It Begins ...

Source

Newly minted Marshal of France, Dominique Joseph René Vandamme sat his horse, strong emotions were warring inside of him, as they often did. On the march towards Wavre, his wing of the army had caught, and destroyed, a Prussian division, that of von Krafft.¹ Interrogations of prisoners taken revealed that most of the corps to which von Krafft belonged to was routed and headed towards Liege, only two divisions had kept together. Now there was one, that of von Bose.

"What of their cavalry?" he snapped at the young officer who had questioned the prisoners.

"Most of them were dispersed covering von Pirch's retreat, at most there is a single division remaining, that of von Sohr. They have a single battery of horse artillery² and one of foot."

Maréchal Vandamme dismissed the man with a grunt, turning to an aide he barked, "Have Vichery, Péchaux, and Maurin³ report to me, everyone else is to turn and march west."

"West, Sir?"

"Yes, to Mont St. Jean, I promised the Emperor I would support him there once the Prussians were dealt with. I believe the divisions of Vichery, Péchaux, and Maurin should be sufficient to deal with the remnants of the Prussian Army. Hulot will remain attached to III Corps."

"Sir, what of Lobau? The last message we had from him indicated that he was being pushed back by von Thielmann."

"Général de Division Lobau is on his own. Victory will be decided here, in the north, not outside Namur. Now go, we must be headed west within the hour!"

Now that the decision was made, the warring thoughts within him could cease. He knew his Emperor, he wanted to be in at the kill, not chasing these damned Prussians around the Belgian countryside!

L'artillerie à cheval de la Garde impériale prenant position.⁴
Alphonse Lalauze (PD)

The Emperor sat his mount atop the slope near the little inn called La Belle Alliance. The grand battery was nearly complete, it had been slow to take shape as the ground was still muddy in spots. He turned as a battery of his Guard's horse artillery clattered past on the main road, all of them screaming "Vive l'Empereur!"

He tipped his famous hat then turned to Davout, "The time?"

Davout had been consulting his pocket watch, wearing his spectacles which he knew the Emperor hated. Looking up, he blushed. Regaining his composure he answered Napoléon ...

"Nearly half past one of the clock, Sire. I recommend we begin the bombardment. I have already issued the orders to Reille and d'Erlon to begin their part once the grand battery opens fire."

The Emperor scanned the field once more, then nodded to Davout, "You may commence."

Wellington at Waterloo
Ernest Crofts
Source

Copenhagen was nervous, the Duke hoped that no one noticed as the horse was reacting to his rider's own nervousness. As he watched the French mustering a grand battery, not all that far from where he sat his horse, he wondered where Bonaparte might try his line. It seemed to be weak everywhere. He kept glancing to his right, wondering if it was already too late to withdraw to Ghent and the Channel.

"Your Grace, it looks as though Boney intends to scare us off the field."

The Duke turned to see who had made the remark, wondering why the man couldn't keep silent. He saw that it was his chief of engineers.

"Sir James, I daresay Bonaparte intends to soften us up a bit before launching his infantry this way. Perhaps he doesn't realize our lack of strength."

Sir William de Lancey chimed in, "Soult has experience in the Peninsula, no doubt he told Boney of our preference of deploying on reverse slopes to stay out of the reach of his artillery."

"Perhaps, now let us all remain ..."

Everyone saw the smoke from a single cannon across the valley, the report of the gun would arrive shortly after the ball which issued from the mouth of that piece.

Sir Alexander Gordon shifted in his saddle, about to make a comment when the ball in question drove him from the back of his horse. He died without a sound.

"Dear God, but that was a lucky shot," someone among the staff offered.

"Not for Gordon. Now gentlemen, let us move to the rear a bit, we are a conspicuous target." Copenhagen was already moving before the last word came out of the Duke's mouth.

French foot artillery
Source

The pounding from the French artillery seemed to have lasted hours but had actually been going on for scarcely 30 minutes. The Duke had ordered his men to lie down, to at least spare them the horror of standing there and just taking it. To an observer across the valley, it would seem that the British infantry had been swallowed up by the ground.

Davout looked to the Emperor, who deferred to Maréchal Soult.

"Wellington will have his front line lie down, they are still there, no doubt there are more on the other side of the ridge."

"Let the battle ripen, Davout. When it is time, I shall let you know."

"Very well, Sire."

The Duke was down, Copenhagen had been hit by a piece of bursting shell, the horse had reared up and either threw his rider, or the Duke had jumped free. Amidst the smoke and the noise, his staff couldn't see him.

Copenhagen staggered to the rear, then collapsed.

"Your Grace!" Sir William called out, frantically looking for the Duke.

Wellington staggered to his feet, hatless, his chest was soaked in blood. Sir William assumed that it was his horse's blood, he dismounted and went to his commanding officer.

"Your Grace, are you hit?" Sir William wrapped an arm around Wellington, trying to help him stay upright. Then he shouted at one of the cavalry escorts, "Sergeant, your horse!"

"I'm afraid it's all over for me, Sir William."

The Duke staggered again, then dropped to one knee, fresh blood coming from his mouth.

De Lancey looked about, frantically looking for Wellington's surgeon, then he spotted the man, rushing towards them.

"Doctor Hume, the Duke ..."

Hume assisted the Duke to lie back on the ground, the blood issuing from the Duke's mouth looked problematic, "I have him, Sir William, where is the Prince?⁵ I'm afraid he'll have to take command, the Duke is in no condition to continue."

The storming of La Haye Sainte
Richard Knötel (PD)

Général de Brigade Baron Joachim Jérôme Quiot du Passage looked around as his men surged through the gate of the farmhouse. The Germans inside were fighting desperately but with no visible support either around them or above them on the ridge, they were now looking over their shoulders, looking for a place to run.

"Press them you scoundrels! Attack!" the General was screaming himself hoarse until he was struck in the throat by a shot from the top of the farmhouse.

"Rifles! The bastards are riflemen!" came shouts from around the fallen officer.

"No quarter! No quarter!" The cry was taken up by the entire brigade.

On the ridge the staff was scrambling to get control of the situation, Prince William was trying to induce the British cavalry to charge down the road to relieve La Haye Sainte. Those men were looking to their officers, who were looking for a British officer to confirm the command.

"Charge, damn you! Your King's German Legion comrades are looking to you!"

"I don't see any KGL chaps to our front, d'you Mickey?" The words of one Irish sergeant summarized the attitude of the regiment, while Sir William, Prince of Orange, might know what was happening to their front, the British cavalry did not.

At a critical point in the battle, confusion reined in the upper ranks of the British Army at Mont St. Jean.

¹ The Prussian Army actually didn't have divisions in name, what other armies called divisions, the Prussians called brigades. So in actuality, Vandamme destroyed von Krafft's brigade, a force of some 6,700 men. Two regiments of regulars with a single regiment of Landwehr.

² In horse artillery batteries, every man was mounted, in foot batteries everyone walked. Horse artillery was much faster to get into action, but their guns tended to be lighter in weight of shot.

³ Vichery and Péchaux commanded infantry divisions in IV Corps, Maurin commanded the cavalry division belonging to that corps.

⁴ The Imperial Guard horse artillery taking up position.

⁵ General William, the Prince of Orange. He was the highest ranking officer on the scene. Some of the British called him "Slender Billy." He was popular with the troops. At this point in the story, Lord Uxbridge, whom Wellington had designated as his second in command, was on the far left flank of the British position.