Decisions at Dawn

Dawn of Waterloo
Elizabeth Thompson, Lady Butler (PD)

The Duke of Wellington stood in the courtyard of the Chateau de Goumont staring into the cooking fire where a number of Guardsmen were cooking their breakfast. On a smaller fire there was a pot, a teapot he surmised. His glance fell on that pot, without thinking, he sighed. The last three days had been disastrous.

"Tea, Your Grace?"

He turned to look at a sergeant of the Coldstream Guards, he thought he recognized the man.

"It's Graham,¹ isn't it?"

"As it ever was Your Grace," pausing he lifted the enameled cup and offered it, "still hot it is."

The Duke held the cup in both hands, the tea smelled very good, he drank deeply, emptying the cup, then handed it back to the sergeant.

"You're Irish, isn't that right Sergeant?"

"Yes, indeed, Your Grace, County Monaghan to be sure."

"Thank you for the tea, where is your commander?"

Graham nodded towards the manor house, "Lieutenant Colonel Macdonell² is inside, Sir."

"Thank you again, Sergeant. Keep an eye on things here today, I fear it shall be bad today. Very bad."

"That's it then, keep your lads well in hand today Morrisey. I fear the Frenchies are rather thicker on the ground than we are. Oh, and ..." Macdonell paused as he saw a familiar figure enter the room, he stood up.

"Your Grace."

"Macdonell. I am counting on you and your lads today. We are very thin on the ground and I expect no help from the Prussians. If we need to withdraw, your position here will be the hinge. I do not intend to withdraw to Brussels but via Braine-l'Alleud then Halle, I intend to make for Ghent with all haste should this position become untenable. Are we clear?"

"Your Grace, we shall remain here until you order us to leave, or until we have died at our posts."

Uncharacteristically, the Duke thrust his hand out, Macdonell took it in his own strong grip. Neither man said a word, but the emotion in the room was thick. Eventually Lieutenant Colonel Gordon,³ one of the Duke's principal aides, broke the silence.

"Your Grace, we must be off ..."

Wellington nodded, then released Macdonell's hand, without a word he spun on his heel and went out to where Copenhagen was waiting.

"Your Grace ..."

"I know, Sir Alexander, I know. This will no doubt be the hardest day of our careers. Perhaps the rain will continue and we can simply steal away into the mist."

Gordon looked to the sky, as if to defy the Duke, the rain began to lessen.

"One can hope, Your Grace."

Napoléon in 1806
Édouard Detaille (PD)

The Emperor was up early, the noise of his staff moving around in the room adjacent to his sleeping chamber had woken him from a deep sleep. Oddly enough, he felt well-rested and the pain that had been dogging him for so many days had subsided. Not even a dull ache remained.

His Mamelouk servant, Ali⁴ heard the Emperor stir and cautiously checked on his charge.

"Sire?"

"I am all right, Ali. Surprisingly well, is there any breakfast?"

"I will see to it, Sire."

Napoléon got out of bed and dressed himself, not waiting for his valet. As he finished buttoning the undress jacket of the Chasseurs à Cheval of the Imperial Guard, he heard a tap on the door.

"Enter."

He was surprised to see two of his marshals, not Ali with his breakfast. He had a sudden sick feeling, had some ill tidings arrived in the night?

Davout spoke while Berthier stood behind him, "Sire, it appears that Wellington has elected to make a stand on the Mont St. Jean ridge. He doesn't really have enough men to cover the entire position. He is very weak on his left, we think ..." he turned to Berthier who stepped forward with a map.

Source
Compare this version with the original at the source,
both sides lines are considerably thinner.

"Here, as you can see here Sire," Berthier pointed to the map, "it seems that Wellington is leaning to his right, towards La Manche.⁵ I daresay he is hedging his bets and with a strong enough push, he will withdraw in that direction."

With his left hand behind his back, the Emperor leaned over the map, he placed his finger near the right edge, near a place marked "Frischermont," then traced his finger over the hamlets and farms labeled "Papelotte," "La Haye," and "Smolhain." His eyes strayed to the positions of units Berthier's staff had drawn in.

"Saxe-Weimar, what does he have here, perhaps a regiment?"

"Our scouts tell us that he has three weak battalions holding this area. They also seem to be the only remaining forces of the Netherlands in Wellington's lines."

"The others? Early reports showed three Dutch-Belgian divisions under Wellington's command, where are they?"

Davout answered, "The divisions of Perponcher and Chassé were destroyed around Quatre Bras. Stedman's division was last reported to be retreating through Brussels. It seems the Netherlands has abandoned their British and German allies."

The Emperor seemed to growl, then he said, "Those damned Dutchmen did considerable damage to Reille's corps, from the looks of it, II Corps doesn't have enough men to advance aggressively." He slapped the map where a substantial chateau labeled "Hougoumont" was situated.

No one spoke, unbeknownst to the Emperor, his brother, Prince Jérôme, had died of his wounds overnight, at Genappe.

"Sire, it is true that your brother's division was badly hurt at Quatre Bras, he, uh ..." Davout hesitated.

"What is it?" Napoléon snapped.

"The Prince was wounded at ..."

"I know that, so what ..."

It then struck the Emperor that his youngest brother was dead.

"Not one of you thought to tell me that the Prince was dead?"

Berthier spoke up, we received word only an hour ago, Sire. My condolences."

Napoléon got a far away look on his face, he stayed silent for a moment, then spoke.

"We shall mourn the dead later. For now, what do you propose, Davout?"

The marshal looked at the map, then ran his finger along a slight ridge just south of the La Haye Sainte farm.

"I propose a grand battery here, with which we will pound Wellington's center. While this is going on, I propose sending Foy and Bachelu forward to draw Wellington's attention to his right center. Then I should think we send d'Erlon straight at the English left. They are weak there."

The Emperor nodded, "I agree. Any news from Vandamme?"

"A single Prussian corps, that of von Pirch, withdrew towards Wavre. Vandamme has been harrying them without rest. I have sent for more information, but we had a courier from Vandamme saying that that Prussian corps was dissipating under his attacks, he likened it to a mist fading under a hot summer sun ..." Berthier paused.

The Emperor chuckled, "I never knew Vandamme to wax poetic."

"One of his aides I'm sure, Sire. If I know Vandamme he would have mentioned something about 'kicking their arses,' not mist dissipating in the hot sun." Soult entered with that remark, then turned to his Emperor.

"The army is in position, Sire. The fields are sodden, it might be a while before we can move our guns to create that grand battery Davout has suggested."

"Very well, let us have breakfast gentlemen, we have time before we destroy Wellington. That, is inevitable."

As the leaders of the French army gathered to eat, Wellington rode his lines. He had some hard decisions to make.

Should he stand and fight, with no word having come from the Prussians, or should he withdraw towards the Channel ports? Regardless of his decision, he would be raked over the coals in Parliament by those who had never seen a battle.

His heart said "stand," his head said "flee."

As the sun rose over the fields between Mont St. Jean and La Belle Alliance, Wellington knew that it was going to be a long, hard day, no matter which option he chose.

¹ Sergeant James Graham was a sergeant in the Coldstream Guards, said to be the bravest man in the British Army by the Duke himself.

² Lieutenant Colonel Sir James Macdonell commanded the 2nd Battalion of the Coldstream Guards at Waterloo

³ Lieutenant Colonel Sir Alexander Gordon was a Scottish officer in the British Army. The bed where he died of his wounds after the battle is still present in the inn at Waterloo where Wellington had his headquarters.

⁴ Louis-Étienne Saint-Denis (22 September 1788 – 3 May 1856) was a member of the Mamelukes of the Imperial Guard, leading him to be known in his lifetime as "Mamelouk Ali". He was most notable as a faithful servant to Napoleon I during his two exiles on Elba and Saint Helena. Wikipedia

⁵ What the French called the English Channel, literally means "the sleeve."