But Blucher, unmolested, had only difficult ground to traverse, wearied troops to encourage, and his promise to help Wellington to keep his energy at its highest. He was not threatened in his march. Thielemann could hold Wavre, and so, desperately playing the bold game, he won success. It was “toujours l’audace” over again. He had promised to come with all he could bring, and he nobly fulfilled his promise. Never was there a better leader of men in a time of sore anxiety. He knew he could call upon the personal hatred of Prussians, who remembered, themselves or through their people, the French occupation of their country not many years before. His cheering cry in that heavy march, of “Kinder, ihr wollt doch nicht dass ich wortbrüchig werden soll” touched the heart of every weary, tired man, and “Englishmen ought never to forget it,” because it made Waterloo not merely a victory, but a rout. The hard defensive battle is due to the men, both Germans and English, Wellington commanded. The utter collapse of the French is due to Blucher’s steadfastness of purpose, and to Grouchy’s too literal obedience to Napoleon, and his fear of disobeying his direct command. None the less Grouchy, useless as a subordinate who had to translate literal orders into practical action, a good divisional leader when under distinct orders rather than a semi-independent commander, acting according to his dim “regulation” lights, saved the remnants of his force with great skill, and might have done more. To the British army is due much of that marvellous victory, but not all. Until Colonel Chesney wrote the Waterloo Lectures, all foreign students of the campaign looked askance at the claim of the British army to have been, as for long years it was asserted to be, the only great factor in the great fight. No proud nation should fear to recognise such external help, and yet, less than fifty years ago, all British soldiers were led to believe that they alone had won the hard-fought battle, and that Prussian help at Waterloo was a mere incident, not a great element in the victory that is due to both.

Formation of the Lines of Battle at Waterloo 17th June 1815.

Thus was Waterloo fought, and lost, and won. “All might have failed, but for the astonishing staunchness of the English and German infantry in Wellington’s army. Nothing, in war or in peace, is so trying to the nerves as passively to await deadly peril, making no effort to avert it. And never probably in war was greater strain of this nature put upon troops, than fell on Alten’s and Picton’s divisions at Waterloo. The Guards and Hanoverians who held Hougomont had more prolonged and exciting conflict, the heavy cavalry did magnificent service: to Maitland’s Brigade, and still more to the 52nd, belongs the conspicuous glory of having given the last crushing blow. But, after all, the chief honour belongs to the English brigades of Halkett, Kempt, and Pack, and to the Germans who stood by their side.”[47]

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The conclusion of the campaign offers but few points of interest. The Prussians mainly carried on the pursuit, and it must have been embittered by all the dreadful history of the past. One can understand the troopers sabreing till arms were weary, with “that for Jena, and that for Austerlitz.” There were skirmishes at Namur, Laon, and Cambrai; Peronne “la Pucelle,” was stormed; and within eighteen days since the French crossed the frontier, the Allied armies were before Paris, which soon capitulated, and the great war was over. The last shot was fired on the 3rd July 1815, when the advanced guard of the 16th Light Dragoons were entering Paris. Then Ney, “le brave des braves,” was shot, and Napoleon, surrendering himself to his ancient enemy, the English, finished his days at St. Helena.

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During the prolonged war, which was almost continuous from 1793 to 1815, the actual and permanent increase to the army list had been considerable, though there had been many fluctuations. Second battalions to many regiments had been formed, disbanded, restored, and in some cases given a separate existence. Up to 1805, moreover, the period of service had been usually for life, but in that year it was fixed at seventeen years, with the power of re-engagement for twelve years more.

In 1793, the twelve regiments of infantry, numbering from the 78th to the 89th inclusive, had been formed. The 90th in Perthshire, and the 91st in Argyllshire, had been raised by private enthusiasm, the former by “Sir Thomas Graham,” and hence called his “Perthshire Greybreeks,” from the colour of their breeches; and the latter by the Duke of Argyll, though it then was numbered the 98th. But the 5th Royal Irish Dragoons was disbanded for disloyalty during the Irish Rebellion, though there is but little evidence that the disaffection was general. It is curious to notice how the frequent and serious cases of mutiny in the navy found no parallel in the army. Even the above was undoubtedly much exaggerated, and so strong was the loyal feeling in the army that, in 1798, the 2nd Queen’s subscribed £100 for the discovery of the author of sundry seditious pamphlets that were being circulated.

Dress had often changed, though merely in minor details, The three-cornered hat was replaced, about 1796, by a cylindrical hat, somewhat like the modern “stovepipe” headdress, but with the side turned up with a cockade and feather. Black cloth leggings replaced the white spatterdashes. Powder disappeared in 1796, but pigtails, though shortened to 7 inches in 1804, were not abolished altogether until 1808. How so ridiculous a fashion had been retained so long it is hard to imagine. Men were helpless to finish off their headdress for parade by themselves. “Tie for tie,” and “plait for plait,” was the general cry in every barrack-room, and woe to the man who had no friend to help him! The only trace of the absurd custom is the black silk “flash” worn on the collars of the officers of the Royal Welsh Fusiliers.