Cousin Hans at once rose from the bench and took the position the captain pointed out to him.
“Now you are Wellington!” Cousin Hans drew himself up. “You are standing there on the plain with the greater part of the English infantry. Here comes the whole of the French cavalry rushing down upon you. Milhaud has joined Kellermann; they form an illimitable multitude of horses, breastplates, plumes and shining weapons. Surround yourself with a square!”
Cousin Hans stood for a moment bewildered; but presently he understood the captain’s meaning. He hastily drew a square of deep strokes around him in the sand.
“Right!” cried the captain, beaming, “Now the Frenchmen cut into the square; the ranks break, but join again, the cavalry wheels away and gathers for a fresh attack. Wellington has at every moment to surround himself with a new square.
“The French cavalry fight like lions: the proud memories of the Emperor’s campaigns fill them with that confidence of victory which made his armies invincible. They fight for victory, for glory, for the French eagles, and for the little cold man who, they know, stands on the height behind them; whose eye follows every single man, who sees all, and forgets nothing.
“But to-day they have an enemy who is not easy to deal with. They stand where they stand, these Englishmen, and if they are forced a step backwards, they regain their position the next moment. They have no eagles and no Emperor; when they fight they think neither of military glory nor of revenge; but they think of home. The thought of never seeing again the oak-trees of Old England is the most melancholy an Englishman knows. Ah, no, there is one which is still worse: that of coming home dishonored. And when they think that the proud fleet, which they know is lying to the northward waiting for them, would deny them the honor of a salute, and that Old England would not recognize her sons—then they grip their muskets tighter, they forget their wounds and their flowing blood; silent and grim, they clinch their teeth, and hold their post, and die like men.”
Twenty times were the squares broken and reformed, and twelve thousand brave Englishmen fell. Cousin Hans could understand how Wellington wept, when he said, “Night or Blücher!”
The captain had in the mean time left Belle-Alliance, and was spying around in the grass behind the bench, while he continued his exposition which grew more and more vivid: “Wellington was now in reality beaten and a total defeat was inevitable,” cried the captain, in a sombre voice, “when this fellow appeared on the scene!” And as he said this, he kicked the stone which Cousin Hans had seen him concealing, so that it rolled in upon the field of battle.
“Now or never,” thought Cousin Hans.
“Blücher!” he cried.