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The Marquess of Anglesey at Waterloo¹
Jan Willem Pieneman (PD) |
The Earl of Uxbridge rode up to the gathering of staff officers around the Prince of Orange in a foul mood. He had just come from the far left flank, where with his cavalry he had been trying to delay the advance of a sizeable French force. The few prisoners they had taken claimed they were under the command of Maréchal Vandamme.
Uxbridge had scoffed at that, "Vandamme is nothing more than a Général de Division, he's not a bloody marshal!'
The ensign he'd torn a strip from had looked offended, then had pointed out that one of the prisoners, a captain, had sworn seeing Bonaparte promote Vandamme at Ligny. If, as the man had said, his Excellency, the Earl, didn't believe him, then perhaps the Earl should go and see for himself.
He had damned the man's insolence but regardless of Vandamme's rank, his forces were coming on string and weren't all that far behind.
"De Lancey! What in the seven hells is going on here?" Uxbridge also took the time to throw a disrespectful look at the Prince.
"La Haye Sainte has fallen, the 95th are holding the Frenchies at bay for the moment, but their ammunition is not limitless. The Prince here, insists that we throw in the last of Pack's brigade to drive them off. Ompteda has already been torn apart attempting that. There is more French cavalry down in that valley than I can scarce believe!"
"Where the bloody hell is the Duke!?" Uxbridge barked, not seeing his commander anywhere nearby.
"He's back at the village, he's badly wounded, Doctor Hume says he might not survive the day."
Uxbridge's face went pale, the Duke, mortally wounded? Now this sprig of Dutch aristocracy was attempting to take command?
Leaning in, he grasped the bridle of the Prince's horse, "Begging your pardon, Your Majesty, but your army has scarce two thousand men on the field. This is no longer an allied army, it's a bloody British army. Now sod off."
The Prince turned beet red, "How dare you ..."
Turning to a sergeant of hussars who had accompanied him throughout this long day, Uxbridge barked, "Sergeant Wolsey, please escort the Prince to the nearest Dutch contingent. There may some left out on the left, Boney's boys have been driving them from the field, but mayhaps a few stragglers from his lot might be needing his leadership, we don't need it here."
Without another word to the Prince, Uxbridge turned back to De Lancey, "What say you, Sir William?"
De Lancey looked down at the ground and took a deep breath, "I'm sorry, my Lord, I see no alternative but to retreat on Ghent. As fast as bloody possible."
At that moment everyone felt the ground shaking, the French cavalry!
"For now, Sir, we need to take shelter in yon square!" De Lancey shouted then turned his mount.
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Vive l'Empereur!
Édouard Detaille (PD) |
The Emperor turned and looked for Grouchy, the man was busy describing what he wanted next, Napoléon was impressed with the man's eye for detail. He had sent a brigade of light cavalry up the slope in support of the heavy brigade which had sabered a Hanoverian brigade to pieces next to the farm of La Haye Sainte. Napoléon could sense that the critical point in the battle was upon them.
"Ney!"
Le Rougeaud had been fuming the entire afternoon, like a hunting dog held back on the leash, scenting blood, he wanted to be released into the fray.
"Sire!"
Napoléon thought the man was ready to vomit flames from his mouth, he was so keyed up.
"Take my Guard and drive those people from that ridge. Grouchy will provide support. I believe d'Erlon has his lads up there already, they just need a push and I think the whole facade will come crashing down."
Ney smiled from ear to ear, drawing his sword he galloped back to where two brigades of Guardsmen stood, ready for action. Napoléon watched, he was reluctant to send in his grenadiers and chasseurs, but now was the moment, this was what he paid them for.
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The Attack of the Middle Guard Against Wellington's Center at the Battle of Waterloo
Giuseppe Rava
Source |
Maréchal of France Michel Ney felt that this, this very moment, had to be the most special of his long career. He was riding at the head of the "immortals" as the rest of the army called them. Not because of their prowess in battle, but because they were seldom committed to battle. Each man in their ranks had proven himself in war, membership in the Guard was a reward for long, dedicated service.
But in the back of every man's mind they knew, that occasionally, le Tondu would call on them to justify their existence. When the battle was in doubt or when the enemy needed one final blow to finish things, the Guard would march.
In the front of the advance were the Middle Guard, so called to distinguish them from the older, more experienced men in the senior regiments known as the Old Guard, and from the more junior regiments of the Young Guard. Behind them marched the Old Guard, a solid corps of the most fierce soldiers in Europe.
The Old Guard wore the tall bearskins which distinguished them on the battlefield, most of the Middle Guard wore whatever could be scraped together after the Emperor's reappearance in France earlier in the year. Some had bearskins, a number had shakos and many even wore nothing more martial than a fatigue cap. But to dismiss them because of their appearance could be fatal.
One Hanoverian regiment of young soldiers and inexperienced officers made that very mistake. They attempted to charge the oncoming 3rd Regiment of Chasseurs à Pied² with their bayonets. A volley knocked many of those young men off their feet, then the chasseurs lowered their own bayonets and plunged into the confusion.
The Hanoverians fled, leaving disaster in their wake.
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A Cameron, piper Kenneth McKay of the 79th Highlanders urging on the Highland Line at the Battle of Waterloo in 1815
William Lockhart Bogle (PD) |
"We stand here, laddies! The Duke is counting on us!"
The young captain of the 92nd Highlanders, now commanding the amalgamated survivors of Quatre Bras, scarcely 400 men of all three Highland regiments present at that debacle, watched with his heart in his throat as the Imperial Guard slammed into the British line not a hundred paces to their right.
Across the valley, what looked like a wave of steel was coming down the slope and then up the slope towards his own position. Heavy French cavalry, cuirassiers and carabiniers³ their sabers glittering, the sun shining off their breastplates, the captain felt the need to urinate become incessant, then he heard it and his heart steadied.
Pipe Major Kenneth McKay of the 79th had stepped out of the ranks, his pipes penetrated the din of musketry, the roar of cannon, and the screams of the combatants. The captain recognized the tune, for a moment he was back in the Highlands, back in his home, then he blinked and shouted, "Make ready!"
The Highland volley emptied many a saddle, but to no avail, the last survivors of Quatre Bras perished under the hooves and heavy sabers of the cuirassiers.
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Le maréchal Ney et ses aides-de-camp conduisant la charge de cavalerie à Waterloo.⁴
Louis Dumoulin (PD) |
The sounds of battle were gone, all that was left were the screams and moans of the wounded. The night was full of horrors as the peasants and uniformed marauders made their way over the field of battle, robbing the dead and the not quite dead of their valuables. Some of the wounded were quietly dispatched if they were determined to retain their property.
The Emperor had pickets stationed around the area to try and dissuade these practices, as old as warfare. He knew it would have little effect, but he felt the need to try.
"Sire?"
Napoléon looked up, snapping back to the present from his thoughts, "What is it, de la Bédoyère? Have they found him?"
The Comte de la Bédoyère, one of the Emperor's aides, stepped into the lamp light with a disheveled Englishman, from the look of the man, he was a surgeon.
"Sire, this is Doctor Hume, Wellington's physician. He has been treating the Duke. He is still alive, though barely."
"Convey me to him."
The small party stepped into the farmer's house, in a back bedroom, alone, was Sir Arthur Wellesley, the Duke of Wellington. Napoléon stopped in the doorway, if things had been different, that might have been him lying on the bed, dying after an ignominious defeat. Today though, it was his opponent, his most inveterate opponent in Spain, Napoléon had never met Wellington in battle before this day. But the man had defeated many of the Emperor's best marshals, for that, he had Napoléon's respect.
The Emperor turned, "Send for Larrey."
"Sire, I don't think there is anything that ..."
"Do it."
He approached the bed, Wellington opened his eyes, weakly he spoke, "Ah, General Bonaparte, well met, Sir."
Being addressed by his family name and his old rank rather grated on the Emperor's nerves, but he could be magnanimous when needed.
"Your men fought well today, Your Grace. They died well."
Wellington smiled softly, then died.
Their was silence in the room, Napoléon stood there for a long moment, gazing down at his dead foe.
Napoléon spoke, softly, "Mon général, votre gloire vivra éternellement.⁵"
Then the Emperor turned on his heel and left the building.
The Comte de la Bédoyère later swore that there was a tear running down Napoléon's cheek in the dim lamplight of the Great Duke's death chamber.
The Battle of Waterloo was over, the French had won and were now moving on Brussels.
¹ Henry Willian Paget, known as Lord Uxbridge during the Waterloo campaign.
² Literally "Hunters on foot," French Imperial Guard light infantry
³ Cuirassiers and Carabiners at Waterloo wore steel back and breast plates. The cuirasses of the Carabiniers were covered in brass sheathing. Both types wore helmets and were big men riding big horses.
⁴ Marshal Ney and his aides-de-camp leading the cavalry charge at Waterloo.
⁵ My general, your glory will live forever.
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