Épilogue

Napoléon on Board the Bellerophon
Sir William Quiller Orchardson
(Source)

The Emperor, betrayed by many in the French government, particularly Fouché and Talleyrand, had attempted to flee to America. He was under great pressure to depart France, after all the Allies had declared war against the man, not the nation. The men in power had betrayed him once, they did so now.

As he stood at the taffrail looking at the English coast at Portsmouth, Napoléon Bonaparte went over in his head again and again as to exactly why his campaign to defeat the English and their allies and the vicious Prussians failed so miserably.

The portion of the Armée du Nord under his direct command had not only collapsed on the battlefield and fled without even attempting to stand but had also shed deserters all the way back to France. Ney had abandoned the army and returned to Paris on his own, seeking to win favor with the government which had rejected the Emperor.

Grouchy had somehow managed to bring his wing of the army back into France, intact and ready for action. If only he had handled his troops during the fateful period of 17 to 18 June in the same manner then perhaps the battle at Mont St. Jean would have been a resounding victory.

He heard a footstep on the deck, he turned to see one of his aides, Général de Division Savary.

"What news Savary? I saw a boat come alongside earlier. Are we allowed to proceed to America?"

From the look on Savary's face, Napoléon expected bad news. He was not disappointed in that regard.

Savary looked at his emperor with sadness, "Sire, the English government has denied your requests. You won't be allowed ashore in England and you will not be allowed to proceed to America."

Savary looked down at the deck, a single tear fell down his cheek.

"There is more?" Napoléon asked.

"I have been denied permission to accompany you into exile. I will be sent to Malta."

"Ah, Malta. Am I to be returned to Elba?"

"No Sire, Saint Helena. I have never heard of it, one of the sailors said that it ..."

"Yes, yes, it lies some 400 leagues off the west coast of Africa. A mere flyspeck in a vast sea. Apparently the English are terrified of me. They should have me executed, but they know France would rise in anger. I suppose the English are being clever."

"You are to be a prisoner there, Sire."

"I would expect no less."

Capitaine Joseph Martin, late of the Armée du Nord, actually stayed with Grouchy during the retreat back to France. Due to his badly bruised leg, which had yet to heal properly, he was discharged from the army. He promptly returned home.

His wife Marie eventually forgave him for abandoning the family to march with Napoléon one more time. Their son Claude, grew up to see another Napoléon as emperor, a nephew of the first emperor. He was too old to serve in that army, as he had three daughters, none of his children served in that army either.

Something for which he often thanked God.

Sergent Nicolas Guilbert was killed in action during the Old Guard's final attempt to drive the Prussians from Plancenoit. His old comrade, Sergent Jean-Claude Toussaint spent a large part of the rest of his own life trying to gain the Legion of Honor for his friend Guilbert.

But as all the witnesses, save Toussaint, had not survived the campaign, there was no one else to vouch for Guilbert's bravery in his last action.

Guilbert was buried in a mass grave on the battlefield.

Sergeant Hans Pizzeck was found in the ruins of Plancenoit, barely alive. He was evacuated to a Prussian field hospital where he died a week after the battle.

Brigadier Tomasz Kasprowicz survived the battle, as did his horse Liliana. He was one of the few survivors of his troop to make it back to France.

The morning after the battle, somewhere south of Genappe, he saw a familiar face, Jean-Pierre Benoit of the 12th Chasseurs.

"Brigadier Benoit! Do you remember me?"

Benoit turned, he was on foot as his horse had broken a leg in the night. He stared for a moment then said, "The Pole! The one I talked to on my farm before this business began!"

"I see you rejoined the army." Kasprowicz said, stating the obvious.

"Yes, my brother Hercule called me an idiot on the morning of the battle. I daresay he was right, but ..."

"Did your brother ..."

"To the best of my knowledge, he is dead. Died going back up that damned ridge."

A black look crossed Kasprowicz's face, "We lost many a comrade on that ridge."

Seeing something in the near distance, Kasprowicz told Benoit, "Wait here."

Moments later he returned with a horse, an artillery horse. Kasprowicz shrugged and said, "Better than no horse at all."

"Yes, better than walking."

In the inn on the Brussels chaussée, where the Duke had his headquarters, Wellington was writing his dispatch to the government describing his victory over the French. At the last minute he added a note saying that the Prussians had been an immense help.

He had been notified of the death of his aide, Alexander Gordon, shortly after he had finished the dispatch. He had gone upstairs in the inn, his own bed was taken, it was where Gordon had died, and found a room whose occupant had also not survived the battle.

He sat in the dark for a while, staring out the window at the night. The adrenalin from the battle had yet to wear off, he couldn't sleep even had he wanted to.

The thought struck him, sometime in the early hours before dawn of the 19th of June. Quietly, he whispered to the darkness outside his window ...

Next to a lost battle, nothing is so sad as a battle that has been won.

Finis