by Griff Hosker
“I know. Still the land helps us. If they try to bounce them then the balls will bury into the mud. Well I better be off. I can feel his eyes upon my back even as we speak.” I waved at the 95th. You lads keep your heads down today. Don't try to win the battle all by yourselves."
I rode forward until I was barely four hundred yards from the Grand Battery. Surprisingly I was safe for the artillery would not waste either powder or ball on a single rider. One of the sergeants shouted, in French, “Go home Englishman before we knock you off your horse.”
His language, of course, was coarser. I answered. “I am just coming to see how far our men will have to come before they can capture those fine guns. I think I will have one melted down after the battle and made into a plaque for my home.”
I think he was impressed by my French. “These ladies are not for the taking, Englishman. Why, I could hit your General now, with one shot if I chose.”
All the time I was talking I was observing the mud around the wheels of the twelve pounder gun. It had not fired yet and it had sunk into the mud already. They would not be able to fire until the ground dried out.
“I will go back then and tell the Duke of Wellington that he ought to be careful.”
He waved cheerily. “I will watch for you Englishman. You have balls, I will grant you that. Are you a soldier?"
"Yes sergeant, a major in the cavalry."
He nodded, "Good luck then Englishman. Perhaps we will let you live when all of this is over.”
I rode back feeling very vulnerable. I had seen the lancers lined up behind the guns. If they chose they might want to gallop forward to pick off one of the general’s aides. When I reached Johnny Kincaid I breathed a sigh of relief. “They won’t fire for a while. They are up to their rims in the mud.”
“Thanks for that.”
“But there are lancers up there so don’t go wandering eh?”
“Not today, Major. We sit here and wait for them.” He tapped his Baker rifle. We can hit them at over four hundred yards. If they get too close, my lads'll have them."
When I reached the Duke, he was glowering at me. “You took your time Matthews!”
“Sorry sir. I wanted to be sure I saw as much as I could. They won’t be able to fire for some time, your grace. There is too much mud and the ground is too wet. They have lancers just behind the guns though sir and I saw at least four large columns forming up.”
“Hmn.”
And so we waited until, at eleven o’clock, we saw one of the columns of men I had seen, heading for the chateau of Hougoumont. The battle proper was about to begin. The generals had postured and the ground had dried out. Now it would be a test of who had the greatest nerve. Who would stand and who would run?
Part 3 Waterloo
"Battle of Waterloo" by Ipankonin - Vectorized from raster image. Licensed under Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons -
Chapter 11
I knew that the Duke was nervous as he chewed his lip. I had come to know this stoic general. He tried to keep everything calm but inside he worried about everything. Soon we would be wherever the action was. That was the kind of general he was. We could do nothing more until Bonaparte had shown his hand.
"This is a little clumsy of Bonaparte, Uxbridge. He is not even attempting to outflank the chateau. His column is marching right up to it."
"Yes, Sir Arthur. Perhaps he is hoping that his batteries will drive the defenders hence."
The Duke actually laughed, "I think it will take more than a few cannon balls to drive the guards from such a good vantage point."
The French column headed towards the chateau. The rifles and the skirmishers peppered away and gradually the attack slowed as the column hit the orchards and the woods. The first skirmishers fell back towards the column. The rifles and the light infantry in the small wood had done their job. Then the French cannon began to pound the walls. Over the next half hour the skirmishers and rifles were forced from the woods into the shelter of the chateau. From the ridge we saw the French begin to send more men towards the chateau.
"Who is their commander? Can you see Matthews?"
I held the telescope to my eye. "I am not certain but I think it is Jerome Bonaparte. The Emperor's young brother."
The Duke laughed. "If he is anything like Joseph then it bodes well for us. I thought I had it bad enough with my cousin's idiot sons as aides. At least I don't have incompetent relatives in command."
I glanced at the Earl of Uxbridge to see if he had taken offence at the Duke's comments. He grinned and shrugged. He had a thick skin.
The Duke stopped chewing his lip and he turned his attention to La Belle Alliance. The Guards and the Nassau battalion could hold the chateau. It was the first of many mistakes which the French would make that day. He wanted to see what Bonaparte would do next. It was obvious that the attack on the chateau was intended to draw reinforcements. The Duke would not oblige. Not yet anyway.
At twelve o’clock Napoleon’s daughters began to belch out death and destruction. Normally ninety twelve pounders firing into a line would decimate regiments. This time they were hitting the slope and digging in. Instead of bouncing up and acting like a skimming stone the mud was stopping them. Some did, by accident or poor gunnery, fly over the ridge but the casualties they caused were few. Napoleon was wasting his ammunition.
Slender Billy, however, decided to give Bonaparte a helping hand. While the British regiments were brought behind the reverse slope to protect them from the French fire, the Crown Prince decided to leave his Dutch Belgian regiments to be slaughtered by the balls which did not sink into the mud. Although they stuck it out longer than I would have, some of the regiments could not face the cannonade. They broke and they ran. I saw the look of annoyance on the Duke’s face. As another shower swept in he hid his expression by pulling his cloak over his face.
There was a huddle of us together for most of that day: William de Lancey was the Quartermaster and was a dear friend of the Duke’s, Fitzroy Somerset was his friend and commanded the Household Cavalry and as stout a fellow as you could wish to meet and then there was the Earl of Uxbridge. Whilst not a close friend of the Duke, the Earl was an invaluable cavalry commander. Had the French been more accurate with their cannon fire then the battle could have been ended there and then, for we were on the forward slope and a clear target. Baron Muffling was also by his side as the Prussian received constant updates about the progress of the Prussians. All of us were aware just how crucial the updates were. Miraculously both we and the tree were spared the cannon balls although we were soaked by the squall.
Suddenly we saw a huge column. It rose from the other ridge like a wall of blue. We later found that there were eighteen thousand men in that column and they were heading towards our weaker left flank. Jerome Bonaparte was attacking our right and now D'Erlon was attacking our left. This was either very cunning or Bonaparte was losing his touch.
We heard the pas de charge as the drummer boys beat out the drum beat. The Duke had put all of his strength in the right flank as the Prussians were coming from the east and our left flank. Bonaparte had, somehow, seen that weakness and was trying to exploit it with D’Erlon’s Corps. There would be just two brigades to face them: the 8th and the 9th. They were, however, largely English and Peninsular veterans. The only advantage the brigades had was the sunken lane before them and the fact that the French were advancing in four huge columns. We would be able to bring more muskets to bear, but, even so we would be outnumbered. Our own batteries would be able to fire ball, canister and Shrapnel. The Duke had forbidden counter battery fire. The French guns were safe but Bonaparte's infantry were in for a shock. The Grand Battery was, however, causing casualties. The ranks closed up as files were taken out by those balls which did not plough into the mud. I was just happy that these were Peninsular veterans who were standing so stoutly. Had they been the Dutch or the Belgians then they might have faltered.
It was almost two o’clock and this was the
first serious attack from the French. It was obvious that the attack on Hougoumont was a diversion. We had almost forgotten it. The Duke’s young aides awaited their instructions as we watched the columns march relentlessly towards us. There looked to be twenty four ranks, each with one hundred and sixty soldiers. It was like a blue, human battering ram.
They had skirmishers to the front but as the western column of the French advance passed the sandpit they had to endure the fire of the 95th Rifles and the 2nd Light King’s German Legion Battalion. Both were resolute and they were veterans. They began to thin, crucially, that western column. The artillery on the ridge was already thinning out the files and the attack on the flanks was sapping the power of the column of almost four thousand men. As they drew closer to the ridge so the gunners began to double shot the guns with canister and with ball. Coming closer to us then the Grand Battery had to stop firing and our artillery had some respite. The ranks were no longer thinned out and they prepared their muskets to unleash death upon the French column. The French drummers were bravely beating out the pas de charge. A glorious driving rhythm, but as they drew closer the effect of the cannon and the sandpit took its toll and the drumming diminished as drummer boys died; their bodies trampled by the men who followed..
The columns took twenty minutes to cross the eight hundred yards of death. As they neared the top of the ridge the gunners had to stop firing and race for the safety of the lines of redcoats which stoically stood with bayonets and muskets ready to unleash further death upon the brave French soldiers.
Of course Slender Billy had to destroy this moment for when the King’s German Legion and the 95th were, briefly, forced from the sandpit he sent a Hanoverian battalion to rescue them. Eight hundred cuirassiers were guarding the French flank and the Hanoverian battalion was destroyed for nothing; more deaths to be laid at the door of the Crown Prince. It was heart breaking to watch their deaths and know that we could do nothing about them, save watch them die.
When the guns of the Grand Battery stopped firing the wind shifted the smoke and Bonaparte and Ney could see their chance of victory. My heart sank into my boots. We were less than one hundred yards from the enormous wall of blue and I wondered how we could stop it.
“Major Matthews, go and tell General Picton that it is almost time to charge. I will leave it to his judgement.”
I was just pleased to be leaving the precarious position beneath the elm tree. It was attracting balls like a magnet attracts metal.
I reached the General who was wearing a fine top hat, "General Picton, the Duke’s compliments and be prepared to charge.”
Sir Thomas was still suffering from both the cannonball and the fall from his horse at Quatre Bras. I saw him wince as he mounted his horse. “Aye well we have had long enough suffering these incursions.” He raised his top hat and waved it so that his commanders could see him. “Forward. Give them a volley and then on!”
I watched as the meticulous red coated infantry took a step forward, levelled their muskets and fired. The sergeants passed their orders along and three volleys later the front ranks of the French columns lay writhing beneath their feet. Sir Tomas judged it perfectly, “Fifth Division, charge! Charge, Hurrah!”
Poor Sir Thomas never saw the effect of his order. I watched in horror as a musket ball struck him between the eyes and he fell dead at my feet. Had he been on foot he would have survived for it was a stray shot. It mattered not. The gallant general fell dead as his beloved division marched forward with their bayonets glistening.
Initially the division had success and they pushed the French from the ridge but there were French cavalry waiting to pounce. I kicked hard and headed back for the Duke. “Sir Thomas is dead, your grace, and the French cavalry are threatening!”
Wellington nodded. When people say he was a defensive general and had no courage of conviction I think back to that moment. We had stalled the French attack but victory was within their grasp. The cavalry supporting D’Erlon and his men were ready to fall upon the flanks of the eager British infantry and it was at that moment that he turned to the Fitzroy Somerset. “It is time to turn the card and play the trump, gentlemen. Send in your heavies, Somerset! Drive them from the field.”
The commander of the Heavy Brigade wheeled his horse and ordered his cavalry forward. In all the years I had fought with the Duke this was the largest force of heavy cavalry I had ever seen gathered. They forced their way between the redcoats. The French infantry was in the process of dressing their lines and then General Somerset yelled, “Charge!”
These were huge men on huge horses and they had spent years hearing of the charges and the glory of their light infantry cousins. They were desperate to show their worth. I knew that Captain Macgregor and Sergeant Ewart would be relishing the chance of showing what they could do. As they poured over the ridge the French appeared mesmerised. The 92nd and other redcoat regiments took the opportunity of racing forward with the cavalry and the effect was devastating. The French stood no chance. They were trampled and they were sabred; they were shot by musket and they were bayoneted. They fled down the slope up which they had trudged. They ran over the bodies of the dead and dying comrades. I watched as pockets tried to turn the tide. It was like Canute trying to turn back the tide.
Then the cavalry went to work with their sabres and swords. I watched the Scots Greys as they fell about the 45th regiment. It was a slaughter. I recognised Sergeant Ewart as he and his comrades attacked the French colour party. They were brave men defending the eagle but they were no match for those huge white horses and the enormous, fearless men in their bearskins. Superb horsemen all, Sergeant Ewart grabbed the eagle with one hand as he smashed down with his sabre to kill the last of the colour party. He held the eagle aloft for all to see. There was an audible wail from the French who were demoralised and a cheer from the gunners as they saw the eagle taken. I had seen precious few captured in all the years I had been fighting the French and I knew its import. The rest of the regiment crumbled and the retreat became a rout.
I held my breath as nine hundred cuirassiers attempted to charge the heavy cavalry. It was brave and it was glorious but it was futile. The heavies had the slope in their favour and they had success in their heads. All that the cuirassiers had were breastplates and the heavy cavalry found groins, throats and faces. It was not swordsmanship; it was butchery. The cuirassiers were destroyed. I wondered if, at that moment, we had won the battle. I watched as thousands of French prisoners were herded towards the rear preceded by Sergeant Ewart and the eagle. Surely we had won. And then I heard the sigh of disappointment from the Duke. “Major Matthews, would you be so good as to fetch back the heavies before they fall within the range of yonder cavalry and artillery!”
I looked to where he pointed. The heavy cavalry had lost all order and were charging through the fleeing French up the slope towards the French artillery. There I saw that the French were readying lancers and other cavalry regiments. Our finest cavalry were heading to their deaths. I knew, even though it was too far away to see, that the French gunners would be loading canister to cut down the reckless horsemen.
“Sir!” I turned to Alan, “Fetch our other mounts from the stables. I fear we shall need them soon enough!”
I kicked hard and plunged down into the sunken road. Wolf clambered over the other side and I began to ride after the cavalry. I could see the effect of their charge. Hundreds of infantry lay dead, dying or wounded. Disconsolate Frenchmen were being prodded to the rear by triumphant redcoats. The horses of the Heavy Brigade had done as much damage as the swords.
I watched in horror as the eager horsemen sought targets on the ridge, which was less than a mile away. The artillery did their terrible damage and I saw the effect of ball, shell and canister on the horses and men. Here and there some officers attempted to steady their men. Some of the horsemen were sabring the gunners while others, amazingly, were still charging. Did they want to get to Paris?
As I rode south I saw a
huge Life Guard to the west of Hougoumont. I later discovered his name was John Shaw. His sword was broken but he was swinging his helmet at the French infantry who were before him. The first of the lancers rode from Belle Alliance and I saw a handful of them ride towards this giant maniac. Even though I saw him speared by a lance he continued to lay about him with his helmet, felling three of them before they transfixed him with their weapons.
To a cavalryman such as me, this was heart breaking. I saw a bugler from the Scots Greys. He looked dazed. He had been lucky for his horse had stopped. It looked like it had thrown a shoe. “Sound recall!” He looked at me as though I was speaking Russian. “Bugler, sound the recall! That is an order!”
I do not know if the tone of my voice did it or training but he began to sound recall. “Keep blowing it until they come back!”
I rode forward. Although some were returning many had the blood lust upon them and were beyond obeying the bugle. I could see that many of the Gordon Highlanders had gone forward with their Scottish comrades and they were in an even worse position. I saw them as they reached the guns only to be ridden down by the French lancers who were waiting there.
I galloped across the rye filled field. I had to swerve and jump to avoid the dead and the dying. There were French and there were English. There were cavalry and there were infantry; horses and men. All had been caught up in this madness. There was no order to the cavalry ahead of me and although I could see them amongst the guns I knew that Bonaparte was preparing to unleash cavalry upon them. The heavy horses had done well but they would be exhausted. The blades of the troopers had brought death and destruction but they were now blunt and broken. I had witnessed such a waste in the peninsula. The cavalry commanders had not learned the lesson.
I saw that the Life Guards and the Dragoon Guards were responding to the bugle call. They were the elite regiments. Some of them might be saved yet. The Inniskillings, those wild Irishmen, and the Scots Greys, even wilder Scotsmen, were just out of control and I galloped east to try to salvage as many of them as I could. As I passed I shouted to the riders who were sat on wild and exhausted horses to return to the ridge. Some of them were as wild eyed as their horses and that terrified me. I saw one or two move north. We would need every horseman who could be salvaged from this fiasco.