The Campaigns of Napoleon

by David G Chandler

  Reassured for the time being about his right, Napoleon was at last able to return his attention to the affairs of the center. He had one last trump card to play—the Imperial Guard, or rather the nine battalions of it that had returned into reserve and were now available for further use. At seven o’clock, the Guard was ordered to move forward. Generals Drouot and Friant led the way, and the Emperor in person marched at the head of his élite troops to within 600 yards of the Allied line before relinquishing command to Marshal Ney. By this time dark masses of troops were clearly appearing to the northeast. Anxious to rally the men of d’Erlon’s and Reille’s corps for one last effort in support of the Guard’s critical attack, Napoleon had it circulated that they were Grouchy’s troops. General Dejean, one of the imperial aides, communicated this to Marshal Ney. “The marshal at once ordered me to go right along the line and announce that Grouchy had arrived,” recalled Colonel Levavasseur. “I set off at a gallop and, with my hat raised on the point of my saber, rode down the line shouting, ‘Vive I’Empereur! Soldats, voil Grouchy!’ The shout was taken up by a thousand voices. The exaltation of the troops reached fever pitch and they all shouted ‘En avant!’…”56 But the mood of exuberance lasted only for a moment; suddenly the boom of guns was heard to the rear of the French. Elation gave way to consternation, consternation to near-panic. The Emperor’s subterfuge now rebounded on him with a vengeance, for the morale of his men evaporated all the quicker after the abrupt dashing of newly kindled hope. “Voyez! Ces sont les Prussiens!” The French hesitated, dumbfounded.

  Now everybody’s eyes were on the Imperial Guard as it moved inexorably forward, its drums beating the pas de charge. But Wellington was ready. His reinforcement of the center had been completed by the arrival of Vandeleur and Vivian to support the more shaken battalions,* Chassé’s Belgo-Dutch division was also in position and Ziethen was on the point of arriving. Moreover, a deserting French cavalry officer had given news of Napoleon’s intention—and of its probable line of attack. On Wellington’s order, the Allied troops lay down behind the banks of the Ohain road. The French guns redoubled their efforts, but most of their shot flew harmlessly over the ridge.

  What actually transpired at this—the last critical moment of Waterloo, of the First French Empire, of Napoleon—is shrouded in doubt and contention. Many versions of this last attack—comparable in the annals of military history to Pickett’s charge at Gettysburg—are available. It is known for certain that the Guard approached the slope in a single “close column of grand divisions”—that is to say, on a two-company frontage, with between 75 and 80 men in the front rank—and that it was accompanied by two batteries of horse artillery. Then, after dropping off two battalions to face toward Hougoumont—which, though now ablaze from howitzer fire, was still being defended by the Allies—the remaining seven battalions of the Middle Guard (various authorities put the figure at four, five, six and eight) veered away from the axis of the main Brussels road and moved diagonally cross-country toward Wellington’s right center. Whether this was deliberate or in error is uncertain, but most experts’ opinion is that Ney was ill-advised to leave the main road with its sheltering banks and clearly defined line of advance.

  Soon the attacking column split into two (some commentators assert three)—probably by mistake; as General Fuller points out, this may have happened because the leading battalions in their excitement stepped out too fast, leaving the rear ones behind, or alternatively the force may have become somewhat disorganized amid the dense clouds of powder smoke billowing over the area. In any case, the chasseur battalions bringing up the rear inclined to the left of the grenadiers, and were soon advancing almost parallel to them. “As the attacking force moved forward,” wrote General Maitland, “the chasseurs inclined to their left. The grenadiers ascended the acclivity toward our position in a more direct course, leaving La Haie Sainte on their right, and moving toward that part of the eminence occupied by the Brigade of Guards.”57

  Each of these columns received Wellington’s attention in turn. One part of the French attack nearest to La Haie Sainte was halted, decimated and routed by a combination of Allied guns and General Chassé’s musketry fire. Further to the west, part of the French attack got to within 60 yards of the Ohain road before the British Guards rose up, at Wellington’s command from behind their protective bank. Startled by this sudden apparition, the undeployed Guard battalions “suddenly stopped.” Then, at only 20 yards range, the British redcoats poured volley after volley into the head of the column. As the Guard had advanced without cavalry support, they were called upon to withstand the undiluted firepower of the British infantry. It was more than flesh and blood could stand. The grenadiers hesitated, turned and retreated.

  Within ten minutes, the column of chasseurs had received similar treatment. As the Frenchmen breasted the slope, Adam’s light brigade was ready waiting for it, concealed behind high-standing corn. Then, unexpectedly, Colonel Colborne’s 52nd Regiment wheeled to its left, placing itself parallel to the line of French advance.

  A single company was sent forward in extended order to engage the column. The bait worked: the chasseurs halted, wheeled and blazed away against this force threatening its flank. Seeing the French advance halted, Wellington ordered all troops in the vicinity to attack with the bayonet. Although both sides lost heavily in the ensuing mêlee, the French had lost all impetus, proved unable to deploy and in a short space of time the chasseurs, in their turn, were recoiling down the slope.

  “La Garde recule!” The unbelievable news spread like wildfire through the ranks of the French army. Away to the east, Ziethen’s Prussians were clearing La Haie and Papelotte, forcing Lobau to fall back; a new Prussian attack on Plancenoit was also making a little ground. With defeat staring it in the face, the French army stood momentarily aghast. Sensing his opportunity, Wellington waved his hat, and 40,000 Allied troops, led by Vivian and Vandeleur, swept forward from Mont-St.-Jean with a mighty cheer and flung themselves against the dazed ranks of the spellbound Armée du Nord. A moment later, the cohesion of the French army snapped, and with cries of “Sauve qui peut!” and “Trahison!” unit after unit dissolved into a horde of undisciplined fugitives.

  With his army disintegrating around him, Napoleon did everything in his power to check the growing panic. Realizing that the situation was completely out of hand, he turned his attention to devising means of covering the flight of the multitude. Forming three squares from available units of the Guard, he ordered them forward to meet the Allied pursuit and the horde of fugitives. The Allied troops were checked by the sight of the serried ranks of French bearskins, but the relief proved only temporary. The fleeing troops plunged against the squares, spoiling their alignment and carefully ordered ranks, and the Guard again withdrew.

  However, it was still far from a spent force. General Cambronne’s famous defiance when called upon to surrender has gone down into mythical history as “The Guard dies but never surrenders,” and although he certainly never uttered this sentence (employing a far conciser five-letter expression to communicate his innermost feelings), it nevertheless forms a fitting epitaph for the last stand of the Imperial Guard. On the eastern flank, the Young Guard clung on to Planchenoit’s blazing cottages until 9:00

  P.M., indomitably covering the Brussels-Charleroi highway to enable the rest of the army to make good its escape. On the northern sector, the Old Guard carried out a model withdrawal in the face of overwhelming numbers until 8:00

  P.M. For a time Napoleon lingered within one of the squares but once the most pressing and immediate danger was passed, he left it and set out with his escort for Genappe, planning to rally his shattered army in its vicinity. Leaving his coach to proceed on horseback, he narrowly avoided capture by Prussian cavalry.

  Any hopes of rallying his troops at Genappe were dashed when the Emperor approached the town; the narrow streets leading down to the single bridge were already jammed by a mob of hysterical fugitives, and the Imperial entoura
ge took a full hour to force its way through. Napoleon now placed his faith in the appearance of a reserve division (summoned from Ligny) at Quatre Bras; behind such a solid front, the task of reordering the army might have a chance of success. But there was no sign of this formation when Napoleon reached Quatre Bras about one in the morning of the 19th. And so the flight went on.

  Meantime, the Duke of Wellington and Field Marshal Blücher had met at the inn at La Belle Alliance (about 9:00

  P.M.). It was immediately settled that the pursuit should be undertaken by the relatively fresh Prussian cavalry. The effectiveness of this operation has been overestimated. Although General Gneisenau personally hounded on 4,000 Prussians, most of Pirch’s and Bülow’s men advanced only as far as the banks of the River Dyle, and by daybreak all contact with the routed French had been lost. This fact gave Napoleon his opportunity to rally his men at Philippeville. However, realizing that his presence in Paris was immediately necessary if public confidence was to be salvaged and an integrated defensive campaign organized, he handed over this task to Marshal Soult and continued his way toward the capital, which he reached on the 21st June. It is quite clear from the tone of a letter he sent off to Regent Joseph on the 19th that Napoleon was still far from despair. “All is not lost,” he wrote, “… There is still time to retrieve the situation.”58

  “What was meanwhile happening to Grouchy and the right wing of l’Armée du Nord? The afternoon and evening of the 18th had passed with a great deal of confused and inconclusive fighting in the vicinity of Wavre and Limale, as the French strove to break the resistance of Thielmann’s 17,000-strong covering force. Even after nightfall Grouchy had received no certain tidings of the outcome at Waterloo. It was only at 10:30

  A.M. on the 19th that he learned of the main army’s cataclysm. After pondering various alternatives, he decided to retreat into France by way of Namur, and proceeded to execute a brilliant withdrawal operation shaking off the Prussians for two whole days. Even when Pirch and Thielmann caught up with Grouchy at Namur on 20th June, the marshal proved capable of inflicting two sharp reverses on his pursuers. And so it was that Grouchy led 25,000 undefeated French troops into Philippeville the next day. If he deserves censure for his conduct on the 18th in not marching on the sound of the cannon, Grouchy certainly merits praise for his subsequent coolness. Thus the most active phase of the Waterloo Campaign ended for the French on a not unworthy note.

  However, there is no disguising the magnitude of the reverse suffered at Waterloo as regards Napoleon’s reputation as a general. During the years of exile on St. Helena the fallen Emperor made great efforts to place the responsibility for the cataclysm on his immediate subordinates—most particularly blaming Marshal Grouchy. Of course there is an element of justice in such a claim. Grouchy can certainly be criticized for failing to march toward the sound of the guns on the late morning of the 18th, or at the very least for executing the Emperor’s orders in a dogmatic and unimaginative way. Similarly, Soult’s staff work was far from perfect throughout the four critical days, and a measure of responsibility for the muddles and misunderstandings that developed between the various components of l’Armée du Nord can justly be laid on his shoulders. Nor, as we have seen, was “the bravest of the brave” blameless. After the fatal hesitations and delays of 15th, 16th and 17th of June, he reversed his current form and plunged into the battle of Waterloo with excessively thoughtless and opportunist enthusiasm, thus ruining at least two chances of a quick victory; his repeated insistence on launching inadequately supported attacks of a piecemeal nature and his failure to use all resources readily available in order to ensure success constitute grave indictments of Ney’s ability as a field commander, though nobody can question his personal bravery.

  Nevertheless, the chief responsibility for the outcome of the short campaign can only be laid at the door of the Emperor himself. The original strategical conception was as brilliant as anything Napoleon ever devised, and until midday on the 16th—or even perhaps well into the 17th—everything appeared to be going well for his cause. But there were grave flaws undermining the entire effort. If the decline in his mental and physical powers have often been overrated by apologists, there are yet some undeniable indications of deterioration in his overall ability. In June 1815 Napoleon proved to be obstinate, arrogant and overconfident. He appointed second-rate men to key posts when better were available, relying no doubt on the magic of his own reputation to make up for their deficiencies. He tended to underestimate the courage and staying power of his opponents; he ignored Blücher’s sense of loyalty and definitely discounted Wellington’s ability as a general, although there were plenty around him with personal experience of British fighting characteristics and the “Iron Duke’s” superb capabilities as a tactical leader.

  These errors led him to delay the opening of the critical battle on the 18th and then to refuse Ney vital reinforcement at the critical moment in the battle—although justifiable preoccupation with the secondary battle on his eastern flank doubtless accounts for this second lapse of judgment. Moreover, throughout the battle Napoleon failed to exercise sufficient control over his subordinates. While it is not the responsibility of a commander in chief to interfere excessively in the details of the tactical battle, his overall supervision is vital to ensure that the master plan is put into execution with a minimum of delay and confusion. And yet Jerome was permitted to turn a feint attack into a major effort, d’Erlon to adopt an outdated formation, Ney to throw away the cavalry, and Grouchy to move away beyond recall. Napoleon should never have allowed these mistakes to have been made. A high degree of personal control was possible on so restricted a battlefield as Waterloo, but there is scant evidence of Napoleon exercising anything more than a negative influence on the conduct of events once battle was joined. The Emperor may have been unfortunate in the weather of the preceding twelve hours, but this factor does not remove one iota of responsibility for the lethargy, indolence and absent-mindedness he displayed at different critical moments during the day.

  Great credit must go to the Allied commanders for the way they handled the battle. Wellington certainly chose an excellent defensive position and then proceeded to conduct its defense in the most tenacious and praiseworthy manner. If he can be criticized for wasting valuable men in the Hal detachment, the personal leadership he displayed during the long hours of action at Mont-St.-Jean is practically beyond reproach. The “Iron Duke” was ever at the point of crisis, rallying the defeated, exhorting the apprehensive, praising the successful. Only once—when Ponsonby’s cavalry exceeded their orders—did his control momentarily slip. His men, too, deserve praise. At best the Allied army was a very hybrid collection of multinational formations, and the number of British troops present formed rather less than half of the men in the field. Furthermore, even they were not for the most part the veterans of the Peninsular War, most of whom were on their way in transports to North America. A substantial part of the British contingent at Waterloo was made up of depot battalions and men from militia units, while much of the cavalry had never seen service outside the British Isles. Yet they fought magnificently throughout a long and exhausting day, ably assisted by their comrades of the King’s German Legion and the other Allied contingents, most particularly the Nassauers.

  Finally, honor must be paid to Field Marshal Blücher and his Prussian soldiers. Wellington’s army had hardly any chance of ultimate victory on its own, and the opportune arrival of a growing flood of Prussian troops on the French right flank undoubtedly swung the fortunes of the day. That Bülow, Pirch and Ziethen arrived in time was almost completely due to the drive and determination of their commander in chief, sick man though he was. Baron Muffling also deserves credit for helping to maintain effective liaison between the Allied armies, and for finding and redirecting Ziethen’s columns at a critical moment.

  There is considerable doubt whether Lord Hill was present in person at Waterloo. Several authorities assert that he spent June 18 at A
th, protecting Wellington’s communications running toward the Channel.

  See Ch. 32, p. 355.

  A charge of case shot superimposed over one of round.

  “Some troops! Where do you expect me to get them from? Do you want me to make some?”

  This cavalry movement had been completed approximately 45 minutes before the Imperial Guard attacked.

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  POSTSCRIPT

  The overall military situation facing France after Waterloo was not necessarily as black as it has sometimes been represented. Both sides had taken a severe pounding during the period 15th-18th June, and although the French naturally suffered most in terms of casualties, morale and prestige, the Allies had by no means escaped lightly. It is estimated that the French lost 25,000 killed and seriously wounded at Waterloo alone, while a further 8,000 prisoners and 220 guns fell into Allied hands immediately after the battle; additionally, perhaps 8,000 more deserted from the ranks in the days of chaos that ensued before Marshal Soult managed to re-establish some form of order and discipline. The Allies, on the other hand, suffered 15,000 casualties on Mont-St.-Jean, and more than 7,000 Prussians (of the 45,000 who eventually participated in the battle) were similarly laid low. Each side had also lost approximately 2,500 men at Wavre. And so the French had suffered approximately 43,500 casualties (to include deserters) to the Allied 25,000 during the fighting on the 18th and its immediate aftermath. However, when the casualties on June 16 and 17 are added to these totals, it will be seen that the French total loss amounted to some 60,000 men and that of the Allies to nearly 55,000. Of course from the very outset Wellington and Blücher enjoyed a combined numerical superiority over their opponents, and could consequently afford their casualties better than l’Armée du Nord.