Col. C.H. Churchill was son of Maj.-Gen. Horace Churchill, and a descendant of the Earl of Orford. In a letter to his father from “Le Cateau, 24th June, 1815,” Churchill thus graphically describes Napoleon’s final effort at Waterloo:—

“It was about four o’clock. The enemy had made great efforts, but our troops foiled them everywhere. We could not follow him; he had retired rather than be beaten back. His position was very strong. About six o’clock we perceived formation columns, cavalry and infantry, formed in a great mass—the enemy’s artillery was brought to a more forward position—and again he began to cannonade us. He opened a fire, the most tremendous ever known, I believe, in the annals of war—250 pieces, very close, throwing shells and round shot, grape, and every instrument of destruction. It is really not exaggeration to say we could not ride quick over the ground for the bodies of men and horses. Under cover of this cannonade advanced Bonaparte at the head of his Imperial Guards; cavalry in a column on the left flank, and the Grenadiers of the Guard on their right flank. They advanced most steadily up to our line in one great mass. They halted and commenced firing. Our troops were literally mowed down. The fire was so great nothing could stand.” The writer then goes on to describe how he had two horses killed under him, and a third disabled by a shot in the knee before the advancing French columns were “licked back.” “The Prussians,” continues Churchill, “now came upon the enemy’s flank, and this obliged them to hurry their retreat.”

Sir De Lacy Evans.

In Kensal Green Cemetery is a handsome altar monument to the memory of Sir De Lacy Evans, his wife, and his brother, Maj.-Gen. Richard Evans, C.B., Col. of the Madras Grenadier Regt. The epitaph to Sir De Lacy and Lady Evans is as follows:—

Letter from Capt. (aftds. Lt.-Gen.) Alexander Macdonald, R.H.A., to Col. Sir W. Robe, K.C.B., R.A., regarding the death of Lt. W. Robe, R.H.A., at Waterloo. From a copy in the possession of Col. F.A. Whinyates, late R.H.A.:—

“My Dear Sir William,—I should have written to you long ere this had not a wound, which deprived me of the use of my arm, prevented me. As to the fall of your son, and my esteemed friend, I can only say that few young men have left this life more sincerely regretted, and his exertions on the 18th will ever endear his memory to all who witnessed his noble conduct on that day. Major Ramsay’s last words to me were as follows: ‘Did you ever witness such noble conduct as that of Brereton and Robe?’ In short, it is a most painful task to relate the history of a man whose fall I sincerely lament, and I cannot without tears of sorrow think of your son, and my esteemed friend Major Ramsay. About five o’clock on the 18th your son received a mortal wound, and about the same time the following day he died at the village of Waterloo, after twice having taken leave of me in the most friendly and affectionate manner. I was too ill to ask him any questions; indeed, I was so distressed when I saw him at his last moments, that I could only shake him by the hand, and in the course of a few minutes he expired. His remains were interred in a beautiful spot of ground in the village of Waterloo, where I intend to raise a monument to his memory.—Yours most truly,

“Our Paris correspondent states that a correspondent of the Gaulois gives an interesting account of a conversation with one of the very few surviving spectators of the battle of Waterloo, a widow named Givron, the hundredth anniversary of whose birth is about to be celebrated in the little village of Viesville, Hainault. She relates that on the morning of the day of the great battle she ran away from her parents and made her way through the woods, being curious to see what was going on. She was close to Hougomont when the place was attacked by the French troops, and remained in hiding for hours, not daring to move. The cannonade having diminished she ventured towards the farm, but fled horror-stricken at the sight—the ground, as she expresses it, being like red mud, so drenched was it with blood. She ran across the fields and reached the Bois de Planchenoit, where she fell asleep, worn out by fatigue and excitement. At dusk she was awakened by the noise of horses’ hoofs, and saw a troop of cavalry, headed by a man of short stature mounted on a curveting grey horse. He was riding slowly on as if in a dream, looking straight ahead and paying no heed to what went on about him. The girl learnt on the same evening from her relatives, when she finally reached home, that the rider was Napoleon. Madame Givron is remarkably active, and is particularly proud of her eyesight, which, she declares, is as good as it was seventy-five years ago. When her daughter Marceline, who, as she says, is only seventy-two, sits down to sew, her mother threads the needles for her. The old lady has had seven children, and her descendants number ninety-two.”—Morning Post.

Commissary-Gen. Downs writes to the Army and Navy Gazette in July, 1891, as follows:—

“Samuel Gibson—an inmate of the Metropolitan Asylum, Caterham—is now in his 101st year. He enlisted about the year 1803 at Sanderage, county Armagh, as a boy in the 27th Regt., his father being at that time a private in the Monaghan militia. Young Gibson accompanied the Inniskillings to the Peninsula and also served with the regt. at Waterloo. He was discharged from the army soon after on a pension of one shilling per diem, which he afterwards commuted, receiving besides, he states, £74. He has been an inmate of Caterham Asylum for some years, and although unable to leave his bed he still enjoys a pipe of tobacco, which he indulges in frequently.”

“In the village of Rolvenden, in the Weald of Kent, there is living an old woman named Moon, who was present at the battles of Quatre Bras and Waterloo. Her father, a col.-sergt. of the 3rd batt. Rifle Brigade, served throughout the Peninsular war, and took part in the battles of Badajoz, Salamanca, and other conflicts. He died of wounds received at Waterloo some months after the battle and before he had received his pension. Mrs. Moon was born in the Peninsula, her mother doing work for the forces when operating there. Though Mrs. Moon is now infirm, her intellect is clear and her memory good.”—Morning Post, 27th March, 1899.

Note by the Editor.—Mrs. Barbara Moon d. at Rolvenden in Oct., 1903. It was stated in an obituary notice that she was four years old at the time of the battle of Waterloo and rode in a waggon over the field on the evening of 18th June, 1815.

Elizabeth Watkins, of Norwich, born 31st Jan., 1810, at Beaminster, near Bridport. Her father, one Daniel Gale, was pressed into the King’s service just before Waterloo. Gale’s wife and child followed him to Brussels and were in the women’s camp near the field of Waterloo. The child remembers cutting up lint—saw many dead, and some stirring incidents of the battle. (Notes and Queries, 5th Dec., 1903). A portrait of Elizabeth Watkins recently appeared in The Sphere.

In a small cottage at the little village of Chapelle, within eye-shot of the meeting-place of Wellington and BlÜcher after the most tremendous and fateful struggle in the world’s history, there was living on June 18, 1815, a little girl, ThÉrÈse Roland, thirteen years of age, who witnessed all that took place on that historic day. Eighty-nine years later she is still living there, a widow now, with her two sons of eighty and seventy-eight, herself a bowed and wrinkled old dame of 103 years. This aged peasant, with faculties still clear and memory unimpaired, is probably the only living witness of the death-blow dealt to all Napoleon’s hopes on that midsummer day, which moulded the future history of an entire continent, and altered the balance of power of the entire world.

A representative of the Patrie has recently visited the battlefield, and obtained from this interesting old character, now Mme. Dupuis, some reminiscences of much that happened that day. She says:—

“As a little girl, stirred and fascinated by the long lines of horsemen, guns, and tired foot regiments passing our cottage, I stood at our door and served out water to the ‘beaux soldats.’ Afterwards I followed them to Waterloo. In the evening we heard the booming of great cannon, and from the windows I could see the clouds of smoke rising into the air like trees. I was in the mill, and the windows rattled. All night long we heard the tramp of silent men and the creaking, stumbling guns passing our doors. When I looked out next morning I saw wounded men lying by the roadside. In the distance I could hear a sound like a rough sea breaking against the rocks. There were clouds of smoke, and I saw men galloping, and masses of my brave soldiers moving hurriedly across the fields. Then the doctors came, and took out the bullets from the wounds of the soldiers.... The Prussians came by, and then the English, shouting their cries of victory.

“Not far away soldiers were digging trenches in our fields to bury the dead. There were so many of them, so many of them”—and the old peasant covered her face with her hands as though to shut out the terrible picture. “I saw one woman of Gotarville cut off the fingers of a Prussian officer, sorely hurt but still living, to secure the jewelled rings that he wore.

“At Planchenoit, a little further away, they tell me that the brave French were so beaten down by bayonet charges that the river ran with blood. Near the hill above a general was killed.

“No; I did not see Napoleon, and I still regret it. Poor Napoleon!... We did not like the English or the Prussians.... The next day we knew that Napoleon’s power was broken, by the lines we heard the people singing,”—and raising herself in her chair, the tottering old dame sang in a feeble voice:—

18th June, 1904.