Yet not quite all. A small band of the men of the 8th kept round their Eagle, and retired in order, still holding it up. Chef de Bataillon Rullière, of the 95th, snatched the Eagle of that regiment from its bearer, broke the staff, and carried off the Eagle concealed under his coat.
Ney’s sixth horse was shot under him as the men turned. Again getting to his feet he staggered on in the midst of the crowd of fugitives until he at last found his way into one of the rallying squares formed in rear by some of the survivors of the Guard. There now, beside the Eagle of the 4th Chasseurs of the Guard, Ney made his last stand at Waterloo—at bay, desperate. He fought in the square, “shoulder to shoulder with the rest, shooting and thrusting with a musket and bayonet he got hold of,” as the square slowly made its retreat off the field, until in the darkness it broke up, and the men dispersed. The devotion of a mounted officer who met the marshal on foot, utterly worn out and by himself, and gave up his horse to him, enabled Ney in the end to reach a place of safety.
Napoleon was watching the Second Column of the Guard at the moment of its disaster. How the overwhelming catastrophe burst on his gaze, abruptly and all unexpectedly, makes one of the most dramatic of historic scenes. At that moment Napoleon was about to lead in person the reserve of the Guard, three battalions which he had retained near him throughout, to reinforce the fighting line.
“While they were being marshalled for the attack—one battalion deployed, with a battalion in close column on either side—he kept his glass turned upon the conflict in which he intended to bear a part.
“Suddenly his hand fell.
NAPOLEON IS HORROR-STRICKEN
“‘Mais ils sont mêlée!’ he ejaculated in a tone of horror, his voice hollow and quavering. He addressed his aide de camp, Count Flahault, who was under no illusion as to what troops were meant. The sun had just set. There was no radiance to prevent all men seeing what was going on out there in the north-west.”
Immediately on that followed the general collapse: the almost instantaneous break up of the French army all along the line.
“First the trampled corn in rear was sprinkled, then it was covered, with a confused mass of men moving south; behind and among them the sabres of Vivian’s hussars and Vandeleur’s dragoons rose and fell, hacking and hewing on every side.
“‘La Garde recule!’ sounded like a sob in the motionless ranks of the Old Guard (the three battalions near Napoleon), and sped with astonishing swiftness to every part of the field. ‘La Garde recule!’ cried the men of Allix, Donzelot, and Marcognet, and began to melt away from the vantage ground they had recently so nobly won. ‘La Garde recule!’ whispered Reille’s columns, still unbroken on the left. Far on the right, Durutte’s battalions, suddenly confronted by the heads of Ziethen’s columns, where they had been told to look for Grouchy’s, caught up the word. Next, the uneasy murmur, ‘Nous sommes trahis!’ was heard—for was there not treason? Had not General Bourmont and his staff, and other officers, openly gone over to the enemy? ‘La Garde recule!’ Oh fatal cry! soon swelling into one still more dreadful—last tocsin of the soldier’s agony—‘Sauve qui peut!’ Papelotte and La Haye were abandoned, and from the east, as already from the west, the wreck of the Last Army rolled towards the Charleroi road.”