CHAPTER XXX.
Onthe morning of the 17th, the interior of the farm-yard of Quatre-Bras presented to the eye a scene of unparalleled horror. The whole of the ground within was literally dyed with blood, and the inside of the walls was also very much stained with it. Some idea may be formed of its appearance, when I state on the authority of a surgeon who dressed a great many of the wounded, that at one period of the battle, there were nearly a thousand wounded soldiers belonging to the 3d and 5th divisions in that narrow space. The cries of the poor fellows were most heart-rending, and the appearance of the mangled and mutilated corpses which strewed the square in every direction, was so ghastly and appaling, that he must have possessed a heart of adamant, who could have entered that place of death and lamentation, without being sensibly affected. While I live, I shall ever retain a vivid recollection of the farm-yard of Quatre-Bras, on the evening of the 16th, and morning of the 17th of June 1815.
It is quite wonderful how very close a cannon-ball or a shell will sometimes pass the head of a person, without doing them any permanent injury. In the action of the 16th, at Quatre-Bras, a man named Milne, standing close to me, had his bonnet knocked off his head by a cannon shot, and carried several yards across the road. On the collision between the ball and the bonnet taking place, Milne turned quickly round to me, and with a wildness in his countenance, said, "Do you see that, Sir?" During the remainder of that day, and the two following, he exhibited a weakness of intellect, not peculiar to him, but with that exception, he sustained no other injury.
On the left side of the road leading from Quatre-Bras to Ligny, a bank rose eight or ten feet above the crown of the highway, which trifling circumstance was occasionally the means of placing a few of our men in no little jeopardy. For on hitting the bank, the shells frequently came dancing across the road to their own music, till they arrived in the ditch among the Highlanders. One of those dangerous characters having rather impudently intruded himself into our society, a few paces from where I was standing, some of my neighbours attempted to fly, but as the greater proportion preferred an extended position in the ditch, a most ludicrous scramble took place, for the honour of being undermost. In a few seconds, however, the shell exploded, without doing us anymore mischief, than wounding slightly two of our men.
Almost one of the last shells fired by the enemy that evening, lighted within half-a-yard of me, and immediately exploded. But on perceiving it fall, I threw myself flat on the ground, and thereby escaped without a scratch.
Immediately after being wounded, Colonel Cameron, of the 92d regiment, was removed from Quatre-Bras to Genappe, where, on the wound being examined, it was discovered to be mortal. On the following morning he was placed in a waggon, with the view of being conveyed to Brussels. On the way, he complained greatly of the jolting of the carriage, and repeatedly inquired if the French had been defeated. On getting an answer in the affirmative, he said, "Then I die happy!" On receiving an answer to one of his questions, a little before his speech failed him, he added, "I hope my country will think I have done enough,—I hope she will think that I have served her faithfully." When close to the village ofWaterloo, the gallant Colonel laid back his head on his servant's arm, and expired. To shew the estimation in which the services of this truly brave officer were held by his Sovereign, Mr Ewen Cameron, of Fassifern, the Colonel's father, was raised to the rank of a Baronet of the United Kingdom. And on his native hills a handsome monument was erected, onwhich there is the following inscription, written by SirWalter Scott.
Sacred to the Memory
OF
COLONEL JOHN CAMERON,
Eldest Son of SirEwen Cameronof Fassifern, Baronet;Whose Mortal Remains,Transported from the Field of Glory, where he died,Rest here with those of his Forefathers.During Twenty years of active Military Service,With a spirit which knew no fear, and shunned no danger;He accompanied or led,In Marches, in Sieges, in Battles,The gallant 92nd Regiment of Scottish Highlanders,Always to Honour, almost always to Victory;And at length,In the Forty-second year of his age,Upon the memorable 16th day of June,A.D.1815,Was slain in the command of that corps,While actively contributing to achieve the decisiveVictory ofWATERLOO,Which gave peace to Europe,Thus closing his Military careerWith the long and eventful struggle in which,His services had been so often distinguished,—He died lamentedBy that unrivalled General,To whose long train of Success and VictoryHe had so often contributed.By his Country,From which he had repeatedly received marksOf the highest consideration;AndBy His Sovereign,Who graced his surviving familyWith those marks of honour,Him whose meritThey were designed to commemorate.Reader,Call not his fate untimely,Who thus honoured and lamented,Closed a Life of Fame, by a Death of Glory.
Seated behind the houses of Quatre-Bras on the morning of the 17th, I received a message from a wounded soldier, named Robinson, intimating that he was in possession of a book which he was sure I would like to read. I lost no time in visiting him, and on opening the volume, was not a little surprised on discovering it to be the history of Scotland's champion, Sir William Wallace, once the property of a French soldier, whose name was inscribed on one of the blank leaves, and who had no doubt fallen in the conflict in the after-part of the 16th. At that time the histories of Wallace and Bruce were much read by the French soldiers; and I believe it is a well authenticated fact, that Bonaparte seldom went on a campaign without a copy of Ossian's Poems in his possession.
Envy, we are told, is the blackest passion in the human breast, and the most prevailing infirmity to which we are subject. History affords us the most decisive proof we could desire, that it has oftentarnished the character of men, who otherwise had a well-earned title to fame and renown. What, for example, has tarnished the character of Alexander the Great, so much as this unamiable passion, which reigned in his breast with sovereign authority during the whole of his extraordinary career? Since that period, how many thousands of Alexanders has this world of ours contained? How many are there even at this moment amongst us, who, like the great conqueror, ambitious of nothing so much as to rise to the first rank in the scale of human society, envy every individual who excel them in any of those arts or sciences which rivet the attention, and command the admiration of the world? That the Duke of Wellington has been deeply indebted to the members of this rather amiable society, for the many slanderous reports circulated during the last thirty years, in regard to his military conduct in India, &c. there cannot be the smallest doubt. Like many other dupes, I gave ear to the gossip of the day, and for some time credit to it. For although courage is a most indispensable qualification in every general at the head of an army, yet history is not without examples of generals deficient in valour, not only performing their duties satisfactorily, but even raising their own and their country's glory by splendid victories. But all the doubts I had previously entertained on the subject were completely dissipated at Quatre-Bras. For there the Field-Marshal gaveproofs to the world, which no individual, however venomous his tongue may be, can controvert, that he possesses moral courage in as eminent a degree as any general that ever entered a field of strife. How would his Grace's slanderers have looked, if stationed within a few yards of him, as I was for four hours on the 16th, and there beheld him, amidst showers of every description of shot, directing the movements of his columns with that firmness and coolness, so characteristic of the brave and consummate warrior? The very smile which sat on his countenance during the whole of the action, would have struck them dumb, and covered them with such a load of shame and disgrace, that they would have embraced the first opportunity afforded them, of hiding their convicted countenances from the stern glance of the object of their envy.
Some people seem to think, that a general at the head of an army is bound to expose himself on all occasions in the same manner as any of the junior officers. A more erroneous opinion, however, of the duties of a general, could not well be conceived; for it is the bounden duty of a general-in-chief, never, but in cases of the very last importance, to expose to unnecessary peril, a life upon which so many others depend. As a general-in-chief owes obedience to none but his sovereign, it belongs to him exclusively to judge how far he ought to expose himself, and those under him, in order to accomplish the object of his commission; andin proportion as his life is more necessary for that object than the lives of his soldiers, in the same proportion should he be more sparing of it than of the lives of his men. A general in fact ought never to expose his life without a necessary cause, or the prospect of reaping such important advantages, that the risk he runs may be trifling in comparison of the successes which he hopes to obtain by it.
About five o'clock in the morning of the 17th, the Duke of Wellington arrived at Quatre-Bras from Genappe, and the morning being rather cold, his Grace, on alighting, said, "Ninety-second, will you favour me with a little fire?" The request had no sooner escaped his lips, than a hundred men flew in as many different directions, in search of the necessary materials. On returning, the men made a fire opposite to the door of a small hut, constructed of the boughs of some trees, which the poor fellows attempted to render a residence suitable for the reception of their General. For their attention, the Duke expressed himself extremely grateful. In this splendid airy residence, the Field-Marshal received the Prince of Orange, Lord Hill, and many other officers of distinction; in this rural cottage he received the first tidings of Blucher's misfortunes,—and here it was that the order of retreat to the position of Waterloo was arranged.
On the arrival of Lord Hill to pay his respects to the Duke of Wellington, the whole regiment,officers and men, embraced the opportunity of testifying their regard for the character of that brave and estimable nobleman. On quitting the hut, he was greeted with loud and long continued plaudits. Turning round, his Lordship approached us hat in hand, much affected, the men continuing to salute him with cheers which proceeded from the heart. The Duke, conceiving that our cheers proceeded from a very different cause, came hurriedly out of his wooden house, but on perceiving the true one, his Grace laughed, and appeared quite delighted with the mark of respect which "her nainsel' had paid to his friend and favourite General."
Previous to the receipt of Blucher's dispatches, we were all in high spirits, anticipating a splendid victory over the French Marshal before night, never doubting but Blucher would find employment for Bonaparte, while we amused ourselves with Ney. But from the moment that Blucher's retreat was known, our spirits became depressed; a gloom stole over the countenances of the whole; every individual was more or less affected; and I am inclined to think that the breast of none was more agitated than that of our illustrious chief. On receiving the unwelcome intelligence, the Duke shut himself up in the hut for some time, then came out, and walked alone in front of it for nearly an hour in deep meditation. Now and then he was interrupted by a courier bearing a dispatch, who, on delivering it, instantly retired to some distance, thereto wait his General's orders. The Field-Marshal walked at the rate of three and a-half to four miles in the hour. His left hand was thrown carelessly behind his back, and in his right he held a small switch, one end of which he frequently put to his mouth, apparently unconscious that he was doing so. His dress was white pantaloons, half-boots, a military vest,white neckcloth, blue surtout, and cocked-hat.
Soon after this the most exaggerated statements were circulated regarding the defeat of the Prussian army. At one time the loss was rated at 20,000 killed, wounded, and prisoners; at another, their loss in prisoners alone, exceeded that number. Every thing, in short, wore the most gloomy appearance imaginable. In the full belief, therefore, that our allies had been totally routed, we commenced our retreat at ten o'clock,A.M.on the 17th of June, from the scene of our first triumph, towards the glorious plains of Waterloo.
To cover his real design, the Duke ordered the 3rd and 5th divisions to remain in front of Quatre-Bras, till the artillery, the foreign troops, and the other divisions should be considerably advanced on their journey. This manœuvre completely succeeded, for the retreat was never observed by the crafty Napoleon, until his equally sagacious antagonist was out of the reach of pursuit.
On perceiving us making off, the enemy pushed forward large masses of cavalry to harass our rear-guard,composed of the British light and heavy dragoons. Many brilliant charges were made on the occasion, in every one of which, where the latter were engaged, the French were invariably beat back. The light cavalry were not quite so successful.
While ascending the heights in rear of Genappe, the body of the gallant Duke of Brunswick passed us stretched on a waggon, with the fatal wound in his breast, exposed to public view. To that deadly wound, the soldiers guarding the precious relic, often pointed, and swore to avenge ten-fold, the death of their lamented Prince.
On the height above Genappe, the 5th division halted about half-an-hour. During which time, a few men were tried for wantonly firing away their ammunition. This is a common practice among foreign troops, and on occasions similar to this, it is but too much so among our own. It cannot, however, be too much reprobated, for besides being detrimental to the service, it endangers the life of many a brave soldier.
On the morning of the 17th, the weather was hazy, but before ten it had begun to clear up, and at noon the day was beautiful. About one, the air was extremely sultry, half-an-hour later, the clouds began to lour, and about two, thunder was faintly heard. In a few minutes, the horizon was darkened—the lightning flashed—the thunder rolled in terrific peals—and rain and hail poured upon us inprodigious quantities. In fine, one would have imagined that the elements had conspired with men, to render the events passing on earth the most important and dreadful recorded in history. In the midst of this tempest, we proceeded on our way, wading through mud and water to the knees. On our arrival on the position of Waterloo, we were ordered to bivouac in a newly-ploughed field, then little better than a clay puddle. By this time we were thoroughly drenched, our baggage was not to be found, and to add to other miseries, we could not get a drop of water to quench our thirst. To procure a supply, a fatigue party was ordered to Waterloo. Being first for that duty, I proceeded as ordered, and found draw-wells in abundance,but the ropes had all been removed, whether intentionally or not, I cannot say, but appearances were certainly against the Belgians. As a substitute, I buckled a few canteen straps together, but even these, aided by some fathoms of rope, did not carry a can to the bottom of any of the wells. After numerous fruitless attempts to get our canteens filled, we returned to our bivouac, where misery in its most hideous form stared us in the face. Just let any man fancy himself seated on a few small twigs, or a little straw in a newly ploughed field, well soaked with six hours heavy rain; his feet six or eight inches deep in mud, cold, wet, and hungry, without fire, without meat,—without drink, and a thin blanket his only shelter from the mid-night hurricane,and he will have a faint idea of what we suffered on the night of the 17th, and morning of the memorable 18th of June.
A sound sleep being a luxury which the men could not expect to enjoy, they seated themselves in pairs, and with their blankets around them, and their backs to the storm, amused each other as they best could till morning.