bluecher's right. Blind with indignation at this seeming injustice, he at once sent an imperative summons to D'Erlon to return towards Quatre Bras, and launched a brigade of Kellermann's cuirassiers at those stubborn squares.

The attack nearly succeeded. The horsemen rushed upon our 69th Regiment just when the Prince of Orange had foolishly ordered it back into line, caught it in confusion, and cut it up badly. Another regiment, the 33rd, fled into the wood, but afterwards re-formed; the other squares beat off the onset. The torrent, however, only swerved aside: on it rushed almost to the cross-roads, there to be stopped by a flanking fire from the wood and from the 92nd (Gordon) Highlanders lining the roadway in front.—"Ninety-second, don't fire till I tell you," exclaimed the Duke. The volley rang out when the horsemen were but thirty paces off. The effect was magical. Their front was torn asunder, and the survivors made off in a panic that spread to Foy's battalions of foot and disordered the whole array.[494]

Ney still persisted in his isolated assaults; but reinforcements were now at hand that brought up Wellington's total to 31,000 men, while the French were less than 21,000. At nightfall the Marshal drew back to Frasnes; and there D'Erlon's errant corps at last appeared. Thanks to conflicting orders, it had oscillated between two battles and taken part in neither of them.

Such was the bloody fight of Quatre Bras. It cost Wellington 4,600 killed and wounded, mainly from the flower of the British infantry, three Highland regiments losing as many as 878 men. The French losses were somewhat lighter. Few conflicts better deserve the name of soldiers' battles. On neither side was the generalship brilliant. Twilight set in before an adequate force of British cavalry and artillery approached the field where their comrades on foot had for five hours held up in unequal contest against cannon, sabre, and lance. The victory was due to the strange power of the British soldier to save the situation when it seems past hope.

Still less did it redound to the glory of Ney. Once more he had merited the name of bravest of the brave. At the crisis of the fight, when the red squares in front defied his utmost efforts, he brandished his sword in helpless wrath, praying that the bullets that flew by might strike him down. The rage of battle had, in fact, partly obscured his reason. He was now a fighter, scarcely a commander; and to this cause we may attribute his neglect adequately to support Kellermann's charge. Had this been done, Quatre Bras might have ended like Marengo. Far more serious, however, was his action in countermanding the Emperor's orders' by recalling D'Erlon to Quatre Bras; for, as we have seen, it robbed his master of the decisive victory that he had the right to expect at Ligny. Yet this error must not be unduly magnified. It is true that Napoleon at 3.15 sent a despatch to Ney bidding him envelop Bluecher's flank; but the order did not reach him until some time after 5, when the allies were pressing him hard, and when he had just heard of D'Erlon's deflection towards the Emperor's battle.[495] He must have seen that his master misjudged the situation at Quatre Bras; and in such circumstances a Marshal of France was not without excuse when he corrected an order which he saw to be based on a misunderstanding. Some part of the blame must surely attach to the slow-paced D'Erlon and to the Emperor himself, who first underrated the difficulties both at Ligny and Quatre Bras, and then changed his plans when Ney was in the midst of a furious fight.

Nevertheless, the general results obtained on June the 16th were enormously in favour of Napoleon. He had inflicted losses on the Prussians comparable with those of Jena-Auerstaedt; and he retired to rest at Fleurus with the conviction that they must hastily fall back on their immediate bases of supply, Namur and Liege, leaving Wellington at his mercy. The rules of war and the dictates of humdrum prudence certainly prescribed this course for a beaten army, especially as Buelow's corps was known to be on the Liege road.

Scarcely had the Prussian retreat begun in the darkness, when officers pressed up to Gneisenau, on whom now devolved all responsibility, for instructions as to the line of march. At once he gave the order to push northwards to Tilly. General Reiche thereupon pointed out that this village was not marked upon the smaller maps with which colonels were provided; whereupon the command was given to march towards the town of Wavre, farther distant on the same road. An officer was posted at the junction of roads to prevent regiments straying towards Namur; but some had already gone too far on this side to be recalled—a fact which was to confuse the French pursuers on the morrow. The greater part of Thielmann's corps had fallen back on Gembloux; but, with these exceptions, the mass of the Prussians made for Tilly, near which place they bivouacked. Early on the next morning their rearguard drew off from Sombref; and, thanks to the inertness of their foes, the line of retreat remained unknown. During the march to Wavre, their columns were cheered by the sight of the dauntless old Field-Marshal, who was able to sit a horse once more. Thielmann's corps did not leave Gembloux till 2 p.m., but reached Wavre in safety. Meanwhile Buelow's powerful corps was marching unmolested from the Roman road near Hannut to a position two miles east of Wavre, where it arrived at nightfall. Equally fortunate was the reserve ammunition train, which, unnoticed by the French cavalry, wound northwards by cross-roads through Gembloux, and reached the army by 5 p.m.[496]

In his "Commentaries," written at St. Helena, Napoleon sharply criticised the action of Gneisenau in retreating northwards to Wavre, because that town is farther distant from Wellington's line of retreat than Sombref is from Quatre Bras, and is connected with it only by difficult cross-roads. He even asserted that the Prussians ought to have made for Quatre Bras, a statement which presumes that Gneisenau could have rallied his army sufficiently after Ligny to file away on the Quatre Bras chaussee in front of Napoleon's victorious legions. But the Prussian army was virtually cut in half, and could not have reunited so as to attempt the perilous flank march across Napoleon's front. We shall, therefore, probably not be far wrong if we say of this criticism that the wish was father to the thought. A march on Quatre Bras would have been a safe means of throwing away the Prussian army.[497]

To the present writer it seems probable that Gneisenau's action, in the first instance, was undertaken as the readiest means of reuniting the Prussian wings. But Gneisenau cannot have been blind to the advantages of a reunion with Wellington, which a northerly march would open out. The report which he sent to his Sovereign from Wavre shows that by that time he believed the Prussian position to be "not disadvantageous"; while in a private letter written at noon on the 17th he expressly states that the Duke will accept battle at Waterloo if the Prussians help him with two army corps. Gneisenau's only doubts seem to have been whether Wellington would fight and whether his own ammunition would be to hand in time. Until he was sure on these two points caution was certainly necessary.

The results of this prompt rally of the Prussians were infinitely enhanced by the fact that Wellington soon found it out, while Napoleon did not grasp its full import until he was in the thick of the battle of Waterloo. To the final steps that led up to this dramatic finale we must now briefly refer.

It is strange that Gneisenau, on the night of the 16th, took no steps to warn his allies of the Prussian retreat, and merely left them to infer it from his last message, that he must do so if he were not succoured. Mueffling, indeed, says that a Prussian officer was sent, but was shot by the French on the British left wing. Seeing, however, that Wellington had beaten back Ney's forces before the Prussian retreat began, the story may be dismissed as a lame excuse of Gneisenau's neglect.[498]

From the risk of being crushed by Napoleon, the Anglo-Dutch forces were saved by the vigilance of their leader and the supineness of the enemy. After a brief rest at Genappe, the Duke was back at the front at dawn, and despatched two cavalry patrols towards Sombref to find out the results of the battle. The patrol, which was accompanied by the Duke's aide-de-camp, Colonel Gordon, came into touch with the Prussian rear. On his return soon after 10, the staff-officer, Basil Jackson, was at once sent to bid Picton immediately prepare to fall back on Waterloo, an order which that veteran received very sulkily.[499] Shortly after Gordon's return, a Prussian orderly galloped up and confirmed the news of their retreat, which drew from the Duke the remark: "Bluecher has had a d—— d good licking and gone back to Wavre.... As he has gone back, we must go too." The infantry now began to file off by degrees behind hedges or under cover of a screen of cavalry and skirmishers, these keeping Ney's men busy in front, until the bulk of the army was well through the narrow and crowded street of Genappe.

And how came it that Napoleon and Ney missed this golden opportunity? In the first case, it was due to their chiefs of staff, who had not sent overnight any tidings as to the results of their respective battles. Until Count Flahaut returned to the Imperial headquarters about 8 a.m., Napoleon knew nothing as to the position of affairs at Quatre Bras; while a similar carelessness on Soult's part left Ney powerless to attempt anything against Wellington until somewhat later in the morning.

But Napoleon's inaction lasted nearly up to 11.30. How is this to be accounted for? In reply, some attribute his conduct to illness of body and torpor of mind—a topic that will engage our attention presently; others assert that the army urgently needed rest; but the effective cause was his belief that the Prussians were retreating eastwards away from Wellington. This was the universal belief at headquarters. He had ordered Grouchy to follow them at dawn; Grouchy's lieutenant, Pajol, struck to the south-east, and by 4 a.m. reported that Bluecher was heading for Namur. Such was the news that the Emperor heard from Grouchy about 8 a.m.—he refused to grant him an audience earlier. Forthwith he dictated a letter to Ney to the following effect: that the Prussians had been routed and were being pursued towards Namur; that the British could not attack him (Ney) at Quatre Bras, for the Emperor would in that case march on their flank and destroy them in an instant; that he heard with pain how isolated Ney's troops had been on the 16th, and ordered him to close up his divisions and occupy Quatre Bras. If he could not effect that task, he must warn the Emperor, who would then come. Finally, he warned him that "the present day is needed to finish this operation, to complete the munitions of war, to rally stragglers and call in detachments."

A singular day's programme this for the man who had trebled the results of the victory of Jena by the remorseless energy of the pursuit. After dictating this despatch, he ordered Lobau to take a division of infantry for the support of Pajol on the Namur road. He then set out for St. Amand in his carriage. On arriving at the place of carnage he mounted his horse and rode slowly over the battle-field, seeing to the needs of the wounded of both nations with kindly care, and everywhere receiving the enthusiastic acclaim of his soldiery. This done, he dismounted and talked long and earnestly with Grouchy, Gerard, and others on the state of political parties at Paris. They listened with ill-concealed restlessness. At Fleurus Grouchy asked for definite orders, and received the brusque reply that he must wait. But now, towards 11 o'clock, the Emperor hears that Wellington is still at Quatre Bras, that Pajol has captured eight Prussian guns on the Namur road, and that Excelmans has seen masses of the enemy at Gembloux. At once he turns from politics to war.

His plan is formed. While he himself falls on the British, Grouchy is to pursue the Prussians with the corps of Gerard and Vandamme, the division of Teste (from Lobau's command), and the cavalry corps of Pajol, Excelmans, and Milhaud. The Marshal begged to be relieved of the task, setting forth the danger of pursuing foes that were now reunited and far away. It was in vain. About 11.30 the Emperor developed his verbal instructions in a written order penned by Bertrand. It bade Grouchy proceed to Gembloux with the forces stated above (except Milhaud's corps and a division of Vandamme's corps, which were to follow Napoleon) to reconnoitre on the roads leading to Namur and Maestricht, to pursue the enemy, and inform the Emperor as to their intentions. If they have evacuated Namur, it is to be occupied by the National Guards. "It is important to know what Bluecher and Wellington mean to do, and whether they propose reuniting their armies in order to cover Brussels and Liege, by trying their fortune in another battle...."[500]

As Napoleon's fate was to depend largely on an intelligent carrying out of this order, we may point out that it consisted of two chief parts, the general aim and the means of carrying out that aim. The aim was to find out the direction of the Prussians' retreat, and to prevent them joining Wellington, whether for the defence of Brussels or of Liege. The means were an advance to Gembloux and scouting along the Namur and Maestricht roads. The chance that the allies might reunite for the defence of Brussels was alluded to, but no measures were prescribed as to scouting in that direction: these were left to Grouchy's discretion. It must be confessed that the order was not wholly clear. To name the towns of Brussels and Liege (which are sixty miles apart) was sufficiently distracting; and to suggest that only the eastern and south-eastern roads should be explored was certain to limit Grouchy's immediate attention to those roads alone. For he distrusted alike his own abilities and the power of the force placed at his disposal; and an officer thus situated is sure to inclose himself in the strict letter of his instructions. This was what he did, with disastrous results.

Grouchy had hitherto held no important command. As a cavalry general he had done brilliant service; but now he was launched on a duty that called for strategic insight. His force was scarcely equal to the work. True, it was strong for scouting, having nearly 6,000 light horse; but the 27,000 footmen of Vandamme's and Gerard's corps had been exhausted by the deadly strife in the villages and were expecting a day's rest. Their commanders also resented being placed under Grouchy. In fact, leaders and men disliked the task, and set about it in a questioning, grumbling way. The infantry did not start till about 3 o'clock and only reached Gembloux late that evening—nine miles in six hours! The cavalry, too, was so badly handled by Excelmans around Gembloux that Thielmann's corps slipped away northward. The rain fell in torrents, obscuring the view; but it seems strange that the direction of the Prussian retreat was not surmised until about nightfall.

Meanwhile, on the French left wing, Ney had been equally lax. He must have received Napoleon's order to occupy Quatre Bras, "if there was only a rearguard there," a little before 10 a.m.; but he took no steps beyond futile skirmishing, and apparently knew not that the British were slipping away.

About 2 p.m., when the British cavalry was ready to turn rein, the Duke and Sir H. Vivian saw the glint of cuirasses along the Sombref road. It was the vanguard of the Emperor's advance. Furious that his foes were escaping from his clutches, Napoleon had left his carriage and was pressing on with the foremost horsemen. To Ney he sent an imperative summons to advance, and when that Marshal came up, greeted him with the words "You have ruined France." But it was time for deeds, not words; and he now put forth all his strength. At once he flung his powerful cavalry at the British rear; and even now it might have gone hard with Wellington had not the lowering clouds burst in a deluge of rain. Quickly the road was ploughed up; and the cornfields became impassable for the French horsemen.

While the pursuers struggled in the mire and aimed wildly through the pelting haze, the British rearguard raced for safety. Says Captain Mercer of the artillery: "We galloped for our lives through the storm, striving to gain the hamlets, Lord Uxbridge urging us on, crying 'Make haste; for God's sake gallop, or you will be taken.'"[501] Gaining on the pursuit, they reached Genappe, and, filing over its bridge and up the narrow street, prepared to check the French. At this time the Emperor galloped up, drenched to the skin, his gray overcoat streaming with rain, his hat bent out of all shape by the storm.[502] He was once more the artillery officer of Toulon. "Fire on them," he shouted to his gunners, "they are English." A sharp skirmish ensued, in which our 7th Hussars, charging down into the village, were worsted by the French lancers, "an arm," says Cotton, "with which we were quite unacquainted." In their retreat they were saved by the Life Guards, whose weight and strength carried all before them.

At last, on the ridge of Waterloo, Wellington's force turned at bay. Napoleon, coming up at 6.30 to the brow of the opposite slope, ordered a strong force to advance into the sodden clay of the valley. It was promptly torn by a heavy cannonade; and the truth was borne in on him that the British had escaped him for that day.



NAPOLEON'S HEALTH IN THE WATERLOO CAMPAIGN

As many writers assert that Napoleon at this time was but the shadow of his former self, we must briefly review the evidence of contemporaries on this subject; for if the assertion be true, the Battle of Waterloo deserves little notice.

It seems that for some time past there had been a slight falling off in his mental and bodily powers; but when it began and how far it progressed is matter of doubt. Some observers, including Chaptal, date it from the hardships of the retreat from Moscow. This is very doubtful. He ended that campaign in a better state of health than he had enjoyed during the advance. Besides, in none of his wars did he show such vitality and fertility of resource as in the desperate struggle of 1814, which Wellington pronounced his masterpiece. After this there seems to have been a period of something like relapse at Elba. In September, 1814, Sir Neil Campbell reported: "Napoleon seems to have lost all habits of study and sedentary application. He occasionally falls into a state of inactivity never known before, and sometimes reposes in his bedroom of late for several hours in the day; takes exercise in a carriage and not on horseback. His health excellent and his spirits not at all depressed" ("F.O.," France, No. 114). During his ten months at Elba he became very stout and his cheeks puffy.

On his return to France he displayed his old activity; and the most credible witnesses assert that his faculties showed no marked decline. Guizot, who saw a good deal of him, writes: "I perceive in the intellect and conduct of Napoleon during the Hundred Days no sign of enfeebling: I find in his judgment and actions his accustomed qualities." In a passage quoted above (p. 449) Mollien notes that his master was a prey to lassitude after some hours of work, but he says nothing on the subject of disease; and in a man of forty-six, who had lived a hard life and a "fast" life, we should not expect to find the capacity for the sustained intellectual efforts of the Consulate. Meneval noticed nothing worse in his master's condition than a tendency to "reverie": he detected no disease. The statement of Pasquier that his genius and his physical powers were in a profound decline is a manifest exaggeration, uttered by a man who did not once see him before Waterloo, who was driven from Paris by him, and strove to discourage his supporters. Still less can we accept the following melodramatic description, by Thiebault, of Napoleon's appearance on Sunday, June 11th: "His look, once so formidable and piercing, had lost its strength and even its steadiness: his face had lost all expression and all its force: his mouth, compressed, had none of its former witchery: and his gait was as perplexed as his demeanour and gestures were undecided: the ordinary pallor of his skin was replaced by a strongly pronounced greenish tinge which struck me."

Let us follow this wreck of a man to the war and see what he accomplished. At dawn on June 12th he entered his landau and drove to Laon, a distance of some seventy miles. On the next day he got through an immense amount of work, and proceeded to Beaumont. On the 15th of June he was up at dawn, mounted his horse, and remained on horseback, directing the operations against the Prussians, for nearly eighteen hours. This time was broken by one spell of rest. Near Charleroi, says Baudus, an officer of Soult's staff, he was overcome by sleep and heeded not the cheers of a passing column: at this Baudus was indignant, but most unjustly so. Napoleon needed these snatches of sleep as a relief to prolonged mental tension. At night he returned to Charleroi, "overcome with fatigue." On the next day he was still very weary, says Segur; he did not exert himself until the battle of Ligny began at 2.30; but he then rode about till nightfall, through a time of terrible heat. Fatigue showed itself again early on the morrow, when he declined to see Grouchy before 8 a.m. Yet his review of the troops and his long discussions on Parisian politics were clearly due, not to torpor, but to the belief that he had sundered the allies, and could occupy Brussels at will; for when he found out his mistake, he showed all the old energy, riding with the vanguard from Quatre Bras to La Belle Alliance through the violent rain.

Whatever, then, were his ailments, they were not incompatible with great and sustained activity. What were those ailments? He is said to have suffered from intermittent affections of the lower bowel, of the bladder, and of the skin, the two last resulting in ischury (Dorsey Gardner's "Quatre Bras, Ligny, and Waterloo," pp. 31-37; O'Connor Morris, pp. 164-166, note). The list is formidable; but it contains its own refutation. A man suffering from these diseases, unless in their earliest and mildest stages, could not have done what Napoleon did. Ischury, if at all pronounced, is a bar to horse exercise. Doubtless his long rides aggravated any trouble that he had in this respect, for Petiet, who was attached to the staff, noticed that he often dismounted and sat before a little table that was brought to him for the convenience of examining maps; but Petiet thought this was due, not to ill health (about which he says nothing), but to his corpulence ("Souvenirs militaires," pp. 196 and 212). Prince Jerome and a surgeon of the imperial staff assured Thiers that Napoleon was suffering from a disease of the bladder; but this was contradicted by the valet, Marchand; and if he really was suffering from all, or any one, of the maladies named above, it is very strange that the surgeon allowed him to expose himself to the torrential rain of the night of the 17th-18th for a purpose which a few trusty officers could equally well have discharged (see next chapter). Furthermore, Baron Larrey, Chief Surgeon of the army, who saw Napoleon before the campaign began and during its course, says not a word about the Emperor's health ("Relation medicale des Campagnes, 1815-1840," pp. 5-11).

Again, the intervals of drowsiness on the 15th and 18th of June, on which the theory of physical collapse is largely based, may be explained far more simply. Napoleon had long formed the habit of working a good deal at night and of seeking repose during a busy day by brief snatches of slumber. The habit grew on him at Elba; and this, together with his activity since daybreak, accounts for his sleeping near Charleroi. The same explanation probably holds good as to his occasional drowsiness at Waterloo. He scarcely closed his eyes before 3.30 a.m.; and he cannot have been physically fit for the unexpectedly long and severe strain of that Sunday. That he began the day well we know from a French soldier named Barral (grandfather of the author of "L'Epopee de Waterloo"), who looked at him carefully at 9.30 a.m., and wrote: "He seemed to me in very good health, extraordinarily active and preoccupied." Decoster, the peasant guide who was with Napoleon the whole day, afterwards told Sir W. Scott that he was calm and confident up to the crisis. Gourgaud, who clung to him during the flight to Paris and thence to Rochefort, notes nothing more serious than great fatigue; Captain Maitland, when he received him on board the "Bellerophon," thought him "a remarkably strong, well-built man." During the voyage to St. Helena he suffered from nothing worse than mal de mer; he ate meat in exceptional quantity, even in the tropics.

Very noteworthy, too, is Lavalette's narrative. When he saw Napoleon before his departure from Paris to the Belgian frontier, he found him suffering from depression and a pain in the chest; but he avers that, on the return from Waterloo, apart from one "frightful epileptic laugh," Napoleon speedily settled down to his ordinary behaviour: not a word is added as to his health. (Sir W. Scott, "Life of Napoleon," vol. viii., p. 496; Gourgaud, "Campagne de 1815," and "Journal de St. Helene," vol. ii., Appendix 32; "Narrative of Captain Maitland," p. 208; Lavalette, "Mems.," ch. xxxiii.; Houssaye ridicules the stories of his ill-health.)

What is the upshot of it all? The evidence seems to show that, whatever was Napoleon's condition before the campaign, he was in his usual health amidst the stern joys of war. And this is consonant with his previous experience: he throve on events which wore ordinary beings to the bone: the one thing that he could not endure was the worry of parliamentary opposition, which aroused a nervous irritation not to be controlled and concealed without infinite effort. During the campaign we find very few trustworthy proofs of his decline and much that points to energy of resolve and great rallying power after exertion. If he was suffering from three illnesses, they were assuredly of a highly intermittent nature.

* * * * *



CHAPTER XL

WATERLOO

Would Wellington hold on to his position? This was the thought that troubled the Emperor on the night after the wild chase from Quatre Bras. Before retiring to rest at the Caillou farm, he went to the front with Bertrand and a young officer, Gudin by name, and peered at the enemy's fires dimly seen through the driving sheets of rain. Satisfied that the allies were there, he returned to the farm, dictated a few letters on odious parliamentary topics, and then sought a brief repose. But the same question drove sleep from his eyes. At one o'clock he was up again and with the faithful Bertrand plashed to the front through long rows of drenched recumbent forms. Once more they strained their ears to catch through the hiss of the rain some sound of a muffled retirement. Strange thuds came now and again from the depths of the wood of Hougoumont: all else was still. At last, over the slope on the north-east crowned by the St. Lambert Wood there stole the first glimmer of gray; little by little the murky void bodied forth dim shapes, and the watch-fires burnt pale against the orient gleams. It was enough. He turned back to the farm. Wellington could scarcely escape him now.

While the Emperor was making the round of his outposts, a somewhat cryptic despatch from Grouchy reached headquarters. The Marshal reported from Gembloux, at 10 p.m. of the 17th, that part of the Prussians had retired towards Wavre, seemingly with a view to joining Wellington; that their centre, led by Bluecher, had fallen back on Perwez in the direction of Liege; while a column with artillery had made for Namur; if he found the enemy's chief force to be on the Liege chaussee, he would pursue them along that road; if towards Wavre, he would follow them thither "in order that they may not gain Brussels, and so as to separate them from Wellington." This last phrase ought surely to have convinced Napoleon that Grouchy had not fully understood his instructions; for to march on Wavre would not stop the Prussians joining Wellington, if they were in force.[503]

Moreover, Napoleon now knew, what Grouchy did not know, that the Prussians were in force at Wavre. It seems strange that the Emperor did not send this important news to his Marshal; but perhaps we may explain this by his absence at the outposts. As it was, no clear statement of the facts of the case was sent off to Grouchy until 10 a.m. of the 18th. He then informed his Marshal that, according to all the reports, three bodies of Prussians had made for Wavre. Grouchy "must therefore move thither—in order to approach us, to put yourself within the sphere of our operations, and to keep up your communications with us, pushing before you those bodies of Prussians which have taken this direction and which may have stopped at Wavre, where you ought to arrive as soon as possible." Grouchy, however, was not to neglect Bluecher's troops that were on his right, but must pick up their stragglers and keep up his communications with Napoleon.

Such was the letter; and again we must pronounce it far from clear. Grouchy was not bidden to throw all his efforts on the side of Wavre; and he was not told whether he must attack the enemy at that town, or interpose a wedge between them and Wellington, or support Napoleon's right. Now Napoleon would certainly have prescribed an immediate concentration of Grouchy's force towards the north-west for one of the last two objects, had he believed Bluecher about to attempt a flank march against the chief French army. Obviously it had not yet entered his thoughts that so daring a step would be taken by a foe whom he pictured as scattered and demoralized by defeat.[504]

As we have seen, the Prussians were not demoralized; they had not gone off in three directions; and Bluecher was not making for Liege. He was at Wavre and was planning a master-stroke. At midnight, he had sent to Wellington, through Mueffling, a written promise that at dawn he would set the corps of Buelow in motion against Napoleon's right; that of Pirch I. was to follow; while the other two corps would also be ready to set out. Wellington received this despatch about 3 a.m. of the 18th, and thereupon definitely resolved to offer battle. A similar message was sent off from Wavre at 9.30 a.m., but with a postscript, in which we may discern Gneisenau's distrust of Wellington, begging Mueffling to find out accurately whether the Duke really had determined to fight at Waterloo. Meanwhile Buelow's corps had begun its march from the south-east of Wavre, but with extreme slowness, which was due to a fire at Wavre, to the crowded state of the narrow road, and also to the misgivings of Gneisenau. It certainly was not owing to fear of Grouchy; for at that time the Prussian leaders believed that only 15,000 French were on their track. Not until midday, when the cannonade on the west grew to a roar, did Gneisenau decide to send forward Ziethen's corps towards Ohain, on Wellington's left; but thereafter the defence of the Dyle against Grouchy was left solely to Thielmann's corps.[505]

While this storm was brewing in the east, everything in front of the Emperor seemed to portend a prosperous day. High as he rated Wellington's numbers, he had no doubt as to the result. "The enemy's army," he remarked just after breakfast, "outnumbers ours by more than a fourth; nevertheless we have ninety chances out of a hundred in our favour." Ney, who then chanced to come in, quickly remarked: "No doubt, sire, if Wellington were simple enough to wait for you; but I come to inform you that he is retreating." "You have seen wrong," was the retort, "the time is gone for that." Soult did not share his master's assurance of victory, and once more begged him to recall some of Grouchy's force; to which there came the brutal reply: "Because you have been beaten by Wellington you think him a great general. And I tell you that Wellington is a bad general, that the English are bad troops, and that this will be the affair of a dejeuner." "I hope it may," said Soult. Reille afterwards came in, and, finding how confident the Emperor was, mentioned the matter to D'Erlon, who advised his colleague to return and caution him. "What is the use," rejoined Reille; "he would not listen to us."

In truth, Napoleon was in no mood to receive advice. He admitted on the voyage to St. Helena that "he had not exactly reconnoitred Wellington's position."[506] And, indeed, there seemed to be nothing much to reconnoitre. The Mont St. Jean, or Waterloo, position does not impress the beholder with any sense of strength. The so-called valley, separating the two arrays, is a very shallow depression, nowhere more than fifty feet below the top of the northern slope. It is divided about halfway across by an undulation that affords good cover to assailants about to attack La Haye Sainte. Another slight rise crosses the vale halfway between this farm and Hougoumont, and facilitates the approach to that part of the ridge. In fact, only on their extreme left could the defenders feel much security; for there the slope is steeper, besides being protected in front by marshy ground, copses, and the hamlets of Papelotte, La Haye, and Smohain.

Napoleon paid little attention to the left wing of the allies. The centre and right centre were evidently Wellington's weak points, and there, especially near the transverse rise, our leader chiefly massed his troops. Yet there, too, the defence had some advantages. The front of the centre was protected by La Haye Sainte, "a strong stone and brick building," says Cotton, "with a narrow orchard in front and a small garden in the rear, both of which were hedged around, except on the east side of the garden, where there was a strong wall running along the high-road." It is generally admitted that Wellington gave too little attention to this farm, which Napoleon saw to be the key of the allied position. Loopholes were made in its south and east walls, but none in the western wall, and half of the barn-door opening on the fields had been torn off for firewood by soldiers overnight. The place was held at first by 376 men of the King's German Legion, who threw up a barricade at the barn-door, as also on the high-road outside the orchard; but, as the sappers and carpenters were removed to Hougoumont, little could be done.

Far stronger was the chateau of Hougoumont, which had been built with a view to defence. The outbuildings were now loopholed, and scaffolds were erected to enable our men to fire over the garden walls which commanded the orchard. The defence was intrusted to the light companies of the second battalions of Coldstreams and Foot Guards (now the Grenadier Guards); while the wood in front was held by Nassauers and Hanoverians. Chasse's Dutch-Belgians were posted at the village of Braine la Leud to give further security to Wellington's right.[507] Napoleon's intention was to pierce the allied centre behind La Haye Sainte, where their lines were thin. But he did not know that behind the crest ran a sunken cross-road, which afforded excellent cover, and that the ground, sloping away towards Wellington's rear, screened his second line and reserves.

It was this peculiarity of the ground, so different from that of the exposed slope behind Ligny, that helped the great master of defensive tactics secretly to meet and promptly to foil every onset of his mighty antagonist.

While under-estimating the strength of Wellington's position Napoleon over-rated his numbers. As we have seen, he remarked that the allies exceeded the French by more than a fourth. Now, as his own numbers were fully 74,000, he credited the allies with upwards of 92,000. In reality, they were not more than 67,000, as Wellington had left 17,000 at Hal; but if this powerful detachment had been included, Napoleon's estimate would not have been far wrong. At St. Helena he gave out that his despatch of cavalry towards Hal had induced Wellington to weaken his army to this extent; but Houssaye has shown that the statement is an entire fabrication. The Emperor certainly believed that all Wellington's troops were close at hand.[508]

The Duke, on his side, would doubtless have retreated had he known that the Prussian advance would be as slow as it was. His composite forces, in which five languages were spoken, were unfit for a long contest with Napoleon's army. The Dutch-Belgian troops, numbering 17,000, were known to be half-hearted; the 2,800 Nassauers, who had served under Soult in 1813, were not above suspicion; the 11,000 Hanoverians and 5,900 Brunswickers were certain to do their best, but they were mostly raw troops. In fact, Wellington could thoroughly rely only on his 23,990 British troops and the 5,800 men of the King's German Legion; and among our men there was a large proportion of recruits or drafts from militia battalions. Events were to prove that this motley gathering could hold its own while at rest; but during the subsequent march to Paris Wellington passed the scathing judgment that, with the exception of his Peninsular men, it was "the worst equipped army, with the worst staff, ever brought together."[509] This was after he had lost De Lancey, Picton, Ponsonby, and many other able officers; but on the morning of the 18th there was no lack of skill in the placing of the troops, witness General Kennedy's arrangement of Alten's division so that it might readily fall into the "chequer" pattern, which proved so effective against the French horsemen.

Napoleon's confidence seemed to be well founded: he had 246 cannon against the allies' 156, and his preponderance in cavalry of the line was equally great. Above all, there were the 13,000 footmen of the Imperial Guard, flanked by 3,000 cavaliers. The effective strength of the two armies has been reckoned by Kennedy as in the proportion of four to seven. Why, then, did he not attack at once? There were two good reasons: first that his men had scattered widely overnight in search of food and shelter, and now assembled very slowly on the plateau; second, that the rain did not abate until 8 a.m., and even then slight drizzles came on, leaving the ground totally unfit for the movements of horse and artillery. Leaving the troops time to form and the ground to improve, the Emperor consulted his charts and took a brief snatch of sleep. He then rode to the front; and, as the gray-coated figure passed along those imposing lines, the enthusiasm found vent in one rolling roar of "Vive l'Empereur," which was wafted threateningly to the thinner array of the allies. There the leader received no whole-hearted acclaim save from the men who knew him; but among these there was no misgiving. "If," wrote Major Simmons of the 95th, "you could have seen the proud and fierce appearance of the British at that tremendous moment, there was not one eye but gleamed with joy."[510]

The first shots were fired at 11.50 to cover the assault on the wood of Hougoumont by Prince Jerome Bonaparte's division of Reille's corps. The Nassauers and Hanoverians briskly replied, and Cleeve's German battery opened fire with such effect that the leading column fell back. Again the assailants came on in greater force under shelter of a tremendous cannonade: this time they gained a lodgment, and step by step drove the defenders back through the copse. Though checked for a time by the Guards, they mastered the wood south of the house by about one o'clock. There they should have stopped. Napoleon's orders were for them to gain a hold only on the wood and throw out a good line of skirmishers: all that he wanted on this side was to prevent any turning movement from Wellington's advanced outposts. Reille also sent orders not to attack the chateau; but the Prince and his men rushed on at those massive walls, only to meet with a bloody repulse. A second attack fared no better; and though some 12,000 of Reille's men Finally attacked the mansion on three sides, yet our Guards, when reinforced, beat off every onset of wellnigh ten times their numbers.

For some time the Emperor paid little heed to this waste of energy; at 2 p.m. he recalled Jerome to his side. He now saw the need of husbanding his resources; for a disaster had overtaken the French right centre. He had fixed one o'clock for a great attack on La Haye Sainte by D'Erlon's corps of nearly 20,000 men. But a delay occurred owing to a cause that we must now describe.

Before his great battery of eighty guns belched forth at the centre and blotted out the view, he swept the horizon with his glass, and discerned on the skirts of the St. Lambert wood, six miles away, a dark object. Was it a spinney, or a body of troops? His staff officers could not agree; but his experienced eye detected a military formation. Thereupon some of the staff asserted that they must be Bluecher's men, others that they were Grouchy's. Here he could scarcely be in a doubt. Not long after 10 a.m. he received from Grouchy a despatch, dated from Gembloux at 3 a.m., reporting that the Prussians were retiring in force on Brussels to concentrate or to join Wellington, and that he (Grouchy) was on the point of starting for Sart-a-Walhain and Wavre. He said nothing as to preventing any flank march that the enemy might make from Wavre with a view to joining their allies straightway. Therefore he was not to be looked for on this side of Wavre, and those troops must consequently be Prussians.[511]

All doubts were removed when a Prussian hussar officer, captured by Marbot's vedettes near Lasne, was brought to Napoleon. He bore a letter from Buelow to Mueffling, stating that the former was on the march to attack the French right wing. In reply to Napoleon's questions the captain stated that Buelow's whole corps was in motion, but wisely said nothing about the other two corps that were following. Such as it was, the news in no way alarmed the Emperor. As Buelow was about to march against the French flank, Grouchy must march on his flank and take his corps en flagrant delit. That is the purport of the postscript added to a rather belated reply that was about to be sent off to Grouchy at 1 p.m. It did not reach him till 5 p.m., too late to influence the result, even had he desisted from his attack on Wavre, which he did not.[512]

We return to the Emperor's actions at half-past one. Dumont's and Subervie's light horsemen were sent out towards Frischermont to observe the Prussians; the great battery of eighty guns, placed on the intermediate rise, now opened fire; and under cover of its deadly blasts D'Erlon's four divisions dipped down into the valley. They were ranged in closely packed battalions spread out in a front of some two hundred men, a formation that Napoleon had not suggested, but did not countermand. The left column, that of Alix, was supported by cavalry on its flank. Part of this division gained the orchard of La Haye Sainte, and attacked the farm buildings on all sides. From his position hard by a great elm above the farm, Wellington had marked this onset, and now sent down a Hanoverian battalion to succour their compatriots; but in the cutting of the main road it was charged and routed by Milhaud's cuirassiers, who pursued them up the slope until the rally sounded. Farther to the east, the French seemed still surer of victory. Bylandt's Dutch-Belgians, some 3,000 strong, after suffering heavily in their cruelly exposed position, wavered at the approach of Donzelot's column, and finally broke into utter rout, pelted in their flight with undeserved gibes from the British in their rear. These consisted of Picton's division, the heroes of Quatre Bras. Here they had as yet sustained little loss, thanks to the shelter of the hollow cross-road and a hedge.

The French columns now topped the ridge, uttering shouts of triumph, and began to deploy into line for the final charge. This was the time, as Picton well knew, to pour in a volley and dash on with the cold steel; but as he cheered on his men, a bullet struck him in the temple and cut short his brilliant career. His tactics were successful at some points while at others our thin lines barely held up against the masses. Certainly no decisive result could have been gained but for the timely onset of Ponsonby's Union Brigade—the 1st Royal Dragoons, the Scots Greys, and the Inniskillings.

At the time when Lord Uxbridge gave the order, "Royals and Inniskillings charge, the Greys support," Alix's division was passing the cross-road. But as the Royals dashed in, "the head of the column was seized with a panic, gave us a fire which brought down about twenty men, then went instantly about and endeavoured to regain the opposite side of the hedges; but we were upon and amongst them, and had nothing to do but press them down the slope." So wrote Captain Clark Kennedy, who sabred the French colour-bearer and captured the eagle. Equally brilliant was the charge of the Inniskillings, in the centre of the brigade. They rode down Donzelot's division, jostled its ranks into a helpless mass, and captured a great number of prisoners. The Scots Greys, too, succouring the hard-pressed Gordons, fell fiercely on Marcognet's division. "Both regiments," wrote Major Winchester of the 92nd, "charged together, calling out 'Scotland for ever'; the Scots Greys actually walked over this column, and in less than three minutes it was totally destroyed. The grass field, which was only an instant before as green and smooth as Phoenix Park, was covered with killed and wounded, knapsacks, arms, and accoutrements."[513]

Meanwhile, on the left of the brigade, Vandeleur's horse and some Dutch-Belgian dragoons drove back Durutte's men past Papelotte. On its right, the 2nd Life Guards cut up the cuirassiers while disordered by the sudden dip of the hollow cross-road; and further to the west, the 1st Dragoon Guards and 1st Life Guards met them at the edge of the plateau, clashed furiously, burst through them, and joined in the wild charge of Ponsonby's brigade up the opposite slope, cutting the traces of forty French cannon and sabring the gunners.

But Napoleon was awaiting the moment for revenge, and now sent forward a solid force of lancers and dragoons, who fell on our disordered bands with resistless force, stabbing the men and overthrowing their wearied steeds. Here fell the gallant Ponsonby with hundreds of his men, and, had not Vandeleur's horse checked the pursuit, very few could have escaped. Still, this brigade had saved the day. Two of D'Erlon's columns had gained a hold on the ridge, until the sudden charge of our horsemen turned victory into a disastrous rout that cost the French upwards of 5,000 men.

As if exhausted by this eager strife, both armies relaxed their efforts for a space and re-formed their lines. Wellington ordered Lambert's brigade of 2,200 Peninsular veterans, who had only arrived that morning, to fill the gaps on his left. The Emperor, too, was uneasy, as he showed by taking copious pinches of snuff. He mounted his horse and rode to the front, receiving there the cheers of his blood-stained lancers and battered infantry. Having received another despatch from Grouchy which gave no hope of his speedy arrival, he ordered his cannon once more to waste the British lines and bombard Hougoumont, while Ney led two of D'Erlon's brigades that were the least shaken to resume the attack on La Haye Sainte. Once more they were foiled at the farm buildings by the hardy Germans, to whom Wellington had sent a timely reinforcement.[514] At Hougoumont also the Guards held firm, despite the fierce conflagration in the barn and part of the chapel. But while his best troops everywhere stood their ground, the Duke saw with concern the gaps in his fighting line. Many of the Dutch-Belgians had made off to the rear; and Jackson, when carrying an order to a reserve Dutch battery to advance—an order that was disobeyed—saw what had become of these malingerers. "I peeped into the skirts of the forest and truly felt astonished: entire companies seemed there with regularly piled arms, fires blazing under cooking kettles, while the men lay about smoking!"[515]

Far different was the scene at the front. There the third act of the drama was beginning. After half an hour of the heaviest cannonade ever known, Wellington's faithful troops were threatened by an avalanche of cavalry, and promptly fell into the "chequer" disposition previously arranged for the most exposed division, that of Alten. Napoleon certainly hoped either to crush Wellington outright by a mighty onset of horse, or to strip him bare for the coup de grace. At the Caillou farm in the morning he said: "I will use my powerful artillery; my cavalry shall charge; and I will advance with my Old Guard." The use of cavalry on a grand scale was no new thing in his wars. By it he had won notable advantages, above all at Dresden; and he believed that footmen, when badly shaken by artillery, could not stand before his squadrons. The French cavalry, 15,000 strong at the outset, had as yet suffered little, and the way had been partly cleared by the last assaults on Hougoumont and La Haye Sainte, where the defenders were wholly occupied in self-defence.

But Ney certainly pressed the first charge too soon. Doubtless he was misled by the retirement of our first line a little way behind the crest to gain some slight shelter from the iron storm. Looking on this prudent move as a sign of retreat he led forward the cuirassiers of Milhaud; and as these splendid brigades trotted forward, the chasseurs a cheval of the Guard and "red" lancers joined them. More than 5,000 strong, these horsemen rode into the valley, formed at the foot of the slope, and then, under cover of their artillery, began to breast the slope. At its crest the guns of the allies opened on them point-blank; but, despite their horrible losses, they swept on, charged through the guns and down the reverse slope towards the squares. Volley after volley now tore through with fearful effect, and the survivors swerved to the intervals. Their second and third lines fared little better; astonished at so stout a stand, where they looked to find only a few last despairing efforts, they fell into faltering groups.

"As to the so-called charges," says Basil Jackson, "I do not think that on a single occasion actual collision occurred. I many times saw the cuirassiers come on with boldness to within some twenty or thirty yards of a square, when, seeing the steady firmness of our men, they invariably edged away and retired. Sometimes they would halt and gaze at the triple row of bayonets, when two or three brave officers would advance and strive to urge the attack, raising their helmets aloft on their sabres—but all in vain, as no efforts could make the men close with the terrible bayonets, and meet certain destruction."[516]

After the fire of the rear squares had done its work, our cavalry fell on the wavering masses; and, as they rode off, the gunners ran forth from the squares and plied them with shot. In a few minutes the mounted host that seemed to have swallowed up the footmen was gone, the red and blue chequers stood forth triumphant, and the guns that should have been spiked dealt forth death. Down below, the confused mass shaped itself for a new charge while its supports routed our horsemen.

In this second attack Ney received a powerful reinforcement. The Emperor ordered the advance of Kellermann and of Guyot with the heavy cavalry of the Guard, thus raising the number of horsemen to about 10,000. At the head of these imposing masses Ney again mounted the slope. But Wellington had strengthened his line by fresh troops, ordering up also Mercer's battery of six 9-pounders, to support two Brunswick regiments that wavered ominously as the French cannon-balls tore through them. Would these bewildered lads stand before the wave of horsemen already topping the crest? It seemed impossible. But just then Mercer's men thundered up between them with the guns, took post behind the raised cross-road, and opened on the galloping horsemen with case-shot. At once the front was strewn with steeds and men; and gunners and infantry riddled the successive ranks, that rushed on only to pile up writhing heaps and bar retreat to the survivors in front. Some of these sought safety by a dash through the guns, while the greater number struggled and even laid about with their sabres to hew their way out of this battue.

Elsewhere the British artillery was too exposed to be defended, and the gunners again fled back to the squares. Once more the cavalry surrounded our footmen, like "heavy surf breaking on a coast beset with isolated rocks, against which the mountainous wave dashes with furious uproar, breaks, divides, and runs hissing and boiling far beyond." Yet, as before, it failed to break those stubborn blocks, and a perplexing pause occurred, varied by partial and spasmodic rushes. "Will those English never show us their backs"—exclaimed the Emperor, as he strained his eyes to catch the first sign of rout "I fear," replied Soult, "they will be cut to pieces first." For the present, it was the cavalry that gave way. Foiled by that indomitable infantry, they were again charged by British and German hussars and driven into the valley.

Once more Ney led on his riders, gathering up all his reserves. But the Duke had now brought up Adam's brigade and Duplat's King's Germans to the space behind Hougoumont; their fire took the horsemen in flank: the blasts of grape and canister were as deadly as before: one and all, the squares held firm, beating back onset after onset: and by 6 o'clock the French cavalry fell away utterly exhausted.[517]

Who is to be held responsible for these wasteful attacks, and why was not French infantry at hand to hold the ground which the cavaliers seemed to have won? Undoubtedly, Ney began the first attack somewhat too early; but Napoleon himself strengthened the second great charge by the addition of Kellermann's and Guyot's brigades, doubtless in the belief that the British, of whose tenacity he had never had direct personal proof, must give way before so mighty a mass. Moreover, time after time it seemed that the attacks were triumphant; the allied guns on the right centre, except Mercer's, were nine or ten times taken, their front squares as often enveloped; and more than once the cry of victory was raised by the Emperor's staff.

Why, then, was not the attack clinched by infantry? To understand this we must review the general situation. Hougoumont still defied the attacks of nearly the whole of Reille's corps, and the effective part of D'Erlon's corps was hotly engaged at and near La Haye Sainte. Above all, the advent of the Prussians on the French right now made itself felt. After ceaseless toil, in which the soldiers were cheered on by Bluecher in person, their artillery was got across the valley of the Lasne; and at 4.30 Buelow's vanguard debouched from the wood behind Frischermont. Lobau's corps of 7,800 men, which, according to Janin, was about to support Ney, now swung round to the right to check this advance.[518] Towards 5 o'clock the Prussian cannon opened fire on the horsemen of Domont and Subervie, who soon fell back on Lobau.

Buelow pressed on with his 30,000 men, and, swinging forward his left wing, gained a footing in the village of Planchenoit, while Lobau fell back towards La Belle Alliance. This took place between 5.30 and 6 o'clock, and accounts for Napoleon's lack of attention to the great cavalry charges. To break the British squares was highly desirable; but to ward off the Prussians from his rear was an imperative necessity. He therefore ordered Duhesme with the 4,000 footmen of the Young Guard to regain Planchenoit. Gallantly they advanced at the charge, and drove their weary and half-famished opponents out into the open.

Satisfied with this advantage, the Emperor turned his thoughts to the British and bade Ney capture La Haye Sainte at all costs. Never was duty more welcome. Mistakes and failures could now be atoned by triumph or a soldier's death. Both had as yet eluded his search. Three horses had been struck to the ground under him, but, dauntless as ever, he led Donzelot's men, with engineers, against the farm. Begrimed with smoke, hoarse with shouting, he breathed the lust of battle into those half-despondent ranks; and this time he succeeded. For five hours the brave Germans had held out, beating off rush after rush, until now they had but three or four bullets apiece left. The ordinary British ammunition did not fit their rifles; and their own reserve supply could not be found at the rear. Still, even when firing ceased, bayonet-thrusts and missiles kept off the assailants for a space, even from the half-destroyed barn-door, until Frenchmen mounted the roof of the stables and burst through the chief gateway: then Baring and his brave fellows fled through the house to the garden. "No pardon to these green devils" was now the cry, and those who could not make off to the ridge were bayoneted to a man.[519]

This was a grave misfortune for the allies. French sharpshooters now lined the walls of the farm and pushed up the ridge, pressing our front very hard, so that, for a time, the space behind La Haye Sainte was practically bare of defenders. This was the news that Kennedy took to Wellington. He received it with the calm that bespoke a mighty soul; for, as Sir A. Frazer observed, however indifferent or apparently careless he might appear at the beginning of battles, as the crisis came he rose superior to all that could be imagined. Such was his demeanour now. Riding to the Brunswickers posted in reserve, he led them to the post of danger; Kennedy rallied the wrecks of Alten's division and brought up Germans from the left wing; the cavalry of Vandeleur and Vivian, moving in from the extreme left, also helped to steady the centre; and the approach of Chasse's Dutch-Belgian brigade, lately called in from Braine-la-Leud, strengthened our supports.

Had Napoleon promptly launched his Old and Middle Guard at Wellington's centre, victory might still have crowned the French eagles. But to Ney's request for more troops he returned the petulant answer: "Troops? where do you want me to get them from? Am I to make them?" At this time the Prussians were again masters of Planchenoit. Once more, then, he turned on them, and sent in two battalions, one of the Old, the other of the Middle Guard. In a single rush with the bayonet these veterans mastered the place and drove Buelow's men a quarter of a mile beyond, while Lobau regained ground further north. But the head of Pirch's corps was near at hand to strengthen Buelow; while, after long delays caused by miry lanes and an order from Bluecher to make for Planchenoit, Ziethen's corps began to menace the French right at Smohain. Reiche soon opened fire with sixteen cannon, somewhat relieving the pressure on Wellington's left.[520]

Still the Emperor was full of hope. He did not know of the approach of Pirch and Ziethen. Now and again the muttering of Grouchy's guns was heard on the east, and despite that Marshal's last despatch, Napoleon still believed that he would come up and catch the Prussians. Satisfied, then, with holding off Buelow for a while, he staked all on a last effort with the Old and Middle Guard. Leaving two battalions of these in Planchenoit, and three near Rossomme as a last reserve, he led forward nine battalions formed in hollow squares. A thrill ran through the line regiments, some of whom were falling back, as they saw the bearskins move forward; and, to revive their spirits, the Emperor sent on Labedoyere with the news that Grouchy was at hand.

Thus the tension of hope long deferred, which renders Waterloo unique among battles, rose to its climax. Each side had striven furiously for eight hours in the belief that the Prussians, or Grouchy, must come; and now, at the last agony, came the assurance that final triumph was at hand. The troops of D'Erlon and Reille once more clutched at victory on the crest behind La Haye Sainte or beneath the walls of Hougoumont, while the squares of the Guard struck obliquely across the vale in the track of the great cavalry charges. On the rise south-west of La Haye Sainte, Napoleon halted one battalion and handed over to Ney the command of the remaining eight, that hailed him as they passed with enthusiastic shouts. Two aides-de-camp just then galloped up from the right to tell him of the Prussian advance, but he refused to listen to them and bent his eyes on the Guards.[521]

Under cover of a whirlwind of shot the veterans pressed on. Having suffered very little at Ligny, they numbered fully 4,000, and formed at first one column, some seventy men in width. The front battalions headed for a point a little to the west of the present Belgian monument, while for some unexplained reason the rear portion diverged to the left, and breasted the slope later than the others and nearer Hougoumont. Flanked by light guns that opened a brisk fire, and most gallantly supported by Donzelot's division close on their right, the leading column struggled on, despite the grape and canister which poured from the batteries of Bolton and Bean, making it wave "like corn blown by the wind." Friant, the Commander of the Old Guard, was severely wounded; Ney's horse fell under him, but the gallant fighter rose undaunted, and waved on his men anew. And now they streamed over the ridge and through the British guns in full assurance of triumph. Few troops seemed to be before them; for Maitland's men (2nd and 3rd battalions of the 1st Foot Guards) had lain down behind the bank of the cross-road to get some shelter from the awful cannonade. "Stand up, Guards, and make ready," exclaimed the Duke when the French were but sixty paces away. The volley that flashed from their lengthy front staggered the column, and seemed to force it bodily back. In vain did the French officers wave their swords and attempt to deploy into line. Mangled in front by Maitland's brigade, on its flank by our 33rd and 69th Regiments drawn up in square, and by the deadly salvos of Chasse's Dutch-Belgians,[522] that stately array shrank and shrivelled up. "Now's the time, my boys," shouted Lord Saltoun; and the thin red line, closing with the mass, drove it pell-mell down the slope.

Near the foot the victors fell under the fire of the rear portion of the Imperial Guards, who, undaunted by their comrades' repulse, rolled majestically upwards. Colborne now wheeled the 52nd (Oxfordshire) Regiment on the crest in a line nearly parallel to their advance, and opened a deadly fire on their flank, which was hotly returned; Maitland's men, re-forming on the crest, gave them a volley in front; and some Hanoverians at the rear of Hougoumont also galled their rear. Seizing the favourable moment when the column writhed in anguish, Colborne cheered his men to the charge, and, aided by the second 95th Rifles, utterly overthrew the last hope of France. Continuing his advance, and now supported by the 71st Regiment, he swept our front clear as far as the orchard of La Haye Sainte.[523]

The Emperor had at first watched the charge with feelings of buoyant hope; for Friant, who came back wounded, reported that success was certain. As the truth forced itself on him, he turned pale as a corpse. "Why! they are in confusion," he exclaimed; "all is lost for the present." A thrill of agony also shot through the French lines. Donzelot's onset had at one time staggered Halkett's brigade; but the hopes aroused by the charge of the Guard and the rumour of Grouchy's approach gave place to dismay when the veterans fell back and Ziethen's Prussians debouched from Papelotte. To the cry of "The Guard gives way," there succeeded shouts of "treason." The Duke, noting the confusion, waved on his whole line to the longed-for advance. Menaced in front by the thin red line, and in rear by Colborne's glorious charge, D'Erlon's divisions broke up in general rout. For a time, three rocks stood boldly forth above this disastrous ebb. They were the battalions of the Guard previously repulsed, and that had rallied around the Emperor on the rise south of La Haye Sainte. In front of them the three regiments of Adam's brigade stopped to re-form; but at the Duke's command—"Go on, go on: they will not stand"—Colborne charged them, and they gave way.

And now, as the sun shot its last gleams over the field, the swords of the British horsemen were seen to flash and fall with relentless vigour. The brigades of Vandeleur and Vivian, well husbanded during the day, had been slipped upon the foe. The effect was electrical. The retreat became a rout that surged wildly around the last squares of the Guard. In one of them Napoleon took refuge for a space, still hoping to effect a rally, while outside Ney rushed from band to band, brandishing a broken sword, foaming with fury, and launching at the runaways the taunt, "Cowards! have you forgotten how to die?"[524]

But panic now reigned supreme. Adam's brigade was at hand to support our horsemen; and shortly after nine there knelled from Planchenoit the last stroke of doom, the shouts of Prussians at last victorious over the stubborn defence. "The Guard dies and does not surrender"—such are the words attributed by some to Michel, by others to Cambronne before he was stretched senseless on the ground.[525] Whether spoken or not, some such thought prompted whole companies to die for the honour of their flag. And their chief, why did he not share their glorious fate? Gourgaud says that Soult forced him from the field. If so (and Houssaye discredits the story) Soult never served his master worse. The only dignified course was to act up to his recent proclamation that the time had come for every Frenchman of spirit to conquer or die. To belie those words by an ignominious flight was to court the worst of sins in French political life, ridicule.

And the flight was ignominious. Wellington's weary troops, after several times mistaking friends for foes in the dusk, halted south of Rossomme and handed over the pursuit to the Prussians, many of whom had fought but little and now drank deep the draught of revenge. By the light of the rising moon Gneisenau led on his horsemen in a pursuit compared with which that of Jena was tame. At Genappe Napoleon hoped to make a stand: but the place was packed with wagons and thronged with men struggling to get at the narrow bridge. At the blare of the Prussian trumpets, the panic became frightful; the Emperor left his carriage and took to horse as the hurrahs drew near. Seven times did the French form bivouacs, and seven times were they driven out and away. At Quatre Bras he once more sought to gather a few troops; but ere he could do so the Uhlans came on. With tears trickling down his pallid cheeks, he resumed his flight over another field of carnage, where ghastly forms glinted on all sides under the pale light of dawn. After further futile efforts at Charleroi, he hurried on towards Paris, followed at some distance by groups amounting to about 10,000 men, the sorry remnant still under arms of the host that fought at Waterloo: 25,000 lay dead or wounded there: some thousands were taken prisoners: the rest were scattering to their homes. Wellington lost 10,360 killed and wounded, of whom 6,344 were British: the Prussian loss was about 6,000 men.

The causes of Napoleon's overthrow are not hard to find. The lack of timely pursuit of Bluecher and Wellington on the 17th enabled those leaders to secure posts of vantage and to form an incisive plan which he did not fully fathom even at the crisis of the battle. Full of overweening contempt of Wellington, he began the fight heedlessly and wastefully. When the Prussians came on, he underrated their strength and believed to the very end that Grouchy would come up and take them between two fires. But, in the absence of prompt, clear, and detailed instructions, that Marshal was left a prey to his fatal notion that Wavre was the one point to be aimed at and attacked. Despite the heavy cannonade on the west he persisted in this strange course; while Napoleon staked everything on a supreme effort against Wellington. This last was an act of appalling hardihood; but he explained to Cockburn on the voyage to St. Helena that, still confiding in Grouchy's approach, he felt no uneasiness at the Prussian movements, "which were, in fact, already checked, and that he considered the battle to have been, on the whole, rather in his favour than otherwise." The explanation has every appearance of sincerity. But would any other great commander have staked his last reserve and laid bare his rear solely in reliance on the ability of an almost untried leader who had sent not a single word that justified the hopes now placed in him?

We here touch the weak points in Napoleon's intellectual armour. Gifted with almost superhuman insight and energy himself, he too often credited his paladins with possessing the same divine afflatus. Furthermore, he had a supreme contempt for his enemies. Victorious in a hundred fights over second-rate opponents in his youth, he could not now school his hardened faculties to the caution needed in a contest with Wellington, Gneisenau, and Bluecher. Only after he had ruined himself and France did he realize his own errors and the worth of the allied leaders. During the voyage to England he confessed to Bertrand: "The Duke of Wellington is fully equal to myself in the management of an army, with the advantage of possessing more prudence."[526]

NOTE ADDED TO THE FOURTH EDITION.—I have discussed several of the vexed questions of the Waterloo Campaign in an Essay, "The Prussian Co-operation at Waterloo," in my volume entitled "Napoleonic Studies" (George Bell and Sons, 1904). In that Essay I have pointed out the inaccuracy or exaggeration of the claims put forward by some German writers to the effect that (1) Wellington played Bluecher false at Ligny, (2) that he did not expect Prussian help until late in the day at Waterloo, (3) that the share of credit for the victory rested in overwhelming measure with Bluecher and Gneisenau.

* * * * *



CHAPTER XLI

FROM THE ELYSEE TO ST. HELENA

Napoleon was far from accepting Waterloo as a final blow. At Philippeville on the day after the battle, he wrote to his brother Joseph that he would speedily have 300,000 men ready to defend France: he would harness his guns with carriage-horses, raise 100,000 conscripts, and arm them with muskets taken from the royalists and malcontent National Guards: he would arouse Dauphine, Lyonnais, and Burgundy, and overwhelm the enemy. "But the people must help me and not bewilder me.... Write to me what effect this horrible piece of bad luck has had on the Chamber. I believe the deputies will feel convinced that their duty in this crowning moment is to rally round me and save France."[527]

The tenacious will, then, is only bent, not broken. Waterloo is merely a greater La Rothiere, calling for a mightier defensive effort than that of 1814. Such are his intentions, even when he knows not that Grouchy is escaping from the Prussians. The letter breathes a firm resolve. He has no scruples as to the wickedness of spurring on a wearied people to a conflict with Europe. As yet he forms no magnanimous resolve to take leave of a nation whom his genius may once more excite to a fatal frenzy. He still seems unable to conceive of France happy and prosperous apart from himself. In indissoluble union they will struggle on and defy the world.

Such was the frame of mind in which he reached the Elysee Palace early on the 21st of June. For a time he was much agitated. "Oh, my God!" he exclaimed to Lavalette, raising his eyes to heaven and walking up and down the room. But after taking a warm bath—his unfailing remedy for fatigue—he became calm and discussed with the Ministers plans of a national defence. The more daring advised the prorogation of the Chambers and the declaration of a state of siege in Paris; but others demurred to a step that would lead to civil war. The Council dragged on at great length, the Emperor only once rousing himself from his weariness to declare that all was not lost; that he, and not the Chambers, could save France. If so, he should have gone to the deputies, thrilled them with that commanding voice, or dissolved them at once. Montholon states that this course was recommended by Cambaceres, Carnot, and Maret, but that most of the Ministers urged him not to expose his wearied frame to the storms of an excited assembly. At St. Helena he told Gourgaud that, despite his fatigue, he would have made the effort had he thought success possible, but he did not.[528]

The Chamber of Deputies meanwhile was acting with vigour. Agonized by the tales of disaster already spread abroad by wounded soldiers, it eagerly assented to Lafayette's proposal to sit in permanence and declare any attempt at dissolution an act of high treason. So unblenching a defiance, which recalled the Tennis Court Oath of twenty-six years before, struck the Emperor almost dumb with astonishment. Lucien bade him prepare for a coup d'etat: but Napoleon saw that the days for such an act were passed. He had squandered the physical and moral resources bequeathed by the Revolution. Its armies were mouldering under the soil of Spain, Russia, Germany, and Belgium; and a decade of reckless ambition had worn to tatters Rousseau's serviceable theory of a military dictatorship. Exhausted France was turning away from him to the prime source of liberty, her representatives.

These were doubtless the thoughts that coursed through his brain as he paced with Lucien up and down the garden of the Elysee. A crowd of federes and workmen outside cheered him frantically. He saluted them with a smile; but, says Pasquier, "the expression of his eyes showed the sadness that filled his soul." True, he might have led that unthinking rabble against the Chambers; but that would mean civil war, and from this he shrank. Still Lucien bade him strike. "Dare," he whispered with Dantonesque terseness. "Alas," replied his brother, "I have dared only too much already." Davoust also opined that it was too late now that the deputies had firmly seized the reins and were protected by the National Guards of Paris.

And so Napoleon let matters drift. In truth, he was "bewildered" by the disunion of France. It was a France that he knew not, a land given over to idealogues and traitors. His own Minister, Fouche, was working to sap his power, and yet he dared not have him shot! What wonder that the helpless autocrat paced restlessly to and fro, or sat as in a dream! In the evening Carnot went to the Peers, Lucien to the Deputies, to appeal for a united national effort against the Coalition, but the simple earnestness of the one and the fraternal fervour of the other alike failed. When Lucien finally exclaimed against any desertion of Napoleon, Lafayette fiercely shot at him the long tale of costly sacrifices which France had offered up at the shrine of Napoleon's glory, and concluded: "We have done enough for him: our duty is to save la patrie."

On the morrow came the news that Grouchy had escaped from the Prussians; and that the relics of Napoleon's host were rallying at Laon. But would not this encouragement embolden the Emperor to crush the contumacious Chambers? Evidently the case was urgent. He must abdicate, or they would dethrone him—such was the purport of their message to the Elysee; but, as an act of grace, they allowed him an hour in which to forestall their action. Shortly after midday, on the advice of his Ministers, he took the final step of his official career. Lucien and Carnot begged him for some time to abdicate only in favour of his son;[529] and he did so, but with the bitter remark: "My son! What a chimera! No, it is for the Bourbons that I abdicate! They at least are not prisoners at Vienna."

The deputies were of his opinion. Despite frantic efforts of the Bonapartists, they passed over Napoleon II. without any effective recognition, and at once appointed an executive Commission of five—Carnot, Caulaincourt, Fouche, Grenier, and Quinette. Three of them were regicides, and Fouche was chosen their President. We can gauge Napoleon's wrath at seeing matters thus promptly rolled back to where they were before Brumaire by his biting comment that he had made way for the King of Rome, not for a Directory which included one traitor and two babies. His indignation was just. An abdication forced on by idealogues was hateful; to be succeeded by Fouche seemed an unforgivable insult; but he touched the lowest depth of humiliation on the 25th, when he received from that despicable schemer an order to leave Paris.

He obeyed on that first Sunday after Waterloo, driving off quietly to Malmaison, there to be joined by Hortense Beauharnais and a few faithful friends. At that ill-omened abode, where Josephine had breathed her last shortly after his first abdication, he spent four uneasy days. At times he was full of fight. He sent to the "Moniteur" a proclamation urging the army to make "some efforts more, and the Coalition will be dissolved." The manifesto was suppressed by Fouche's orders.

Meanwhile the invaders pressed on rapidly towards Compiegne. They met with no attempts at a national rising, a fact which proves the welcome accorded to Napoleon in March to have been mainly the outcome of military devotion and of the dislike generally felt for the Bourbons. It is a libel on the French people to suppose that a truly national impulse in his favour would have vanished with a single defeat. In vain did the Provisional Government sue for an armistice that would stay the advance. Wellington refused outright; but Bluecher declared that he would consider the matter if Napoleon were handed over to him, dead or alive. On hearing of this, Wellington at once wrote his ally a private remonstrance, which drew from Gneisenau a declaration that, as the Duke was held back by parliamentary considerations and by the wish to prolong the life of the villain whose career had extended England's power, the Prussians would see to it that Napoleon was handed over to them for execution conformably to the declaration of the Congress of Vienna.[530]

But the Provisional Government acted honestly towards Napoleon. On the 26th Fouche sent General Becker to watch over him and advise him to set out for Rochefort, en route to the United States, for which purpose passports were being asked from Wellington. Becker found the ex-Emperor a prey to quickly varying moods. At one time he seemed "sunk into a kind of mollesse, and very careful about his ease and comfort": he ate hugely at meals: or again he affected a rather coarse joviality, showing his regard for Becker by pulling his ear. His plans varied with his moods. He declared he would throw himself into the middle of France and fight to the end, or that he would take ship at Rochefort with Bertrand and Savary alone, and steal past the English squadron; but when Mme. Bertrand exclaimed that this would be cruel to her, he readily gave up the scheme.[531]

It is not easy to gauge his feelings at this time. Apart from one outburst to Lavalette of pity for France, he seems not to have realized how unspeakably disastrous his influence had been on the land which he found in a victoriously expansive phase, and now left prostrate at the feet of the allies and the Bourbons. Hatred and contempt of the upper classes for their "fickle" desertion of him, these, if we may judge from his frequent allusions to the topic during the voyage, were the feelings uppermost in his mind; and this may explain why he wavered between the thought of staking all on a last effort against the allies and the plan of renewing in America the career now closed to him in Europe.

He certainly was not a prey to torpor and dumb despair. His brain still clutched eagerly at public affairs, as if unable to realize that they had slipped beyond his control; and his behaviour showed that he was still un etre politique, with whom power was all in all. He evinced few signs of deep emotion on bidding farewell to his devoted followers: but whether this resulted from inner hardness, or resentment at his fall, or a sense of dignified prudence, it is impossible to say. When Denon, the designer of his medals, sobbed on bidding him adieu, he remarked: Mon cher, ne nous attendrissons pas: il faut dans les crises comme celle-ci se conduire avec froid. This surely was one source of his power over an emotional people: his feelings were the servant, not the master, of his reason.

Meanwhile the Prussians were drawing near to Paris. Early on the 29th they were at Argenteuil, and Bluecher detached a flying column to seize the bridge of Chatou over the Seine near Malmaison and carry off Napoleon on the following night. But Davoust and Fouche warded off the danger. While the Marshal had the nearest bridges of the Seine barricaded or burnt, Fouche on the night of the 28th-29th sent an order to Napoleon to leave at once for Rochefort and set sail with two frigates, even though the English passports had not arrived.

He received the news calmly, and then with unusual animation requested Becker to submit to the Government a scheme for rapidly rallying the troops around Paris, whereupon he, as General Bonaparte, would surprise first Bluecher and then Wellington—they were two days' marches apart: then, after routing the foe, he would resume his journey to the coast. The Commission would have none of it. The reports showed that the French troops were so demoralized that success was not to be hoped for.[532] And if a second Montmirail were snatched from Bluecher, would it bring more of glory to Napoleon or of useless bloodshed to France? Those who look on the world as an arena for the exploits of heroes at the cost of ordinary mortals may applaud the scheme. But could men who were responsible to France regard it as anything but a final proof of Napoleon's perverse optimism, or a flash of his unquenchable ambition, or a last mad bid for power? He showed signs of anger on hearing of their refusal, but set out for Rochefort at 6 p.m.; and thus the Prussians were cheated of their prey by a few hours. Bertrand, Savary, Gourgaud, and Becker accompanied him.

The cheers of troops and people at Niort, and again at Rochefort, where he arrived on July 3rd, re-awakened his fighting instincts; and as the westerly winds precluded all hope of the two frigates slipping quickly down either of the practicable outlets so as to elude the British cruisers, he again sought permission to take command of the French forces, now beginning to fall back from Paris behind the line of the Loire. Again his offer was refused; and messages came thick and fast bidding Becker get him away from the mainland. Such was the desire of his best friends. Paris capitulated to the allies on July 4th, and both French royalists and Prussians were eager to get hold of him. Thus, while he sat weaving plans of a campaign on the Loire, the tottering Government at Paris pressed on his embarkation, hinting that force would be used should further delays ensue. Sadly, then, on July 8th, he went on board the "Saale," moored near L'Ile d'Aix, opposite the mouth of the Charente.

He was now in sore straits. The orders from Paris expressly forbade his setting foot again on the mainland, and most of the great towns had already hoisted the white flag. In front of him was the Bay of Biscay, swept by British cruisers, which the French naval officers had scant hopes of escaping. There was talk among Napoleon's suite, which now included Montholon, Las Cases, and Lallemand, of attempting flight from the Gironde, or in the hold of a small Danish sloop then at Rochefort, or on two fishing boats moored to the north of L'Ile de Re; but these plans were given up in consequence of the close watch kept by our cruisers at all points. The next day brought with it a despatch from Paris ordering the ex-Emperor to set sail within twenty-four hours.

On the morrow Napoleon sent Savary and Las Cases with a letter to H.M.S. "Bellerophon," then cruising off the main channel—that between the islands of Oleron and Re—asking whether the permits for Napoleon's voyage to America had arrived, or his departure would be prevented. Savary also inquired whether his passage on a merchant-ship would be stopped. The commander, Captain Maitland, had received strict orders to intercept Napoleon; but, seeking to gain time and to bring Admiral Hotham up with other ships, he replied that he would oppose the frigates by force: neither could he permit Napoleon to set sail on a merchant-ship until he had the warrant of his admiral for so doing. The "Bellerophon," "Myrmidon," and "Slaney" now drew closer in to guard the middle channel, while a corvette watched each of the difficult outlets on the north and south.[533]

Three days of sorrow and suspense now ensued. On the 12th came the news of the entry of Louis XVIII. into Paris, the collapse of the Provisional Government, and the general hoisting of the fleur-de-lys throughout France. On the 13th Joseph Bonaparte came for a last interview with his brother on the Ile d'Aix. Montholon states that the ex-King offered to change places with the ex-Emperor and thus allow him the chance of escaping on a neutral ship from the Gironde. Gourgaud does not refer to any such offer, nor does Bertrand in his letter of July 14th to Joseph. In any case, it was not put to the test; for royalism was rampant on the mainland, and two of our cruisers hovered about the Gironde. Sadly the two brothers parted, and for ever. Then the other schemes were again mooted only to be given up once more; and late on the 13th Napoleon dictated the following letter, to be taken by Gourgaud to the Prince Regent: