NAPOLEON’S RETURN.—BATTLE OF QUATRE BRAS.
Napoleon’s return.—His enthusiastic reception.—Makes mighty efforts to restore the military power of France.—Duke of Wellington arrives in Brussels, and takes the command of the allies.—Belgium.—Napoleon leaves Paris.—Drives in the Prussian outposts.—Ney attacks the Prince of Orange.—Wellington marches to his assistance.—Battle of Quatre Bras.
A few months passed away—Europe was apparently at rest—its military attitude was gradually softening down—and all the belligerent powers, weary of a state of warfare that, with slight intermission, had lasted for a quarter of a century, enjoyed the repose which the overthrow of Napoleon’s power had produced. But this state of quietude was delusory—it was the treacherous calm that precedes a tempest. Untamed by adversity, that ambitious spirit was gathering strength for another effort—France was ready to receive him—past victories would thus be rendered useless—Europe convulsed again—and none could foresee what strange events the descent of Napoleon might produce.
No recorded career parallels that of Napoleon Buonaparte; and in the history of kings and conquerors, the strangest story was his own. He seemed the shuttlecock of Fortune—and she placed him “on a pinnacle of pride merely to mark her own mutability.” Hurled from the sovereignty of half the world, his star had lost its ascendancy, apparently to rise no more,—when, by the happiest accident, his voyage from Elba was uninterrupted[288]—his landing unopposed—an enthusiastic welcome everywhere was given to the intruder—legions congregated at his bidding—the empire was offered and accepted—and the first intelligence of his descent was closely followed by a formal acknowledgment of his restoration to the sovereignty of France.
Napoleon landed in the Var on the 1st of March, and on the 19th he slept in the palace of Fontainbleau. Louis had abandoned the capital, and in a few hours the dynasty of the Bourbons seemed forgotten. None opposed the return of the exile—his decrees were absolute, his wishes were anticipated. The splendour of military parade delighted the soldiery, while the theatric glitter of a champ de Mai was admirably adapted to catch the fancies, and win the momentary attachment of a gay and thoughtless people. The whole pageant, in scenic effect, was suited for those whom it was designed to lure—and on the 17th of April, Napoleon was formally restored to that empire, from which the same “sweet voices” had, but a few months before, so formally deposed him.
Parisian adulation, and the military devotion he received from the moment his foot touched the shore at Cannes, did not blind him to “coming events.” A vain effort to make terms with the allied powers was scornfully rejected. At Vienna, his overtures were treated with disdain, and his letter to the English regent was returned with the seal unbroken. He saw from all these premonitory occurrences, that a storm was about to burst, and lost no time in preparing for a determined resistance. A powerful army alone could avert the danger—and, with his customary tact, Napoleon made prodigious efforts to restore the military strength of the empire, which the Russian, German, and Peninsular campaigns had during the last years so miserably weakened.
French vanity was successfully appealed to—the memory of past victories recalled—and martial glory, that powerful touchstone of national feeling, successfully employed to win the people to his standard. The younger of the male population were called out by ordonnances, and the retired veterans collected once more around those eagles, which, in prouder days, had entered half the European capitals in triumph.
The military power of France was organized anew. Commissioners, specially employed, enforced the operations of Napoleon’s decrees in every department of the kingdom. The Imperial Guard was re-established—the cavalry increased and remounted—that powerful arm, the artillery, by which half the victories of the French army had been achieved, was enlarged and improved—and, in a time inconceivably short, a most splendid corps d’armée, perfect in every department, was ready for the field.
While Napoleon was thus engaged, Wellington, having signed on behalf of the Prince Regent the treaty of Vienna, arrived at Brussels on the 5th of April, to take command of the British army. There, the troops of the Prince of the Netherlands, with those of Nassau and Brunswick, were placed under his orders—the whole forming the Anglo-Belgic army.
The Prussian corps d’armée were cantoned in and about Namur and Charleroi—while Ostend, Antwerp, Tournay, Ypres, Mons, and Ghent, were occupied by the allies. The position of the Anglo-Belgic army was extended and detached—for the preceding harvest in the Low Countries had been unusually deficient; and of course, the British and Belgic cantonments covered an additional surface to obtain the requisite supplies.
The allied corps in June were thus disposed. Lord Hill, with the right wing, occupied Ath. The left, under the Prince of Orange, was posted at Braine-le-Comte and Nivelles. The cavalry, under the Marquis of Anglesea, were established round Grammont; and the reserve and head-quarters, under the duke, were quartered in Brussels.
Belgium, for centuries, had been the seat of war—and every plain, every fortress, had its tale of martial achievement to narrate. Within its iron frontier there were few places which had not witnessed some affair of arms—the whole country was rife with military reminiscences—and it was destined to prove the scene where the greatest event in modern warfare should be transacted. As a country, Belgium was admirably adapted for martial operations—the plains, in many places extensive, terminated in undulated ridges or bolder heights; while the surface generally admitted the movements of masses of infantry. Canals, rivers, morasses, and villages, presented favourable positions to abide a battle, and difficult ones for an advancing army to force—while the fortresses everywhere offered facilities for retiring upon,—and presented serious obstacles to those who must mask or carry them when advancing.
To a commander circumstanced like Wellington, great perplexity, as to the distribution of his army, must arise—for the mode and point of Napoleon’s attack were alike involved in mystery. He might decide on adopting a defensive war, and permit the allies to become the assailants. This course, however, was not a probable one—but where he would precipitate himself was the difficulty. He was already in great force around Maubeuge and Binch, and consequently, Nivelles and Charleroi were equally exposed to aggression. On the right, he might attack Namur with Girard’s corps; or, with D’Erlon’s, advance on Courtrai by Lille; while leaving the wood of Soignies on his right, he could reach Brussels by Mons and Braine-le-Comte, thus gaining the rear of the allies, and favouring an insurrectionary movement of the Belgians—an event on which he placed considerable reliance. All these movements were open to Napoleon—and had he adopted others than he did at the opening of the campaign, that more fortunate results would have attended them, are now subjects only for military speculation.
Meanwhile, after leaving Paris on the 12th, and inspecting Laon as he passed, he reached Avennes on the 14th. The respective corps had moved instantaneously from their cantonments, and with admirable precision united themselves on the Belgic frontier, and to them Napoleon issued his celebrated address. A slight change of the poet’s words would best describe it—
“It was his boldest and his last!”
The dangerous proximity of Brussels to the point where Napoleon’s corps d’armée were concentrating, naturally produced an anxious inquietude among the inhabitants and visitants. The city was filled every hour with idle rumours, but time alone could develope Napoleon’s plans.
The first intelligence of a threatening movement on the part of the French emperor was forwarded to the Duke of Wellington, when Blucher learned that Zeithen’s corps was attacked. The despatch reached Brussels at half-past four—but, as it merely intimated that the Prussian outposts had been driven back, the information was not of sufficient importance to induce the British commander to make any change in the cantonments of the allied army. Nothing, in fact, could have been more masterly than the manner in which the different corps were disposed. From necessity, they were extended over a large surface—but still, they were so stationed as to admit a concentration of the whole within four-and-twenty hours, or a junction with the Prussian right, should a flank movement be found desirable.
A second despatch reached the duke at midnight, and its intelligence was more decisive than the former. Napoleon was across the Sambre, and in full march on Charleroi and Fleurus. Orders were instantly issued for the more detached corps to break up from their cantonments and advance upon Nivelles, while the troops in Brussels should march direct by the forest of Soignies, on Charleroi. Thus there would be a simultaneous reunion of the brigades as they approached the scene of action, while their communication with the Prussian right should be carefully secured.
Blucher’s second despatch was delivered to the British general in the ball-room of the Duchess of Richmond. That circumstance most probably gave rise to the groundless report that Wellington and the Prussian marshal were surprised—but nothing could be more absurd than this supposition. Both commanders were in close and constant communication, and their plans for mutual co-operation were amply matured.[289] Where the intended attack—if Napoleon would indeed venture to become aggressor—should be made, was an uncertainty,—and it had been arranged, that if Blucher were assailed, Wellington should move to his assistance, or, in the event of the British being the first object with Napoleon, then the Prussian marshal should sustain the duke with a corps, or with his whole army, were that found necessary. Nothing could be more perfect than the cordial understanding between the allied commanders—and the result proved how faithfully these mutual promises of support were realized.
A defensive war was better suited to the military resources of France, and more likely to excite national spirit, than a forward movement; but still, with his characteristic daring, keeping the Prussians for a time in check, Napoleon might penetrate to Brussels by the road of Charleroi. It would have been undoubtedly a dangerous experiment—but circumstanced as he was, even with one hundred thousand Prussians on his flank, it was not improbable that the trial would be hazarded.
Two hours after midnight, the gaiety of “fair Brussels” closed—the drums beat to arms, and all was hurry and preparation. Momentarily the din increased, “and louder yet the clamour grew,” as the Highland pibroch answered the bugle-call of the light infantry.[290] The soldiery, startled from their sleep, poured out from the now deserted dwellings; and the once peaceful city exhibited a general alarm.
The sun rose on a scene of confusion and excitement. The military assembled in the Place Royale; and the difference of individual character might be traced in the respective bearings of the various soldiery. Some were taking a tender—many, a last leave of wives and children—others, stretched upon the pavement, were listlessly waiting for their comrades to come up—while not a few strove to snatch a few moments of repose, and appeared half insensible to the din of war around them. Waggons were loading and artillery harnessing; orderlies and aides-de-camp rode rapidly through the streets; and in the gloom of early morning the pavement sparkled beneath the iron feet of the cavalry, as they hurried along the causeway to join their respective squadrons, which were now collecting in the Park.
The appearance of the British brigades as they filed from the Park and took the road to Soignies, was most imposing. The martial air of the Highland regiments, the bagpipes playing at their head, their tartans fluttering in the breeze, and the early sunbeams flashing from their glittering arms, excited the admiration of the burghers who had assembled to see them march. During the winter and spring, while they had garrisoned Brussels, their excellent conduct and gentle demeanour had endeared them to the inhabitants; and “they were so domesticated in the houses where they were quartered, that it was no uncommon thing to see the Highland soldier taking care of the children, or keeping the shop of his host.”[291] Regiment after regiment marched—the organization of all most perfect:—the Rifles, Royals, 28th—each exhibiting some martial peculiarity, on which the eye of Picton appeared to dwell with pride and pleasure as they filed off before him. To an intelligent spectator a national distinction was clearly marked. The bearing of the Scotch bespoke a grave and firm determination—while the light step and merry glance of the Irish militiaman told that war was the game he loved, and a first field had no terrors for him.
Eight o’clock pealed from the steeple clocks; all was quiet—the brigades, with their artillery and equipages, were gone—the crash of music was heard no longer—the bustle of preparation had ceased—and an ominous and heart-sinking silence succeeded the noise and hurry that ever attends a departure for the field of battle.
Napoleon’s plan of penetrating into Belgium[292] was now so clearly ascertained, that Wellington determined to concentrate on the extreme point of his line of occupation. His march was accordingly directed on Quatre Bras, a small hamlet situated at the intersection of the road to Charleroi, by that leading from Namur to Nivelles.
This village, which was fated to obtain a glorious but sanguinary celebrity, consists of a few mean houses, having a thick and extensive wood immediately on the right called Le Bois de Bossu. All around the wood and hamlet, rye-fields of enormous growth, and quite ready for the sickle, were extended.
After a distressing march of twenty miles in sultry weather and over a country destitute of water, the British brigades reached the scene of action at two o’clock. They found the Prince of Orange with a division of his army endeavouring to hold the French in check, and maintain a position of whose great importance he was so well aware. The prince, unable to withstand the physical superiority of Ney’s corps, had gradually lost ground—the Hanoverians had been driven back—and the Bois de Bossu was won and occupied by the enemy.[293]
To recover this most important wood, from which the French could debouche upon the road to Brussels, was the duke’s first object. The 95th were ordered to attack the tirailleurs who held it; the order was gallantly executed, and after a bloody and sustained resistance the French were forced to retire.
On the left, the Royals and 28th were hotly engaged, and on the right the 44th and Highland regiments were simultaneously assailed. The battle now became general. Before the British could deploy, the French cavalry charged furiously—the tall rye masking their advance and favouring the attack. Generally these charges were unsuccessful—and the perfect discipline and steady courage of the English enabled them to repel the enemy. Lancers and cuirassiers were driven back with desperate slaughter—while whole squadrons, shattered in their retreat, and leaving the ground covered with their dead and dying, proved with what fatal precision the British squares sustained their fusilade.
The efforts of the French to break the squares, however, were fierce and frequent. Their batteries poured upon these unflinching soldiers a storm of grape—and when an opening was made by the cannon, the lancers were ready to rush upon the devoted infantry. But nothing could daunt the lion-hearted English—nothing could shake their steadiness. The dead were coolly removed, and the living occupied their places. Though numbers fell, and the square momentarily diminished, it still presented a serried line of glittering bayonets, through which lancer and cuirassier endeavoured to penetrate—but in vain.
“One regiment, after sustaining a furious cannonade, was suddenly, and on three different sides, assailed by cavalry. Two faces of the square were charged by the lancers, while the cuirassiers galloped down upon another. It was a trying moment. There was a death-like silence; and one voice alone, clear and calm, was heard. It was their colonel’s, who called upon them to be ‘steady.’ On came the enemy!—the earth shook beneath the horsemen’s feet; while on every side of the devoted band, the corn bending beneath the rush of cavalry disclosed their numerous assailants. The lance blades nearly met the bayonets of the kneeling front rank—the cuirassiers were within a few paces—yet not a trigger was drawn. But, when the word ‘fire!’ thundered from the colonel’s lips, each side poured out its deadly volley—and in a moment the leading files of the French lay before the square, as if hurled by a thunderbolt to the earth. The assailants, broken and dispersed, galloped off for shelter to the tall rye, while a constant stream of musketry from the British square, carried death into their retreating squadrons.”[294]
But, unhappily, these furious and continued charges were not always inefficient. On the right, and in the act of forming square, the 42nd were attacked by the lancers. The sudden rush, and the difficulty of forming in corn reaching to the shoulder, gave a temporary success to the assailants. Two companies, excluded from the square, were ridden over and cut down. The colonel was killed—half the regiment disabled—but the remainder formed and repulsed the charge; while those detached in the mêlée fought back to back with desperate coolness, until the withering fusilade of their companions dispersed the cavalry, and enabled them to rejoin their ranks.
The remaining regiments of the Highland brigade were hotly pressed by the enemy; they had not a moment’s respite; for no sooner were the lancers and cuirassiers driven back, than the French batteries opened with a torrent of grape upon the harassed squares, which threatened to overwhelm them. Numbers of officers and men were already stretched upon the field, while the French, reinforced by fresh columns, redoubled their exertions, while the brave and devoted handful of British troops seemed destined to cover with their bodies that ground their gallantry scorned to surrender. Wellington, as he witnessed the slaughter of his best troops, is said to have been deeply affected; and repeated references to his watch, showed how anxiously he waited for reinforcements.
The Bois de Bossu had continued to be the scene of a severe and fluctuating combat. The 95th had driven the French out—but under a heavy cannonade, and supported by a cavalry movement, the rifles were overpowered by numbers and forced to retire, fighting inch by inch, and contesting every tree. Ney established himself at last within the wood—and ordered up a considerable addition to the light troops, who had already occupied this important point of the position.
The contest was at its height. The incessant assaults of the enemy were wasting the British regiments, but, with the exception of the Bois de Bossu, not an inch of ground was lost. The men were falling in hundreds—death was busy everywhere—but not a cheek blanched, and not a foot receded! The courage of these undaunted soldiers needed no incitement—but on the contrary, the efforts of their officers were constantly required to restrain the burning ardour that would, if unrepressed, have led to ruinous results. Maddened to see their ranks thinned by renewed assaults which they were merely suffered to repel, they panted for the hour of action. The hot blood of Erin was boiling for revenge—and even the cool endurance of the Scotch began to yield, and a murmur was sometimes heard of, “Why are we not led forward?”
And yet, though forward movements were denied them, the assailants paid dearly for this waste of British blood. For a long hour, the 92nd had been exposed to a destructive fire from the French artillery that occasioned a fearful loss. A regiment of Brunswick cavalry had attempted to repel a charge of cuirassiers, and repulsed with loss, were driven back upon the Highlanders in great disorder. The hussars galloped down a road on which part of the regiment was obliqued—the remainder lining the ditch in front. The rear of the Brunswickers intermingled with the headmost of the French horsemen, and for a while, the 92nd could not relieve them with their musketry. At last the pursuers and pursued rode rapidly past the right flank of the Highlanders, and permitted them to deliver their volley. The word “fire!” was scarcely given, when the close and converged discharge of both wings fell, with terrible effect, upon the advanced squadron. The cuirassiers were literally cut down by that withering discharge, and the road choked up with men and horses rolling in dying agony—while the shattered remnant of what but a few moments before had been a splendid regiment, retreated in desperate confusion to avoid a repetition of that murderous fusilade.
At this period of the battle, the guards, after a march of seven-and-twenty miles, arrived from Enghein, from whence they had moved at three in the morning. Exhausted by heat and fatigue, they halted at Nivelles, lighted fires, and prepared to cook their dinners. But the increasing roar of cannon announced that the duke was seriously engaged, and a staff officer brought orders to hurry on. The bivouac was instantly broken up—the kettles packed—the rations abandoned—and the wearied troops cheerfully resumed their march.
The path to the field of battle could not be mistaken; the roar of cannon was succeeded by the roll of musketry, which at every step became more clearly audible; and waggons, heaped with wounded British and Brunswickers interspersed, told that the work of death was going on.
The Guards, indeed, came up at a fortunate crisis. The Bois de Bossu was won; and the tirailleurs of the enemy, debouching from its cover, were about to deploy upon the roads that it commanded, and would thus intercept the duke’s communication with the Prussians. The fifth division, sadly reduced, could hardly hold their ground—any offensive movement was impracticable—and the French tirailleurs were actually issuing from the wood—but on perceiving the advancing columns, they halted. The first brigade of Guards, having loaded and fixed bayonets, were ordered to advance—and, wearied as they were with a fifteen hours’ march, they cheered, and pushed forward.[295] In vain the thick trees impeded them—and although every bush and coppice was held and disputed by the enemy, the tirailleurs were driven in on every side. Taking advantage of a rivulet which crossed the wood, the enemy attempted to form and arrest the progress of the Guards. That stand was momentary—they were forced from their position, and the wood once more was carried by the British.
Their success was, however, limited to its occupation; the broken ground and close timber prevented the battalion from forming; and when it emerged, and of course in considerable disorder—from its cover, the masses of cavalry drawn up in the open ground charged and forced it back. At last, after many daring attempts to debouch and form, the first brigade fell back upon the third battalion, which, by flanking the wood, had been enabled to form square, and repulse the cavalry, and there the brigade halted. Evening was now closing in—the attacks of the enemy became fewer and feebler—a brigade of heavy cavalry with horse artillery came up—and, worn out by the sanguinary struggle of six long hours, the assailants ceased their attack—and the fifth and third divisions took a position for the night upon the ground their unbounded heroism had held through this long and bloody day.
Thus terminated the fight of Quatre Bras—and a more glorious victory was never won by British bravery. Night closed the battle—and when the limited number of the allied troops actually engaged is considered, this sanguinary conflict will stand almost without a parallel. At the opening of the action at half-past two, the Duke’s force could not have exceeded sixteen thousand—his whole cavalry consisting of some Brunswick hussars, supported by a few Belgian and Hanoverian guns—and the great distance of their cantonments from the field of battle prevented the British cavalry and horse artillery arriving until late in the evening. Vivian’s brigade (1st Hanoverian, and 10th and 18th hussars) came up at seven o’clock—but the rest only reached Quatre Bras at the close of the action, having made a forced march from behind the Dender, over bad roads for more than forty miles. Ney, by his own account, commenced the battle with the second corps and Excelman’s cavalry—the former numbering thirty thousand, strong in artillery, and its cavalry, that of the second corps included, amounting to three thousand six hundred. The French marshal complains that the first corps, originally assigned to him, and which he had left at Frasnes in reserve, had been withdrawn by Napoleon without any intimation, and never employed during the entire day—and thus, as Ney writes to Fouche, “twenty-five or thirty thousand men were, I may say, paralyzed, and idly paraded during the battle, from the right to the left, and the left to the right, without firing a shot.” All this admitted, surely his means were amply sufficient to have warranted a certain victory? In numbers his cavalry were infinitely superior—his artillery was equally powerful—while in those important arms, Wellington was miserably weak—and all he had to oppose to his stronger antagonist, were the splendid discipline and indomitable courage of British infantry.
The loss sustained by the British and their allies in this glorious and hard-contested battle amounted to three thousand seven hundred and fifty, hors de combat. Of course, the British suffered most severely, having three hundred and twenty men killed, and two thousand one hundred and fifty-five wounded. The Duke of Brunswick fell in the act of rallying his troops, and an immense number of British officers were found among the slain and wounded. During an advanced movement, the 92nd, while repulsing an attack of both cavalry and infantry, met a French column, retreating to the wood, which halted and turned its fire on the Highlanders, already assailed by a superior force. Notwithstanding, the regiment bravely held its ground until relieved by a regiment of the Guards, when it retired to its original position. In this brief and sanguinary conflict, its loss amounted to twenty-eight officers, and nearly three hundred men.
The casualties, when compared with the number of the combatants, will appear enormous. Most of the battalions lost their commanding officers—and the rapid succession of subordinate officers on whom the command devolved, told how fast the work of death went on. Trifling wounds were disregarded—and men, severely hurt, refused to retire to the rear, or rejoined their colours after a temporary dressing. Picton’s was a remarkable instance of this disregard of suffering; he was severely wounded at Quatre Bras, and the fact was only ascertained after his glorious fall at Waterloo.
The French loss, according to their own returns, was “very considerable, amounting to four thousand two hundred killed or wounded; and Ney in his report says, “I was obliged to renounce my hopes of victory; and in spite of all my efforts, in spite of the intrepidity and devotion of my troops, my utmost efforts could only maintain me in my position till the close of the day.”
“Ney fell back upon the road to Frasnes. The moon rose angrily—still a few cannon-shot were heard after the day had departed; but gradually they ceased. The fires were lighted, and such miserable provisions as could be procured were furnished to the harassed soldiery; and while strong pickets were posted in the front and flanks, the remnant of the British, with their brave allies, piled their arms and stretched themselves on the field.”[296]
While the British held their battle-ground, the Prussians had been obliged to retire in the night from Ligny.[297] This, however, was not ascertained until morning—as the aide-de-camp despatched with the intelligence to Quatre Bras had unfortunately been killed on the road. Corps after corps arrived during the night, placing the Duke of Wellington in a position to have become assailant next morning had Blucher succeeded in maintaining his position, and repulsed Napoleon’s attack.
The night passed—the wounded were removed[298]—the dead partially buried;—disabled guns were repaired, ammunition served out, and all was ready for “a contest on the morrow.”
The intelligence of the Prussian retreat, of course, produced a correspondent movement—and the Duke of Wellington, to maintain his communications with Marshal Blucher, decided on falling back upon a position in front of the village of Waterloo, which had been already surveyed, and selected by the allied leader as the spot on which he should make a stand.