“They are men,” said the Emperor, speaking for the first time. “Est-ce Grouchy? Est-ce Blucher?”
Soult inclines to believe it to be the former, and proceeds to give his reasons; but the Emperor, without listening, turns towards Domont, and orders him, with his division of light cavalry and Subervic’s Brigade, to proceed thither at once. If it be Grouchy, to establish a junction with him; to resist, should it prove to be the advanced guard of Marshal Blucher. Scarcely is the order given when a column of cavalry, wheeling “fours about,” unravels itself from the immense mass, and seems to serpentine like an enormous snake between the squares of the mighty army. The pace increases at every moment, and at length we see them emerge from the extreme right and draw up, as if on parade, above half a mile from the wood. This movement, by its precision and beauty, attracted our entire attention, not only from the attack upon Hougoumont, but also from an incident which had taken place close beside us. This was the appearance of a Prussian hussar who had been taken prisoner between Wavre and Planchenoit; he was the bearer of a letter from Bulow to Wellington, announcing his arrival at St. Lambert, and asking for orders.
This at once explains the appearance on the right; but the prisoner also adds, that the three Prussian corps were at Wavre, having pushed their patrols two leagues from that town without ever encountering any portion of the force under the command of Grouchy. For a moment not a word is spoken. A silence like a panic pervades the staff; the Emperor himself is the first to break it.
“This morning,” said he, turning towards Soult, “the chances were ninety to one in our favor; Bulow’s arrival has already lost us thirty of the number; but the odds are still sufficient, if Grouchy but repair the horrible fault he has committed.”
He paused for a moment, and as he lifted up his own hand, and turned a look of indignant passion towards the staff, added, in a voice the sarcasm of whose tone there is no forgetting:—
“Il s’amuse à Gembloux! Still,” said he, speaking rapidly and with more energy than I had hitherto noticed, “Bulow may be entirely cut off. Let an officer approach. Take this letter, sir,” giving as he spoke, Bulow’s letter to Lord Wellington,—“give this letter to Marshal Grouchy; tell him that at this moment he should be before Wavre; tell him that already, had he obeyed his orders—but no, tell him to march at once, to press forward his cavalry, to come up in two hours, in three at farthest. You have but five leagues to ride; see, sir, that you reach him within an hour.”
As the officer hurries away at the top of his speed, an aide-de-camp from General Domont confirms the news; they are the Prussians whom he has before him. As yet, however, they are debouching from the wood, and have attempted no forward movement.
“What’s Bulow’s force, Marshal?”
“Thirty thousand, Sire.”
“Let Lobau take ten thousand, with the Cuirassiers of the Young Guard, and hold the Prussians in check.”