A representative of the Patrie has recently visited the battlefield, and obtained from this interesting old character, now Mme. Dupuis, some reminiscences of much that happened that day. She says:—
“As a little girl, stirred and fascinated by the long lines of horsemen, guns, and tired foot regiments passing our cottage, I stood at our door and served out water to the ‘beaux soldats.’ Afterwards I followed them to Waterloo. In the evening we heard the booming of great cannon, and from the windows I could see the clouds of smoke rising into the air like trees. I was in the mill, and the windows rattled. All night long we heard the tramp of silent men and the creaking, stumbling guns passing our doors. When I looked out next morning I saw wounded men lying by the roadside. In the distance I could hear a sound like a rough sea breaking against the rocks. There were clouds of smoke, and I saw men galloping, and masses of my brave soldiers moving hurriedly across the fields. Then the doctors came, and took out the bullets from the wounds of the soldiers.... The Prussians came by, and then the English, shouting their cries of victory.
“Not far away soldiers were digging trenches in our fields to bury the dead. There were so many of them, so many of them”—and the old peasant covered her face with her hands as though to shut out the terrible picture. “I saw one woman of Gotarville cut off the fingers of a Prussian officer, sorely hurt but still living, to secure the jewelled rings that he wore.
“At Planchenoit, a little further away, they tell me that the brave French were so beaten down by bayonet charges that the river ran with blood. Near the hill above a general was killed.
“No; I did not see Napoleon, and I still regret it. Poor Napoleon!... We did not like the English or the Prussians.... The next day we knew that Napoleon’s power was broken, by the lines we heard the people singing,”—and raising herself in her chair, the tottering old dame sang in a feeble voice:—
Les cannoniers bombardaient à feu et à flamme,
Les cuirassiers, les gardes d’honneur, sont renversés,
Bonaparte, enfin voilà ta fin. Il faut te rendre—
Te voilà battu, convaincu, tu n’en peux plus!
Pall Mall Gazette.