by Tim Clayton
The fighting continued with a number of confused charges and countercharges. On the wet cobbles horses slithered and slid into the water-filled ditches either side of the chaussée, but only the British 7th Hussars and the French 2nd Lancers suffered significant casualties.15 Of the squadron of 7th Hussars that charged first, admitted Uxbridge’s future son-in-law, only about nineteen got back, he being one. A French staff officer claimed that his brother escorted eleven captured officers to Imperial headquarters and that the booty included sixty umbrellas, discarded by cavalry officers when they fled.16 Napoleon interrogated one of them, employing the English-speaking Flahaut to interpret, before instructing Larrey to treat the hussar’s wounds.17
The cannonade at Genappe was audible to Prussian cavalry outposts about five miles away, and General Treskow, who had taken command of Lützow’s Black Lancers after their leader’s capture at Ligny, sent a lieutenant to investigate. The Prussians were reassured to discover that Wellington’s army had not been trapped by Bonaparte, nor had it retreated in another direction to save itself, but was falling back alongside theirs so that the two armies could still combine:
I took three picked men of our lancers, with a French guide, and rode in a dreadful storm in the direction of the thunder of the cannon. I fortunately hit the desired point. After inquiry of an English officer, at a picket, how the battle went, he informed me that the English army was obliged to retreat. This was good news for us. After several hours I arrived safe at our bivouac and made my report to the old general, who was also glad to hear this news.18
Having been sent ahead to prepare to treat the wounded, Surgeon James was waiting anxiously for the Life Guards to come up the road. ‘I soon saw the regiment coming, so covered with black mud that their faces were hardly distinguishable, and the colour of their scarlet uniforms invisible. The ground was a quagmire and if any man took a fall he rose with a coat of mud from head to foot. The horses were in no better case.’ As soon as his servant appeared with his surgical instruments, he treated the deep lance wound in a captain’s back.19 The splendidly colourful uniforms of the French were in no better state, for the regular carriage of coal along the road meant that it was ‘covered in a black mud mixed like ink, which made our cavalry unrecognisable. Their clothing, men, and horses were painted from head to foot in such a way as to present a black and muddy mass.’20
Wellington was worried that Napoleon would manoeuvre round his defensive position at Mont Saint-Jean by marching to the west of it in order to force him to move away from the Prussians. However, Bonaparte did not then know that the Prussians had marched north, nor did he realise that Wellington had preselected a location in which to fight. He was merely driving on for Brussels, pushing the British before him. Napoleon later claimed that, during his advance, he had sent 2000 cavalry towards Hal, the small town ten miles south-west of Brussels at the junction of the main roads from Mons and Lille, threatening to turn Wellington’s right and causing him to divert troops there. Given reports of skirmishing, Bonaparte may have sent cavalry in that direction, but Wellington did not divert troops in response to his feints, for he had already deliberately placed 16,500 men with 30 guns at Hal. The town had always been Wellington’s preferred defensive position in the event of an attack on Brussels; indeed, if there were to be any such attack, he had expected it from that direction. The troops were there in case more French troops invaded from Lille or Maubeuge, as Wellington had always expected, or, as he later argued, because he expected Napoleon to turn his western flank.21 It is conceivable that the force at Hal dissuaded Napoleon from an outflanking manoeuvre but, given the difficulty of shifting artillery across country in the prevailing weather, it is unlikely that he ever seriously considered one, as he didn’t expect Wellington to halt and give battle. The troops at Hal were not of the highest quality and Wellington might even have felt that his field army was better off without them.22
North of Genappe, skirmishing continued as first the Horse Guards and then the Union Brigade protected the last three miles or so of the withdrawal. Napoleon had ordered Victor Albert Dessales, commander of d’Erlon’s artillery, to press the British with two horse batteries and, chivvied by the Emperor, he did so.23 The rain was unbelievable. It fell in buckets on ground that was already saturated by earlier downpours, and ditches filled with water and overflowed. With horses sinking to the knee at each pace, rapid progress off the cobbled road was hopeless. Visibility was very limited and morale sank in Wellington’s retreating army. There were clashes between patrols of cavalry and the French captured several baggage trains, herds of cattle and numerous stragglers.24 In the early evening the troops retreating from Nivelles reached Braine l’Alleud, where there was a stand-off when French troops appeared: they could not fight because neither side’s weapons would fire.25
At around 7 p.m. Surgeon James climbed the hill just to the south of the straggling village of Mont Saint-Jean and looked around:
From the top of the ridge of Mont St. Jean the view was of the most tremendous description, commanding the field of Waterloo and an immense tract of country, dark with woods and coloured with columns of troops, both French and English. The storm was breaking up, leaving patches of light and grey isolated showers in different parts of the landscape. At intervals wraiths of vapour were gathering.
The straight chaussee which descended towards the village of Mont Saint-Jean was covered and encumbered with a triple column of retiring cavalry, infantry and artillery, while on each side the country was open for a great space, and would have allowed the enemy every facility in bringing up his forces to attack our flank. Had the ground been drier he might well have done so.
It was undoubtedly the case that had the weather been fine, Wellington’s retreat, achieved more or less without loss, would have been altogether more difficult. As it was, however, James had looked round from the ridge that was to become Wellington’s front line. To defend it, infantry and artillery were already in position, and north of that point his retreating troops were relatively safe. From the highest part of that ridge Captain Carl Jacobi of the Hanoverian Lüneberg Regiment studied what was going on around him through his field glass. For a while, the rain had stopped. As the cavalry gradually withdrew behind the infantry, with small detachments still skirmishing, he watched more and more troops deploying either side of him and realised that Wellington intended to make a stand here.
From an alehouse called La Belle Alliance, three-quarters of a mile south of Wellington’s front line, Napoleon and d’Erlon were also studying the withdrawal. Thinking the enemy was still in retreat, Napoleon ordered d’Erlon, ‘Continue to follow them.’ But when one of Dessales’ horse batteries opened fire, fifteen of Wellington’s cannon responded with fearsome accuracy, a shot coming so close that Dessales’ horse bolted.26
Deciding that a British rearguard must be making a stand to cover the passage of the great Forest of Soignes that barred the way to Brussels, Napoleon deployed Milhaud’s cuirassiers and Subervie’s lancers east of the Brussels road and placed more batteries on the high ground near La Belle Alliance. With these he feigned an attack. Much of Wellington’s artillery responded to the French bombardment and Napoleon began to believe that perhaps the whole enemy army had halted in front of the forest.27 Nevertheless, the French staff concluded that Wellington’s army had only taken up this position to gain time for its artillery train and baggage to get through the bottleneck caused by the trees, before following it towards Brussels in the morning.28 Napoleon wanted to press the attack, but his generals insisted that it was too late, too dark and too wet, and that the troops needed food and rest.
Gradually the firing died out. British artillery and cavalry moved to the rear, the cavalry leaving a weak line of pickets in front of the allied position. Wellington had reached his chosen battlefield, but at the headquarters that he had established in an inn at Waterloo, just over two miles behind the front line, the staff remained anxious. They were ready to fight the next day, but t
o have much chance of success they needed Prussian help and they still had no news of Blücher’s whereabouts. Had he managed to pull his army back safely, had he found his ammunition, and would he be able to come to their aid?
Lord Uxbridge, later to be created Marquess of Anglesey, had another anxiety. If there was to be a great battle next day he was Wellington’s second-in-command and was acutely conscious that if anything happened to the Duke he had to take over, but he had no idea of Wellington’s intentions. He plucked up courage to explain his concern to the Duke, who heard him out patiently and then
said calmly, ‘Who will attack the first tomorrow, I or Bonaparte?’ ‘Bonaparte,’ replied Lord Anglesey. ‘Well,’ continued the Duke in the same tone ‘Bonaparte has not given me any idea of his projects; and as mine will depend on his, how can you expect me to tell you what mine are?’ Lord Anglesey bowed: and made no reply.
The Duke then said, rising; and at the same time touching him in a friendly way on the shoulder, ‘There is one thing certain, Uxbridge, that is, that, whatever happens, you and I will do our duty.’
He then shook him warmly by the hand: and Lord Anglesey bowing, retired.29
D’Erlon’s divisions camped on and behind a ridge facing Wellington’s line, between the château of Monplaisir, on the Nivelles road less than a mile from Hougoumont – an old château with an adjacent farm and walled garden that made a large strongpoint and was held by Wellington – and Plancenoit, a substantial village two miles away to the east, just beyond the Charleroi highway. General Jacquinot placed cavalry outposts in front and on the flanks. Some of Donzelot’s men found shelter in houses and barns at Plancenoit, while others cut down boughs of trees in the nearby woods to make substantial huts.30 The cavalry camped further back, while the corps of Reille, Lobau and Kellermann remained around Genappe where some, again, found shelter in buildings. General Bachelu worked late with his chief of staff Colonel Trefcon in a barn near Genappe, taking the reports of the colonels and generals and learning the effective strengths of their regiments after Quatre Bras. Then they lay down and slept on some straw.31
General Foy supped with Prince Jérôme and his experienced assistant General Guilleminot at the Roi d’Espagne at Genappe. Before he went to bed, Foy noted wryly in his journal that he had slept in the same inn during the campaign in the Low Countries twenty-two years ago. During the meal, ‘a very competent waiter, who served at table, said that Lord Wellington had eaten at the hotel the night before, and that one of his aides de camp had announced at the table that the English army would wait for the French at the entrance to the Forest of Soignes and that they would be joined there by the Prussian army, which was heading for Wavre.’
This charming story of hotel espionage is vulnerable to the objection that Wellington had not known when he supped there on the night of 16 June that Blücher had been defeated. However, rumours to that effect had reached Wellington’s staff and he certainly had the Mont Saint-Jean position in mind. Moreover, it is possible that these atrociously indiscreet remarks were made not on the night of 16 June, but during the day on the 17th, when it is pretty likely that Wellington or some of his staff might have eaten at the Roi d’Espagne. On the whole, it seems more likely than not that these generals really had learned the allied plan from the waiter at the Roi d’Espagne. Although the French feared that Wellington would still try to escape their clutches, and Wellington was still waiting for confirmation of Prussian participation before he would commit himself, in reality the scene was set for a battle next day.32
40
Panic Behind the Lines
Waterloo and Brussels, night of 17–18 June
At Brussels people waited anxiously for news. On 16 June the politician Thomas Creevey had dined with an acquaintance in the park and heard gunfire while walking home. Crowds of people were listening on the ramparts and scanning the horizon with telescopes. When, late that same night, his stepdaughter’s boyfriend Major Andrew Hamilton, an aide to General Barnes, had ridden in to fetch fresh horses, ‘his face black with smoke and gunpowder’, he brought the news not only that on Wellington’s arrival less than half the army and no cavalry were there, but that the French were already attacking them; ‘many English regiments, particularly the Scotch were nearly cut to pieces.’ Hamilton was full of praise for the British troops but also for Bonaparte’s daring attempt to get between the British and Prussian armies. Creevey nevertheless spent 17 June ‘free from much alarm’ until a Belgian aristocrat told him ‘your army is in retreat upon Brussels and the French in pursuit.’1 The story was confirmed by the arrival of baggage wagons and an influx of wounded men.
At this, a great number of people decided to leave the city. Horses rapidly became scarce and expensive, and many set out on foot or by canal barge. Major Hamilton returned that night to Thomas Creevey’s house, saying that Bonaparte’s movements had been masterly and that when he left, Wellington did not know where the Prussians were and had therefore been obliged to retreat to a position twelve miles from the city. He added that the French were ‘in tremendous force’ but if people did their duty he had no doubt that the French would get ‘a very pretty licking’. ‘This was by no means a comfortable account,’ noted Elizabeth Ord, sister of Hamilton’s girlfriend Ann.2 Sir George Scovell too had ridden back to Brussels on the night of 16 June to change horses, for his black stallion was ‘dreadfully knocked up’. He had ordered his brown mare to be ready for 2 a.m. and the stallion for the next day and had eaten a hearty supper. When he returned to Brussels to switch horses again, he told his grooms that Wellington was going to fight in his favourite position, made arrangements for the luggage in case they had to retreat and wrote final instructions which he locked in his desk, giving orders to break it open if he were killed. He then ‘mounted his horse and took leave of us in a very kind manner, expecting never to see us again’.3
Magdalene Delancey had been sent to Antwerp on 15 June by her husband, the acting Quartermaster-General. On the day of the retreat from Quatre Bras her servant Maria, ‘urged by curiosity, stood in the street, listening to terrible stories, seeing wounded men brought in, carriages full of women and children flying from Brussels, till she was completely frightened. She came and told me that all the ladies were hastening to England by sea, for the French had taken Brussels.’ Magdalene got a letter from Delancey late that night: ‘He said he was safe, and in great spirits; they had given the French a tremendous beating.’4
Meanwhile, north of Waterloo the allied baggage train was stacked up on the road through the forest to Brussels. There, in the late evening of 17 June, Napoleon’s feigned attack and the ensuing artillery duel had sparked utter terror, and in this least military part of Wellington’s army he finally achieved what he had been trying to induce in the whole army since the retreat began – an uncontrolled rout:
A dreadful panic had seized the men left in charge of the baggage, in the rear of the army, and they ran away with a rapidity that could not have been surpassed even by the French themselves. The road between Waterloo and Brussels, which lays through the Forest of Soigné, is completely confined on either side by trees; it was soon choaked up; those behind attempted to get past those before – officers servants were struggling to secure their masters’ baggage – panic-struck people forcing their way over every obstacle, with the desperation of fear – and a complete scuffle ensued which might really be called a battle burlesqued, in which numbers of horses were killed, and some lives lost, not mentioning broken heads and black bruises conferred on the occasion.
The road was covered with broken and overturned waggons – heaps of abandoned baggage – dead horses, and terrified people. In some places horses, waggons, and all, were driven over high banks by the road side, in order to clear a passage.5
The officers and men deputed to guard a unit’s baggage were usually young and inexperienced, or known to be unreliable under fire. Those whose nerve had gone and who had sometimes declared themselves unwell, were given the job
– one that most young soldiers did not want – by charitable senior officers. Behind the lines were also very large numbers of men deputed to be officers’ servants, responsible for their possessions and spare horses. Nor were the drivers of the artillery train generally noted for their courage; to be fair, they were somewhat vulnerable if overtaken by the enemy, while many of those in charge of vehicles behind the lines were civilian contractors who had no wish to run extraordinary risks. Napoleon almost certainly did have strong cavalry patrols out, since he was trying to discover whether or not Wellington was retreating through the forest, but when the rumour spread that merciless French cavalry were hot on their heels, the result was absolute chaos.
Tupper Carey, Assistant Commissary-General to the 2nd Division, was in the middle of the column trying to get supplies for his battalions:
The servants got rid of their baggage, let it drop on the ground, then, jumping on their animals, galloped off to the rear. Others dispersed in various directions in the wood. The peasantry, carrying provisions in the country waggons, cut the traces of the harness and ran away with the horses, abandoning the waggons. As the tumult progressed down the road with approaching darkness, the apprehension of danger became so general, with the followers of the army as well as with officers and detachments of troops on the way to join their regiments, that the whole went towards Brussels like a sudden rush of water increasing as it went.