From another source Napoleon gathered that three bodies of the Prussians were concentrating at Wavre, vital information which, for some inexplicable reason, he did not dispatch to Grouchy until 10 a.m. We have it on the authority of Foy, who had fought in Spain, that at daybreak Napoleon was told that the junction of Wellington and BlÜcher was possible. This he refused to believe, stating that such an event could not take place before the 20th. Grouchy was ordered to keep up his communications with Napoleon, pushing before him “those bodies of Prussians which have taken this direction and which may have stopped at Wavre.” In addition, he was to “follow those columns which have gone to your right.” Dr Holland Rose pronounces these instructions as 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 BlÜcher 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.”93

As Houssaye, one of the most painstaking of historians, says, “It is necessary to walk over the ground, to perceive its constantly undulating formation, similar to the billows of a swelling sea.” I have followed his advice for the purposes of the present volume. The configuration of the land near the ridge, which was at first the right centre of the Allies, has been altered somewhat by the excavation of earth for the celebrated but unsightly Lion Mound, otherwise the field is much the same as it was in 1815. Major Cotton, who fought at Waterloo, tells us that on the day of the battle there were “splendid crops of rye, wheat, barley, oats, beans, peas, potatoes, tares, and clover; some of these were of great height. There were a few patches of ploughed ground.” Exactly the same is true now. The soil which covers the mouldering bones of many a hero yields a mighty harvest. Practically every inch of it is either pasture or under cultivation.

By far the most interesting point is the chÂteau and farm-house of Hougoumont. The buildings were then over two centuries old, and were erected with a view to defence, the garden being strongly walled on the south and east sides. In 1815 it was replete with orchard, outbuildings, banked-up hedges, and a chapel. Additional loop-holes were made by Wellington’s orders, a scaffold was erected so that the troops could discharge their muskets over the wall, and the flooring over the south gateway hastily taken up “to enable our men to fire down upon the enemy should they force the gate which had been blocked up.” This strong strategic position before the right flank of the allied line was admirably defended by the light companies of the second battalions of Coldstream and Foot Guards.

The battle began with a protracted but successful attack by Napoleon’s brother, Jerome, on the Nassauer and Hanoverian troops, which held the wood in front of the chÂteau. Proud of his triumph, and contrary to the Emperor’s orders, three attempts to assault the grim building were made and failed. At length Napoleon made up his mind to bombard Hougoumont, which he did to some effect, the chapel and barn blazing fiercely, but its brave defenders never surrendered. Four days after the battle, Major W.E. Frye visited the spot. “At Hougoumont,” he says, “where there is an orchard, every tree is pierced with bullets. The barns are all burned down, and in the courtyard it is said they have been obliged to burn upwards of a thousand carcases, an awful holocaust to the War-Demon.” On one of the outside walls of the little chapel, within which many gallant soldiers breathed their last, is a bronze tablet erected in 1907, “to the memory of the brave dead by His Britannic Majesty’s Brigade of Guards and by Comte Charles van der Burch.”94 The sacred building has been thoroughly repaired, and the interior white-washed. The latter is to be regretted, but was incumbent owing to the vandalism of visitors whose one aim in life apparently is to carve or scrawl their names upon monuments and buildings.

Within easy distance is the farm of La Haye Sainte, still used for the purpose for which it was originally built. If the thick wall which abuts the road to the Belgian capital is not so strong as it was—and there are signs of recent repair—the most cursory examination is sufficient to prove that it offered a strong resistance. La Haye Sainte was the key of the allied position. It was Napoleon’s ambition to secure it, together with the farm of Mont St Jean, so that the enemy’s communications with Brussels and BlÜcher might be cut off. Wellington had unwisely left the defence of La Haye Sainte to a mere handful of men, 376 in all, of the King’s German Legion. The buildings were attacked on all sides during the eventful day, and it was not until 6.30 p.m., or thereabouts, when ammunition was exhausted, that the place fell. Professor Oman points out that the Emperor should have sent the Guard “to the front en masse” the moment that happened. This he did not do, and a golden opportunity was irretrievably lost.

A little farther up the road, and on the opposite side, is a long, white-washed building known as the farm of Mont St Jean, the hamlet of that name being the centre of the position. This was the chief hospital of the Allies, and once a monastery of the Knights Templar. Near here the Iron Duke drew up the second line of his reserve, with three reserve batteries. Napoleon’s headquarters were on the Belle Alliance height, where he spent the greater part of the day, and where he kept the Imperial Guard, nick-named “The Immortals,” in reserve until after 7 p.m. It was not until evening had given place to night that the French troops were routed.

When you enter La Belle Alliance Inn you are shown “the historical chamber of Napoleon.” But let me warn visitors who admire the grotesque painting of “Wellington Meeting BlÜcher,” which is nailed to the outside wall, against believing that this is the scene of the memorable incident. Mutual congratulations took place before La Belle Alliance was reached, the Duke turning off the high road leading to the village of Waterloo to meet the rugged old soldier when he descried him surrounded by his staff.

Within a few hundred yards of the inn is a memorial “to the last combatants of the Grand Army.” It is by far the most artistic and apposite of the several monuments on the field. With shattered wings the French eagle guards the tattered standard of “The Immortals” on the ground where the last square of Napoleon’s famous Guard was cut down. “It was a fatality,” said the fallen Emperor of the West, “for in spite of all, I should have won that battle.”

Having glanced at the chief objects of interest on the field of Waterloo, we must now turn our attention to the leading features of the fight. It is not proposed to enter into minute details, or to discuss the many vexed points which have been raised from time to time. Sir Harry Smith, who took part in the battle, issued a word of warning years ago, which we shall endeavour to bear in mind. “Every moment was a crisis,” he said, “and the controversialists had better have left the discussion on the battle-field.”

The morning of Sunday, the 18th June 1815, was dismal, foggy, and wet. No “Sun of Austerlitz” pierced the low clouds that scudded across the sky. The state of the weather being then, as now, a universal topic of conversation and record, we have abundant documentary evidence on the subject. After this uninteresting, but not unimportant, fact, our witnesses, to a large extent, break down. It would be much easier to detail what we do not know about the battle of Waterloo than to put down in black and white what may be regarded as indisputable truth. For instance, there is an amazing disparity between the times at which eye-witnesses assert the first cannon was fired. The Duke says eleven o’clock, Napoleon two hours later. Alava mentions half-past eleven, Ney one o’clock. Lord Hill, who used a stop-watch, avers with some semblance of authority, 11.50 a.m. The Emperor certainly delayed giving battle. Soult issued an order between 4 and 5 a.m. for the army to be “ready to attack at 9 a.m.” At 11 o’clock Napoleon stated that the soldiers were to be “in battle array, about an hour after noon.” Scores of volumes and thousands of pages have been devoted to the subject of the conflict which concluded Napoleon’s military career. It seems fairly reasonable to suppose that after the lapse of one hundred years any further research, although it may throw valuable sidelights on the battle, will not solve the problem. We have the Duke’s assurance that “it is impossible to say when each important occurrence took place, nor in what order.” To a would-be narrator he wrote, “I recommend you to leave the battle of Waterloo as it is,” to another, “the Duke entertains no hopes of ever seeing an account of all its details which shall be true,” and again, “I am really disgusted with and ashamed of all that I have seen of the battle of Waterloo.” That being so, it is not purposed to view it from a critical standpoint, but merely to detail the leading events of the day as these are generally accepted.

The ridge on which Napoleon posted his forces in three lines, with a reserve of 11,000 troops behind the centre, was opposite Mont St Jean, with the farm of La Belle Alliance, on the high road from Charleroi to Brussels, in the centre. The number of troops at his immediate disposal was 74,000, and they occupied a front of about two miles. The spectacle as the French troops deployed “was magnificent,” Napoleon afterwards averred, not without a touch of imagination, “and the enemy, who was so placed as to behold it down to the last man, must have been struck by it: the army must have seemed to him double in number what it really was.”

Just before the conflict began there was scarcely a mile between the French and Wellington’s 67,000 troops, who were posted across the high roads leading respectively from Charleroi and Nivelles to Brussels, just in front of Mont St Jean, where they cross. His right extended to Merbe Braine, and his left, which he considered was protected by the advancing Prussians, was to the westward of the high road. The army was drawn up in two lines, the second of which was composed entirely of cavalry under Lord Uxbridge. To the left Wellington held the villages of La Haye, Papelotte, and Smohain; Hougoumont was before his right, La Haye Sainte in front of the centre, and all were occupied by his troops. His reserves, numbering about 17,000, were unseen by the enemy owing to the formation of the ground, and were posted behind his centre and right. At the rear was the forest of Soignes, through which he could retreat if necessary. At Hal, nine miles away, the corps of Prince Frederick of Orange and two brigades of Colville’s division, some 14,000 men in all, were stationed. They took no part in the battle. Their presence at so great a distance was due to the somewhat unnecessary anxiety of Wellington, as after events proved, regarding the right flank. The Allies’ guns numbered 156, those of the French 246.

Wellington displayed extraordinary activity, and commanded in person. Napoleon relied on his subordinates far more than was usual with him, and seemed to take little direct interest in the fighting. He sat in a chair; his antagonist rode about throughout the day. “It is hardly possible,” says Lord William Lennox, one of his aides-de-camp, “to describe the calm manner in which the hero gave his orders and watched the movements and attacks of the enemy. In the midst of danger, bullets whistling close about him, round shot ploughed the ground he occupied, and men and horses falling on every side, he sat upon his favourite charger, Copenhagen, as collectedly as if he had been reviewing the Household Troops in Hyde Park.”

Although it would be foolish to endeavour to accurately divide the battle in different parts as one would do a sum, for the simple reason that fighting was going on all the time and the entire armies of the combatants were not used in any given moment, there were five more or less distinct attacks made by the French which may be useful as keys, viz.: (1) the diversion against Hougoumont, which opened the battle; (2) the attack against Wellington’s left-centre; (3) the cavalry attack on the right-centre; (4) a second attempt with infantry and cavalry having a similar object, and an infantry attack against the enemy’s left; (5) the charge of the Imperial Guard.

The main attack was against the British left and centre, but by way of diversion an attempt was first made on the wood of Hougoumont, which was carried after so determined a resistance that Alison, the historian, afterwards counted no fewer than twenty-two shots in a tree less than six inches in diameter; fairly conclusive evidence of the death-dealing shower faced by the Nassauers and Hanoverians defending the copse and of the vigour of the enemy. The chÂteau was then attacked, contrary to orders, by Jerome Bonaparte, and brilliantly repulsed by the light companies of the second battalions of Coldstream and Foot Guards.95 Several attempts were afterwards made to secure the place, and dead bodies lay piled in heaps, but those within held it from the beginning to the end of the battle, although Wellington found it necessary to reinforce the men who were upholding Britain’s honour so determinedly. The orchard was captured and regained, howitzers battered the stout walls, the building was set on fire, the door of the courtyard was burst open and shut in the face of the French. These deeds were performed by the fellows of whom Napoleon had spoken earlier in the day as “breakfast for us!”

It was not until about half-past one o’clock, when a black, moving mass was seen on the wooded heights of St Lambert that the Emperor really bestirred himself. Napoleon looked through his glass in the direction of the object on which nearly all eyes were strained. Some of his officers thought it a body of troops, some suggested Prussians, others Grouchy. “I think,” remarked Soult, “it is five or six thousand men, probably part of Grouchy’s army.” In reality it was the advanced guard of BÜlow’s troops, and the Emperor shortly afterwards heard from the lips of a prisoner that at least 30,000 men were approaching to assist Wellington. However, some light horsemen were sent towards Frischermont to observe the Prussians,96 and a postscript was added to a dispatch already penned to Grouchy, begging him to “lose not an instant in drawing near and joining us, in order to crush BÜlow, whom you will catch in the very act.”

Without delay Napoleon launched D’Erlon’s corps in four columns totalling nearly 20,000 men against the enemy’s left-centre, Ney in command. They were supported by far too few cavalry. The Emperor’s idea was to take La Haye Sainte, break through the Allied line, and gain Mont St Jean. This operation, if successful, would compel Wellington to abandon his communications with the Belgian capital and change his formation. In addition, it would place the French between his army and the Prussians. Bylandt’s Dutch-Belgians, who were nearest to the enemy and consequently more exposed to the covering fire of seventy-eight guns and the shots of the skirmishers, took to their heels as D’Erlon’s divisions, frantically yelling “Vive l’Empereur!” approached the front line.97 The brigades of Pack and Kempt were at once brought forward by Picton. They stood firm and poured death into the oncoming columns, receiving them, as they appeared on the crest of the ridge, with fixed bayonets.

The Earl of Uxbridge, who was in command of the cavalry, realizing that the position was still one of considerable danger, then ordered Ponsonby’s Union Brigade—the 1st Royal Dragoons, Scots Greys, and Inniskillings—to charge. It burst upon the French with tremendous force and decided the issue.

Several thousands of the enemy were killed or wounded, 8000 taken prisoners, a number of guns silenced, and two eagles captured.

The story of how the colours of the French 45th Regiment were secured by Serjeant Ewart, a magnificent specimen of a man, over six feet in height, who served in the Greys, is best told in his own modest language. “It was in the charge I took the eagle from the enemy,” he says; “he and I had a hard contest for it; he made a thrust at my groin, I parried it off and cut him down through the head. After this a lancer came at me; I threw the lance off by my right side, and cut him through the chin and upwards through the teeth. Next, a foot-soldier fired at me, and then charged me with his bayonet, which I also had the good luck to parry, and then I cut him down through the head; thus ended the contest. As I was about to follow my regiment, the General said, ‘My brave fellow, take that to the rear; you have done enough till you get quit of it.’ I took the eagle to the ridge, and afterwards to Brussels.” We have also the record of Captain Clark Kennedy, of the Royal Dragoons, regarding the capture of the eagle of the 105th Regiment. “I was,” he relates, “in command of the centre squadron of the Royal Dragoons in this charge; while following up the attack, I perceived a little to my left, in the midst of a body of infantry, an eagle and colour, which the bearer was making off with towards the rear. I immediately gave the order to my squadron, ‘Right shoulders forward!’ at the same time leading direct upon the eagle and calling out to the men with me to secure the colour; the instant I got within reach of the officer who carried the eagle, I ran my sword into his right side, and he staggered and fell, but did not reach the ground on account of the pressure of his companions: as the officer was in the act of falling, I called out a second time to some men close behind me, ‘Secure the colour, it belongs to me.’ The standard coverer, Corporal Styles, and several other men rushed up, and the eagle fell across my horse’s head against that of Corporal Styles’s. As it was falling, I caught the fringe of the flag with my left hand, but could not at first pull up the eagle: at the second attempt, however, I succeeded. Being in the midst of French troops, I attempted to separate the eagle from the staff, to put it into the breast of my coatee, but it was too firmly fixed. Corporal Styles said, ‘Sir, don’t break it’; to which I replied, ‘Very well; carry it off to the rear as fast as you can.’ He did so.”

Unfortunately the victors were too eager, and instead of returning they continued until they were in the French lines, thus enabling Napoleon to “turn the tables.” His reserve squadrons robbed the British ranks of 1000 brave men, including Ponsonby. More would have fallen had not Vandeleur’s Light Cavalry Brigade checked the enemy.

Picton was dead, shot at the head of his men. “When you hear of my death,” the latter had previously remarked to a comrade, “you will hear of a bloody day.” He had “fallen gloriously at the head of his division, maintaining a position which, if it had not been kept, would have altered the fate of the day.”98

The following account of the magnificent charge of Ponsonby’s Union Brigade, from the pen of James Armour, Rough-rider to the Scots Greys, who took part in it, gives some idea of the work performed:

“Orders were now given that we were to prepare to charge. We gave our countrymen in front of us three hearty huzzas, and waving our swords aloft in the air, several swords were struck with balls while so doing; and I must not forget the piper—

The Highlanders were then ordered to wheel back—I think by sections, but I am not certain: infantry words of command differ from the cavalry. When they had, and were wheeling back imperfectly, we rushed through them; at the same time they huzzaed us, calling out, ‘Now, my boys—Scotland for ever!’ I must own it had a thrilling effect upon me. I am certain numbers of them were knocked over by the horses: in our anxiety we could not help it. Some said ‘I didna think ye wad hae sair’d me sae’—catching hold of our legs and stirrups, as we passed, to support themselves. When we got clear through the Highlanders (92nd) we were now on the charge, and a short one it was. A cross road being in our way, we leaped the first hedge gallantly; crossed the road, and had to leap over another hedge. At this time the smoke from the firing on both sides made it so that we could not see distinctly. We had not charged far—not many yards, till we came to a column. We were pretty well together as yet, although a great number fell about that cross road. We were in the column in a very short time (making pretty clean work). We still pushed forward, at least as many as could—a number had dropped off by this time—and soon came to another column. They cried out, ‘Prisoners!’ and threw down their arms, and stripped themselves of their belts (I think it is part of the French discipline to do so), and ran to our rear. Ay, they ran like hares. We still pushed on, and came upon another column; and some of them went down on their knees, calling out ‘Quarter!’ in a very supplicatory way....

“We now got amongst the guns, the terrible guns, which had annoyed us so much. Such slaughtering!—men cut down and run through, horses houghed, harness cut, and all rendered useless. Some, who were judges of such work, reckoned we had made a very good job of it. Amongst the guns—I think six or seven in number, all brass—that I was engaged with, mostly all the men were cut down, and the horses, most of them, if not all, were houghed. While we were at work amongst these guns, never thinking but, when we were done with it, we would have nothing to do but to return from where we came; but I must own I was very much surprised, when we began to retrace our steps, when what should we behold coming away across betwixt us and our own army but a great number of these cuirassiers and lancers, the first I ever beheld in my life, who were forming up in order to cut off our retreat; but, nothing daunted, we faced them manfully. We had none to command us now, but every man did what he could. ‘Conquer or die!’ was the word. When the regiment returned from the charge mentioned, the troops that I belonged to did not muster above one or two sound men (unwounded) belonging to the front rank. Indeed the whole troop did not muster above a dozen; there were upwards of twenty of the front rank killed, and the others wounded.”

Meanwhile the farm of La Haye Sainte, held by a detachment of the German Legion under Major Baring, had been the object of assault by a French division detached for that purpose, and the defenders were driven from the orchard. Reinforcements were sent forward by Wellington, followed by additional cavalry by Napoleon. The cuirassiers were met by Lord Edward Somerset’s Brigade, led by the Earl of Uxbridge, and driven back after a furious struggle for supremacy. Not until the last pinch of powder was spent and several determined attempts had been made to secure the place, did the brave fellows vacate their position to D’Erlon’s infantry, between six and seven o’clock.

Towards the close of the afternoon Milhaud’s cuirassiers, supported by light cavalry and dragoons, attacked the British right-centre. Wellington at once formed his troops in squares. When the crash came they stood firm and unbroken.

The Commander-in-Chief lost not a moment. The heavy brigade of Lord Edward Somerset was flung against the Frenchmen and drove them from the ridge.99 The artillery flamed destruction. Charge followed charge, thirteen in all, but the British squares remained steady, although continually reduced. Nearly all Wellington’s cavalry were pressed into service, and with the exception of a solitary Dutch-Belgian division, all his infantry reserve was employed. An officer who served in Halkett’s brigade has left a vivid account of this part of the battle.

“Hougoumont and its wood,” he writes, “sent up a broad flame through the dark masses of smoke that overhung the field; beneath this cloud the French were indistinctly visible. Here a waving mass of long red feathers could be seen; there, gleams as from a sheet of steel showed that the cuirassiers were moving; 400 cannon were belching forth fire and death on every side; the roaring and shouting were indistinguishably commixed—together they gave me an idea of a labouring volcano. Bodies of infantry and cavalry were pouring down on us, and it was time to leave contemplation, so I moved towards our columns, which were standing up in square.... As I entered the rear face of our square I had to step over a body, and looking down, recognised Harry Beere, an officer of our Grenadiers, who about an hour before shook hands with me, laughing, as I left the columns.... The tear was not dry on my cheek when poor Harry was no longer thought of. In a few minutes after, the enemy’s cavalry galloped up and crowned the crest of our position. Our guns were abandoned,100 and they formed between the two brigades, about a hundred paces in our front. Their first charge was magnificent. As soon as they quickened their trot into a gallop, the cuirassiers bent their heads so that the peaks of their helmets looked like vizors, and they seemed cased in armour from the plume to the saddle. Not a shot was fired till they were within thirty yards, when the word was given, and our men fired away at them. The effect was magical. Through the smoke we could see helmets falling, cavaliers starting from their seats with convulsive springs as they received our balls, horses plunging and rearing in the agonies of fright and pain, and crowds of the soldiery dismounted, part of the squadron in retreat, but the more daring remainder backing their horses to force them on our bayonets. Our fire soon disposed of these gentlemen. The main body re-formed in our front, and rapidly and gallantly repeated their attacks. In fact, from this time (about four o’clock) till near six, we had a constant repetition of these brave but unavailing charges. There was no difficulty in repulsing them, but our ammunition decreased alarmingly. At length an artillery wagon galloped up, emptied two or three casks of cartridges into the square, and we were all comfortable....

“Though we constantly thrashed our steel-clad opponents, we found more troublesome customers in the round shot and grape, which all this time played on us with terrible effect, and fully avenged the cuirassiers. Often as the volleys created openings in our square would the cavalry dash on, but they were uniformly unsuccessful. A regiment on our right seemed sadly disconcerted, and at one moment was in considerable confusion. Halkett rode out to them, and seizing their colour, waved it over his head, and restored them to something like order, though not before his horse was shot under him. At the height of their unsteadiness we got the order to ‘right face’ to move to their assistance; some of the men mistook it for ‘right about face,’ and faced accordingly, when old Major M‘Laine, 73rd, called out, ‘No, my boys, its “right face”; you’ll never hear the right about as long as a French bayonet is in front of you!’”

At Planchenoit, in the rear of the French centre, Lobau and his 10,000 men were doing their upmost to prevent BÜlow with three times that number of troops from succouring Wellington. The French held the village for two hours, and then saw it fall into the hands of the enemy, but only for a time. Some of the Young Guard and three batteries of artillery had been sent by the Emperor to support Lobau, and when they arrived the scales again turned in favour of the French. While this body was held in check, Napoleon’s infantry had suffered near Hougoumont, but La Haye Sainte had fallen, as already noticed. Had Napoleon sent reinforcements to Ney he might have won the battle, but he hesitated to use his remaining reserves. Before anything further was done, Wellington had made fresh dispositions, and Ziethen’s men, who had marched by way of Ohain, were on the field.

Six battalions of the Middle Guard and two battalions of the Old Guard were at last sent forward.101 As they crossed the open ground between Hougoumont and the high road the artillery played sad havoc with some of them, but behind the crest of the ridge was Maitland’s brigade of the Foot Guards, led by Wellington, himself. “Up, Guards, and make ready!” he shouted, and ere the first column was upon them the British infantry had dealt a deadly fire into its ranks which made it pause. The second column was caught in flank by Adam’s Brigade. Then two brigades of British cavalry charged, and although the celebrated Imperial Guards endeavoured to hold their own they were forced back. BlÜcher, who had arrived at a most opportune moment, carried the position occupied by the French right at Papelotte and La Haye with Ziethen’s corps. The whole Allied line then advanced, the heights were carried, and Napoleon’s last army, on the victory of which he had staked his all, was scattered. The battle of Waterloo was won. “My plan,” said the Commander-in-Chief, “was to keep my ground until the Prussians appeared, and then to attack the French position; and I executed my plan.”

Throughout the night the Prussians followed up the defeated legions, which got across the Sambre on the 19th. Some 30,000 of Napoleon’s men were killed or wounded, and 13,000 of the Allied army, more than half of whom were British. On the 22nd June 1815, the fallen Emperor abdicated in favour of his son; on the 7th July the Allies entered Paris in triumph, and eight days later Napoleon surrendered to Captain Maitland, of H.M.S. Bellerophon.